#hes so freaky and weird and strange. and i want to shake him around

[we-are-inevitable]

the thing about david jacobs is that everything is in character. you try to write him out of character? it’s still in character. that bitch doesn’t even know who the fuck he is himself so how are we ever supposed to get it right. hes so weirdgirl. he’s so murderer. he’s so comedian. he’s so introverted librarian who never speaks. he’s so never shuts the fuck up and everyone hates him for it. hes so club twink. hes so secluded woodsman in a cabin. he’s so lawyer teacher nonprofit owner grocery store bagger barista waiter. he’s so never shuts the fuck up and everyone loves him for it. there is no possible way for him to be out of character if you keep his central theme of 1) autistic and 2) being crushed under the weight of too much on his shoulders (but he can’t take a break, there’s no time for breaks, he has to prove himself (to himself) and he has to make his family proud (they’ve been proud of him for years) and he has to suffer because suffering means you’re getting it done.) and 3) gay

[romanthesecond]

Roman’s little brothers were strange. That didn’t mean he loved them any less, but it was hard enough when Roman realized that his brain worked differently to everyone else's, and then the twins had popped out with two entirely new brains for him to deal with.

Well, entirely new was a stretch. 

When Logan got overwhelmed, he’d rock himself backwards and forth, just like Daddy did. Virgil chose to curl up like a hedgehog, even putting on a sharp attitude that he definitely picked up from Papa. 

But there were things his brothers did that Roman hadn’t seen in his parents, like right now.

“What are you doing?”

“Playing.” Logan’s face was fixed in its usual frown, which Roman had come to realize wasn’t actually an I’m-Feeling-Bad frown and instead just the way his face seemed to rest.

“Well, what are you playing?” Roman asked, tilting his head.

It wasn’t any game he’d seen before. There were no toys, or dramatic yelling, or other people. It was just Logan in the backyard, taking big steps before turning himself around and moving again.

Logan didn’t seem to know what game it was either. If it was anyone else, they might have shrugged, but he just kept moving as if he hadn’t heard.

“I asked what you were playing, four eyes.” Roman growled, crossing his arms.

“Dad said to play outside,” Logan finally replied, taking five big steps before spinning himself around on one foot, “Virgil is napping. I do not like the Outside Toys.”

Logan always gave weird answers, like he thought that if he explained his thought process, everyone would have the same conclusion he came to. Unfortunately for him, most people didn’t. The only people who seemed to get him were their dads, and that was mostly because of how similar he was to Remus. Not even Virgil seemed to understand how his brain worked, and twins were supposed to have freaky mind reading powers.

“What the hell are outside toys? Stuff we can only play with outside, like water guns or footballs?” Roman had already moved on from trying to figure out what he was playing, because it didn’t look fun at all, and instead focused on this new topic.

“Yes.” Logan nodded, before pausing and shaking his head. “No.”

Roman waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

Roman wondered what went on in Logan’s brain. He wanted to know how everyone's brain worked, which adventures they pictured when they closed their eyes, or what thoughts got stuck and which ones flew away, but he wanted to dig into Logan’s the most.

“Explain outside toys to me,” Roman asked sweetly, because ever since he’d turned thirteen, he’d decided he wanted to be a bit nicer, “So I can understand you. Just try. Please.” He added the last word on as an afterthought, even though he knew politeness didn’t matter to Logan.

“Outside Toys are in the green bucket. They are unhygienic because of rain and dirt.” His brother explained, still moving. Five big steps, a turn on one foot, then repeat.

“Okay. I get it now.” Roman grinned, because he really did.

Logan was the cleanest person he’d ever met. He didn’t like kisses because of germs, and he’d learnt how to clean his clothes by hand so he didn’t have to wait for the laundry basket to fill up. They all had to wipe their shoes on the welcome mat extra well if Logan was watching, and he wouldn’t eat food with his hands, not even pizza!

Roman felt a little dumb for not figuring it out by himself, honestly. He knew if his dads could hear him thinking that, they’d get mad and tell him that being slow wasn’t as bad as everyone said it was. He was working on being nicer to other people, and it took a lot of work, so lately Roman wasn’t very kind to himself.

“I’m sorry for calling you four eyes, by the way.”

Logan paused his game to squint up at Roman and replied,

“That is incorrect. I only have two eyes.”

Roman laughed because, just like he didn’t understand his brother very well, his brother didn’t understand him either.

[worldswithoutendings]

Eye for an eye. [Michael Langdon] PT.2

and there we go again! I really enjoy writing for him so I want to continue this into a series!

Pairing: Michael Langdon x female!reader

warning: alcohol

summary: after Michael left you his coat, things start to shift for you.

The next morning you woke up, feeling heavy and hot due to Michael’s coat you were still wearing. His scent lingered in your hair and bedsheets. You could rule the world one day you started to have flashbacks from when you met Satan when you were 15. And started to feel the similar pain you were feeling in that time period. You thought you’d gotten better, you’ve been going to therapy for almost 6 years now. Just endless sessions of talking, light therapy, and even more talking. Such much talking that you started to talk to yourself in public situations. I’m going crazy.

You stand up from your bed, taking off Michael’s coat ‘Versace? At least he has good taste’ you mumble as you fold it nicely only to see a card fall out of his coat, you curse softly as you pick it up and try to put it back without peeking, but it piqued your interest. It only had a phone number on it ‘What if it’s his? No, that would be weird and so freaking selfish of him to walk around with a note with his phone number on it” You laughed at your own comment, putting it next to his coat on your table as you get ready for the day.

When you come back from work you had this gnawing feeling in your stomach ‘It’s a freaking Versace coat, he definitely wants to have that back right?’ you mumble as you walk towards your door. Only to see the living room light on ‘That’s… awkwardly strange’ You weren’t even in your living room this morning so to have the light on is exceptionally freaky.

Once you are inside you hang your coat ‘You do know, that this coat was last season?’ you hear a voice behind you making you scream ‘god damn it! you almost send me straight to your father’ you bluntly say as you grab your chest. Michael looks at you with fascination ‘Hello y/n’ ‘Hi Mr Lang-“ ‘-Michael, I don’t need the coat’ You look at him questionably ‘Then, why are you here?’ ‘you made a deal with my father, right?’ ‘Yeah, a stupid one, eleven years ago. Oh please give me a love life give me a break’ you laugh as you take your boots off and walk to the kitchen ‘Can I interest you in holy water?’ ‘Are you dumb?-‘ ‘Vodka’ you shake the bottle to show him ‘Are you an alcoholic?’ he says with furrowing brows

‘am I not allowed to drink? I thought 21 was the legal age’ ‘doesn’t immediately have to make you an alcoholic’ ‘Oh come on, you eat human hearts for fun, I can drink alcohol until my kidney stops’ ‘Please stop drinking alcohol like water’ he compels you to drain the glass bottle you just open ‘damn don’t you know how expensive that one was?!’ ‘you got it as a gift from your other alcoholic friends, cut it out’ you stand still in your kitchen why are we fighting like a married couple, no, nope. Y/n get that out of your head ‘So exactly why are you here?’ your voice softens as Michael walks into your kitchen to get you both a glass of water “Well, I talked with my father. He says you have the potential to be powerful”

“Mr. Langdon. no offense, the last time he saw me, I was fifteen years old, fifteen. The drive I had back then. Is long gone. It took too long. I’ve waited too long” you sigh as you sit down. Michael stands in front of you as he puts the glasses down ‘Besides. He told me that I would be “the bride to end all days” Give me a break” You laugh but you see how Michael holds tighter onto the glasses “he said what”

After Michael left you were confused. You still didn’t have an answer to why Michael really was there, it mostly felt like a job interview, a very cold job interview. He wanted to know your general interest, just like you did with his. But there wasn’t really a mood going on. The room got more heated until he left. To leave you shivering on the couch where he left you. Without the coat “Oh, you can text me, but I can’t guarantee you to answer back. I’m not really a tech guy’ he said when he left. Making you laugh, how can someone who is close to your own age not be familiar with tech? But you were right, he did keep a note with his number in his pocket. Making you giggle when you look at it, pathetic. But yet you felt this weird feeling in your stomach to just start texting, he basically broke into your home, so you can definitely text him.

So, you really don’t want your coat back?

It would be a waste of a perfect coat to be here neatly folded. Waiting for his owner. You put it on to see how it suits you and you can’t help but to be in awe. It’s a very pretty coat. You heard your phone buzz

I can miss this coat, besides. You look prettier in it

You turn to your window to see a shadow disappear immediately

So you’re going to make an Edward Cullen move on me? Classic

Who is that?

I didn’t think you were much of a texter Mr. Langdon

Michael.

At least send me a link of your perfume.

You hear a familiar laugh going through your head. One you hadn’t heard in years. The hairs on your neck start to stand up as you look in the mirror to see the sky change to red ‘Here we go again’ you mumble.

“So here we are. Eleven years later” “Still not married,” you say melodic as you tilt your head. Satan sits down on his throne “Patience, my child. Patience is a virtue” “Yeah for someone who wants to end the world you do indeed have a lot of patience” “Hey! He is a work in progress, he needs to commit” “Are you talking about your son?”

“who else my child? You’re ready” “I’m far from ready,” you say as you want to put Michaels's coat more over your body but you realise you are not wearing it “I did that for you, it would smell like smoke when you would come back. Break your tiny heart” “Oh he has feelings!” you gasp making him laugh followed by tutting “y/n, y/n, you still haven’t lost your fifteen-year-old temper” “It actually became worse” you admit “he needs that, the girl he is right now is just a doll. Don’t worry, he’ll get rid of her before you know it” “Why? He literally said that she was going to be his wife soon? Isn’t he in love with her?” “y/n, he needs her for something else. He just doesn’t realize yet” Satan says as he plays with what looks like a heart “he wants this, the most. For the ritual. The ritual” “what ritual?” “you’ll find out my child,” Satan says as he flicks his hand, and within no time you are back in your room, only to hit your head on the wall while losing balance. You hiss in pain as your phone buzzes again. This time it was your best friend

Haven’t heard from you in a while, fill me in

Why don’t you just come over Julie.

Within fifteen minutes she stood in front of your door. With a bottle of red wine “No offense, Julie. But the antichrist forbid me to drink” You roll your eyes and Julie laughs loudly “The antichrist?! y/n come on” “It’s true-“ you sigh “Come” The both of you walk to the living room where you fill her in

“damn, y/n, when you said you made a deal I thought you were experimenting with drugs!” Julie says after you showed her the coat, including the note “Can, can I text him? Just for fun, maybe he is a bot?” “Be my guest” you say as you sit back down on the couch. You see how Julie immediately starts to text him but you get this sour taste in your mouth “damn what is in this wine?” “I thought you loved it!  it’s the one I always buy” “Something is off with it” you say as you pull a sour face “I don’t think it’s an actual number, y/n” Julie says as she shows her phone to show an out-of-order message by the provider.

--

i'd love to hear feedback from you! x

[troublcmakcrs]

▸   @gas-stxtion​   ⟶   ❛  jack: “Tonight, I’m gonna keep you safe, okay?” //for tweek! protect the poor kid from The Horrors  ❜

After the first time, it had turned into a habit for Tweek to show up at the gas station late at night when he couldn’t sleep.  He found out the same man worked the night shift most of the time, the same one who had helped him through the unfortunate incident that occurred during his first visit, and he came to regard the gas station as a safe-ish place, at least when Jack was working.  If, by some odd miracle, there was somebody else working behind the counter, the entire place felt off.  Tweek could not shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong with it, and he began to notice strange occurrences.

Once, when approaching the gas station on one of his night walks, he saw what appeared to be a tall figure in a yellow raincoat standing near the dumpster in the back, illumined by the light over the rear door.  They stood almost entirely stock-still but swayed a little bit, as if they could feel Tweek looking at them, despite having their back to him, and wanted to assure him that they were real and alive rather than a statue.  He did not venture behind the gas station to see who they were and what they were doing because he liked to think that he wasn’t an idiot, but he at least saw them when he was approaching it from the side.

Then, another time, he went into the bathroom and got the distinct impression that he was not alone in there, even though the rest of the stalls were empty.  It was freezing in there, and his teeth chattered in his skull, and he did not actually want to take a piss, but he felt about to explode, so he rushed through it and then dashed out of there, refusing to look directly into any of the mirrors in case he caught something behind him.  After that, he made sure to always do his business before leaving home because he did not want to take his chances with whatever worse thing might be in the women’s room.

But if Jack was here, it all felt fine, and Tweek sat on a wooden stool, nursing a medium coffee and a pack of gummy bears.  He kicked his feet back and forth, thumping his heels against two legs of the stool, one of the fidgets that implied an unusual amount of calmness for him.  He was still trembling slightly, which was perhaps why Jack talked him out of a large coffee, but otherwise, he was mostly comfortable and content.

“Okay,” he said, nodding, his expression still troubled by something.  Even if he was mostly composed, it was still difficult and rare to drag a smile out of him.  “Th-thank you for—hh—letting me stay.  I know you’ve got work to do, too.”  And babysitting was rarely part of a gas station attendant’s job description.

“You weren’t working the other day when I came,” he noted, looking off toward a display of candy bars—buy one, get one for fifty percent off—“so I left again.  I didn’t like the look of the person behind the counter or of the whole rest of the place.”  Jack could not work all the time and probably needed days off here and there, but Tweek still disliked being around strangers, especially when there were bad vibes emanating from other parts of the store.  He wanted something familiar to latch onto and trust, so he always swung quickly back around when he couldn’t find Jack.

“Jack, can I ask you something?” he said, turning his attention back to the man in question.  Then, without waiting for an answer, he pressed on: “Does… do you get… weird… stuff happening here sometimes?”  He realized what an idiotic question that was and corrected himself—“I mean, besides all the dead guys in the freezer.”  Shit must go down here somewhat regularly if Jack was so blasé about murder and if there were that many corpses of the same guy on the property.

“Like I saw a really—a really weird person standing out back one time, not doing anything, just standing around, but in a freaky way.”  Maybe that was mean, and he should not have been assuming the worst about whoever it was, but they were a bit odd in his opinion, and he thought he caught a glance of them again on his way in tonight.  Having some reassurance that Jack knew who they were and that they were safe would do Tweek a world of good.  Perhaps, then, he could even go out and face the person in the raincoat and make two friends at the gas station, but he would not do it before he was told whether or not it was fine.

“Then, I got a—a weird feeling… the bathroom…”  Tweek trailed off and flushed pink, much less confident in his proceedings than he had been.  Craig constantly told him how much of his experiences were just in his own head, and now he felt silly.  “Like it might… be haunted.”  He sipped on his coffee and quickly averted his gaze again.  “It was probably nothing, though…  S-sometimes, I get—egh—w-worked up for… no reason.”

[gnocchighoul]

the undateables + a touch starved mc

Diavolo

This fucking guy abducted you and made you go to demon-college, the very least he can do is spare you some hugs.

Prince, Lord, Beefcake -- you don’t give a single flying damn about titles or customs. Much like a heat-seeking, pouch dwelling animal, all you care about is snuggles.

He’s Very surprised when you just waltz up to him one day at RAD and ask him for a hug. Seriously, nobody has the gall to do that.

Except for you, apparently. 

Needless to say, he is SO down. 

Diavolo is the prince of the Devildom and also of being touch-starved. Pretty much everyone is afraid of him, and Lucifer is a stingy meanie that wont give him hugs :(

He’s so excited that he doesn’t say anything, just picks you up and practically squeezes the life out of you. 

It’s wonderful and you decide that sacrificing your ability to breathe is well worth the payoff.

After you approach him a handful of times for hugs, he’s eventually just going to start hugging you on-sight. 

Like literally, on sight. If he catches a glimpse of you, he will cross the whole room just to give you a hug.

(think Moto Moto, he will trample anyone that gets in his way LMAOO i’m sorry dfghjk)

You can absolutely get him to give you a piggyback ride. Honestly, he’ll probably offer.

(There are definitely rumors that you two are dating. Some demons even think that you have a pact bond. The other RAD students are lowkey freaked out by you)

If you play your cards right, you can definitely spin this whole thing into an actual cuddle session :)

Barbatos

You’re always hugging him and he honestly thinks it's so cute.

At first, you’re very hesitant--slyly asking him to warm up your hands with his own, or let you rest your head on his shoulder, just for a minute!

You think you’re sneaky about it.

You’re absolutely not.

Finally, he tells you that whenever you want affection from him, you’re more than welcome to initiate. 

It’s not uncommon for you to hug him from behind and press your face into his back. 

You always ask, “is this okay?” and he always says “of course.” because it really, really is.

He’s honestly flattered that you seek him out for affection.

When you tell him that it's because he gives the Best hugs, he definitely blushes a little bit.  

His body temperature naturally runs cooler than most, which is a little bit strange, but at least you don't have to worry about overheating during snuggle time :D

He also likes to give you piggyback rides. Multitasking is something he often does, and if you’re chilling on his back like a baby possum, then his hands are still free to do other things as well. 

It’s very convenient. 

(Don’t get it twisted though, when he’s done with work for the day he’s so down to just chill and hold you. If you’ll let him, he especially likes to run his hands through your hair.)

Barb is Very intuitive. If you’re in need of some hugs, you don’t have to say anything. He just knows, and as long as you’ve given him consent, he’ll gladly wrap you up in his arms.

(Will also peck your cheek if you’re cool with it)

He’s just so polite and doting 

Simeon

Man… listen.

A hug from Simeon is equivalent to seeing the gates of Heaven open up.

He knows exactly how tight you need to be held, and because of that, his hugs are always warm and protective. 

Also, he likes to wrap his arms around your waist and rest his chin on your shoulder, which is just really fucking nice.

The vibes? Immaculate. 

As soon as you realize that he’s a heavenly hugger, he’s gonna have a hard time shaking you off. 

And you know what? He doesn’t really mind it. 

At first, he’s a little bit confused about why you’re so intent on cuddling him. Confused, but not averse to it in any way, mind you.

Then he’s actually a little bit sad when he realizes just exactly how touch starved you are, but, he understands. You make him realize that he is too--the demons are a lot less huggy than the angels are, surprisingly enough. 

So he thinks, maybe you two can help each other out :)

Funny enough, as long as you're okay with it, he lowkey jumps straight into acting like you two are a couple.

Wrapping an arm around your waist or shoulders in public, holding your hand, kissing your cheek…

If you’re uncomfortable with it though, he’ll definitely back off. He’s very very respectful of any boundaries you have.

Movie/cuddle night definitely becomes a thing for you guys.

Luke

Give this child hugs, please. And head pats. Pinch his little cheeks. Ruffle his hair. 

Be that doting overbearing parent-friend that smothers him with affection!! And snacks. Keep fruit snacks on hand for him fghjkdf

The first time you ruffle his hair, it’s because he’s just so darn cute, you can’t help it--he’s raving about the new cake recipe that he’s learning from Barbatos, and his eyes are shining bright as firebugs and he’s just so darn excited because he got it right on the first try and--

You’re just so proud of him!! So you ruffle his hair and he gets really embarrassed (he’s not a dog for you to pet!) 

But like. It felt really nice, so he Supposes that it’s okay. Just as long as it’s you. 

When you ask if you can hug him, he gets all blushy but is sooo excited because you honestly give really nice hugs

He won’t admit it, but he really appreciates how supportive you are of him. Though sometimes (like when you pinch his cheeks or monitor his screen-time) you’re a bit… how should I say,,,, a wee bit too much. 

Like Simeon.  

Give him a hug and pat his back when he’s upset and it’ll instantly make him feel better. 

(If he’s upset because one of the demon brothers was making fun of him and you give him a hug, seeing their jealous faces is definitely the icing on the cake for him lmaoo) 

Solomon

Ah, yes. The shady sorcerer. 

Solomon is an interesting case.

Lowkey, he acts kind of inhuman--but then again, even the demons and angels are more interested in cuddles than he is.

That’s not to say he isn’t at all--somewhere along the way, he just forgot that that’s a thing living creatures need. 

(Don’t get it twisted though--he has a pact with Asmo. You’re pretty sure he’s into some freaky shit. He just forgot that fluffy shit is also a very real and very necessary thing.)

When you tell him that you need a hug, he kinda blinks at you in confusion for a few seconds and asks, “....Need?” 

He can’t help but wonder if you got cursed or something, and if hugging is the cure. Like sleeping beauty but more platonic.

He wouldn’t put it past you. You’re very hex-able. 

And you’re like “Yes I need one please” but you don’t elaborate any more than that, so he’s confused but accepting, and just kinda. Holds his arms straight up. T-poses at you.

It’s weird. Not very effective at asserting his dominance. You snort and wrap your arms around him, and sloooowly, he lowers his arms to wrap them around you in a hesitant hug.

He awkwardly pats your back. 

You tell him to stop being weird and just squeeze you already.

Which he does. And it hits him all at fucking once that this is actually really nice, oh no--

Needless to say, he’s gonna start slyly asking you for affection too. But in really obvious ways where he’s like, “Oh noooo a spell backfired on me, quick I need to hold your hand or I might die”

He’s so full of shit. 

You definitely hold his hand. With passion. 

((part one with the demon brothers))

[nikethestatue]

La Dolce Vita

Part II

On the Wings of Desire

Warnings: Language

(I had to split this chapter into two because it was getting too long. Hence, no sexy times, but angst galore) Comments and reblogs and likes are always appreciated! Let me know what you think. 

Chapter One is here

Two Years Ago

 Azriel

 Azriel pulled up to the flower shop.

There was a surprise that he wanted to share with Elain, and like a young boy on his first date, he was both excited and nervous. But he hoped that she’d like it. Funny how he still got a little nervous with her, exuberant even.

It’s been three months since they’ve met and he loved every minute that they’d spent together. The nature of their relationship was a little undefined, but he didn’t care. So what if they weren’t ‘dating’? So there weren’t official dinners and outings, to show only the best part of each other to one another? They moved beyond that right away. They simply loved being together. It was inexplicable, how quickly it happened, how easy it was between the two of them, but Azriel could never get enough of Elain.

He came to her shop whenever he wanted, helped her out, hung out with her, and she went to the garage to meet him. If he was busy and couldn’t meet with her, she closed her shop for lunch, and brought him a sandwich, so they could eat together. He loved it, even if he actually had a restaurant and a bar on premises and she technically didn’t need to buy him food. But there was something special about her coming up the stairs to his office, dressed in one of her cute, flowery dresses and heels. Every time it was a different sandwich, a different drink and a different snack—sometimes a cookie, or good chocolate, or weird chips, or a full-on pastry with cream and ganache and whatnot. He developed a strange fascination with his lunch options, never knowing what it would be and eagerly anticipating it.

Sometimes, he took her on long rides—one of their favourite past times. If he knew that she was up to her eyeballs with orders, since this was summer and it seemed like everyone was getting married, he would bring her takeout to the shop, and they’d sit and arrange flowers until the wee hours. When things calmed down, and there was a quiet evening ahead, she usually invited him to come and eat at her place. They cooked together, drank wine, and then went for a walk.

They haven’t had a kiss yet.

Did it bother him? He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t dream of Elain all the time, of her supple, soft body, of how she’d look naked, of how she’d feel when he filled her, what sounds she’d make, what her face would look like when she climaxed around him? Was she a screamer? A beggar? Was she loud or quiet and shy?

She never spoke of her past boyfriends, so he had no idea of how many men she’s been with. Secretly, he hoped that it wasn’t too many. Maybe it was some male thing, but the idea of her with another man, the thought of someone else touching her, making her moan, making her love—it didn’t please him at all. He thought that he was more modern, more advanced in his thinking—and usually he was—but in this case, he was struggling with accepting Elain wrapped around some other male.

 Surprisingly, even though it wasn’t even 6 pm yet, the flowers that usually spilled outside the shop were not gracing the pavement and the shop looked closed for the day. But Azriel went and knocked on the glass door anyway, seeing as there was some light coming from Elain’s office in the back. There was no response, but he knocked even harder, almost banging, until he heard Elain’s muffled voice yelling, “we are closed!”

“Laney, open up! It’s me!”

A few moments later, Elain appeared in the darkness and then the door opened.

And his jaw almost dropped.

She stood in front of him, wearing a slinky, satin, cobalt dress that looked almost like lingerie. Of modest length, it nevertheless emphasized her breasts very enticingly: soft and full, and pushed together just enough to create a hint of delicious cleavage. A simple set of glittering silver chains nestled seductively in that yummy valley between her breasts. One bare foot was clad in a strappy silver sandal, while she held the other, and jumped awkwardly on one foot, balancing herself on the doorframe. Her hair was curled and arranged over one naked shoulder.

He struggled to keep his breath from whooshing loudly.

“Whoa…”

“Hi Az,” she sounded…uncomfortable.

“Hey you. Hot date?” he chuckled, eyes gliding from her pretty toes up to her eyes.

Her throat bobbed and she didn’t answer.

Shit.

He fought the urge to cross his arms on his chest. But then he’d look threatening, towering over her, much like his father did when he was in one of his moods. Azriel swore to himself long ago to never, ever cross his arms with women.

“I didn’t think you’d be coming over,” she began, voice wobbling.

“So, you figured that you could sneak out?” he spat unkindly.

“I am not sneaking out!” she snapped, flushed and defiant. “I am going out,”

“With whom?” he demanded.

He and Elain had never fought. Never even disagreed.

They laughed together. They joked and discussed. They argued over books and movies. They talked about design, food and travel, places they wanted to visit, and things they wanted to see. Elain randomly texted him names of 3 and 2 Michelin star restaurants from all over the world, telling him where she wanted to dine, why, and eagerly opining on the menus.

Elain was his.

His little foodie, who was a fearless eater, and sampled just about everything and anything.

Elain was his.

His little art lover, who had a surprisingly wide breadth of knowledge of painting, art history and strong opinions on artists and styles. When he found out that she adored Balthus and that Egon Schiele was her favourite artist of all time, his respect for her only increased.

Elain was his.

His little intellectual, who read Anna Akhmatova’s poetry, listened to Alain Elkann’s podcast, and who could easily talk about the history of Lamborghini or Aston Martin, and Formula 1, just to satisfy him.

What the fuck was this?

Why was his Elain going on some date with another man?

Anger rose in him so quickly; he had a difficult time stopping his hands from shaking. So, he clasped them behind his back.

“It’s none of your business,” she said coldly. “I don’t have to report to you who I am going out with,”

“You don’t?” he demanded absurdly.

“No, I don’t!”

“Please tell me who he is?” he decided on a different approach. His brain was working furiously, trying to dissuade her, yet not anger her, yet find out as much information as possible.

“No!” she shook her head stubbornly. “Why do you even care?”

Why did he care? WHY did he care?

He couldn’t have been misreading all the signs. He couldn’t have been misreading her interest, her acceptance, her want.

There was no doubt in his mind that she wanted him—emotionally, as a friend, as a partner, as a lover. Reading people was his job, his calling, and he’d never been wrong. He certainly wasn’t wrong with Elain—she was an open book to him. He didn’t need to evaluate her reactions to his company to know that she was absolutely enthralled with him.

So why this?

Was it something he did? There were no hints of anything amiss the last time they’d seen each other. They were at her place, they cooked Italian together—spaghetti and clams—and he opened a bottle of Petilia Greco di Tufo, a pure, harmonious white from Campania. Then they went to the rooftop—their favourite place—and watched the city, enjoying gelato and playing cards.

Squeezing his hands behind his back, he demanded, “Has he been vetted?”

“Vetted? Vetted?” she exclaimed incredulously. “Who is going to be doing this vetting?”

She stared at him and bit out,

“I don’t like this side of you. This is crazy behaviour,”

“Why? Because you are going on a date? Suddenly. Unexpectedly.”

At that, she blushed furiously, squirming under his heavy, icy gaze.

He continued, “And with some guy you refuse to tell me anything about. Have you told Cass?”

“What? What exactly is Cass? My father?”

“Cass runs security for,”

“I know what Cass does!” she cried, looking furious, but also uncomfortable. Insecure. Anxious. “But I am not telling him. Leave me alone. I am not telling anyone,”

“Not even Nesta? Elide?” he demanded. “And what if something happens?”

“What’s going to happen?!” she asked nervously.

Nothing.

Probably nothing.

He was being an overbearing creep, but he couldn’t stop.

He needed to know. And yes, he wanted her to be safe.

“Who knows?” he shrugged menacingly. “He is unvetted. No one knows anything about him. Have you even Googled him?”

She blushed.

That’s a no.

“Unless you tell me his name, I am not leaving,” he warned. “I need to know who you are going to be with.”

“I am not telling you.”

“Fine,” he propped himself against the door. “We’ll just stand here.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

The standoff continued for another few minutes, until, exasperated, she blurted,

“His name is Dorian!”

“Dorian. As in Dorian Gray?”

She rolled her eyes. “How funny.”

He took out his phone and asked, “Does Dorian have a last name?”

“Are you seriously going to Google him?”

“Absolutely I will. Since you didn’t.”

“I am not telling you.”

“Fine,” he shrugged. “I’ll await Dorian’s arrival and have a man-to-man talk with him,”

She paled.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Watch me.”

She glared at him, and then sneered, “Why don’t you invite Lorcan too! And Rowan. So the three of you can stand here, in your freaky silent vigil and glare at him, to scare him off.”

“Good idea.”

She shrugged, “And when Dorian comes here, you three can tower over him.”

“Why? Is he tiny?” Azriel snorted.

She rolled her eyes and then thrust her foot into her other heel, finally. As she tied it around her ankle, she muttered angrily, “so disappointed in you,”

“Get in line,” he snapped.

“Adarlan,”

“What?”

“His last name is Adarlan.”

Azriel immediately typed the name into the phone.

A pretty white boy. Columbia. Pre-law.

Figures.

Of course, someone like that would want someone like Elain. And she’d want him in return. Pretty, proper. Pathetic.

“Satisfied?” she rose to her full height. Her cheeks were flushed, brown eyes gleaming with anger and challenge.

She was so beautiful and so annoyed with him, Azriel was blinded by her, by her light, her spirit.

“Not for a while,” he said blandly and shrugged.

That made her redden. Not the blush of anger. Her sexy blush.

So, he went for it.

“Call it off,” he begged.

“What?”

“Call it off. Please.”

“Why?”

Because you are mine.

He wanted to tell her. To explain.

But did he deserve her? All that light and goodness? Perhaps, pretty boy Dorian was indeed more appropriate.

“Because,” he began and then heard a car pull up behind him.

Steps.

He didn’t turn around.

“Elain.”

“Dorian.”

Her face lit up with a smile.

“Ready?”

She nodded. “Just let me grab my bag.”

When she disappeared, Azriel turned around at last.

Dorian was good looking, tall, thin. Young. Looked like a kid, though Azriel figured that he wasn’t much younger than him. But Azriel’s lived about 540 years by now…at least that’s how it felt, and Dorian—Dorian probably had many girlfriends, many friends, and daddy’s money.

He was about as interesting as a bag of beans.

They stared at each other.

Azriel didn’t give a shit.

He didn’t care about anything, other than this is what Elain chose. This Dorian may end up holding Elain’s hand. Perhaps going in for a kiss. That sensuous weak mouth may touch Elain’s perfect lips—the lips that Azriel only dreamt of kissing. And what if it went further?

What if,

No.

No.

Elain was not a ‘first date sex’ kind of girl. Never. Not his Elain.

“Treat her well,” he growled a warning.

Dorian blinked.

“What?”

“Treat. Elain. Well.”

“Who are you?”

“Consider me her brother-in-law.”

“Oh. Okay. Alright. Sure, man. Yeah.”

Fucking intellectual powerhouse.

“I am one of many,”

“Many what?” Dorian asked in confusion.

“Many brothers-in-law. And they all look like me. Some are even bigger.”

“Ready?!” Elain chirped.

“Um, yeah,” Dorian’s eyes darted back and forth.

Azriel finally gave up and crossed his arms on his chest.

“Have fun you two,” he said sweetly.

“Thank you. I’ll see you at Rhys’s pool party on Saturday,” Elain acted like everything was normal.

“Sure. Bring Dorian along,” Azriel jerked his chin. “We’ll be delighted to have him.”

 Elain

 “He is a charmer,” Dorian finally exhaled once they were inside the car.

She grunted in response.

“Does he have enough tattoos?” he started to reverse. “Oh, look, a Ferrari,”

“It’s his,” she bit the inside of her cheek, glancing quickly at the unmoving figure under the awning.

“His? What is he? A drug dealer?”

“Dorian!” she snapped. She was so on edge, she sat on her shaking hands the moment she buckled up.

“Sorry. Sorry. But really, do you want me to,”

She interrupted,

“What? Are you offering to beat him up?”

“I mean,”

“Dorian. He is a Navy Seal,” she said bluntly. “His bicep is the circumference of my head. His buddies are all pushing 6”7 in height and are all former Navy Seals. I am just saying. You aren’t taking him on.”

Dorian didn’t feel the need to disagree.

 Azriel

 Elain was his home. She was his happy place. His joy.

Her smile made everything better.

When she touched him--his fingers, his cheek—that touch carried more sensual promise than anything he’d ever experienced. And he’d experienced plenty.

Azriel’s only brush with love was when he was 18 and it was right before Morgana fucked Cassian, lost her virginity to him and got pregnant by him. He wondered if that’s what fucked him up, turned him off love for this past decade. Ploughing through endless bodies felt good, though he was usually left with the feeling of residual emptiness and longing. But he accepted it.

Elain though. He didn’t plough into Elain. Never even so much as seen her breast. And yet, his head was filled with her. Images, both erotic and mundane floated through his brain constantly. Elain’s eyes lighting up when he called her ‘baby’. Elain tasting a pastry, in her own special way, sometimes dipping her finger into the cream, and driving him wild. Elain reclining her golden head on the seat of his car, eyes closed. Elain being a little drill master when it came to arranging flowers, absolutely unperturbed by the idea of ordering Rowan and Cassian and Fen around.

That Elain was offering her smile, her time, her attention to that pretty prick Dorian was just intolerable.

If he could, he would actually climb the walls. But Azriel couldn’t climb walls, even if parkour-loving Fenrys would probably teach him how. Therefore, he went back to the shop, where Nuala was just packing up for the day.

“I need your car,” he demanded.

“We are in a garage,” she reminded him reasonably, but nevertheless tossed her keys to him. He caught them with one hand and said, “I owe you one.”

“You owe me like fifty…but who is counting?”

Nuala didn’t know why he needed her car, but she did know that he was beyond pining, at this point. He was in full love mode. As in LOVE. Capital letters, heart palpitations, sleepless nights, acting-like-a-drug-addict LOVE. Who would have thought? Not only that Azriel would fall in love at all, but that it would be with Elain.

Azriel got into Nuala’s ordinary Acura, drove to Elain’s apartment, and kept vigil the very same way she told him he would.

At this point, he didn’t care at all. He sat and waited in his shadows. Waiting like this—he learned this level of patience back in the Navy, during his recon missions—suited him, and his personality. Lorcan and he could sit like this for hours. Days. They weren’t bothered at all. Cassian and Fenrys would whine, complain and bounce like little children.

Shadows were his friends, as they’d always been, since he was a boy and hid from his abusive father. They protected him then, and concealed him now.

Finally, at an acceptable, and slightly boring, 11:23 pm, Dorian’s generic Audi pulled up.

There was no way that either of them would spot him, or assume that he was around.

Dorian opened the door for Elain, and she stepped out. They talked. She smiled. Then laughed.

It all grated on Azriel’s nerves. Go inside! He wanted to shout to her.

Then, Dorian made a move. Azriel tensed, when the pretty boy reached his hand out and ran his knuckles over Elain’s bare shoulder. The hand stopped entirely too close to her breast, as he squeezed her upper arm, holding her close. If Azriel sensed even the tiniest expression of discomfort from her, he’d be flying out of the car in a snap.

They talked some more, that gross hand still resting on Elain’s arm. But then, she opened her arms and Azriel grimaced. No way. No way was she going for a kiss.

And thank all the gods above, but she only hugged him, and not a close hug either—but that awkward, butts-out, shoulders pressed together weird hug. Something males typically gave each other, so careful to avoid any penile interaction. Then she walked to her building and gave Dorian a little wave. He hopped in his car and drove away.

What a prick. Didn’t even wait for her to get inside.

But she stood still, door unopened, keys in her fingers. And then, she peered into the darkness. A long, penetrating gaze. Aimed right at him. Like she saw through the shadows. She looked and looked, and he melted in the shadows, into the darkness of the car.

And then she flipped him off, and walked inside.

 Elain

 Piled into Lorcan’s Range Rover, it was Elain ad Elide, Lorcan and Connall in the car.

It was a nice day for a pool party, for a long drive to the Hamptons, for enjoying the sunshine.

Elain was having none of it.

She hated this idea to begin with—pool parties—which were full of too-rich and affected young people, prancing around in skimpy underwear. The women too perfect. The men, full of unreasonable expectations.

Feyre and Morrigan liked this crap, Cassian too, Aelin—certainly.

All the people with their perfect bodies and big hair and bigger personalities.

This Range Rover was like the car for outcasts.

Lorcan looked like he wanted to be at a pool party as much as he wanted to have a rectal exam. Connall, she was sure, would just sit by the bar and nurse drinks all day long. Elide would always find an escape with Lor, and the two of them would huddle together and make snide comments about the attendees to each other.

Elain sighed.

She was such a stupid, inexcusably dumb, fucking idiot.

“Do you know why Az isn’t coming today?” Lorcan looked at her in the mirror.

“Oh?”

She bit inside of her cheek, stifling a pathetic cry.

It shouldn’t have surprised her that Azriel decided not to attend, but she still harbored hope, somewhere inside of her that he would. That they’d be able to talk. That he’d…

Forgive her?

“No, I don’t know,” she mumbled.

“Did you have a fight or something?” Lorcan’s strange black eyes looked at her like they were scraping the edges of her soul. It wasn’t the most comfortable of feelings.

“No.”

She spent the rest of the trip in sullen silence. Even Elide didn’t try to shake her out of her stupor.

 As expected, the party was ridiculously over the top.

There were throngs of people milling about, all in various stages of undress. Firm, golden flesh gleamed in the sunlight.

There were three bars—one for beer, one for cocktails and one for everything else. An ice cream station. A s’mores station. Wagyu beef sliders. Lobster hot dogs. Jamon Iberico. Wheels of Parmigiano Reggiano.

Deep down, Elain was grateful that she’d never be this wealthy.

She was happy with her flowers, her shop, and she was considering opening a pastry shop down the road. And then Azriel had his wonderful garage, but successful as it was, it wasn’t on the Darling level of wealth…And that was alright. It was perfectly enough, too much even,

She stopped.

She should’ve just told him. Everything. A long time ago. But the intensity of her own feelings towards him frightened her, and then…she fucked it all up.

She meandered absently around the premises, listening to Feyre’s and Nesta’s screeching from the pool, where both were perched on the shoulders of their respective lovers, whacking each other and others with long plastic poles. Mor and her new girlfriend were making out passionately in a hammock. Fenrys was swarmed by a bevy of busty beauties. And so on…

She was feeling foolish and exposed in her pink bikini, wishing she had a wrap or something. Her body was no worse than all of these other girls’, but she couldn’t help but compare herself to them. They were confident. Exciting. Entertaining. They flirted and laughed loudly. They had sparkly teeth and giant lips.

She didn’t know how to flirt, and wasn’t glamorous or polished like them.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone? Without a drink?”

A man sidled over, his bold eyes roaming about her body, assessing.

“I am fine, thank you,” she made to get away and walk towards the pool, but he thrust an insistent hand in front of her, holding a drink.

“Come on, sugar. Join me.”

Sugar?

And then, there were four of them. Five.

None were threatening, but being surrounded by so many men, while basically naked was outside of Elain’s comfort zone. They were joking, laughing, chugging their beers. She didn’t know any of them.

“So, who are you?” asked one of them.

“A guest.”

She angled her body towards the pool, trying to sneak past them.

“A guest? We are guests too! Nice party,”

“It is. Pardon me, I have to go,”

“But why?”

One of them caught her hand in his and pulled lightly, grounding her in place.

“Excuse me!” she attempted to withdraw her hand, but he didn’t budge. They herded her a little closer to the house. A sixth man approached, carrying a little tray with tequila shots.

“Where do you got to go, baby?”

Another hand slipped down her back and brushed over her butt, making her jerk.

“What the hell?” she hissed, but her indignation was met with amused smiles.

“Such a pretty girl, all alone. Come, join us,”

“I am not alone!” she snapped angrily.

“Oh no?”

“And who are you with?”

“My fucking boyfriend!” she lied, a little scared now.

“Oh, a boyfriend?” teased one. “And who might that be?”

“Do we know this boyfriend? Where is he?”

She looked around desperately, and then lied again, “He is inside. And coming back, soon.”

Laughter.

“Ohh, I don’t think so. I’ve been watching you for an hour, and there is no boyfriend.”

“I think I need to go,”

“But why!?!”

They goaded, “Tell us about the boyfriend?”

“His name is Azriel Bagarat,” she blurted out.

More laughter. Challenging, condescending laughter.

“Really?”

“Mr. Fancy Garage is your boyfriend?”

“Good one! I almost fell for it.”

“Azriel Bagarat-I-date-a-new-girl-weekly makes for a bad boyfriend, honey,”

“You aren’t exactly his type.”

Tears threatened to pour out of her eyes, and she was horrified by her body’s reaction to the taunting.

She threw, “and what type is that?”

“He doesn’t go for squeaky clean girls like you.”

“Maybe it’s an experiment!” laughed one of them. “He is into all sorts of fucking kink. Maybe he is wetting his cock in some virgin flesh,”

“Are you even legal?”

“You look awfully young.”

At this point, Elain was not above screaming for Lorcan, or Rowan, or anyone else. Her looking weak and pathetic was the least of her concerns.

For a moment, the teasing and the laughter died down. One of them exclaimed, “Oh hey. There you are!”

Fuck. Another one.

The scent hit her first. The sharp, intoxicating smell of his expensive Armani cologne. She’d recognize it anywhere. That hint of cedar and a chilled night air. That was him. Her home.

And then, the familiar dark arm slipped across her stomach, tugging her firmly to his front. Another hand slid to her throat, laying on it, but not squeezing. He held her tenderly, close to him, possessively.

“I missed my girl,” he whispered, his gravelly, husky voice so familiar to her ear it sent a shiver down her spine.

Why couldn’t it be like this forever? Her in his arms? Forever?

“My gorgeous girlfriend always brings all the boys to the yard,” he chuckled. And then, to Elain’s utter delight and pleasure, he placed a warm, open mouthed kiss on the side of her neck.

She shuddered.

He’d never kissed her. Never intimately. Never kissed her like this.

His. She was his. And he just marked his territory.

It was glorious. To be kissed by him was something that she’d dreamt of and here it was—unexpected, sensuous, surprisingly erotic.

His thumb stroked the side of her throat, and then he leaned in and kissed her again. Same spot. Her bare vulnerable throat, her pale neck, his for the taking. She had no control of the situation, and she loved it.

“Thank you for keeping my girlfriend company, gentlemen, but I’ll take it from here.”

Not so brave anymore, in the face of this towering mass of muscle and tattoos, the men sheepishly offered him a shot, which he knocked back and then even attempted to high-five him, though he drew the line at that.

As they scampered away, Azriel did not release Elain from his embrace. She just stood there, with his arm around her, her body pressed into his almost-naked body and all she wanted was to turn around and peek. Or have him kissed her again. She really, really wanted him to kiss her again.

He did not though.

Finally, his arm fell away and he stepped back, causing a sorrowful sigh to erupt in her chest.

She turned around. His face was unreadable, as always, and though she picked out his little tells and signs of emotions now, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Thank you,” was all she could mutter. He didn’t answer. “I didn’t think you were coming,”

“No need to talk,” he cut her off. Then turned around and added, “feel free to leave with Lorcan or Cass.”

He was walking away when she called out, “Wait. Az. I want to talk. Please,”

“No,” he said simply.

She ran after him, trying to keep up with his long stride.

“Az, please, I need to,”

“It’s Azriel to you,” he corrected bluntly. “You don’t get to ‘Az’ me,”

She swallowed, tears stinging her eyes.

“Okay…okay,” she begged. “Azriel, I want to explain, please,”

“You don’t always get what you want,” he threw back.

She paused, but then added,

“But sometimes, you get what you need.”

A tiny smile twitched on his lips. But he schooled his face into neutrality and without turning to her, said,

“If you must tag along for the rest of the day, pretending like you are my girlfriend, it’s up to you,” he shrugged indifferently.

She didn’t care. At least he didn’t send her away. At least, she could be near him, and with time, she’d thaw his anger.

She followed him silently, like dog. Trying to be inconspicuous, but she stayed at his side, even if they didn’t talk and he continuously ignored her. It allowed her time to ogle his incredible body, which she did with relish and without shame. If he was going to be nasty to her, she at least would feast her eyes on all that muscular gorgeousness. Those Cadre men—they were all stunning, at least when it came to their physiques. Azriel, though, was a little more stunning than the others. Only Fenrys, perhaps, was at the same level of attractiveness.

They went to the bar and she followed him faithfully, not letting him out of her sight. He glanced at her, sighed, shaking his head with annoyance, but Azriel being Azriel, he ordered her a mojito, while he drank Sipsmith London Gin and tonic, and after a while, thrust the drink in her hand and muttered, “I am going swimming.”

She took it and sat on a chair, stiff-backed and patient, watching him.

When he emerged from the water, she was waiting for him with a fresh drink.

“Your tattoos look like wings.”

He rubbed a towel over the black and blue tattoos on his shoulders and arms and looked at her.

“Your tattoos,” she said again, watching his wet body and the markings on it come alive on his skin. When he was in the pool, and his arms rose and fell in the water, they looked like wings. “They look like wings. Bat wings.”

“Is that a compliment?” his voice was still cold, bored.

“Yes.”

She handed him his drink and then took his scarred hand in hers. He made to pull away, but she squeezed.

“You are my boyfriend,” she reminded him. “Would be strange if you didn’t want to hold my hand.”

He had no choice but to grip her hand back,

and fuck if it didn’t feel nice.

Two days, and he was going nuts without that little hand. Two days, and he’d missed her touch like it was his life’s necessity.

And then, she gently rubbed her thumb over his own.

“Stop that,” he ordered.

“No,” she said flatly.

“Elain,”

“Azriel,”

“It’s not going to work,” he warned.

She shrugged, “we’ll see.”

They took a few more steps, her thumb still stroking his fingers, and then he stopped abruptly.

“What do you want?”

She looked up at him and said, voice surprisingly firm, “I want to get into your car and drive home with you. I want to cook you dinner. I want to hold your hand. That’s what I want.”

“And what do I want?”

“You want the same thing,” she assured him, unusual confidence in her voice and on her face.

He watched her, unblinking, but she did not balk from his assessing gaze, did not step back. She just clutched his hand like life depended on it. His jowls twitched and he bit his lip, before says, “go and put some clothes on. We are going home.”

“No. Come with me,” she tugged him with her. “I don’t trust you.”

He smiled, at last, and her heart fluttered with joy at the sight of that magical smile.

They found their clothes, threw them atop the bathing suits and as soon as they were dressed, Azriel took her by the hand and led her out to the parking lawn. It was a Maserati Ghibli today, beautifully embellished with subtle pinstripes. No one would dare do this to their 90K car, but Azriel did. And it looked stunning.  

 The drive wasn’t comfortable.

He still wasn’t speaking to her and she just sat there, for an hour or more, in silence, hands on her lap.

Finally, once they began approaching the city, Elain asked, “where are you taking me?”

“Home,” was all he said, his first word since they got in the car.

She thought and said, “I don’t want to go home.”

His voice mocking and obsequious, he asked, “Please tell me, Elain, where should your personal Uber take you? Would you like a coffee? A snack? A walk in the park? A trip to the library? Should I deliver you into Dorian’s loving embrace?”

“Stop it,” she snapped at him, all red and angry. “Stop with all that!”

Azriel plowed forth, ignoring her command, “where was he today, by the way? Why was I stuck rescuing the damsel in distress? Where is brave Dorian?”

“Nobody asked you to rescue me!” she lied, suddenly realizing that maybe, that kiss meant nothing to him. That it was all for show.

“Yeah, you looked like you were handling that situation very well,” he decided dryly.

“You know,” she folded her arms on her chest, “do take me home.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Once they entered the city proper, Azriel fought the traffic aggressively, swearing under his breath more frequently than usual, obviously intend on getting rid of her as soon as possible.

She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t break through. Couldn’t get to him, not around the walls that he’d constructed around himself. She thought that she could, but she was wrong.

Finally, they were coming towards her block.

The silence was stifling. Unbearable.

“Why did you do it?” he blurted suddenly.

She looked at him, but before she could offer any explanations or excuses, he continued, not looking at her, “Was I not enough? Was he better?”

“He is nothing,” she managed, desperation tinging her voice, her whole being. She reached out to touch him, but he jerked his arm away.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Nothing? Why would you do this, Elain? Was I not enough? Too weird? Too brown? Too low-born? Too fucked up?”

Elain stared at him in horror. She was numb. Words failed her.

He was shaking his head.

There was true sadness, dejection written on his face. Devastation.

“I was falling in love with you, Elain,” he said so softly, she barely heard the words. “For three months, I’ve been falling in love with you. I’ve loved everything about you. I knew that the hammer would drop…One day, it would drop because it’s not like this could ever be,” he made a wide gesture with his hand.

He stopped the car next to her house.

“But I thought that it would be me. That I’d fuck up somehow and you’d dump me. Which would be…expected…”

He sighed, his breath so ragged it sounded like a sob.

“But I didn’t expect this. Truly. Though looking back, I don’t know why I didn’t?” he shrugged. “That’s what Mor did—the only other one I thought that I loved. But we were young and stupid, so…” he was looking out the window, seemingly talking to himself, not to her anymore. “But now I am almost thirty and for once, I thought that maybe, just maybe, this one time, I’d get what I want.”

Elain was weeping silently, fat tears pouring onto her hands, dripping off her face.

“I wanted you more than anything, Elain.”

Elain. Elain. Elain.

She hated that he called her Elain.

She hated that he didn’t use his usual endearments with her, that she was no longer his ‘baby’ nor his ‘love’. She wasn’t his ‘gorgeous’ or his ‘beautiful’. She was just Elain.

There was no warmth in his voice. Only some kind of hollowed emptiness, instead of the usual teasing smirk, the undercurrent of humour and love, of tender softness that he always used with her. Only with her.

“You can have me,” she managed finally through her sobs. “You can ha--…”

He finally turned his head and looked at her, that gaze dark and pitiless.

“I am not sure I want you anymore. We’ll coordinate the wedding situation and we’ll be civil to each other, for Feyre and Rhys’s sakes. Goodbye Elain.”

She sat there. He waited. Then, with a groan, he got out and went to open the door for her.

As she stepped out of the car, she begged one more time, “Azriel. Please. Please just allow me the opportunity to talk to you,” she wiped her face, with her fist.

It destroyed him completely.

He didn’t know what to do with himself, as he tracked her movement, that childish, simple, raw flick of her fist over her eyes. It wasn’t the modelled, reserved, dab-the-eye practiced move that you saw on reality shows, the fake tears, the faux sadness.

This was Elain; sorrowful, devastated, begging.

“Please,” she pleaded again.

“I asked you to call it off,” he reminded her. “I begged you. You didn’t.”

She choked on a sob.

“You threw it in my face, Elain. This random man, whom you also led on, by the way. Led him believe that you were interested. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I am too old for this…Allow me the opportunity to just deal with this break up—or whatever it is—however I can. We both need to move on.”

He’d never left a crying woman on a sidewalk.

But he’d also never been in love before. And his heart had never been broken like this.

 ********************

 Azriel

 Nuala Gennaro has been trying to reach her boss for three days, to no avail.

He didn’t respond to texts, or to calls. He didn’t show up to work. He wasn’t at the garage, at the tattoo shop, or his design studio. He didn’t seem to be home either, because she drove by his loft a few times and the windows remained dark.

She had keys to his house, but that was a violation of privacy that she didn’t feel like engaging in just yet. Was this an emergency? He gave her the key for ‘emergencies’. Was this one? A healthy, 29-year-old handsome man disappearing for three days didn’t seem like an emergency, but still, Nuala was concerned.

She was going to give him one more day, and if he was still AWOL then she’d begin to worry.

Azriel was responsible. Whatever was happening in his life typically did not reflect on his work ethic. Besides, he was usually so guarded and seemingly unemotional, it was hard to say if he was affected by anything. Nuala had met him in high school—a beautiful, quiet, mysterious boy who looked like a fallen angel and who seemed unusually confident and astute for his age.

They reconnected after he and his brothers returned from the Navy. He was darker and quieter than she remembered, and hardened in his manner and bearing, and had a haunted look in his eyes which worried Nuala for quite some time. She’d been apprenticing as a tattoo artist and they’d met to discuss her joining his venture. She wasn’t sure if this whole garage/restaurant/tattoo parlour for rich people thing was going to be feasible or even realistic, but Azriel believed in the concept and somehow, got her enflamed by his passion as well. They’d slept together over the years, but even if she would have wanted more, he wasn’t willing to give it to her. Azriel went through women with the determination to conquer, mild interest and lack of follow up. But he never gave any of himself to them. Pleasure—yes. Self—no. So, Nuala had decided—staying with him and in his life, in his business, as his protégé and associate was more important than having him as a lover, even if he was by far the best lover she’d ever had.

The only thing that did seem to affect him—deeply, powerfully—was Elain Archeron.

Nuala didn’t think that it would happen. Didn’t think that Azriel was a man to fall in love so passionately, so completely, and even if he was denying it to himself, Nuala knew him well enough to know the truth. And whatever happened between him and Elain, approximately a week ago or so, truly devastated him.

Prior to his disappearance, he operated as if he was in some sort of fog. He answered questions, he gave instructions and directions, he did whatever was expected of him—met with clients, held meetings with his car suppliers, negotiated deals—but his heart was not in it. His beloved business was no longer his priority, and that confounded Nuala, for she had never seen him like this before.

She arrived early, earlier than usual, because she needed to get crackin’. Without Azriel, things seemed…tighter…more difficult. She’d never noticed it, but somehow, he carried this business, made it seem easy, and she falsely believed that it was a walk in the park. Gods, it wasn’t! It was busy, and difficult, and required constant attention and decision making, and reports only piled on her desk—financials, inventory, guest lists, requests, specs. It was endless.

Azriel’s office, a glass cube perched at the top of the building and overlooking everything below, the entire operation, was very dimply lit this early morning. Cassian installed one-way floor to ceiling windows in the office, so no one could look inside, but Azriel was able to see everything, if he so desired.

Nuala climbed the industrial-style stairs and opened the door without knocking.

At first, she thought that there was a fire. The office was entirely engulfed in smoke, but before she could hit the alarm button, nauseatingly pungent stench of tobacco assaulted her nostrils.

“What the hell?!” she exclaimed, rubbing her eyes, and rushing to open the outside windows. She left the door open as well, to encourage some sort of ventilation.

“What the hell,” she muttered again, finally making out Azriel in the dimness, who was sprawled on the leather sofa, in jeans and boots and a black t-shirt, his arm hanging listlessly to the floor, a cigarette between his fingers. On the floor, an almost empty bottle of Jameson’s and an overflowing ashtray, stuffed to the brim with butts. Tom Waits’s insanely gravelly, bourbon-and-tobacco-soaked voice filled the space as well.

“Wow,” she crossed her arms on her chest. “Wow.”

“Why are you here so early?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Funny thing—my boss disappeared for three days. Four days, actually. No word. No text. No call. No email. No warning. No idea whether he is dead or alive. So yes, it’s made for some early mornings for some of us.”

No answer.

He took a deep drag of his cigarette and said nothing.

“What the fuck, Az?”

“Like you said,” he shrugged indifferently, “I am the boss. I don’t have to report to anyone.”

Nuala bit her lip, but did not retort in the way she wanted to retort.

“Where were you?” she inquired calmly.

“Vegas.”

“Vegas?”

“Rhys’s Bachelor Party.”

“Oh.”

“I won money. It’s somewhere,” he glanced around absently. “Give it to some charity…”

“Which one?”

“I don’t care.”

“Fine.”

She didn’t push him. But added, “you can’t smoke here.”

“It’s my shop,”

“Even though. State and city regulations.”

He put out his cigarette compliantly.

“It’s 5 am. When did you start drinking?” she asked, pointing to the bottle.

He gave a lazy glance and shrugged,

“Technically, I didn’t stop drinking…It’s been a few hours…”

She was shaking her head.

He stared into the ceiling blindly, wordlessly.

Nuala didn’t know, but she also knew. So she took pity on him.

“Az,”

“I’d like to be alone now.”

“I will leave you alone,” she promised. “But…” she let out a whoosh of air, preparing herself. “Elain,”

He didn’t react.

“Elain is downstairs.”

To that he did react. He sat up so quickly, she didn’t track the movement with her eyes.

“I found her on the steps, outside,” said Nuala. “She looks like hell. I barely recognized her.”

“Why is she here?” he asked stupidly.

“I think you should probably ask her that. She wouldn’t come inside,” Nuala explained. “She said that she’s been sitting outside since 4 am, hoping to catch you.”

But Azriel was already out the door, sprinting down the stairs, making Nuala gasp, as he took three at a time, and she feared that he’d fall down on the concrete floor and break every bone in his body.

It was only five in the morning, and the streets, even NYC streets, were empty.

It was drizzling, a summer thunderstorm about to erupt.

Elain was sitting on the doorstep, arms wrapped around her knees, huddling into herself in the morning chill.

“Elain,”

She jumped up and turned to him.

He never saw her like this—wrecked. Utterly devastated. Wilted.

His lovely flower girl, his little rose, his darling beauty—wilted. Instead of her usual colouring of pink and golden, caramel and honey and cream, she looked black and white. Like everything was leeched out of her, every spark, all joy, each remarkable hue.

They did not greet each other. She just looked at him, and,

“I’ve hurt you,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady, the tone firm. “I know that. And you can leave and discard me, and you have every right,”

Azriel just stood there, looking at her, unable to get enough. Thinking that there was a possibility that this was going to be one of their last conversations. And that possibility was unacceptable to him. It was intolerable.

The rain began to fall.

Azriel moved under the awning, angling his body so she would come and stand under it as well, but she didn’t move.

Steady droplets pounded the pavement, giving off that fresh smell of wet asphalt. The air was heavy and humid and felt unsettled, like it was preparing for a torrent.

“But know this one thing,” she continued, staring at him, unblinking, eyes brimming with tears. “I fell in love with you on Saturday, May 9th, at 7:14 in the morning. I had loved you every moment of my life since then. I will love you every moment of my life until I die. Nothing will ever change that. I don’t speak to you as some besotted, inexperienced girl, who is smitten by a handsome man…I speak to you from my soul. You have my heart, Azriel. Every broken and sad piece of me, you’ve managed to put together with your beautiful, scarred hands. I will never ask for anything of you—not even a word back, but I needed you to know this. I want you know that I’ve never loved anyone, no man, no being, not my sisters or my parents, as much as I love you. All my joy, my peace, my dreams are connected to you. You are the first thing I think of when I wake up, and the last when I fall asleep—and then I dream of you. I don’t care if you know this, but I’ve built up my whole life around you in my head, all my fantasies are about you. All I want is to love you. That is all. Not very ambitious, I know,” she wiped the tears that were flooding her face, mixing with the rain, “but I can’t think of anything that would ever bring me more happiness, more satisfaction than to love you. And…” she choked a quiet sob, “if you don’t want me—that is alright…I want you to be happy. And if I don’t make you happy, then, so be it, but,”

Azriel couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t contain his bursting breath, his aching heart. Every bit of him felt electrified, wild, untamed.

He grabbed her, his arm pressing her soaking wet body to him, the rain pouring over them, and she trembled and sobbed next to him. Such indescribable hope in her eyes. That maybe, just maybe, it would all turn out like her fantasies.

He cupped her wet, pale face in his palm and murmured,

“You want me?”

Her trembling fingers traced his cheekbone and she nodded mutely.

“Say it,” he groaned.

“I want you,” she whispered.

“Say more,” he begged. “Say everything.”

“I love you. I choose you. I want you.”

He soaked it all up. Every breath. Every word. Every emotion on her face.

“Well,” he muttered, “if we are keeping score…then I fell in love with you on Tuesday, May 5th, at 4:47 in the afternoon.”

She laughed through her tears, clutching at him with desperate hands, as if fearing that he would disappear. Turn around and leave her.

But he wasn’t going anywhere. Ever.

He was exactly where he wanted to be. Yearned to be all his life.

“First glance, baby,” he lovingly caressed her face, “first glance. Love at first sight.”

She kissed the tips of his fingers.

“You are my home, Elain,” he wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him, her cheek pressed to his chest, his hand cradling her head, “my favourite person in my life. With you, all things are possible. Sometimes, I feel like I can fly. Like I’ve grown wings and I hear the song of the wind. But I think that it’s just your voice in my head. You won’t leave, right?”

She chuckled and shook her head, “No. Never.”

“Because this week,” he shuddered, “it’s like I lost a limb…There was this phantom reminder of you, always within me, and yet, you weren’t there. I couldn’t reach and find you next to me. I’ve never felt such emptiness,” he brought her hand to his chest and lay it on her booming heart, “there was nothing here,” he pressed her hand closer, and she felt the steady beat, “empty…You weren’t with me, and there was nothing left.

“I think I’ve been in love with you—forever. I don’t even believe in past lives or other worlds, but sometimes I feel like I’ve known you for eternity.”

She raised her face to him, surprise and awareness in her red-rimmed eyes,

“I feel the same. Az, I’ve always felt the same thing!”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” she nodded vigorously, “when we held hands the first time, when we just met, I recognized your touch. I knew your scars. It was all familiar to me, like stepping back into my own home, after a long absence. Reacquainting myself with something that I already loved.”

He cupped her face in his hands and asked,

“May I kiss you?”

“You have to kiss me,” she smiled a happy, luminous smile at him. “I’ve waited for a long time for you to kiss me.”

Azriel smiled, and looked up, rain drenching his face and their bodies.

“Are we really going to do this? In the pouring rain?”

She was grinning, smiling happily, nodding, “All the cliches in the world!”

He clasped her jaw in his hand, wrapping his other arm tighter about her.

“I loved when you kissed me at the party,” she admitted, a little breathless.

“Yes?” he murmured and then dipped his head, and gently pressed his lips to her throat.

Elain shuddered against him, her breasts, nicely full, round and soft pressed tightly against his chest, and she sighed her pleasure.

“Like that?” he whispered against her cold, wet skin, and she half-moaned, nodding. So he kissed her neck again, on the other side, raking his teeth gently along the warm, pulsating vein. He kissed along her collarbones, tender and sweet, but with acute intention. Her breasts moved against his chest, their shirts nor her bra providing much of a barrier between his skin and her firm, swollen nipples.

Up her throat he went with his lips, kissing softly, until he pulled away for a moment, their breaths mingling, warm next to each other. He tilted her face just so, to have better access to her full mouth, and then kissed the plump lower lip. She clutched at his shirt and pulled him closer, the rain forgotten, the world encapsulated in his mouth, in the loving pressure of his lips against hers.

Elain looked irresistible. In his arms, where, let’s face it, she belonged, with her cheeks finally, finally taking on the familiar rosy blush.

Azriel, all 6”4 or “5 of the dark, bestial sexiness of him was wrapped around her. The low, sensual purr that he emitted turned into something more primal, hungrier when his mouth moulded into hers. The base, animalistic attractiveness of him, the bronze arms, the thick markings of his tattoos all over his skin, slithering like shadows, was almost too much for Elain to handle all at once, and she moaned, loud, and desperate against his lips. He brushed his nose against her cheek, and then nose to nose, and she was so stupidly needy for him that she struggled to stay upright. He brushed his fingertips over her lips, squeezing them between his and her own, and she licked on the pad of his thumb, laving some of the scars with the tip of her tongue.

Gods, this man could kiss.

Brutal, savage and noble--all amalgamated into one indescribable, unforgettable experience. Hungry and knowing, agonizingly slow, he devoured her mouth like it was some succulent, exotic fruit that he’s been craving. His lips explored her thoroughly, unhurriedly, tasting and savouring, caressing and worshipping. It was she who slipped her tongue inside his mouth, tentatively at first, but then gaining in boldness and confidence, especially once he sucked her in and stroked it with his own. He tasted of something masculine: alcohol, maybe, deep and rich and smokey, and tobacco, certainly, which, surprisingly, she enjoyed, but also something sexual. If Elain ever thought that she could taste passion, this lazy, indulgent sucking of his tongue on hers was exactly that. He groaned into her mouth, low and hot, and then licked on her tongue, with sensual playfulness which she loved.

She was hot in his arms, against his towering, heated body, and even the pouring rain couldn’t cool her off. The slabs of his abdominal muscles pressed into her belly and she was growing positively addicted to having him so close to her, his massive strength enveloping her so nicely, cushioning her against him. Nothing in her life has ever felt so wonderful, so sublime as Azriel felt in her arms.

Their kiss went on and on, heady and glorious, with him exploring every bit of her mouth with his tongue and lips, his hands caressing her body unobtrusively.

“Gods, I want to kiss you for eternity,” he moaned, tearing himself away from her lips at last.

She was panting, glassy-eyed, in love. He squeezed her face between his palms, looking down at her, her happiness, the unabashed joy in her eyes.

He’d finally made someone happy.

“Okay,” she agreed easily.

He smiled and kissed her again, then again, his lips creating a certain magic between his mouth and her skin and their bodies.

Elain had fought for him.

She didn’t give up. Didn’t shrug it all off. Didn’t leave in anger or panic. His absence meant something to her—perhaps, meant more than he could understand. He knew the misery of not having her in his life. It was only a week, but it was a week of pure hell. Now, he assumed that it wasn’t only he who felt that gaping chasm in his heart. She, for some inexplicable reason, loved him. Of that, he was certain.

“Now, I think we’ve satisfied any girl’s quota of romantic cheesiness,” he decided and she laughed, slapping his bicep lightly. He kissed her softly, “and I am taking you inside,” he said.

Elain only now realized that her feet haven’t been touching the asphalt for the duration of the kiss. She was literally floating aboveground, in his arms, in the throes of their first kiss.

The cheesiness quotient has been achieved indeed.

“Will you kiss me more?” she asked, as he swung her in his arms and carried her inside the shop.

“I am confident that I will never stop kissing you,” he assured and made his way up the stairs, to the office, clutching the dripping mess that she was in his arms.

She’s been here before, but he brought her straight into the attached bathroom, which was appointed outlandishly, and with a nice shower too.

“Get in there,” he ordered, “now. Before you catch a cold because of your love for kissing in the rain,”

She giggled, kiss-drunk and toed off her soaking wet converse that smacked limply on the tiled floor.

“But what am I going to wear?”

“My clothes, obviously,” he shrugged. “Unless you don’t want to, which is fine, because naked is just fine by me. Actually, preferred,”

She snickered, but looked at him, a little uncertain, and he rolled his eyes and muttered, “yes, yes, I will leave! Don’t worry. Though you know, I will eventually see everything anyway. So your modesty is misplaced on me.”

Azriel was correct. A hot shower was perfect. Despite it being late August, standing under pouring rain wasn’t as much fun as they made it seem in the movies.

The door opened and he came in, “here is some stuff for you.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, probably a little sultrier than she intended, and he winked, “Nice ass!”

“Ugh, stop looking!” she croaked, but he only laughed.

“You are the one with the bare butt!”

Then, he scratched his chin and bit his lip, making no move to leave.

“Az!” she exclaimed, blushing, but also kind of … intrigued.

“This is a very, very, very nice ass,” he muttered to himself, but loud enough for her to hear. Her blush only intensified, when he said, “the things I am going to do with it. Mmmm,” he rubbed his lower lip with his thumb, as if contemplating what he will be doing with her butt and then finally walked out, shaking his head.

When Elain emerged from the bathroom, with her hair wrapped in the towel and wearing Azriel’s t-shirt and shorts, she found him in a leather chair, sipping coffee. He’d also changed and his hair was mussed and damp, his bare feet crossed at the ankles, resting on a leather stool.

“There is coffee for you,” he jerked his chin towards a marble coffee table that had a basket of pastries and two large cups of coffee.

He marked everything.

How she looked in his clothes, which were much too big on her, yet cozy, though the shorts that she wore were hilarious, reaching below her knee.

How she brought him his coffee first, before taking her cup.

How she sat on the stool, by his feet and crossed her legs, before giving him a croissant and biting into her own.

“Have you warmed up?” he asked, sipping his coffee. Chugging gallons of coffee American style wasn’t his thing—he preferred quick, small espressos, but this giant cup did take the chill away.

She nodded.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked.

She tensed right away, and he said, “All is forgiven, I swear. “

She eyed him suspiciously, nevertheless.

He smiled at her, and added, “But...I think that I need to understand what happened? Did I do something to,”

“No!” she exclaimed immediately. “No. It was nothing you did. Never think that it was you,”

“Alright,” he said calmly. “Then what was it?”

She didn’t look up from her cup, running a finger over the rim.

“Talk to me, love,” he encouraged softly.

“You’ve consumed me, Azriel,” she confessed, her voice barely audible. “From the moment I saw you, you’ve consumed me. And I guess…” she sighed, “I was stupid…a stupid, stupid person because I didn’t know,”

“What?”

“Whether I was infatuated, or in love with you. So I thought that maybe, if I expose myself to another man, even in some minor way, I might be able to tell what I feel,”

“And? Did you?”

“Dorian…” she swallowed nervously, “he is a nice guy. He is in Law School with Nesta—that’s how I know him. When he asked to go to dinner, and I said yes,”

She looked up at him, tears threatening to spill out from her eyes,

“And I felt nothing,” she admitted, her voice broken somehow. “I could only think of you. The entire time, I could only think of you and I knew that it wasn’t fair to him…”

Azriel agreed, “probably not”.

“And I knew that I’d made a colossal mistake… But,” she set her cup on the floor and squeezed her fingers. “I…”

She halted. Said nothing else.

Azriel waited.

“What?” he probed, sensing that there was something she wasn’t telling him. He reached for her, but she only shrunk into herself.

“Elain, what is it?” he pressed.

She blushed and murmured, “promise me you won’t leave me, if I tell you.”

His brow furrowed, “Please,” he begged, “tell me what’s going? You are legit scaring me right now.”

“You won’t lea--,”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I am not leaving you, no matter what. But are you alright?”

She pulled her hair from the towel and it spilled over her shoulders, half-obscuring her face. He reached and tucked the wet strands behind her ears, so he could see her face.

“Talk to me, baby,” he urged gently.

She exhaled and then said, looking straight at him,

“I’ve never been with a man, Az.”

He looked at her and then blurted, absurdly, “Like a virgin? But you are so hot!”

She couldn’t help and burst out laughing.

“I guess not hot enough,” she shrugged, a bit more relaxed about the situation now that he seemed relieved and smirking too.

He exhaled, deeply, bubbling his lips, “Phew…I thought it was something,” he shook his head, not able to express his relief. “Important…Something, I don’t know, serious?”

“What would be serious?”

“I don’t even know,” he admitted, “but certainly more serious than a hymen!”

He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips.

“And I appreciate you telling me,” he said seriously, kissing the inside of her hand, but then, that glint in his eyes returned and he asked, “so did you want the hunky Dorian to deflower you?”

She pushed at him with her foot and he fell back dramatically in his chair,

“Auuu, you are so unbelievably violent!” he complained, rubbing his side.

“I can be even more violent!” she threatened.

He was laughing, but then he caught her feet in his hands and squeezed them gently, holding them on his lap.

“So you didn’t have boyfriends in high school? In college?” he asked at last, genuinely perplexed.

She sighed and explained,

“In high school I was dating Luce,”

“You were dating a girl?” his brow furrowed. “I didn’t know,”

She started to laugh,

“No! Luce is a man. Lucien,”

“Oh…Oh. Every time you mentioned Luce, I just assumed he was a she.”

“No, he is my best friend. The closest friend I’ve ever had, besides maybe Nesta. We’ve always been close and then in high school, we began dating,” she tugged on her wet hair, “or rather, go on dates.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I didn’t know either—not in the beginning. But then, when we were juniors in 11th grade, he came out, to me only.”

“Ahhh,”

“Lucien’s step-father is really horrible. Like, awful. Physically abusive to all his sons, and always fancied himself this alpha male. So for Lucien to come out to him would have been suicide.

“We agreed that we’d continue our ‘dating’, until we graduate, and Luce was looking at schools only in California. As far as possible from here, from Beron.”

“And you were…okay with it?” he inquired, gently massaging her feet.

She shrugged, “I suppose I was. Luce and I had a good relationship,”

“But it was without any,”

“Intimacy,” she nodded. “I don’t know, I suppose it was enough…My mother had died recently and we lost most of our money, so I guess dating and boyfriends weren’t a priority, if I am being honest.”

He nodded with understanding.

“And college?”

“I had a boyfriend,” her voice wobbled a little, “but he…”

The heavy gaze that Azriel levelled at her told her that he already guessed.

“Sometimes,” she said, “when you are in the situation, you don’t see the warning signs,”

“Did he hit you?” his voice, so cold and menacing, sent a chill down her body.

She shook her head, “No. It didn’t get that far…Cass interfered,”

“Cass?”

“We’ve known Cass for at least a year,” she reminded him, “before he started dating Nesta. He spent a lot of time with us, at the house, because I think he didn’t want to part with Nesta,”

Azriel smiled, “No he didn’t. He wouldn’t stop talking about her for a year…I’d never seen him like that. First Rhys, then Cassian…Guess there is something special about these Archeron sisters,” he decided and stroked her face lovingly, smiling at her. She tucked his palm between her cheek and shoulder and kissed it.

“They do have a tendency to fall in love with the three brothers,” she agreed.

“Yes, they do.”

“Cass, he called us ‘his girls’—Feyre and I. Always asking after ‘his girls’, bringing us presents, doing fun things with us. And I came to love him so much,” she sighed. “And I know that he truly loves us too…But you know Cass—he is a no-nonsense kind of a guy. So once, he observed Graysen with me,”

“Graysen?” Azriel rolled his eyes. “That’s a horrible fucking name,”

She laughed,

“It matched his personality. But you know, on paper, he looked great. Handsome, good family, money,”

“So basically Dorian?”

Elain rolled her eyes,

“You are never going to have me live this down, will you?”

“Not for a while.”

“At least you are honest. Gray, he just…didn’t care, I guess? It was all about him. When I’d talk about opening my shop, it would just be a plain ‘no’. He’s put me down…” she sighed, “sometimes comment on my weight—I was either too fat or too thin.” Azriel flinched at that. She continued, “He’d tell me what to eat. What to wear. Where to go,”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered.

Then, he sat up straight in the chair and opened his arms to her.

“Come here.”

Elain, a bit unsure, and a bit rattled by the memories, moved towards him. He cupped her face in his broad scarred hands and said, “All in the past. Now, it’s just you and me.”

She nodded, gently squeezing his wrists. He leaned in closer and she nodded. His sort of power, the more aggressive and primal, and seemingly more dominant than what Graysen could ever conjure up, did not scare Elain at all. He beckoned and seduced her with that pursuit and challenge, but he did not frighten or oppress. It was similar to what Cassian possessed and how he managed to seduce Nesta with it, turned her compliant to his demand and instruction, or Lorcan with Elide. Azriel’s power, his seduction, were more cerebral, his affection passionate, but controlled. Elain could abandon herself to him, and yet she knew that she’d never be abused or taken advantage of, no matter how much control she relinquished.

This kiss was sultry and voluptuous, and it felt dirtier, heavier than their first one. He sucked her lips, is tongue softly grinding against her in a smouldering, almost smug rhythm. He fucked into her mouth steadily, and purposefully, rendering her completely breathless in his arms almost instantly, forcing all thoughts of previous loves and heartaches out of her head. She made a tiny, strangled noise deep inside her throat and squeezed his wrists harder.

“Tell me things, baby,” he muttered heatedly against her lips, thumbs brushing over her cheeks.

She smiled, “what things would you like to hear?” He kissed her softly, lips pecking on hers playfully, and said, “all the things…all the good things that you told me before,”

“That I love you?” she asked simply, looking at him with earnest, undimming desire.

“Yes,” he groaned, pulling her closer to him, until she was straddling his thighs, her legs naturally falling on either side of him. A desperate moan escaped his lips, as Elain licked on them with the tip of her tongue, before he demanded, between kisses and caresses of his tongue in her parted mouth, “more,”

“I love you. I love you,” she breathed, then panted, “you are mine…I am yours. Forever, if you’d like,”

“I’d like forever,” he agreed.

She pulled away, her soft, lovely face serious,

“Az,”

“Elain,”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” she asked, and he grinned, nodding. She sounded absurdly solemn about this, like she was signing a business contract. “I love you. I want you to be my boyfriend,”

“Alright, babygirl, I will be your boyfriend,” he nodded easily.

“No jokes.”

“No jokes.”

He then said in turn, “But you’ll be mine.”

She nodded.

“In every way,” he added, in a tone that did not allow space for much argument. “Body,” and he lightly ran his knuckles against the side of her breast, and she nodded. He added, “but I want more,”

“What do you want, Az?”

“Love,” he said simply.

She kissed him. “I love you,” she said.

He waited.

“I chose you, Azriel, the moment I saw you. When my heart dropped at the sight of you, and when everything fell into place. I don’t mind choosing you for the rest of my life, if you have me,” she murmured shyly.

“I will have you,” he agreed, her admission making him swallow hard, a thick glob of air lodged in his throat. He might have cried, if he weren’t so happy. His flower girl. His.

He looked and looked, and considered something. She waited, silent. Silence was always a friend between the two of them. Silence was easy and unoppressive and welcome. It allowed them space, and yet they remained together in that mute, mutual understanding. While he was thinking, she took his hand and softly kissed each scarred fingertip.

“I am calling on my bargain,” he declared suddenly, and stroked her head.

Confused, she scrunched her face and muttered, “what?”

He grabbed her behind in his strong hands and somehow, managed to rise up, with her clutching at him. His nose burrowed into her ear and she squirmed, giggling, when he grunted, “what a nice little ass!”

“You seem to like it,” she laughed, wrapping her arms around him.

“I love it!”

“Now what about this bargain?” she reminded him, a bit concerned. “What are we doing?”

“Whatever I want!”

“Az!”

“Lainey.”

He headed for the door, with her in his arms, and she screeched, “I don’t even have shoes on!”

“You don’t need shoes where we are going,”

“Azriel!”

“Why are you so fussy?” he mused, smirking, as he made it down the stairs.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“I don’t have to tell you. All I promised was that it’s not going to be ‘bad’ whatever that means.”

She sighed, shaking her head, muttering under her breath. He, in turn, very much enjoyed her clutching at him, her body in his arms, her wet hair swiping over his arm. She looked very cute, if very ridiculous in his clothes, and frankly, he was too elated, too disbelieving that this was even real, to let her go. He held her and nuzzled at her neck, at her face, sometimes returning to her beautiful mouth.

He carried her through the still-empty premises, though waiters at the bar and delivery people in the kitchen were starting their day. When they saw their boss carrying a woman, who frequently visited him here in the past few months, they pretended not to notice, as if this was a normal affair. In fact, no other woman ever came here, to visit him. He’s never been seen with a woman, never said that he had a girlfriend, even if women seemed to lose their minds in his presence. But until this one—absolutely not the type of a woman he typically attracted—he never allowed anyone to get close to him.

Azriel made his way into the cavernous insides of the building, at last entering the tattoo shop that he had on premises. It was elegantly outfitted and bore his usual aesthetic—restrained, modern, striking with its use of black, white, and splashes of cobalt.

Elain looked around, when he set her down and pointed out, “I’ve been here before.”

He nodded.

As she wandered about, looking at various lithographs and prints with unique tattoo designed, she finally stopped abruptly and whirled to him,

“No!”

He was laughing under his breath.

“No!” she exclaimed again.

“No what?” he winked, sitting down on a stool, and patting on a leather recliner beside it.

“You…” she fumed. “No!”

He tsked, “A bargain is a bargain.”

“Azriel!” she stomped her foot.

He crossed his arms on his chest and looked at her, “Elain.”

“I am not getting a tattoo!”

“You most certainly are. Stop being a wuss and come here.”

“I am not going to,” she insisted.

“You know,” he notified her conversationally, as he started to prep his equipment, “a shitty little Bagarat tattoo is like $800 bucks,”

“Congratulations. Give it to someone else,” she offered, scowling. “Maybe someone would like a sleeve for twenty grand!”

“I won’t give you a sleeve. Jeez, you’ll probably faint at the first prick,”

She huffed, “I will not!”

He shrugged.

She pressed, “I will not. I am not afraid of needles and I have a high pain tolerance.”

“Lots of talk, babe, no action,”

Stomping angrily, she crossed the open space and challenged, “do you even know how to tattoo?”

“Cass and Rhys…” he winked. “And whenever Rowan decides to add to his collection…Or Gavriel,”

Those were some of the finest, most intricate designs that Elain’s ever seen.

“You did those?” she asked, brow furrowed.

He nodded.

“They are beautiful,” she whispered.

“Will you trust me?” his voice softened and he extended his hand to her.

Elain sighed and then slid on the lounge chair. It was comfortable. She was nervous.

“What will it be?” she asked. “May I see it?”

Wordlessly, he pulled a piece of paper from a folder, but then did not give it to her. She waited. He suddenly seemed uncertain, almost shy.

“Az,” she said gently, “may I see it? I am sure it’s beautiful.”

He swallowed and then explained, “I traced it the first day…evening…When we met, and you were here, at the garage. I,” he exhaled and then looked at her, “anyway…I was overwhelmed, I guess. I fell in love with you and all I could think of was you.”

The words warmed her up, and everything in her softened at his nervousness, at his admission.

“I want it,” she took the paper from him.

“It’s just for you,” he clarified. “It’s unique to you. I needed to quiet my brain and capture the essence of you, and this was it,”

Elain looked at the drawing. It was smaller than she expected, and rendered masterfully—an absolutely exquisite flower cradled in an embrace of two wings.

He swallowed tightly, and then said, “It’s called On the Wings of Desire.”

Without saying anything, Elain pulled up the shirt that she was wearing, just up to her chest. He looked down at her, expectantly.

She put her hand under her left breast, where her heart was and said, “there. I need it there.”

He nodded, remaining silent.

She saw that this was important to him, some ritual that he desired for her to go through, some sort of marking. That’s what it was. It dawned on her, at last. This was his mark, on her. He was going to do it himself, put a part of him, of his creation, of his work, not just on her skin, but within her blood, into her.

She clasped his hand and his eyes flew to her, a shadow of apprehension and anxiety in them, probably as much emotion as he’d be willing to show. He feared that she’d changed her mind.

“Az,” she licked her lip, suddenly nervous to request this of him. “Can you,”

“What?”

“Can you do it on you as well?” she proposed quietly.

He, it seemed, was unable to verbalize what he needed to, so she helped him, “Same spot, alright? Across your heart. So you know that I am always with you, as you are with me.”

He nodded vigorously, clearly relieved and absolutely in love with her proposition.

“Who will do it?” she wondered. “Please don’t ask me!” she laughed.

He smirked. “Nuala. She will do it. Only Nuala or Rowan tattoo me.”

She nodded and then relaxed back into the leather.

“No crying,” he said.

“Alright,” she shrugged. “Kind of weird that you are this sensitive to pain, but okay. I’ll hold your hand.”

He was laughing.

“I thought only Nesta had a big mouth like that,” he said, as he prepped the skin and pulled on his gloves.

“Mistake number one,” teased Elain.

“I am seeing that now,”

He then said, “Okay, I may accidentally brush against the boobie,”

“How accidentally?” she chuckled, while he pressed the outline into her skin. Then, the needle began its wheezing and Elain winced, as the first prick of the needle stung her skin.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” it was more painful than she expected, and she figured that the spot that she selected was probably not the best and would hurt more than an arm or a leg, but she was set on it.

“Absolutely, totally accidentally,” he lied. “You are the one who chose the spot,” he pointed out.

Elain was a trooper. She did not make any hissing noises or any sounds at all throughout the tattooing. The shading was the longest and most painful part, and even then, she remained composed and only winced a few times.

“I am sorry,” he murmured repeatedly, especially when a bit of blood seeped onto her skin.

“Prick your finger,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Prick your finger,”

“And?”

The soft doe-eyes blinked at him a few times, and she said, “I think you know what to do.”

So he did. He pricked his finger and mixed his blood with hers.

 Nuala offered to tattoo ‘No Regerts’ on Azriel’s chest, if Elain so desired. She considered it, while Nuala explained that Azriel was now at their mercy and they could do whatever they wanted to him. At the end, he walked away with only a small tattoo over his heart.

 It was about 8 am when Azriel and Elain left the garage. The sun was shining and there were no remnants of the previous storms. It was like it never happened. But it did happen. Everything happened.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, slinging his heavy, muscled arm around her shoulders. She’s been clutching at her side the whole time.

She shook her head no and looked at him. He smiled and then kissed her.

“I love you,” he murmured suddenly. Elain’s face broke into a loving smile and she reciprocated by kissing him back. “Let’s go home.”

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

erotica, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Your roommate, Min Yoongi, catches you masturbating. You catch him masturbating. Well then, dear reader... This should be interesting, shouldn’t it?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, smut (fem reader, f and m-masturbation, cum eating); non-idol!AU; switches between Yoongi’s POV and your POV

--

Being in the music industry was rough. It meant long nights struggling for inspiration, fervent mania when it did hit, and crippling anxiety when it was being evaluated. But being a music producer was all Min Yoongi ever wanted.

He had given up a lot to chase his dreams, moving to the big city alone, friendless, trying to find his way, living meal by meal. He needed a roommate, but finding a trustworthy one was difficult. Friend of a friend of a friend and he finally found someone who seemed alright. A young woman in the middle of grad school, who was looking for a place to stay. At first Yoongi thought it would be weird to room with a girl, but one conversation and he realized it would be a good match. Her first question was if he was going to have guests over often. Of course not, Yoongi had music to work on. Her second question was if he was clean, because she couldn’t stand a dirty living situation.

In short, he now had a quiet, paying roommate who kept to herself, holed up in her room all day studying or rushing to class.

Yoongi worked for a small entertainment company, but he also had a home studio because he couldn’t afford to rent a space. This was enough for now. He asked if she was fine with a little noise and she responded by holding up her over-the-ear headphones.

But Min Yoongi had a secret.

Nothing that incriminating. Nothing like drugs or a gambling problem or a recurring STD or something like that. It was in innocent secret, a very small one.

Min Yoongi liked to read erotica blogs.

Now, Yoongi could watch porn. He could go through all the hoops and find some to jack off to. That wasn’t why he preferred to read smut stories online. He just liked to use his own imagination. He liked closing his eyes and painting the scene, but he wasn’t creative enough to dream up all the freaky scenarios he could read online. Some people had some… big brain energy. Some wrinkly brains. He was pretty sure all his gray matter was used on music, so why not let someone else craft the story for him? It took the work out the equation and he could get off. Win-win.

Also, it was much easier to hide it in public. All people would see is him scrolling on his phone, the same thing everyone else did.

Yoongi had his favorites he went back to. They were updated often. Every week there was something new. He checked at least once a week, since that was his usual routine his body wanted. And it was fine. No one knew. He could do it whenever he wanted and relatively quickly. So, all in all, not that bad of a secret, really.

It was six in the morning and Yoongi was scrolling on his phone, mildly horny. Oh! One of his favorite blogs had updated late in the night. Nice. He chewed on his lower lip, reading the summary.

There was a knock on his door.

He nearly dropped his phone. The door was locked, thankfully.

“Yoongi-ssi?” He heard his roommate yawn sleepily. “Did you drink the last of the milk?”

He screwed up his face to think. “Maybe? I’ll buy some the next time I’m at the store.”

He heard the sounds of teeth being brushed and a muffled, “Nah, I’ll place a delivery order right now. I need stuff.”

And that was that. He heard her wander off.

Okay, a very, very, very small part of him did kind of want to get caught. Not embarrassingly or shamefully caught. Just… maybe if it ended in something kind of sexy. Like the stories.

That was would fun.

Yoongi went back to his phone.

-

You cracked your neck in the mirror, yawning again as you brushed your teeth. You rubbed your eyes, inspecting your dark circles. Ugh. Maybe a little concealer today couldn’t hurt.

You had stayed up late again, writing.

You hadn’t meant to. It happened every once in a while, when the scene played out in your head and you needed to write it down immediately. When inspiration struck, you couldn’t let it run away from you. Sometimes the best things come in short bursts of energy.

At least you didn’t have class today. You were caught up on your classes, so you could spend today writing for your blog. What you posted last night was written several days ago. You had a slight backlog so that you could review things multiple times before posting. Even if it was something as meaningless as smut posted on the internet, you took that shit seriously. This was your outlet and you wanted to personally like everything you posted.

If what you wrote didn’t make you horny, it wasn’t going to make anyone else horny either.

You spat and rinsed out your mouth.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, your tired eyes looking back to you. Maybe you needed some socialization. Real socialization, not you eventually venturing outside because you needed to get laid for… research purposes. You chuckled. Well, you weren’t going to get that here. All your male roommate ever did was work on his music or eat. Which was alright; people were allowed to do what makes them happy. And besides, it was better that way, because you did actually need to study and eventually write your thesis. Less distraction at home was always better.

You turned off the lights in the bathroom and stepped out.

A strange noise came from Min Yoongi’s door.

You blinked, staring at the door several feet away from you. Then you shrugged. He probably just tripped. He was kind of clumsy sometimes, knocking shit over with his fat ass. Well, not really, but it was funny to think of it that way.

You went back to your room.

-

Oh fuck.

Yoongi stared at his door, clutching the toilet paper roll he hid in his nightstand. He was usually quite skilled at keeping quiet, but he accidentally moaned a little too loud. His hands were still sticky. He waited.

Her bedroom door down the hall closed and he sighed with relief.

-

When you got back to your room, you made the online grocery order. You needed pads anyway. Then you checked your blog. At this point, you had some familiar usernames you watched for. People rarely commented. Maybe their hands were busy or something. You could forgive. Besides, there were likes and that was enough. To be honest, you never expected anyone to actually do more than read. It felt kind of nice, knowing someone out there was willing to take one second to press one button to let you know.

It made you grateful, even if it was a small thing.

Your eye paused at one particular username. You only noticed it because it was gendered.

daeguboy0613.

Huh.

For the life of you, you couldn’t understand why someone would put their location and gender in their username. Maybe it was a reference to their favorite singer or something. Probably. You shrugged it off and flopped on your bed.

You fell asleep.

Big surprise since you had posted at four in the morning and only gotten up to brush your teeth because your mouth was too disgusting to exist. Ah well. Sleep was good.

-

You woke up, super groggy. You stared out the window, seeing that it was already dark. With a sigh, you looked into the tiny mirror beside your bed. Yikes. A master yikes even.  You climbed your hair with your fingers and got out of bed, your purple pajamas rumpled and crazy. Maybe a shower would do you good. Or a bath. Oh! That sounded nice.

You looked around for your slippers. You found one. Ack, so annoying. You weren’t a messy person, but when you were preoccupied with something, you forgot everything else. You straightened your room and found the other slipper. It was in your blankets, oof.

You opened your door and realized you forgot clean underwear. You stuck your head out, looking around. Faint bass was coming from Yoongi’s room. He’d be there for a while. Eh. You still had your violet pajamas, with long sleeves and long pants. Fully covered. He wasn’t going to know in the two seconds it would take you to get to your room. A good shake of the fleece fabric and the wrinkles would fall out. You’d look way less crazy after a good bath.

You hummed to yourself as you made your way to the bathroom.

-

Yoongi rubbed his neck, frowning.

It wasn’t coming out the way he wanted. The sound just wasn’t right. He leaned back in his chair, furrowing his brow. Maybe he needed to move on for now. Leave it and work on something else. He spun around in his chair, lazing about. He hadn’t heard his roommate make much noise all day. Was she dead? Yoongi heard the water running in the bathroom. Oh. She was taking a shower.

He thought about her for a moment. She was generally calm person, quiet and reserved. The only time he had ever seen her panic was when she was late to class, which wasn’t often. Other than that, she was kind of boring. It was like the only thing she thought about was school. She was pretty in a casual sort of way. Yoongi rarely saw her dressed up, but the few times she left at night, she always looked very nice in a short black dress and black heels. Probably a recurring outfit she used at every outing. He could respect that. Being strapped for cash meant a lot of repeating outfits.

Anyway, they didn’t interact much at all. They had their respective things to do, so they co-existed in a mutualistic, symbiotic relationship. It was nice not having to be distracted by a bad roommate, so for that he was grateful.

-

You pushed back the shower curtain, dripping water.

That was nice. You waited as the bathwater drained. Your hair was wet, kind of by accident, but whatever, you needed to wash your hair anyway. Your brushed water off your body absentmindedly, poking your nipples. They were hard from the cold air.

Hm.

The water gurgled as you rubbed them slowly, sighing softly. That was nice. When was the last time you masturbated? You couldn’t remember. You looked at the bathroom door. It wasn’t locked, but what was Yoongi going to do? Open the door on you? Yeah, right. You pinched and pulled your nipples, sucking in a breath. It was nice to touch yourself, to cup your breasts and press them together, grazing your nails over the hardened nubs, imagining someone else’s hands touching you, wanting you.

You slid against the wall, moaning quietly as you played with your breasts, water beading on your skin. One of your hands slid down between your legs and slid around your folds. The wetness of your pussy was different from water, thicker, more viscous. Your eyes closed as you stroked your clit, slow and gentle and pretty. Imagining a tongue there, licking you softly, giving you just the right amount of pressure to build your arousal. No rushing, letting it last.

You ended up sliding to your knees, spreading your thighs wide to give your hand space. Your other hand played with your nipples leisurely, pinching and pulling, making your heart jump. You were quiet, barely making any noise.

Drip.

Your eyes opened hazily. They shifted slowly to the faucet. It was dripping water. Slow, fat plops hitting the bathtub.

Drip.

You pressed harder on your clit, rubbing roughly.

Drip.

Your eyes shifted to the silver faucet again. It was right there, after all.

Fuck it.

You turned the water on again, setting it to a nice temperature. You waited impatiently, touching the water. It heated up quickly. You bit your lower lip, and then raised the temperature a tad. It torrented down and, for a split second, you thought you weren’t going to do it.

Then you adjusted your hips and planted your ass on bottom of the bathtub and slid down to the water.

Instant, unyielding. You shivered, the blasting water jet-streaming right into your pussy. Holy fuck. You slid down a little more and moaned, hoping the water masked your sound as the high-pressure water smacked your clit, lowering to your elbows to get a better angle. Heart beating fast, legs folded flat against the edge of the tub, leaning your head back, tits straight up. It was a difficult position to keep, but a rewarding one, because the water was getting you off fast, gentle enough that you weren’t in pain but hard enough that you could really feel it radiate all over you, the heat adding to the pleasure.

So close, so close…

You closed your eyes, thighs burning, core tightening as your entire body began to throb. A slow hiss escaped your lips as you felt your orgasm unfurl and hit you, wave after wave of delicious pleasure swimming through you, spreading to every point of your body.

“Are you drowning or wasting water, the fuck is–”

Min Yoongi’s voice was trying to cut through your reverie but it was impossible because you were too far gone now, legs collapsing inward, body falling flat against the tub. The door was open and he was staring at you, eyes so wide they looked like dinner plates. Water flowed over your hot body, blanketing you. Slowly, slowly, you came down, like an addict losing their high. His mouth was slightly open, kitten-like. His white t-shirt stuck to his chest and black track pants far too oversized for his slim legs.

You might have been ashamed if you were younger, but you were older now. If he couldn’t handle you getting off every once in a while, then he was the one who needed help.

You reached up and turned the water off, panting. You quirked an eyebrow at him.

“If you’re so worried about it, I’ll pay the whole water bill this month,” you gasped, chest heaving as you glared back at him.

Yoongi sputtered back to life.

“N-no, that’s fine.”

And then he slammed the door.

You sighed, frowning. Now things were going to get weird.

-

Holy shit.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

He just witnessed his roommate masturbating with the goddamn water faucet.

Yoongi scrambled into his room and onto his bed, red in the face. He hadn’t meant to. He thought something weird was going on when he heard all the water. And, oh fuck, something was, but not the something he thought. His mind replayed the image for him, her legs spread, her breasts glistening with water, nipples hard and out, head tipped back and mouth open, tongue peeking out.

He was still hard.

His heart was thumping in his ribcage. Yoongi grabbed his phone and flipped through his liked posts. He had to get off. Now. Anything else could wait.

He slid in, hard, rough, gasping at her pretty lips opened and her eyes closed in bliss, enjoying his cock, just his, enjoying the way he felt, enjoying his hips slapping into hers and his cock twitching inside her.

Impatiently, he reached down and fished his dick out of his pants, sliding to his back and pushing his track pants down. Oh fuck, sweet relief. Yoongi stroked himself, reading, imagining her wet body, her slick hair, those fucking delicious breasts right in front of his face. Had Yoongi ever fantasized about his roommate before? Hell no, he wasn’t a damn pervert. But he was doing it now, because, fuck, how could he not? How could he not want to fuck her, press himself against her, hearing that soft moan against his ear, her wet body and smooth skin on his?

Yoongi dropped his phone, pushing his head back against the pillows, closing his eyes. Yes, he’d jacked off in the morning, but it was already late and he was so fucking horny it didn’t take very long for him to bite the inside of his cheek, trying to muffle his noise, trying to silence himself as the familiar wind-up came. He cracked his eyes open. His door was slightly ajar. Had he left it like that? Whatever, she was probably too embarrassed to come over here anyway.

Yoongi shut his eyes again, a soft cry leaving his lips as he chased his orgasm.

Then he felt it. A presence to his left. But he was so close, so close, so close, he couldn’t stop. His hand moved at a feverish pace, spreading the pre-cum over his length, adding to the pleasure. He felt lips on his cheek, her soft breathy moans against his skin. Was he imagining it? Then her lips on his, softly licking his tongue, so sensual and sexy that he was losing it, moaning into her mouth. He felt her hot breath glide into his and he groaned, too loud this time, feeling his cock twitch and spurt his cum everywhere, sliding down his hand, his wrist, onto his pants and shirt.

Yoongi panted, opening his eyes.

His roommate moved away from his face. Eyes dark in the low light of his room, pupils blown wide with lust. Her hair was still damp, slicked against her purple pajama shirt. He didn’t know what to do. Hos hand was a mess, covered in his cum. She leaned forward, tongue sliding out.

“Um…”

His thought was cut off as her warm tongue ran over his knuckles, scooping up his cum and eating it off his hand. His eyes went wide as she licked all around his hand, his fingers, dipping her tongue into the crevices. Yoongi could barely process what was happening right now. Was his nerdy, school-obsessed roommate licking his cum off his hand after he just masturbated? After he just witnessed her masturbating? Her mouth enveloped the head and part of his hand and Yoongi moaned, feeling her tongue press against the tip and tease the sensitive opening, licking it all clean.

After a sufficient amount, she removed her mouth and backed off. Yoongi blinked blearily, slowly detaching his hand from his limp cock. He didn’t know what to say. Or do, really. Her eyes were on his phone, screen still lit up. Then she shifted her eyes to his raised hand. Gently, she took him by the wrist and brought his hand to her face, placing his fingers in her mouth, sucking on them.

Yoongi was speechless.

Her tongue slipped between each finger, prodding around his joints, slurping slightly. She was still looking at his phone, eyes pensive. Yoongi wished his cock would wake up, but it wasn’t meant to be.

“I…”

Her eyes went to his, his fingers still in her mouth. Shit. His brain tried to process the thought, trying not to fixate on her pink tongue moving amongst his fingers.

“I can’t fuck you…” he mumbled, swallowing. “I already came twice today.”

She nodded. Slowly, she pulled his fingers out of her mouth, joint by joint. His body jerked at the movement, aroused but unable to get hard. Strings of saliva snapped as she removed her mouth from his hand. She turned it around and licked his palm lightly, making him shiver.

“You like my blog?” she finally said.

He blinked.

“What?”

She pointed to his phone. “That’s my blog.”

Yoongi’s eyes went wide. He stared at his phone and then at her. Then back at the phone. Then back at her. What? She cocked an eyebrow, smiling at him.

“So, you’re daeguboy0613, huh?”

He blinked rapidly. ���I… what… ah…?”

“Guess that makes sense when you like my posts at two in the morning and such.”

She climbed on the bed – where were her pajama pants? Her panties? – and laid down next to him.

“You don’t seem like the type to read erotica,” she said absentmindedly. “I thought only girls read erotica.”

Yoongi stared at the ceiling. “Obviously not, since I’m a guy.”

She nodded. “You’re right. I shouldn’t stereotype like that.”

Silence.

“We can always do more in the morning, Yoongi-ssi.”

Two things happened that day. One, Yoongi’s secret was exposed. And two, the source of Yoongi’s secret passed out in bed next to him, head on his shoulder.

-

34+35

--

masterpost

[jjmaybankstorys]

TAKE IT SLOW (2) JJ MAYBANK

Yo guys if you want da best experience of reading this then listen to this  SONG BELOW! Thank you xx have fun :)

( lights down low (slowed) - by slow babe (yt))

Summary: After a party things get freaky between you and Jj and the next morning the others tell you they heard you....

Also guys requests are always open, so just comment them HERE or text me xx

PART1

"When are you going to make the move?" asks kiara as she sits on your bed.

"I don't know what you mean" you reply cluelessly. Of course you know what she means, but you don't like to talk about it.

"you and jj? Since we were at the motel, he doesn't stop talking about you. Come on, he's always hitting on you" says Kie with a smile.

"even if he does kie, i'm not making the first move. If he wants me he should show it" you smile wickedly. 

"Right right... Forgot you were a fucking bad bitch" Kie says laughing.

"I'll take that as a compliment" you wink.

You actually wouldn't be uninterested in Jj, but you're the kind of girl who needs the boy to approach her. 

It's not like you don't like to make the first move, why not, you have nothing to lose. But you want to know if Jj has the guts.

————-

It is evening and you are at a party at the Camerons. Jj and you don't let each other out of your sight. Especially when alcohol is involved, it gets even more interesting for the two of you. 

You dance to the music in the living room. You're wearing a slightly shorter tight dress and moving damn well to the music. 

You suddenly feel hands sliding over your hips.

"Hey baby girl" he says with a rough, deep voice.

"Hey Jj" you say without turning around. JJ slides his hands over your body and comes closer to your neck with his head. You feel his warm breath on your skin.

"Turn around" he whispers in your ear and you turn around. To provoke him, you put your arms over his shoulders. His hands are still on your hips as you dance together. You lean your head closer to JJ. Closer and closer to his lips. Just as he's about to kiss you, you lean back again with a smile, and walk away.

"What was that dude?" says John B with a confused look and raised eyebrows. 

"I don't know man this girl is driving me crazy" says jj and bites his lip.

After a while, y'all go home to the chateau, separated and staggered from each other. You all sleep there tonight. JJ insisted on accompanying you when you wanted to leave. On the way home there is a strange, tense silence.

When you arrive, JJ stands at the door of his room and makes a move with his head that you should come here. You go into his room and he slams the door. You get goose bumps. Jj looks you in the eyes while he takes off his shirt. His muscles and this sight makes you weak. 

"Make me," you say. Jj looks to the side with a smile. Then he makes a movement with his hand so that you come to him. He takes off your dress and you stand in front of him in only your red underwear. He looks up and down your body as you are suddenly crashed against the door. Jjs hand goes higher and higher to your neck with some pressure. Jj comes closer to your ear as he goes down your body with his hand.

"I'm going to make you scream tonight" he says and then crashes his lips on yours. He takes off your underwear while you open his pants. He pulls down his pants.

Jj pushes you onto the bed right after and as wet as you are he pushes right into you. You cry out for a moment. 

He gets faster and faster while he slides his hand over your body.

"JJ" you moan 

"yeah, who makes your legs shake baby girl" moans JJ.

"you JJ, fuck" you groan.

You both fuck the whole night and notice nothing around you. The others are already home. And obviously the walls of the chateau are not the thickest.....

—————————-

"Hey guys" you say the next morning as you go out to the others sitting on the porch.

"hey girl" says Kie as she gives you a weird look.

"What you got there?....right there on the neck" says Kie and the others look at you too.

"Oh...um yeah mosquito bite" you say. 

"Sure" says Pope laughing.

"And here comes the mosquito" you say smiling as Jj comes out as well.

"Well" says John b and the others respond the same.

"Why are you people looking at me like that? It's because I look so good right" says Jj as he sits down on a chair.

"Nevermind" says Kie.

"So you two, how was last night?" asks John b curiously, looking over at Pope, Sarah and Kie.

"what are you talking about?" you ask with a questioning look.

"Wait wait wait... it went a little like this" says Pope and starts singing and making fake gestures and mimics with his face 

"Take it slow" 

"Put it down on me" Sarah adds 

"I said jump on it" says Kie

"Ride like a pony" says John b with a fake moan.

 They all just laugh.

„Oh JJ" groans John b laughing.

Jj bows, as if they were applauding.

„Okay but dude, like you guys should be proud of me, shouldn't you?" says Jj smiling at you 

"we could not not hear you guys you were so loud" John b laughs and the others admit.

"Yeah she was" says Jj quietly, in thoughts, kinda looking at you.

"What?" asks Pope

"What? Oh uh nothing" replies Jj

Jj sits down next to you and looks over to you.

"I knew you'd like that di-" says Jj but you interrupt him 

"Just shut up" you say as Jj gives you a smirk.

——————————————————

I really hope you liked it. Feel free to leave any comments or REQUESTS HERE if you have any.

You can find my MASTERLIST HERE.

[rotworld]

The Truth in Masquerade

usurpers part 7. previous | next

derek gives in. izsák reaps the rewards.

->derek/oc. explicit; contains d/s dynamics, degradation, biting/blood drinking, descriptions of violence and torture, and the usual derek things.

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It takes less than a week for curiosity to eat through Derek’s resolve completely. Izsák speeds things along by bringing up weird shit every chance he gets and then waiting, perfectly poised, for a shift in Derek’s expression. It’s always some off-handed mention when it’s just the two of them. Izsák will help him prepare for another guest appearance at another dreadful party, presenting him with a fresh towel after a shower, tying his tie, and then he’ll sigh in a wistful way and say, “You never have liked these little soirees. It was much easier when Ferenc was here, wasn’t it? He bore the burden of public scrutiny with such ease.”

And what the fuck is Derek supposed to do? Not ask questions? Not think about why Izsák will stare, studying his face expectantly, and then suddenly laugh and mutter, “Pay me no mind, sir.” He tells himself it’s just Izsák being his usual freaky self, but has he always been so strangely in tune with Derek? Did he always stand so close and act so concerned over every little thing? Fussing over him when he bangs his knee on a table, or after a particularly public breakup? It’s fucking weird. Derek tells him it’s weird, and Izsák just smiles peaceably and goes about his business.

Three days after the museum, Izsák is drinking tea at the kitchen table while Derek eats lunch. His father is out with Clarice and the house is blissfully quiet. Derek is texting Emilia, who is hysterical and wants to break up with him again over some new bullshit that Derek can’t remember and doesn’t care to figure out from the vague hints she’s dropping. He’s sure he can talk her into a night out and a quick fuck with the right combination of sweet talking and apology gifts. He wouldn’t bother, but his father chewed him out about how it looks when he brings a new girl to every social function. People notice, his father claimed, and people talk. Derek rolls his eyes just thinking about it. His father keeps a girlfriend for a few months and now he thinks he’s some kind of fucking expert on monogamy.

And then, out of nowhere, Izsák breaks him out of his thoughts. “Are you feeling restless, sir? I had something in mind, if you are interested.”

“Unless it’s something to get Emilia to calm the fuck down, I’m not interested,” Derek says. He only looks up from his phone when he hears the scrape of Izsák’s chair across the table and sees him coming closer. He stands behind Derek, rests a hand on his shoulder, and leans in to peer at the phone screen. His touch, light, weightless, totally innocent, makes Derek burn with desire.

“I see. She’s upset that you have taken other partners.” 

Derek rolls his eyes. Of course it’s that. Nobody can keep a goddamn secret anymore. He wonders which one of them couldn’t keep their mouths shut. Regina? Francine? Couldn’t have been Laney, because Laney...

Derek swallows hard at the thought, the memory. Standing here in the kitchen when Emilia called him sobbing, saying her two-faced bitch of a friend was comatose in the hospital. Car accident. She never woke up. Izsák had looked up from organizing his father’s day and watched as Derek took in the news. There was something knowing in his eyes, and Derek remembered suddenly how Izsák had uncorked a vial of chicken blood and flicked it after Laney.

There’s no way. Derek repeated that in his head like a mantra whenever he caught himself starting to believe it. The blood of a black-feathered hen. No fucking way. He looks over his shoulder at Izsák, at the eyes gazing back at him and awaiting—something. 

“You got a spell for this?” Derek says. He’s perturbed when Izsák smiles, like he’s delighted to be asked.

“Of course, sir,” he says. He retrieves his tea and strides quickly to the kitchen sink, dumping the rest of it down the drain. Derek watches him pluck the damp bag of herbs out of the cup, shaking the rest of the water out, and setting it on a plate. “You may watch if you’d like,” Izsák says.

“I don’t care,” Derek says. And he shouldn’t. But his gaze is drawn back when he sees Izsák pull a lighter from his pocket and flick it until a little wavering flame appears. It looks like he’s trying to light the tea bag on fire, but it’s too damp to catch. Some foul-smelling smoke sizzles to the ceiling. Izsák whispers something, not in English, and Derek just stares.

That’s when Emilia messages him back after a solid ten minutes of the silent treatment. She says she can’t stay mad at him and asks to meet up later that night. Derek stares at the text in disbelief, then looks up and finds Izsák standing there, watching him. Smiling.

“You may ask me questions, if you have any,” Izsák says. “I wonder if you remember this one.”

“Where exactly am I supposed to remember it from? I’ve never seen that shit before.” 

Izsák answers automatically, like he’s been waiting for this. “Csejte, 1578. I performed this spell for you for the first time.” 

Derek doesn’t know how to react, so he doesn’t. “You did not.” 

“I did,” Izsák insists.

“You fucking didn’t. That doesn’t make sense.” Izsák frowns, opening his mouth to disagree, but Derek gets up, leaves the table, and goes out to the pool to soak his feet and avoid whatever it is that’s happening. Izsák knows better than to pursue him and gives him space, but it’s too late. Derek is thinking about chicken blood. He’s thinking about headless girls encased in ice. Which is weird because he’s never seen that before, but something about the statue at the museum, about the things Izsák said, put a distinct image in his head. He’s hungry. He wants to taste somebody’s blood. He feels himself salivating when he remembers biting Izsák’s neck and he wants to feel skin give beneath his teeth.

“What the fuck,” he mutters to nobody. He kicks at the water until dusk, until his erection is gone and his father comes home with Clarice and Izsák is busy with other things so Derek can avoid his eyes and that look that knows too much.

*

Four days after the art museum, Derek wakes up and his dick is so hard it hurts. The dream snaps out of place and tries slipping away before he can remember it, but he holds tight to everything that’s left;

A castle. Stained glass windows. Stone archways. The snow-covered courtyard with its frozen women like grotesque, grasping trees. Long corridors and echoing screams. He stood eclipsed by flickering candlelight and writhing shadow, walking barefoot through puddles of blood. There were bodies dangling from the dungeon ceiling, hung from meathooks and impaled in iron cages. Slit throats. Dangling entrails. They wept and moaned above him, and their blood rained on his skin. These were his kills. He hunted them himself, hung them like trophies. He reveled in their pain. Silhouettes played across the walls, human and beastly shapes that grew and warped and twined together in obscene dance. Derek felt these shades watching, but he didn’t fear their gazes. There was no need to perform for them. 

And Izsák was there, smiling gently. He wore nothing. He was deathly pale, unmarked as though the blood couldn’t touch him. Derek was possessed by the need to dirty him. He reached desperately, his grasp leaving bruises, dragging Izsák through red rain and filth. He was tainted slowly, a splatter across his shoulder, a rivulet dripping down from his scalp. It fell in heavy clots in his lashes. Derek pressed him against the cold stone wall, his wandering hands smearing abstract shapes over Izsák’s skin, and then he licked it off of him with long, slow drags of his tongue.

It was so fucking stupid. He’d never do that in real life. But just thinking about it gets him even harder. Derek palms himself through silk pajama pants, shivering, leaning back against the headboard. He’d never be so tender and gentle. But in the dream, Izsák looked at him with this passion, this reverence, like Derek was God and that castle dungeon was their private, depraved heaven. It was so vivid. The musk of all that flesh and blood was heady and visceral. He slips his hand beneath the waistband of his clothes. It’s pathetic. Jacking off has never been so disappointing. He can see it when he closes his eyes, dreamlike and hazy; bodies and darkness. Izsák beneath him, his hands framing Derek’s face, his eyes glazed with wanting. He twists his palm around the head of his cock and imagines it’s Izsák doing it, Izsák between his legs and covered in blood.

It’s not the first time he’s fantasized about Izsák, but it was always different before. More impersonal. Izsák’s mouth around his cock. Izsák’s hips moving against his. The way Izsák’s back arches and his muscles all go taut while Derek fucks him raw over his father’s desk. But this is so much more heated and detailed. It’s not just the sensation or the view, it’s how Izsák looks at him, how he talks to him. It’s how he knows Derek in intimate and frightening ways, and doesn’t expect anything more of him.

In the dream, Izsák worshiped him. He got to his knees and the sight of Derek’s body, his apparent desire, the hard cock swollen against his abdomen, seemed to mesmerize him. He looked up at Derek as he pressed a kiss to the head of his cock, drool and precum on his lips. His tongue caressed Derek’s length from base to tip and his hands smoothed along his thighs. He moaned shamelessly, the sound vibrating against Derek’s flesh as he suckled on the sensitive underside. He mumbled something, unwilling to pull away and cease pleasuring Derek for even a moment, but Derek understood somehow. He knew what he was trying to say; I’m yours.

Derek bites his lip so hard it bleeds, desperately fucking his fist. It’s too hot. He has to throw off the sheets and pull his pants down around his thighs but he’s still sweating, his head pounding. He still feels the stagnant dungeon air, the blood drying to his skin. He remembers the way Izsák bobbed his head, the hot slide of his lips and his tongue at the base of Derek’s cock when he started to deepthroat him. Izsák gagged and squirmed but he didn’t pull off, didn’t even try. Derek wasn’t holding him still because he didn’t have to. They didn’t speak to each other, but he understood in that moment the depths of Izsák’s devotion to him. He knew Izsák would do anything for him. Would kill for him. Would give his own blood, his own body, if it would satisfy Derek.

“I’m gonna cum,” he says, panting. Izsák is too hot and wet and perfect around his cock. He thrusts deep, feels his balls slap Izsák’s chin and he grinds against the back of his throat, and Izsák chokes on a moan. His worship becomes even more fervent. His hands grip the back of Derek’s thighs, squeezing his ass, spurring him into more violent movements and keeping them locked together. He wants everything Derek has to give him. He accepts it all, the hunger and brutality, his every whim and desire. When Derek cums down his throat, Izsák gags on it, his hands tightening on Derek’s legs, but he stays. He looks up at Derek through hazy eyes and swallows obediently. He lets Derek soften in his throat, sucking gently as though to milk him of the last of his climax.

Derek lays there, dazed and confused, realizing he’s alone and his sheets are soiled. It takes time to catch his breath. He lies in his own mess, eyes closed. He’s still there, in the castle dungeon. The dreamfog begins to clear. He isn’t standing anymore. He’s reclining, encased in liquid warmth. When he moves his hands, red swirls around them. He licks it off his fingers. It’s hot, metallic, and sickly sweet. It’s so clear, so detailed and real, that Derek is startled to open his eyes to the dark ceiling of his own room again. 

Just a dream, he tells himself. His heart is still racing.

*

Five days after the art museum, Derek’s determination to ignore all the strangeness is shot. Pretending that everything is fine and he isn’t turning into a fucking vampire goes from a chore to a battle of epic proportions against his own body. He’s hungry all the time, his libido is out of control, and he has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep himself from sinking his teeth into anyone else. He takes Emilia out to see a movie and he can’t focus on anything but her neck. The way the light plays across it, the moving shadows, the outline of her muscles every time she swallows or laughs. He imagines himself biting her, his jaw clamping down on her throat like a wild animal. He tells her he has to use the bathroom halfway through and jacks off in a stall fantasizing about tasting her carotid artery.

Asking Izsák is out of the question. His pride won’t allow it. Izsák is already smug as fuck about all of this, sneaking up on Derek constantly and asking very pointed questions about how he’s feeling or whether he’s had enough to drink, all with that fucking smile on his face. He retreats to his room in his father’s house, blessed with a rare moment of privacy, and gets online. The tentative approach doesn’t get him far; a quick online diagnosis gives him two types of cancer. In desperation, he starts trying the things he’s heard Izsák casually mention, names he can’t remember right and places he can’t spell. 

Inevitably, he finds her. Frozen in time, she gazes back at him from her lofty position atop a webpage detailing her atrocities. One hand rests daintily upon a faded red tablecloth, the other holding an embroidered handkerchief. She isn’t smiling and there’s a weariness to her regality, a thinly veiled disdain in her eyes. Derek feels that he knows her, that he recognizes that quiet sneer. He’s seen it in the mirror before. A strange, twisting feeling knots up his stomach, and he doesn’t fully understand it, doesn’t know what all of this means, but he knows something has happened to him. Some change has taken root. 

He skims the page absently, the words washing over him both exhilarating and deeply familiar. Torture. Mutilation. Bloodbaths. The stories are fantastical, too incredible to be true, and yet there is no shortage of them. Derek searches further, needing to find her, needing to know exactly who she was. Elizabeth, Erzsébet, the Bloody Countess—no matter what she’s called, Derek finds kinship in the morbid details. Born into wealth and excess, thrust into the noble’s spotlight, and utterly disinterested in it all. She was on a quest for timelessness, to escape the mundane world. She performed as Derek does, marrying, attending to her courtly duties, wearing the mask of contented civility, but she also indulged and hunted, relishing in the viciousness of it all. Derek looks at her portrait with newfound emotion, something heavy yet freeing.

He almost isn’t surprised when Izsák speaks as though suddenly materialized behind his chair, “Your father sent me, sir. I am to prepare you for this evening.” Derek turns and examines Izsák, searching for things he hasn’t noticed before, or things he didn’t want to notice. His easy, eager submission. His smile. His eyes that know Derek, know what he wants, what he needs before Derek himself is even aware. Eyes that have seen centuries.

“Which one?” Derek asks. 

Izsák tilts his head, silently seeking clarification. He’s smiling very slightly. Did the Blood Countess see this same smile? Did it greet her before grand balls, assuring her of the safety of her secrets? Did it welcome her to the dungeon, her private sanctuary?

“She had accomplices,” Derek says. “Servants who helped her keep things quiet. Some of them were questioned at the trial.” He doesn’t clarify; doesn’t have to. Izsák listens patiently, his smile widening as though this is precisely what he’s been waiting for. How long has he waited? Derek wonders. How much longer was he willing to wait? “There was one man who helped her torture her victims, but the rest were women. One was her old wetnurse, and one was one of her personal servants. The other two were witches or something. Right?” Dorottya and Darvulia. He didn’t bother to learn the rest of the names, but he memorized those. One of them was important. One of them mattered more than all the rest.

Izsák hums thoughtfully. “That is what many people say, yes.” 

Derek stands up and hits him. It’s sudden, impulsive, happening so quickly that he doesn’t realize he’s done it until his hand starts to sting. Izsák touches his reddened cheek with soft, uncertain strokes, as though he’s just as surprised. The way he looks at Derek is wrong. Not disdain. Not disappointment. Elation. The joy of a long-awaited reunion.

“Which one are you?” Derek asks.

Just like in the dream, Izsák sinks to his knees before Derek. The movement is slow and graceful, as though he’s done it a thousand times before. He takes one of Derek’s hands in his and holds it as though it’s something precious. “I am the one who did not betray you,” he says, pressing his lips to the back of Derek’s hand. The gesture is gentle and intimate, stirring something violent within him. He wants to hurt Izsák. He wants to dirty him. He wants to thank him for coming back after all this time, saving him from suffocating in his own constant performance, but he only knows how to lie about gratitude, not show it for real.

The one who didn’t betray him. Derek turns the words over in his mind to admire like precious stones. He remembers—did he read it somewhere, or does the knowledge come from somewhere else?—that the countess’ servants were called to stand trial. Each one confessed to the atrocities, the beatings, the bloodletting. The man. The wetnurse. The servant. Even Dorottya broke her vow of silence and servitude to testify against her mistress. They all betrayed her.

All but loyal Darvulia, her devotion unending. She wasn’t there that day. Already dead, some stories say. It doesn’t matter. Derek knows what became of her now. He threads his fingers through Izsák’s hair.

“I don’t get it,” he admits. “I don’t get how it works. But I believe you. I see pictures of her, and I know we’re the same.” 

Izsák nuzzles against Derek’s palm like an animal, a pet seeking affection. It’s intoxicating, the power he holds, the total submission Izsák gives him, unchanged by the centuries. It feels right. It makes sense the way a dream does in the midst of it. “I couldn’t save you,” Izsák murmurs. “I was not strong enough then. This time will be different.” 

Derek is too caught up in the thick need in Izsák’s voice, the curve of his spine as he leans into Derek’s touch, to understand the words right away. “Save me from what?” he asks, but Izsák is already standing, stepping away from him. Derek isn’t done with him. He yanks him back by the forearm and bites him without warning, leaving the shape of his teeth in his earlobe. “Save. Me. From. What,” Derek growls, each word punctuated with a nip to Izsák’s delicate skin. He bruises so easily. 

“From your family,” Izsák gasps. He holds onto Derek, moves against him shamelessly. Derek feels how hard Izsák is and smirks against the fluttering flesh of his throat. He slides his thigh between Izsák’s legs, giving him the privilege of rutting against it. Izsák is so needy, so desperate to serve and explain as he chases his own pleasure, his words coming in breathless pants and whines. “Just as it was before, your own blood plots against you. Your father, he—oh, sir, please!” 

Derek can’t pay attention to whatever Izsák is trying to tell him. It doesn’t matter. Nothing is more important right now than getting inside of Izsák and tasting him. “On the bed,” he demands, and Izsák obeys without question. They’re all over each other. Derek savors the roaming worship of Izsák’s hands down his biceps and across his chest. It feels good. It feels right. He can’t get undressed fast enough, still shedding clothes as he nips and licks at Izsák’s tempting neck, and Izsák is so good and obedient, turning his head to give Derek better access. “You really are mine,” Derek says.

“All yours, sir,” Izsák says. Derek has barely touched him and he looks blissed out already, eyes glazed, a delirious smile on his face as though just being in Derek’s presence is the greatest of pleasures. He unbuttons his shirt further, exposing a tantalizing flash of his collarbones and old, faded marks Derek left days ago. “Take me. Drink from me. Do with me whatever pleases you.” Izsák’s nails sink into his shoulders as he pulls himself up enough to whisper against Derek’s ear, “Please, master. I’ve waited for you.” 

The final, worn string of Derek’s self-control snaps. He bites into Izsák like he’s meat. He hears skin and tissue give beneath his teeth, splitting, squelching open, tastes the tangy burst of Izsák’s lifeblood on his tongue. He ruts against Izsák’s hard, twitching cock, trapped between their bodies, and Izsák’s head falls back in ecstasy. Derek sucks at the wound and tastes Izsák’s tenderness, the sharp sweetness of him. It’s so good, so right and familiar. Izsák was born for this, born for him. He would never belong to anyone the way he belonged to Derek, would never know anyone as deeply, would never want anyone as wholly. Somehow, arched and gasping, Izsák moves himself, grinds slowly against Derek’s achingly hard cock. He reaches between them and guides Derek to his twitching, anticipating hole. Derek slams inside of his welcoming, tight heat and his eyes roll back in his head. Nothing has ever felt so good.

“You’re mine. My loyal little toy. My cockslut,” Derek hisses, unclamping his jaws from Izsák’s neck just to find a new, fresh spot to taste. Izsák shudders around him, beneath him. His legs open wider. Derek hooks Izsák’s ankles over his shoulders and bends him in half. It’s new, doing it like this. He’s fucked Izsák while looking at him a couple times but never staring like this, never pressed chest to chest and sharing breath. Izsák’s lips are right there and he moves without thinking, swooping in, crushing their mouths together. So soft and tender. His teeth crunch through Izsák’s lower lip and blood gushes into his mouth, heady and intoxicating. “Can’t get enough of you,” he moans into Izsák’s mouth.

Izsák’s nails rake down his back hard enough to draw blood. Derek lets him. It’s better that way, more raw, more wonderful. He pulls back to admire the blood and saliva smeared across Izsák’s lips, dripping down his chin. It feels like the desert in his room, the heat, the intensity, a soft body surrendering beneath him. He slams his cock into Izsák’s helpless body over and over again, relishing the sensations, the sounds, the desperate raggedness of Izsák’s breathing. He crushes Izsák against the bed and this time he kisses him. He should’ve done it earlier. Izsák’s mouth is so hot, so soft and slutty and wanting him. He sucks on Izsák’s tongue as he fucks him into the mattress, hips pistoning, cock drilling into his pliant, shaking body.

Izsák has been wanton and shameless before, but this is more than that. This is devotion, Derek thinks. This is what he’s always deserved. Izsák’s thighs quiver as Derek pounds into him, so hard and fast his own legs are straining but he can’t bring himself to stop. The pleasure is blinding, a liquid heat in the pit of his stomach. He’s kissing Izsák in filthy, hungry ways that he’s never done with any of his girlfriends, licking into him, tangling their tongues together, sucking on the bite he left for every bead of blood that bubbles to the surface. He’s going to cum. He’s going to claim Izsák so thoroughly, so completely, that he’ll never be satisfied by anyone else ever again. He’ll worship Derek’s cock just like this with his whole body. He’ll beg for it. He’ll beg for a chance to suck his dick under the table at dinner parties. He’ll thank Derek when he cums down his throat and swallow every drop.

Izsák is his. He might be Derek’s father’s assistant on paper, he might spread his legs for him sometimes, but he’s Derek’s. He’s been Derek’s across centuries, across continents. He’s come all this way just to get on his knees before Derek, where he belongs. Derek squeezes Izsák’s ass, digs his nails in. This is mine, he thinks. This body, this mind, this entire being. He stops kissing Izsák to nose against the other side of his neck, licking and teasing the unbroken skin.

Derek smirks against Izsák’s hammering pulse. He’s close. He’s going to cum. He fucks Izsák deep, grinds against him, feels his balls roll over Izsák’s smooth skin. “Beg me to bite you,” he purrs. 

Izsák clings even more tightly, begs even more sweetly. “Please, give me your bite,” Izsák cries for him. “I need it. I was born to receive it. Please use me, make me yours. I should always belong to you, master.” 

Derek cums hard, buried deep inside of Izsák. Everything whites out, sight and sound and understanding consumed by orgasm. There’s a sharp stinging sensation somewhere on his body, a pain that crests with the pleasure, intermingled too tightly to process on its own. Izsák writhes and whimpers through his own orgasm, his own cum splattering across his chest and Derek fills him. It feels like the aftershocks last forever, heat rushing through him, waves and pulses.

Derek is trembling when he pulls out of Izsák, watching Izsák’s hole clench obscenely around emptiness as cum leaks out of him. Neither of them speaks for some time, basking in the completion of it all. Derek feels the world swaying as though he’s riding a metronome, the call of sleep smothering and irresistible. He can’t believe how hard he came. There’s still blood on his mouth and he licks his lips, humming at the taste. He feels someone touch him; Izsák, gentle and reverent. Tracing his muscles. Caressing his chest. He doesn’t cuddle, but when he’s this tired, teetering on the edge of oblivion, he can’t complain.

He wonders if they did this before. If Countess Bathory laid with sweet, loyal Darvulia, cuddled like lovers. Just this once, he thinks, he’ll let Izsák get away with it. For old times’ sake.

*

—murmurs. Someone calling him. Calling his name. Softly and distantly, then loud. Close. Not Izsák. Not respectful enough.

“Derek. Get up.” 

A rustling sound, the scrape of curtains rising. Blinding, burning light assaults Derek’s eyes and he groans, rolling over. God, what time is it? Sleep clings stubbornly to his mind, clouding his thoughts. He’s sore, mostly in his legs and back. Right, it’s coming back to him. He and Izsák fucked last night. Izsák, Darvulia, hundred year old Hungarian witch, whatever. It was some of the best sex of his life. But usually, it’d be Izsák who comes and gets him in the morning, so why is his father here, looming over Derek’s bed and refusing to leave? 

“What?” he says, groggy. His father is frowning in that tense, disappointed way that turns Derek’s stomach. He sees it directed at other people mostly, former business partners, overambitious rivals, people who really, really fuck up. Derek’s mouth goes dry. “What?” he says again, struggling to sit up straight. What happened? What did he do? He can’t be mad about Izsák, right, it’s not like they were being subtle. Did he forget something?

Derek looks at the window and fuck, it’s late,he must’ve slept through an event he was supposed to go to or some shit. He rubs his eyes, pushing himself to remember. He thinks, maybe, there was some kind of afternoon social he was supposed to make an appearance at, but the details are foggy. Why is his head pounding like that? It’s like having a hangover. He feels like he slept for decades.

His father paces halfway across the room. Derek follows the movement with his eyes and spots something at the foot of the bed. Is that blood? Dirt? Some kind of ugly stain on the sheets. They really got carried away last night, he thinks, but then he sees an arm.

Just an arm. 

Not Izsák’s. He’s not sure why his mind goes there immediately, but it’s not, he knows it isn’t. Izsák doesn’t wear flaking pink nail enamel with glitter. He just knows there’s a severed human arm on his bed and a bunch of stains around it. Definitely dried blood, but there’s dirt, too, like someone dug up a grave, and.

That’s cum. That’s definitely a cum stain. Derek’s eyes slowly trail up to meet his father’s. His father looks down at him and doesn’t say a word. Derek swallows hard and tries to think of something, anything, that he can say. Nothing comes to mind.

“I’ve had concerns,” his father says. Derek can barely hold his gaze. That judgment, that cold scrutiny—he works tirelessly to escape it, to put on the most convincing performance he can. “You don’t know the first thing about discretion. That’s one thing. It’s another that you think I’ll clean up all of your messes for you.” 

Derek glances at the arm, sprawled grotesquely over his sheets. “I don’t know what that is,” he says hoarsely. Obviously he knows what it is, but he doesn’t know how it got there.

“I’ve been lenient,” his father goes on, as if Derek never spoke. “Too lenient. I’ve turned a blind eye to most of your deviancy. But this? This crosses the line. I should have listened to Izsák sooner.”

Derek’s blood goes cold in his veins. “What does that mean?” he demands. His father turns his back on him. Derek throws himself out of bed, rushing after him. “What the fuck does that mean?” 

“It means you’re cut off,” his father says. He doesn’t even look at him when he speaks. “I want your things out of here by tonight, but don’t go too far. The police want to speak with you. Something about graverobbing and desecration of a corpse.” 

Derek stands there numbly, watching his father walk out and the door slam shut behind him. No. He didn’t do it. He didn’t do any of this. He looks back at the arm hatefully. What the fuck is it doing there, ruining his life? Heat rises to his face, shame, humiliation. Maybe he was getting a little arrogant, brazenly packing his bags for his desert outings, leaving things lying around in plain sight, but it was always so easy to explain away. He’s good at his performance. No one suspected anything. If he’s going to get caught, it’s not going to be for some bullshit he didn’t even do. He wipes angry, helpless tears out of his eyes and storms downstairs. Izsák. He needs to find Izsák.

He runs into other housekeepers who pale and dart out of his way. Derek ignores them. He doesn’t care about any of them, his gaze lingering only if they’re the right height, wearing the right uniform. No sign of Izsák in any of the usual places. No one in the kitchen. Not a soul out by the pool. He scares a gardener when he comes storming through but finds nobody else. His father has retreated elsewhere in the house and Derek finds his office abandoned, paperwork strewn across his desk. Derek sees several financial forms and summaries, land deeds, company assets, stocks and bonds. A copy of his father’s will sits in the corner and Derek’s heart stops.

Under the section for inheritors, his name isn’t listed. Neither are any of his siblings or cousins. Not even Clarice shows up anywhere. But one name does appear, getting absolutely everything his father could possibly leave behind.

Izsák Varga.

There is one moment of silence. A lack of comprehension. Derek reads the name several times before it makes sense. Then comes the storm building, the fire and venom churning inside of him, a tight, clenching pain in his chest. Disbelief. Bitter humor. A hatred so powerful it makes him lightheaded and hot in the face. He goes through the stages of grief in the span of a millisecond, mourning something he didn’t realize he even wanted, and a crazed smile stretches across his face.

Calmly and quietly, he goes upstairs and begins going through his things. He shoves his dresser out of the way and pushes aside a false wall panel concealing a large, musty-smelling duffel bag. He unzips it, checks the contents. Grains of sand trickle from an open compartment. Good. Everything he needs. He’s angry. He can’t remember the last time he was this angry, his hands shaking, his whole body seeming to vibrate with the need to stab and strangle. But there’s an excited edge to it, the sort of anticipation that comes with his vacations.

I’m going to fucking kill him, he thinks. I’m going to make him beg for death.

He’s smiling too big, too honestly. He feels giddy and he can’t hide it. A woman dusting in the hall gives him a wide berth when he passes, plastering herself against the wall. He’s a predator passing, a wolf with better things to do and bigger prey in mind. He licks his lips. His mask fails him. He doesn’t even try to pretend anymore.

[spam-1997]

@sanguinehaven sent: ❝ It's one of their rare breaks, and they decided to visit Spaz. He's good company, he's nice, and hey, maybe they'll see him dealing with some weirdos. How did he do that anyways? They probably wouldn't be able to handle the constant weirdness he apparently attracts. Although...seems like this time that weirdness was a little more on the aggressive side. *Don't talk to him like that. They say, speaking up after someone rather questionable, bombarding their friend with odd requests and rather personal questions. Doesn't seem like that stranger appreciated it, immediately getting in Cerise's face, and it seems like they were going to try and deescalate the situation until....They were hit. Taking a few steps back, Cerise seems a bit lost for words... ❞

The weirdos. The strange puppet's equally freaky faceless, unknown customers, always jumping between excessively kind to cruel and sadistic on a moment's notice. Cerise was welcome in the glitched little store front, to watch his silly conversations, watch him try to sell random items he found in the dump, and answer... degrading questions.

But then they interject. He frowns and raises his hands to mime that they should stop from over the customer's shoulder, a panicked grin tight on his face, too tongue tied-- as always-- to get out a coherent thought as the taller stranger-- everyone was always taller than him, bigger than him-- stands between him and his friend. One of his so few friends. He wants to tell them to back off, tell them they're too close! Don't touch them, don't touch them, don't--

But they did. And he sees Cerise's health go down.

And he starts seeing... red. Faster than he can think to realize it, like flood gates opened in his head, his temper shatters wherever he kept it inside like a pressure valve burst. It was enough to turn not just his face but his whole body that vibrant shade of devil crimson. And the very next thing the other addison would see... is a black phone receiver rocketing from below and wrapping itself around the customer's neck.

" * ITS FOR YOU [ its for you ] ITSFORITSFOR-- I T S F O R Y O U... "

The sound of his increasingly distorted and deepening voice is followed by the sight of his blacked out eyes on his blood red face, wildly grimacing, shoes perched against their back as he practically climbed and reigned them-- just by the throat and not the teeth. Yank. Yank! Until the taller one falls down, knocked to their face. He pulls tighter, letting up for only three briefest jolts as he yanks and wraps his mechanical knuckles in the wire, tighter and tighter, a better grip to pull with. " * DO YOU WANT TO [ HURT ] PEOPLE-- PE oPLE-- HURT PEOPLE? DO YOU? " Every movement of his teeth forces steam from his mouth. Worn, white business shoes stomp their heel into the back of their head-- again and again-- an act of pure frustration. All of this, not a skill he had, just what the anger wanted to do in the moment.

" * 1S IT FUN? " Do you have any idea how easy it is to lose someone? A monster, especially? " * ARE!! YOu !! [ having fun yet? ] !? " A few numbers, ticked away, and suddenly nothing's left! Do they know what they'd be taking from him if they went just a little too far? Hit them one too many times? One of the only people patient and kind enough to care for him in this whole damned city? Do they want to send him back to nothing? Do they want him alone again-- is that it?

... He realizes the feeling of struggle in his wire has long disappeared. He lets go. No movement, no breath in. They've... died. He's killed them. With his whole body shaking, he retracts the phone weapon-- if that's what it was now, instead of just the magic he used to make calls on the go-- back into himself, staring at the floor as his eyes flicker back to color. Though he's still deep red.

" ....... ARE you ... OK, [ pal ]? " He tries to smile but its crooked, and he doesn't look at them, of course, how could he? But he was talking to Cerise, not the customer.

[boizandgurlzinthehouse]

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 ♡

⤷𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘴: 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘹𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘧𝘧, 𝘭𝘰𝘬𝘪 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘧𝘦𝘺𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴, 𝘵'𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘢 𝘶𝘥𝘢𝘬𝘶, 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦

[maladaptive daydreaming: psychiatric condition, causes intense daydreaming that distracts a person from their real life –but in a good, protecting way.]

𝙥𝙞𝙚𝙩𝙧𝙤 𝙢𝙖𝙭𝙞𝙢𝙤𝙛𝙛: at first, he thought that you are just simply bored from him, looking into the infinite distance (or arcoss the wall above his shoulder, or out on the window, lingering your eyes on the cute birds on the pylon). but then, we you told him your thingy thing, he got more protective of you, mainly when the two of you took long trips even at night on the metro or one of tony’s super machines back from a fight.

leaning on his shoulder, your hand slipping out from his grasp –he pats your head, waiting for your response, but when you let out a little sigh, he knows that you’re in your little world. looking around, pietro wraps his arm around you, kissing your head, even try to cover your ears if the noise is too loud –don’t even minding carrying you by your waist or in bridal style. when your daydreams disappears, you hold his hand, feeling comfortable around him. “i daydreamed again... sorry.” sitting down, he kneels before you, brushing through your hand too, slowly raising up to kiss you softly, not wanting to rush out from your haze because of the after-effects.

“don’t worry, baby”, he mutters, helping you up to go ahead. “let’s get you home and nap, hm?”

𝙡𝙤𝙠𝙞 𝙡𝙖𝙪𝙛𝙚𝙮𝙨𝙤𝙣: he reads your mind immediately when you doze off, seeing nothing but tender, soft pictures about your imagination. brushing your shoulder, when you just blink up to him, waking up from the dream, wiggling and gasping a little bit. “loki, i-i... i have to tell you something. it is too bad, but i have these daily beddings, sometimes persistent, sometimes not, and when i’m not paying attention to you, i’m just–” you babble, but loki only touches your forehead with the pads of his fingers, brushing down on your eyes to close it.

“i know, my queen.” manipulating your fantasy, he shows you the most beautiful, most marvellous things he had ever seen, stroking your soul –seeing your musing, faint smile, he ends slowly, in case if he’s leaving a too big space in your head. “you liked it, sweet queen?” “yes, of course, this is so wonderful, ethereal...”

“just like you.” flashing his glorious smile, placing a kiss on the crown of your head. 

after that, he tells to every slave that if you’re in your dream-state, don’t them dare to disturb you. loki even speaks with frigga, trying to decode your dreams. when some mindless freak tries to harm you because of this, he will fight them with your manner: sneaking into his head, tearing them apart to leave you alone. he tries to protect your little world with everything he has, i promise you. 

𝙗𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙮 𝙗𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙨: in the beginning, bucky thought your dreams are bad dreams, or bad memories, just like his –when he saw that your glazy eyes, neutral features, bucky tried to ‘wake you up’, and this little action kinda ended in your freak-out, shaking a little bit, babbling something like –“i’m fine, bucky, sweetheart, don’t worry...” seeing that you’re a little fright, shaken up from your deepest fantasies, he tries to make it up to you. 

“sorry, doll... i just thought that you have some bad stuff too, and i don’t want you to suffer. but shaking is not the best option, i know.” you giggled at his words, grabbing with both of your hands his mechanic one. 

“don’t worry, it happens very often with me. these times i wander to my little universe, filled up with people, with things i like... with you.” seeing his shy smile, you look up at him. at night, with you in his arms, he thought about your talent all day –“what do you think, can i grow my own world too?” he asks, curling a lock behind your ear as you place your head on his chest. 

“of course, buck. everybody can do this, i’m just... pro about this thing. just try to think on only good places, people or memories you have, and let your mind bury yourself under it.” 

“it sounds a little bit scary, doll, you sure you’re alright with doing this?” you hum, placing a kiss to the place where his collarbone met his shoulder, poking out a little bit. while you drive off into fairly dreams, he tries to think on the things you told him –mostly on you. like here, laying with him in the peace of the night, your silky hair touching his skin.  

pulling up the blanket to cover you, he maybe began to like this little world-thing with you. 

𝙩'𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙖 𝙪𝙙𝙖𝙠𝙪: t’challa knows the importance of the healthy soul and the poise of the mind –but still a little bit surprised about your almost die-hard self-discovery. when the two of you first met, you were with natasha (i think on the congress of the sokovian pact –even if you don’t sign it), you zone out a little bit, only shaking back to the earth when your friend asks you. he find himself impressed with you very fast, despite that sometimes you get lost in your thoughts, you have a very bright mind, and your personality is really interesting for him. but he’s still find your daydreaming a little bit worrisome –t’challa respects you rather than asking you something inconvenient, so he asks his sister, who’s also one of your best friends. 

“so, y/n”, shuri starts when she parts from her microscope, rolling with her chair to another desk, grabbing some tissues and test tubes –“what about your tiredness? do you get enough sleep these days?” 

you lolled your legs on the high counter, snapping your head to her side, nodding a little bit. 

“yeah, i’m fine. i’m perfectly fine, i’m just... a daydreamer, i guess.” you told her about the facts, and narrated a little about the plots you had in your mind.

“that’s cool, i mean– i just asked because t’challa cares about you... i mean, i am too! he just mentioned that he want you to feel yourself in behavior.” 

and on the other day, tomorrow, when he comes to you to offer you a breakfast, you just know that he really cares about you.

𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚: stephen would see your problems with his realistic mentality, and he thinks at first that you’re just frenzied, giddy, and can’t stay in the entity without being hypnotized. although, his worst kind of scenario is that you’re catatonic –but when you tell him, he’s very understanding, even if the rest of his friends think that stephen’s just a bit narcissitic. he would be overprotective if someone’s messed in you, even if you’re not there with him.

“how’s life, doc?” tony asked, turning to the half-broken or simply medium height pile, ignoring all bruce’s, wong’s and his worries about the enemy of the entire world. 

“it’s strange.” he responds coldly, wanting to continue the talk with bruce about thanos, but tony in his irritating way, still interrupt it. “my life is substantially okay, but that’s not why we’re here.” 

“what’s up with your weird friend... girlfriend? does she still get woozy, or it’s just when you’re around her?” 

that was the time when stephen’s cape slapped down his leg, much to his astonishment but not to stephen. “what the heck was that, doc?”

“an expostulation. once, you keep cut off our converse, even if the world’s doom depends on it. secondly, my life is exactly not your business. and thirdly, you never can disregard or underrate my loved ones.” or loved one, he adds, ut only in his mind. 

“woah, okay, easy doc. i just asked. i didn’t knew that you have feelings like normal people.” 

stephen stares up, a laconic quip growling in his mind, but he don’t let it out. yeah, maybe he have feelings too. but only for you, for your freaky-dizzy self. 

.*ೃ✧₊˚.❁ ↷

𝘪'𝘮 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦ᵘʷᵘ

[tales-of-sweets]

Tales of Symphonia Thoughts Pt. 4

Not much has happened cuz I've mostly been grinding but its time for a Symphonia update. Also, from now on I will be tagging all of my posts with Jun Plays Symphonia so block that tag if you don't want my random playthrough thoughts/updates. Gonna put it under the cut from now on because it's long👇🏾

Anyway, the most important matter: I HATE THE SHIP SO MUCH, I HATE IT! THIS IS HORRIBLE, THE CONTROLS ARE SO BAD AAA! Secondly, I am on day 3 or so of wanting to waterboard Zelos. I really do not like him so far but I keep telling myself that he's probably going to turn into a favorite because the same thing happened with the two other flirty, self-praising characters I used to hate (Vespy Raven and Persona 2 Eikichi, the latter of which he reminds me of more). At least he is kinda funny, and he's not wrong, he IS pretty. He keeps saying some concerning stuff on occasion though, I think he needs a therapist and some warm milk or something.

I was informed by my friend that in Japanese it actually says "hunny" any time Zelos says bud. We love a bisexual king always but also sir you are very embarrassing and imma need to ask you to stop. Regal is a precious little blueberry muffin of a man, there is nothing I wouldn't do for him. When he made that pun to the secret notebook guy and then started blushing afterwards I wanted to punch a hole into my TV screen and yank him out of it and shake him around (affectionately). I guess I like the characters that are quiet and look sad because him and Kratos are my favorites atm. I wonder what his connection to Presea is. I'm torn between "That's his little sister" and "He wants to get close to her so he can betray us and try to hurt her". Keeping an eye on him... Also I don't exactly know how I feel about us taking him prisoner? Like, I know he is already a prison and he also tried to attack us but taking him prison, forcing him to fight for us, and blackmailing him with not being able to talk to Presea if he doesn't do what we say feels kinda messed up. Also I hate his stupid little bra shirt. What sort of weird prison was he in with a uniform like that?? I was left muttering "What the fuck" to myself over and over after finding out Presea has been living with the corpse of someone she doesn't even realize is dead. Like they've just laid there decaying for lord knows how long and she didn't even notice, that's so... I am at a loss for words. Yikes. I miss Kratos so much. I wish they showed a bit more how Lloyd was feeling about all of this, he seemed like he was getting close to Kratos. I want to know what him and his beautiful evil friend are up to. I get the sense that he whatever it is he doesn't really want as much of a part in it as he seems to have to play.

I'm a little worried that something is wrong with Colette again... she also tripped and fell and reacted strangely at one point. I think Kratos also mentioned something about wanting to remove her keycrest. I wonder if it's having some sort of weird effect on her or if it's not actually strong enough to keep things in check for long. Also the whole concept of exphere's in general is very disturbing. It isn't just a piece of technology, it's a parasitic infection that can completely take over your body/mind and turn you into a grotesque being. That and the fact that they're made from dead people aren't even enough to keep them from being produced and people don't even seem to have any clue at all about what they are attaching to their bodies. Freaky. I think that's all for today! More grinding before I go into the mines, I have been abusing the holy bottles a little too much 😅

[bytheangell]

If You Don't Belong, Don't Be Long

( @shadowhunterbingo​ square: Body Swap) (Read on AO3)

Magnus is immediately aware that something is wrong. The last thing he remembers is the potion he was making starting to smoke before exploding in his face, and then nothing.

Nothing until now, when he begins to stir back to consciousness with the immediate feeling that something is wrong. Something is horribly wrong. It takes him a moment to pinpoint exactly what that something is: he isn’t breathing. The immediate panic sets in that he’s dead, which isn’t entirely incorrect. It’s just that he also isn’t himself, either.

“Simon? Simon, are you alright?”

The concerned voice hovering over him is Isabelle’s. Magnus almost doesn’t allow himself to open his eyes because he isn’t sure he wants to confirm his suspicions, but in the end, he can’t put it off any longer. Allowing his eyelids to flutter open he sees a very worried Isabelle Lightwood leaning over him - but it isn’t him she’s leaning over. It’s Simon’s body.

He’s in Simon’s body.

“I’m not Simon,” Magnus says. “And I’m most certainly not alright.”

A moment later Izzy’s phone begins to ring. “With any luck, that will be your brother,” Magnus says, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. “If my hunch is right, he’s the one you’ll want to ask about Simon.”

---

“...Magnus?”

The world comes to around him, but instead of being in the Institute where he’d been having lunch with Isabelle, Simon blinks his eyes open to see a room he doesn’t immediately recognize.

“Magnus? Say something. What happened? Should I call Cat?”

Simon immediately recognizes the voice even before Alec’s face focuses into view after a few blinks. It’s then that the area behind him - Magnus’ apothecary in his Loft - registers.

“Wha-” Simon starts to say, then notices the sound of his voice - which is not his voice. And the hand he lifts from the floor to prop himself up isn’t his hand, either. “What the fuck!?”

Simon sits up abruptly enough in his panic that he collides his forehead directly into Alec’s, who starts to lean down at the same time to get a closer look.

“Shit, sorry, Alec,” Simon apologizes instinctively, rubbing at the dull ache in his forehead. He’s surprised by the immediate blue wisps of magic that come into view, moving in a wave over his face. The ache from the impact fades… and then the rest of his face turns entirely numb. “Oh no, I can’t feel my face.”

“Okay, now I’m really worried. Magnus, what’s-”

“Simon. I’m Simon. Alec, what the hell is going on? Why am I in Magnus’ body? What weird Freaky Friday fortune cookie scenario is happening to me right now?”

Alec, to his credit, remains much calmer about this than he probably should, if only to counter Simon’s obvious panicked spiral. “Simon?”

Simon nods.

“Okay…” Alec starts slowly, though Simon can’t imagine any part of this is actually ‘okay’. “Where were you when you… when this happened?”

Simon pauses for a moment. “The last thing I remember was being with Izzy, at the Institute.”

Alec has his phone out before Simon can finish the sentence.

“Iz? Are you with… well, Simon’s body, but it isn’t-” Alec starts, and Simon fidgets with the rings on his (Magnus’) hands when Alec falls abruptly silent, then nods to himself. “Yes. Alright, so that’s… that’s good, right? That they’re both…” Alec pauses again, this time turning to face Simon. “Are you alright?”

Simon holds out his hands, turning them over in front of him. “I mean… I’m as alright as being trapped in Magnus’ body can be, I guess? I could definitely be worse. I mean, not that this is great, but I guess if I have to end up in someone else’s body it’s a good body to-”

Alec cuts him off.

“He’s fine. Still very much... Simon,” Alec says into the phone.

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” Simon says indignantly, but Alec is already ignoring him in favor of the phone again.

“Alright, see you in a few,” Alec says before pocketing his phone. “They’ll be here as soon as they can. I don’t suppose you can open a portal, can you?”

Simon shakes his head. “I wouldn’t risk it. I just made my entire face numb when I accidentally tried to heal the bump on my forehead.”

Alec sighs. “Right. How about you don’t do any magic at all until Magnus gets here? I’d like my husband’s physical body intact, please.”

“I’m not so sure I have any actual control over it,” Simon admits, and he can’t keep the slight tremor of nervousness out of his tone at the sight of light blue sparks dancing across his fingertips. “But I’ll try. Promise.”

Simon does try. He also fails, several times, resulting in scorch marks on one of Magnus’ Persian rugs, a broken coffee mug, and a vase that Simon only partially broke, but then tried to use magic to fix and completely obliterated in the process.

“That’s it,” Alec finally mutters. “You’re sitting in the corner and not moving or touching anything until Magnus gets here.”

Simon wonders if Alec is joking or being serious until a moment later when he grabs a chair from the dining room and drags it over to the corner of the loft. Oh. Not joking, then.

Simon almost argues, except after all the trouble he’s caused trying to exist with magic at his fingertips maybe it is for the best if he just does as little existing as possible for now. So Simon sits in the corner, humming to himself until a knock at the front door grabs his attention. He spins around to see Izzy and Magnus - but Magnus in his body, which is way weirder than he anticipated - walk through the door.

“Why is Simon in the corn--” Simon hears his voice start to ask, then fall silent at the shattered remains of the vase and the scorch mark not far from it. “Nevermind.”

Simon winces. “Yeah, uh, sorry about that. But man, am I glad to see you.”

“Don’t be too glad,” Magnus says. “Because I don’t have the slightest idea how to fix this.”

---

Several fire messages and phone calls later, Magnus is only slightly closer to figuring out what went wrong and how to even begin working a counter-spell to reverse the effects.

“Simon’s hair was the only vampire hair sample I had on me, so that must’ve been the connection that tethered us together for the switch,” Magnus says, which is more guesswork than hard fact but it’s the only thing that makes sense. It’s a starting point if nothing else.

It doesn’t help that Magnus has to stop and drink blood, which he immediately hates the idea of, but the longer he puts it off the less focused he gets. It brings back too many unwelcome memories of his time with Camille and all that terrible business with de Quincy. He thought he knew the feeling, thought he understood, but nothing could prepare him for what that instinctive hunger truly feels like.

There are also moments when he becomes suddenly aware that his heart isn’t beating, and needs to take some time to bring himself down from that immediate panic of something being wrong. Each time Alec seems to sense it and stands a little closer, not too close as to crowd, but enough that when Magnus reaches out to feel the warmth of Alec’s hand or the pulse at his boyfriend’s wrist he’s always right there, waiting.

“I hate this,” Magnus mutters to Alec while they’re alone, with Isabelle and Simon out on a food run. He takes the time to lean against Alec’s side, hoping his need to be held just then isn’t too weird for Alec.

“I know you do,” Alec agrees, and to his credit doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Magnus, allowing Magnus to sink into the embrace. “But you’ll figure it out. You’ll fix it. I believe in you.”

That makes one of us, Magnus thinks bitterly, looking across the pages and pages of handwritten notes.

The breakthrough comes when a thorough test of each individual ingredient catches one that isn’t pure, something Magnus picked up weeks ago at a Shadow Market in Italy. From there it’s easy enough for him and Tessa to reverse-engineer a counterspell and potion. Everything seems to be falling into place perfectly until they get to the end and realize one big problem.

It’s a simple enough spell for someone of Magnus’ skill level. And if Magnus was the one performing it they could be back in their bodies by nightfall. Unfortunately...

---

“What do you mean I have to do it?” Simon asks, already shaking his head back and forth. “No. There’s no way! Did you see what I did earlier? Alec, tell them how bad I am at magic!”

Alec looks concerned enough to back up Simon’s claims without speaking at all. “It… wasn’t great,” Alec admits. “You’re sure there’s no other way?”

“No,” Magnus insists. “It has to be Simon. More specifically, it has to be my magic, the same magic that initiated the swap.” Magnus looks over at him with what Simon is sure is meant to be a reassuring smile, but unfortunately, Simon knows all too well what his own face looks like when he’s trying to fake reassurances. It’s absolutely the face staring up at him now.

“Can’t you like, mind-control me and do it, I dunno, through me or something?” Simon suggests hopefully. “You could Encanto me!”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that.”

“We’re doomed,” Simon sighs, slumping Magnus’ body dramatically down into the chair. “We’re going to be stuck like this forever.”

“Please don’t say that,” Alec says. “No offense, but I don’t particularly want to kiss… your body, for lack of better phrasing,” Alec says, motioning to Magnus in Simon’s body.

Izzy glances over at Simon in Magnus’ body with a hint of a smirk. “I dunno, I wouldn’t be opposed to-”

“Izzy!” Simon immediately objects. “Gross! C’mon, Iz” Alec cuts her off at the same time.

“I’m kidding! Just trying to lighten the mood,” she says. “Listen, Simon. You can do this. I know you can. Magnus is going to walk you through it. We’re all going to be here for moral support… and as backup just in case. Not that you’ll need it, because it’s going to be totally fine.”

Izzy crosses over to him and takes his hands in her own, giving them a comforting squeeze. It feels strange to hold her hands like this, something that should be reassuring and familiar feeling too jarringly foreign while he’s in Magnus’ body. He can only imagine how weird it must be for Magnus, inside the body of a teenager who doesn’t have a beating heart.

They need to fix this. Obviously. And if he has to be the one to do it, then… well, then he’s just going to have to figure out a way. He’s relied on others to fix his problems more than once, so it’s only fair he takes a turn fixing one this time around. Even if it is a really, really big one. With potentially terrible consequences for messing up.

“Yeah. I’m sure it’ll be… totally fine,” Simon says, echoing Izzy, though sounding about as confident as a man about to jump out of a plane with no parachute.

Magic, much like being a vampire at the start, does not come instinctively to Simon. As eager as they are to get back into their actual bodies, they both agree to take as long as they need to until they’re confident Simon can complete the spell without messing it up.

It takes five days. Simon can’t help but feel the impatience and frustration growing from the others (namely Alec) with every day that passes, but Magnus reassures Simon that it’s fine. Better to get it right than end up doing even more damage, potentially something irreversible this time.

So it’s nearly a week later when Magnus makes the potion, with the help of Simon using his magic as needed before it’s time for them to drink it and for Simon to complete the spell. Simon draws the sigil on the floor in black ash flawlessly - after how often he practiced it he could probably draw it in his sleep, but it’s still a pleasant surprise to not need a single re-do.

When it comes time to summon the magic for the spell itself, he can only hope that five days was enough practice on how to call what he needs and not anything more, or anything malicious. Simon does his best to ignore the tense forms of Alec and Isabelle waiting off to the side of the room, just in case-

No. No just in case. They aren’t going to need them to get help because he can do this. He has to be able to do this.

Simon locks eyes with Magnus, who nods once - then Simon calls forth the magic and speaks the incantation.

Slowly, the corners of the sigil begin to glow, the dim light shifting toward the center. A sudden burst of blinding light rises up around them, reminding Simon of the flash grenades he’s seen in countless movies and video games. It’s the last thought he has before everything goes black.

---

Magnus can feel the familiar weight of his own body before he even opens his eyes. He’s overly aware of his fingers and toes on the ends of arms that are the right length once more, of the comfortingly soft silk against his torso from his shirt, and the slight chill of the cool air along the shaved sides of his head as he blinks his eyes open and sits up from the floor.

“Magnus? Are you, you?” Alec asks. He and Isabelle both stand at the edge of the circle, obviously unsure as to whether crossing it would ruin anything.

“I’m me, Alexander,” Magnus confirms, holding his hand up to bring a small ball of magic into his palm before allowing it to fade away again. He’s exhausted but manages a small smile just the same. “You can step into the circle, it’s over now.”

The Lightwoods don’t need to be told twice, and a moment later Alec is helping Magnus up while Izzy kneels beside Simon, brushing a strand of hair out of his face as he beings to stir.

“I never thought I’d see the day that not feeling my heartbeat would be reassuring,” Simon mutters, still sprawled on the ground but with open eyes. Magnus watches Izzy laugh before kissing Simon and looks away just in time for Alec to bring a hand to the side of his face before kissing him as well.

“I never want to go that many days without kissing you ever again,” Alec whispers the words against Magnus’ lips, barely pulling back enough to speak them.

“Next time I end up in another body I’ll try not to make it your sister’s boyfriend so we can still make out in the interim,” Magnus whispers back, earning him a light hit on the side of the arm from Alec who pulls away fully, laughing.

After days of nothing but strain and worry, it’s nice to hear such easy laughter coming from any of them again, but especially from Alec. It’s just one of many sounds he can’t wait to hear from Alec again - hopefully sooner rather than later.

Magnus hadn't meant for his mind to turn there, but once it does it's all he can think about. Simon and Isabelle must catch the look Magnus and Alec share because a moment later they’re asking for a portal back to the Institute, which Magnus opens with his usual flourish and ease.

It’s certainly good to be back.

[xmalereader]

Billy Hargrove X Male Reader

|| FOUR ||

-

|| Masterlist ||

|| ONE — TWO — THREE — FOUR

-

Summary: Reader is new to Hawkins, his parents had just moved into the new house and are trying to start over from there old lives. But what if reader can’t? He’s still a messed up kid who’s tired of pretending to be happy...and that damn mullet head of a ghost won’t stop following him around!!

Warnings: Langauge, angst, fluff, dark humor, Steve Harrington, soft billy for reader, children don’t appear just yet!

—

—

It was 7:30 am when his parents were up and ready to leave for work. He was locked upstairs in his room, he’s been there all day and night, ever since he returned back from the mall he couldn’t help but think about those visions that he had. They all mentioned so many things that didn’t make sense, but today he was going to look for answers and that time was now!

“Alright y/n!! We’re heading out so don’t burn down the place!!” He hears his mother shout as she grabs her purse and car keys, his father following her out as they head towards and car and get inside.

Y/n can head the engine start as he listens carefully, hearing the car backing up and it’s wheels rubbing up against the dark road as he hears them drive down the street. Once the car was out of sight he stays lying in bed a little longer, In the quietness.

“We’re clear.”

Y/n jolts out of bed once those words spill out of Billy’s mouth. Tossing the blankets aside as he rushes out of his room and upstairs to his parents. “Remember, keep an eye out in case they comeback.” He orders billy as he slams his parents door open, actually he kicked it open.

Rushing inside as he’s quick to dig through there belongings.

“You sure this is a good idea? Once they come back they’ll notice the mess and freak out, thinking that you got an episode or something.” He hears billy say as he stands by the window, staring at the front yard, keeping a look out in case y/n’s parents decide to come back home.

“Who cares, I’m already crazy thanks to them.” He continues to dig through drawers, tossing them out as he sighs deeply and checks the closet next, throwing there clothes around the room as he searches for any information about his medical health.

“Sounds about right.” Billy looks over his shoulder to see y/n trashing up the place, sighing deeply he rolls his eyes and pushes himself off the wall, walking around the room as he decides to help him out with the search instead, he tries to check for the most obvious places where a parent would hide such important information.

He walks around the room and hums to himself, eyeing the large bad that was palaced in the center of the room. His eyes narrow as he thinks before bending down and getting on his knees, he looks under the bed and notices a box. “Hey y/n, there’s something over here.” He calls out as y/n quickly rushes to his side, looking under the bed as well as he notices the strange box and grins.

He crawls under and grabs the box, crawling back out with it in his hands as he sets it on the bed.” Think this could be it?” He asks billy as he’s quick to pry it open, a few folders drop out as he bites his lip nervously and notices his name printed all over them. “Guess so.” He hears billy sigh from his side as y/n grabs one of the files and flips it open. It held all of his school records; showing the classes his took and his grades.

“how many schools were you suspended from?” Oh and that was in there too.

“Many schools actually which is why I was forced into home schooling after the seventh time of getting suspend.” He tells billy with a proud smirk on his face which billy only rolled his eyes too.

“But this isnt the important one!” He tosses the folder across the room and grabs the next one. “Ah! Here it is!” He flips the folder open to see all of his medical records including his personal information. “Okay, so here we have the information for the hospital I was in and the asylum as well.” He spreads out the papers on the bed as he tries to read through everything, wanting to see if he can find any information about his visions or episodes.

The two sat on the bed cross legged as they read through the files. Y/n was too ingrossed with the reading that he didn’t even notice the third file that sat on the bed.

Billy was the first to mention it as he nudges y/n’s shoulder. “What’s that one about?” He points over to the folder. Y/n looks up from his reading and frowns, “probably nothing important.” He leans over to pick it up and sighs, falling back into his seating position was he flips the folder open.

The first thing he sees was an envelope, it was still sealed and it held an unknown address, instead of opening it first he sets it down on the side and turns back to the folder to see what else he can find. He checks out the other pages and he froze in spot as he stares down at one of the papers that read:

Adoption Agenceny for California

It was printed on with big bright red letters.

“What the hell—“

He turns the pages and finds his birth certificate but this one was different, he noticed the different birth dates and names. He’s quick to scramble for the other birth certificate that was organized with his medical records. He sets the two side to side as he reads them off quickly, noticing the change between the two as his eyes widen in realization.

“I’m adopted.”

“Shit.” He hears billy breath out as y/n stares at the certificates, he chuckles softly as he shakes his head. “I’m not only adopted but everything about me was changed too—“ he shakes his head in anger. “My name, birthday, the place—FUCK!” He shouts in anger, he can’t believe that this whole time his parents weren’t actually his parents but people who only adopted him because they either felt pity for him or becuase they were messing with him. All this time he was lied too, for his whole life.

He tosses the certifications away and huffs in anger, he sees the court paper and the adoption papers as well but what catches his eye the most was the envelope that was still sitting there, sealed away and never read.

Curiosity hits him as he takes the envelope and rips it open, pulling out a long letter of a few pages long. He unfolds the paper and a necklace with a small vile drops out. He picks up the necklace and inspects the veil that contained a strange blue liquid. Ignoring what it contained he pockets it in his pants and turns back to the letter.

“Can you even read that?” Billy asks as he stares at the letters that were all written in russian.

“Surprisingly yes.” Y/n whispers back as he begins to read the letter.

The first two pages only talked about the adoption which was boring since he didn’t even care anymore so instead of finishing up he tosses those pages out and finally gets reading to the good stuff.

His eyes scanned the words in front of him.

“—This child is now in your care and we expect you to keep a close eye on him, he is one of our most valuable expirments and we can’t risk losing him again. So, to make things easier for you both we have erased his past memories, giving him new ones and making him think that he’s a normal young boy that grew up to be different, we sugggest that you keep this information hidden and stored away from the child’s eyes and we will pay you as promised if you follow these rules.

Once the time is right we will come back for the boy—not to take him but to continue running test, keeping important data about his improvement throughout the age. Please, make sure that he is sent here once he reaches the age of ten—“

Y/n reads the address and he stutters out. “Ravencroft.”

“Ravencroft?” Y/n nods as he sets the letter down and searches through the pile of papers, tossing them out of the way as he finds what he was looking for which was a piece of paper that contained the information about his activities back in the asylum.

“Y/n.” Billy is able to pull him out of his thoughts as he pants. “What does the letter say?”

Y/n shakes his head. “I—this whole time I was just a test subject, they knew and they were getting paid for it. Paid to keep me from getting exposed and from causing trouble, this whole time I was nothing but an animal to be tested on!” He shouts out. “My life was planned from the very beginning! I was adopted only to keep my identity hidden from these people who only want to use me for there disgusting expierments! And I—“ He turns to billy. “Billy I was ten years old when they sent me to that damn hospital! I was just a kid!!”

He was yelling in anger, letting it all out as he throws things around the room. This whole time he thought that he was just a weird freaky kid who could see the dead only to find out that he was more than that and that he doesn’t remember anything for his previous life. “This is bullshit!”

“What the hell?!”

Y/n gasps in surpise as he turns around to see his father standing by the doorway, a nasty glare on his face as his eyes widen once he notices the hidden information revealed too y/n.

Guess the cat is out of the bag.

His father throws himself to him, trying to take the letters away but Y/n is quick to react as he collects the letters and jumps off the bed, quickly going around as he leaves the room. “Get back here you little shit!!” He hears the older man yell out as y/n pants and runs to his room, slamming the door closed and locked it. He hears his father slam against the door, causing him to gasp and step away from the door. Hearing his father shout as he bangs on the door, trying to get inside.

“Y/n we have to get out of here!” Billy grabs his hand and drags him towards the window. “Wait I don’t have shoes!”

“We don’t have time for that!”

“My ass is not going out there without shoes!” The two shout back in forth to each other.

“God your such a princess!”

Y/n grins at billy. “Am I a pretty princess?” He says in a flirty tone which only riles him up in anger, before he can yell at him to move his ass the bedroom door is suddenly being kicked down. Catching the two off guard as y/n quickly slips his shoes on and chuckels nervously. “Get on the roof, get on the roof, the roof!!” He repeats to himself as he slides the window open and steps outside.

Once he’s on the roof his bedroom door is finally kicked open, an angry man stands at the entrance as he runs towards the window, getting ready to grab y/n but he’s quick to slam the window shut on his fathers fingers.

He hear him scream in agony which causes y/n to grin in satisfaction. He applies more pressure to the closed window, hearing a small crunch. “Take that you bastard!”

“Y/n that’s enough!” Billy grabs him by the hoodie and drags him away from the window.

Y/n gives his father one last glance before smirking evilly and jumping off the roof, grunting as his body tumbles against the grass. “Shit that was awesome but I’m never doing that again.” He groans out in pain as he holds his side. “Yeah but right now we need to go unless you want your father to come after you!”

“Right, right.” Y/n agrees with billy as the two bolted towards the woods.

Y/n has been running for awhile now that he finally stops to breath and to take a break. “How far out are we?” He pants out between breaths, placing his hands on his knees as he was bent over a near tree.

“We’re still in Hawkins but far away from home, maybe we can find a place to crash?” Billy suggested as y/n groans deeply and coughs from dehydration. “F-fuck I’m so tired and I just need water.” He gasps out as he moves his legs, walking further into the woods as he looks around for a place to crash.

His eyes land on a nice house which causes a smirk to appear on his lips. “How about there?” He points over and turns to face billy with a smile. Billy looks over at the house and shakes his head, “we aren’t breaking inside a random house to get sleep.” Y/n frowns at him and hums, “OH RIGHT! I just remembered, you can’t do anything because your dead!!” He shouts out and sprints away, running towards the house ahead of him while billy chases after him. “Dammit y/n!”

Y/n continue to laugh as he runs towards the house, humming to himself a spy theme song he hides behind walls and jumps over chairs, pressing himself against a wall as he looks both left and right before moving one. Billy rolls his eyes and groans in embarrassment, “believe me if I was alive I would’ve wanted to kill myself right here right now.” He says out loud for y/n to hear as the other continues to do weird parkour around the backyard. Finding a tree be begins to climb it, smiling to himself as he gets onto the roof top and sees a slight opened window. “Over here.” He whispers to billy as he moves quietly on the roof and towards the open window.

He slips his hands under and slowly pushes the window open, he quietly gets through and makes sure to close the window behind him. “See.” He sighs in relief. “We weren’t caught.” He says until the dark room is suddenly lit up.

His eyes widen as he looks over to his left to see a guy sitting up on his bed with wide eyes as well. Y/n bites his lip and gives off a forced smile. “Hi?” He waves awkwardly.

The guy opens his mouth, getting ready to scream but y/n it quick to jump on the bed and cover his mouth, putting full force on the guys mouth. “Shhh!! Be quiet!” He hisses out and turns towards the doorway to make sure that he doesn’t hear anyone coming upstairs. “Listen we need a place to hide so your going to be quiet and listen.” He adds in a harsh whisper as he hears billy shuffle next to him. “Harrington?”

Y/n raises a brow and looks over his shoulder to look at billy. “You know this guy?”

“We used to go to school together.”

“Oh.” Y/n is quick to put the puzzle piece together before being pulled away from his thoughts as Harrington tries to push him off. “Hey! I said quiet!” He growls out and Straddles him. “Are you going to fuck him or something?” Billy asks as he tilts his head to the side with a smirk on his face but y/n can only glare at him. “I need him to quiet down!” He hisses back as he keeps his hand over Harringtons mouth. “Look—!” He shouts this time, causing the other to freeze in place. “Listen just—“ he sighs. “I am going to uncover your mouth and once I do that I need you to stay quiet or else I’ll grab that pencil by your desk and jab your eye.” He warns.

Billy whistles behind him. “I don’t threating will help.”

Y/n ignores billy as he stares down at the other and slowly uncovers his mouth. “No screaming.” He repeats himself.

Once Harrington’s mouth is uncovered he glares at him. “Who the hell are you and why are you in my room? No, why did you break into my room?!” Y/n covers his mouth again from all the shouting. “Shut up!” He groans deeply. “I didn’t break in, I simply slipped inside becuase I need a hiding spot. You see, my parents are searching for me and want to send me away and my ass is not going back there until I find out where I am really from and from what I know, I have no memory of my previous past so I am stuck here and the only person that I trust is this room is myself and billy!” He rants out as Harrington raises a brow and muffled against his hand.

Y/n tilts his head and removes his hand again to allow him to talk. “Billy? Your alone in this room with me.”

“Oh, right...” y/n breaths out through his nose as he turns to see billy leaning against the wall, waiting fo him to come up with another plan. “Billy as in for Billy Hargrove, he died about a year ago and I can see dead people and the two of us have created some sort of bond and now he’s stuck with me until who knows how long.” He explains quickly which only earns hima horrified look from the other. “Your crazy!” He struggles to get out of y/n’s grip but he keeps him pinned down.

“Your name is Steve right?” He asks.

Steve eyes him and glares. “How do you know that?”

“Like I said, billy knows you.” He responds back as he feels billy place his hand on his shoulder and pull him back. “Let him go and maybe he will talk.” Said billy as y/n does as he’s told by letting go of Steve and moving away from him, he sits at the foot of the bed as Steve sits up and leans against the wall. “So, your saying tha Billy Hargrove is in this room right now?”

Y/n nods. “Yep, he’s been following me around since day one and he’s been a little annoying but so far he’s gettting better. He’s just lonely and needs someone and I seem to be the only one who can see him.” He explains, smiling over at billy who sat next to him. “Stop trying to charm me.” Y/n laughs at the comment.

Steve can only stare at the freak in fright. “Okay, tell me something that I will only know.”

Y/n thinks and turns to billy. “Anything?”

“tell him that I beat him up a year ago thinking that he was messing around with my little sister until she knocked me out with a sleeping dose.” Y/n stares at billy with an open mouth, shocked. “You never told me this!”

“Why should I?” Billy raises a brow as y/n pouts. “I feel very offended not knowing this.” He crosses his arms over his chest and turns to Steve, still wearing his pout as he says. “Billy says that he beat you up last year becuase he thought that you were messing around with his sister and that she put him to sleep with a sleeping dose.”

Steves eyes widen. “Holy shit.”

Turns out that the three spent the whole night explaining the situation that y/n was in, it was strange telling this weird guy that he just meet a few hours ago about his whole life story but something inside of him is telling him that he should trust him. “Okay listen, I really need some sleep or else my brain will explode from all of the questions.” Said y/n as he crawl over to the closet and slides it open, crawling through the small space as Steve stares at him weirdly. “What are you doing?”

“Getting comfortable and hiding, who knows how your parents will react if they were to see me—as stranger—sleeping in your room.” Once he’s inside the closet he closes is behind him and gets comfortable. “Night night!” He says before lying on his side and faces the wall. He hears Steve shuffling behind him and hears him crawl back onto his bed and turns off the lights, not really saying anything back as y/n sighs through his nose.

“Were do you plan on going once the sun rises?” Asked billy as he sat next to him, sitting and leaning against the wall as y/n shrugs. “I don’t know, I just figured about that my life was a lie and that I was a freak this whole time but also that I don’t belong here or—I dont know where I even belong.” He mumbles out. He didn’t know what to do, once he found out the truth he couldn’t help but feel anger and betrayal, knowing that he was alone in this.

This whole time he was being used and he had no idea and now he has no idea where to start looking. He lies on his back and reaches inside his pocket to take out the letters, flipping through the pages as he narrows his eyes, trying to adjusts his eyes to the dark. “What if we go back to the hospital?”

Billy whips his head over with a glare. “No, you aren’t going to that hell hole.”

“But what if I’m looking for, is there? What if the answers are there billy?” He sits up slowly and sets the letters in front of him. “My memories have been taken from me and I don’t remember anything, i need to find answers as to why I am here, to why I can see you and to why I can see things once I touch an object.” He murmurs out, quiet enough for Steve not to hear.

Billy moves closer to y/n and places a hand on his cheek. “Hey, nothing will get better and we will find answers but going to that asylum is a huge no from me, for all we know those people could be there just waiting for you to fall in to there trap. We have to take this easy and slow, we start off simple and try to find small pieces of the puzzle.” He reassures him as y/n leans into him. “If you want to recover your memories then lets start off with what you already know.” He shrugs. “Think of it as chess, they already made their move. Now its your turn.”

Y/n lifts his head up to face billy and smiles with a firm nod. “Just like chess.”

[catharrington]

Strawberry Seeds and Love Potions. (T, 2.4K words)

@harringroveweekoflove day 2: LOVE POTION && MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURES. Also including: witch Robin, post season 3 recovering Billy, flustered but giving it his best Steve, and cat boys. Or cat men? No, cat boys.

***

The coffee mug clicked onto the table with an otherworldly menace. Steve’s brown eyes darted to it, then back up to Robin. He furrowed his brows in a question. But before he could open his mouth, she held up her hand.

“It’s not poison,” she explained.

“Could have fooled me, Robs,” Steve hissed.

“It’s called a potion, dingus. It’s going to help!” She pushed the cup farther down the bar. The diner around them was mostly closed, and Robin was the only waitress in the place. Her peach colored apron brought out the green of her wide, devious eyes.

“Potion... poison... that’s like one letter different,” Steve leaned back in his stool away from the mug.

“Wow, so you know how to spell. What other skills will you showcase, The Amazing Harrington?” Robin’s lips curled up in an evil grin, leaning her body over the bar to dig the insult farther.

Steve just scoffed. Putting his elbow up on the bar and shielding himself as he tried to get back to the open College text book he was supposed to be reading. All the words were rushing together in swirls of black and white. He pushed his thumb into his curved bottom lip to try and force himself to focus, chewed on the pad of it, but he could swear the mug was mocking him.

Could swear he could smell that strawberry pink liquid Robin had poured for him when he ordered a simple black coffee.

“Drink it,” Robin snapped.

“No,” Steve growled.

“Are you going to grow a backbone and actually confess then?” She quirked one brow up.

Her face was so condescending. So smug. Steve hated how much he knew that look, how it made him sort of fond for her.

“I mean,” he sighed. His walls crumbling in defeat. His fingers coming up to join in worrying his bottom lip. “I mean I might?”

“It’s been a year Steve. A year of following him around like a little stray kitten! A year of ‘Oh Billy, I’ll give you a ride!’ ‘Oh Billy, how was physical therapy?’ ‘Oh Billy, pay attention to me!’—“

“I get it, I get it!” Steve turned towards her again to motion with his hand to keep it down. Waving his wide palm around until Robin’s pursed face cracked into a giggle. “Just keep it down, would you?”

And he turns over his shoulder to survey the empty diner before he’s got enough courage to look at her again.

“Yeah, okay. I’ve got a fat, stupid crush on Billy. And I know that I’m the most embarrassing and dumb guy you know. But...,” he trails off. Eyes wandering back down to the coffee cup. “It’s not the same as Nancy Wheeler or even Tammy Thompson. So much can— no, so much has gone wrong. If I... confessed right now, It would just make everything too much for him.”

His fingers nervously tick across the mint green bar. Wishing like hell he could cross them in front of his chest and make a barrier.

Robin takes a step forward. Her own fingers an inch away from his. She twitches like she can’t make up her mind if she wants to grab them. Like someone worrying their bottom lip if they are going to pick the last slice of pie in the diner’s glass container. But she does, reaching out to lay her skinny fingers and their chipping black nail polish over his own.

“Dingus,” she starts lovingly, “you don’t know any of that.”

Steve scoffs, rolls his eyes like he’s going to turn away, but Robin holds his hand tightly.

“You don’t know if it’s too much for him, or what he wants. And you don’t,” Robin took a second before continuing, her breath hitching, “you don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow.”

Hawkins, Indiana is the poster town for unknown tomorrow’s. Steve knows way too well about that. The tunnels crawling with slime and vines that play host to the monsters of the world.

But Billy, he surely knows better than anyone. It’s been a whole year but noone’s going to ever forget what he did. What happened to him under the control of a creature called The Mind Flayer. How Billy used himself like a human shield and died to try to make up for it. Just to come back with an electric jolt to his tattered heart.

They had to stitch new lungs inside his chest. He called himself Zombie Boy now. Called the patchwork scars heavy metal.

Steve just smiled. Nodded his head as he watched Billy climb out the crumbled wreckage of his shell. Climb out a new man, a man Steve caught himself falling head over heels for.

“You’re right, Robs,” Steve exhales.

“Oh, what was that?” Robin giggled, leaning in to hear better.

Steve pushed her away by their joint hands. Wiggling his fingers afterwards as if cursed.

His breath quipped and held tight in his chest as he turned back to the coffee mug. It sat waiting for him. The light red liquid swimming with foam and black seeds at the top. As if no matter how long it sat, it was always freshly prepared.

Steve gripped the handle of the white mug hard. Thought about how quick Billy’s body hit the ground when he died. How quick it all felt to Steve who had to helplessly stand back and watch it all.

He lifted the mug to his lips and drank in desperate, greedy gulps.

And as he finished it and slammed the ceramic back down on the bar, he didn’t immediately feel different. His mouth felt strange, the red juice had a powdery after-taste and much more seeds than his gag reflex was expecting. But as he screwed up his face from the flavor, he didn’t feel changed. Or empowered. Or whatever Robin was trying out with this magic spell.

“I don’t—,” Steve started, but his voice stopped just as it started. His head pounded like a drum was beating right next to his ears.

Doubling over in his stool, he gripped at the sides of his head in a panic. His whole skull felt like it was vibrating. Shifting around even, his scalp moving at the top of his head as if something were to burst out.

Steve grabbed two fist fulls of his hair and groaned through the wave of pain. Burying his chin in his chest to try and stop the noises before they came. It was so painful, but somehow only lasted a second.

As sudden as it came, he felt fine again.

Steve jerked his head up to scream at Robin , when he noticed her eyes wandering to the top of his head.

He followed them with hesitant fingers, slowly running up his now messy head of quaffed brown locks under his fingertips brushed something new.

Giving an undignified yelp, he drew his hand backwards as if burnt. His eyes were wide and pleading with Robin. But she watched him right back with the same face. As if she didn’t make this, as if it wasn’t her poison potion that created this.

Steve timidly touched the new addition to his head again. This time he didn’t finch as his fingertips sank into hair that felt soft as fur. Following it up to a point, and then feeling as it curved inwards to softer peach fuzz.

He could feel something, as his fingers moved, he could feel them as easily as if he were touching the lobes of his ears.

Because he was touching his ears.

A quick glance to a dingy mirror hanging at the back of the bar confirmed it for him. There was a pretty pair of brown cat ears sprung from the top of his head.

“Robin,” he breathed. Unable to fully grasp how he felt. “What was that drink exactly?”

She blinked at him, gathering her thoughts before she cleared her throat. “It’s um, it’s supposed to be a charm. An aid, like-like an enhancer. It said it would bring out the traits that the person you craft the potion for desires the most.”

Then she stopped to laugh, her red lips caught between gaping open or turning up on the corners in a mocking laugh. “I didn’t— wow! I thought worst case scenario would be you’ll turn into an asshole like you were in high school. B-But this?��

Steve looked from her back to the mirror. Wrapping one hand around the pointed triangle of his ear. Pushing it down just to watch it perk back up again.

“I’m... I’m a cat boy?” Steve stutters out a gasping breath.

“Well, more like a cat man, really,” Robin tries to help. “Come on, you’re almost old enough to buy beer.”

“Really helpful, Robs, thanks so much for the curse and now the insults!” He shouts.

Holding up her hands in defense, her smile doesn’t drop. Even in her shoulders Steve can see she’s quivering with laugher.

He feels along the base of his new ears. How the fur is the same color and melts almost perfectly into his own silky hair. How it feels good, actually, to scratch his blunt nails there just like how a house cat would enjoy it.

“This isn’t some trait. Or some, something that Billy would find attractive in me.” Steve groans. “This is some freaky kink!”

Robin finally clasps her hand over her mouth to dam up the waterfall of laugher. It hits against her palm in a muffled, annoying, cruel noise. She shakes her head as if she wanted to argue but couldn’t get past how funny she found it.

“You must have mixed up the wrong stuff, Robin! Put the wrong magical thing in the mixture!” Steve tried to shake his head out to unstick his thoughts.

He runs his hands through his hair as he does when he gets flustered, and now his cat ears bend with the motion so they don’t get tugged on. Folding neatly onto his head before bouncing back up to attention.

It felt so weird, but somehow it didn’t feel very different at all. They acted as if they’ve always been there.

“Yeah, okay, that’s it,” Steve nodded to himself. “You gave me the wrong potion. It’s okay, it happens! Just whip up a new one that’s for reversing cat ears. That’s in your witch book right?”

Robin kept her hand over her mouth and kept shaking her head. She wasn’t replying to anything Steve said. And it was honestly making him more mad than the new ears on top of his head.

“Hey, is it really funny enough for all that?” he mused.

Then Steve looked back up at the mirror. He turned his head side to side to admire the way his ears moved with him. How they were his hair color on the outside then a flushed pink in the very middle. How there were strands of lighter brown between that and those reminded him of how highlighted his hair gets in the summer sun.

“I don’t know. I think they... I think they sort of suit me?” He shrugged.

Robin dropped her hands and her laugher was louder without it, but she managed to catch her breath to finally reply. “Oh, they suit you alright. You’re a natural at this stuff, Garfield.”

Steve furrowed his eye brows. Cat ears folding down on his head in defense. “I’m not orange,” he hissed back.

Robin opened her mouth with likely more insults and no actual help from the aspiring witch who caused all this mess, when she was interrupted. The bell above the entrance letting out a loud ding.

The front door, painted in matching mint green like the bar, swung open. And like he was summoned, like his ears were simply ringing so much from being talked about he hunted down the source, in walked Billy.

He was wearing a grey hoodie. One of many that he collected once he got discharged out of his hospital. This one Steve was familiar with, because it was his. Handed down with a coat and a couple other winter items as Steve feigned indifference over concern about Billy’s California blood staying warm. An old Hawkins High baseball league logo sitting right in the middle. It’s fading green and orange design still bright enough to make Steve’s breath catch in his throat.

“Hey, Harrington,” Billy greeted. He lifted his big, scarred hand to wipe the hood down from his head. Letting loose the wild mess of short curls that are regrowing on his head.

“Hey, Billy,” Steve croaked out. His voice was awkward. His face, he knew, must be blushing bright red.

He turned to seek help from Robin, but the swinging door that lead into the kitchen was rocking back and forth on its hinges. She must have run away as soon as Billy came in. And Steve was too busy watching his entrance to even notice.

Cursing under his breath, Steve racked his brain with an excuse. Some logical way to explain why he had sprouted two new fluffy ears off his head.

He felt like he was playing a pinball machine in his head. Flashing lights and jingling noises were going off. But nothing was coming to him. He couldn’t find any words to offer at all to Billy.

So he whipped his head to the side, watched as Billy stopped glancing around the empty diner to finally settle on Steve.

And he watches as Billy’s gorgeous, totally unfair pretty blue eyes lift to see the cat ears on his head.

“Woah, Harrington,” Billy exhales like he’s blowing a mouth full of cigarette smoke. “That’s really—,”

“I know, Billy, okay! It’s um, um?” Steve waves his hands around as if that can turn the wheels of his thinking some more. But he can’t think. Not well anyway, when Billy’s standing here looking so handsome, so warm, and so alive right in front of him.

“Yeah, okay, I can totally explain this—,”

Billy cuts him off with a soft chuckle. Just under his breath. Steve closes his mouth quick enough to make his teeth click.

“I don’t know, Steve. Ya don’t have to explain it. It’s kinda cute, actually,” Billy drawls out his words low and soft. And then smiles at him.

A second ticks by. Billy’s boots skid on the tile as he steps even closer. All the way until he’s right next to Steve. Grabbing the back of a stool right next to him.

And Billy hasn’t taken his eyes off Steve’s ears once. And he’s got a little sparkle in them like the first time Billy got a point over him during basket ball practice back in high school. And oh, oh.

“Cute?” Steve parrots back.

“Yeah, super cute,” Billy confesses.

[lunarrwolf]

mini series coming soon!!

since you guys got me over 300 followers, i held up my end of my own deal and was finally able to think up the first of a 100% written series (social media included only when needed to build the story).

there will only be two for now but i want to get the sykkuno series a good ways in before bringing in new content like this! i’ve been a writer since middle school and have major writer’s block for a book i’m working on rn so i’m really excited about writing an actual story for lunarrwolf! these are the banners, very tiny synopses, and sneak peek excerpts for DAYWALKER!s and Siren Woods

s.h warning: siren woods will not be for the faint of heart as it will be put in the category of a psychological thriller. it will contain suspense, fear(s), anxiety and/or mentions of depression, isolation and swearing

d.w!s warning: this is an apocalyptic world w/o zombies. it will contain violence, anxiety, entrapment, fear(s) and swearing

disclaimer: i will do my absolutely best not to treat either of these as if they were actual novels. i plan on putting in comedic lines and scenes to lower any thriller/horror vibes from the stories, and not too go too far to avoid truly triggering myself or anyone else. warnings will only be issued in chapters that are going to actually include one or more of above the above. but if anyone who reads them in the future have issues do not feel like you need to keep reading.

-

DAYWALKER!s

a variety youtuber mini series

summary

ten creators find themselves amidst a city with an oddly familiar vibe, a weird yet intimidating apocalyptic appearance, and hundreds of strangers that feel the need to do nothing but fight their way through the city. even if that means to the death.

excerpt

“You’re all going to die, you know.. so you might as well give up now and let it take over.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

You blinked at the growl woven in with your friend’s deep voice, knowing for sure that if you were in an animation a sweat drop would be making its way down the side of your head. He hated confrontation more than anyone here but when it came to his friends, and being trapped in a place like this? Who knew what damage he would do to keep them safe.

The man ahead of the group did nothing but stand there with a mocking grin on his face. It was unnerving, and dare say almost bloodthirsty. There was no amount of sanity or free will from where you all stood just a couple of yards away, and just that thought alone chilled you to the core.

“Corpse.. maybe you shouldn’t.” You stated, stepping closer to him to lower the risk of the strange man hearing the second part. “I don’t like the looks of that guy even from over here. We’ve already had to deal with a ton of crazy shit since finding each other. We can’t risk losing our only real muscle of the group.”

Ignoring the offended voices of Sean and Ludwig, the man with the torn mask looked at you only when you put a hand on his shoulder. It took sharing glances and seeing head shakes from most of the others to have him loosen the fist his hand was already in. Standing up straight, you watched as he rolled his shoulders, jaw still clenched from the tension. Rae was taking advantage of the off putting interaction and explored the small area, so capturing everyone’s attention when Corpse relaxed a bit wasn’t hard. “It’s gonna be a tight fit but I think we can make it work.”

“Whoa.”

“Where did you learn how to hotwire a car?” Ethan questioned, being the first to make his way toward the beaten vehicle.

“Video games?” The brunette answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She hit the side of the driver door twice, motioning to the group. “Now get your asses in here before that guy decides to pull a Resident Evil zombie sprint on us.”

“Yes ma’am.” Sykkuno saluted, earning chuckles that were a rare sight since ending up here. The two of you didn’t waste time in calling the front seats beside Rae and Ethan, forcing everyone else to get in the back of the truck and make it work. No one could complain, though, seeing the circumstances you were all in.

It took a few seconds of revving the seemingly old engine before the machine began making its way. You could actually hear the ones in the back shift around to get in more comfortable positions for however long a ride it would be. The girl behind the wheel didn’t pay any mind to the stranger that watched her drive you all away, but you did. And even when he continued to shrink in distance and eventually disappeared, you knew his words would stay with you.

“You’re wasting your time! No one gets out of Mirror City!!”

Siren Woods

a variety youtuber mini series

summary

seven internet personalities find themselves in the middle of an old town myth as they take a break from their careers and head up towards a rural mountain area. among every spooky or jumpy experience with a horror game here and there, never did any of them think they’d end up in this situation.

excerpt

The fire crackled with a sense of release, almost as if this large flame represented the time everyone needed away from their jobs. After how crazy the media has become the past few weeks, you and your friends agreed that a trip towards a much lesser known area would do you all well. It was a teenagers on summer break scene where everyone was gathered around a campfire in the backyard of a lake house, telling stories to either amuse or scare each other. Seán and Ethan were the first to do so, tag teaming in a very dramatic reenactment of the first time they met in person, which of course had to be followed by your own scene with Y/F/N.

Time flew by and before you knew it, the sun was completely set and the darkest shade of navy possible was barely lit with a crescent moon and a few stars. The only real source of light was the fire, illuminating the six faces in an orange glow. Any laughter died down minutes ago, leaving a silence that was comfortable for everyone. “You guys want to hear a funny story?”

Squinting at the man sitting in the log across from you, you leaned forward, hands folded in your lap. “Funny haha or funny we might want to kill you after we hear it?”

“Uh..” Corpse met your gaze immediately, his mask somehow looking more eerie with the natural lighting. “Funny kind of hoping you won’t kill me, if I’m being honest.” He confirmed, leaning forward himself to warm up his hands while the rest of you debated on whether to let him tell it.

After a few minutes, and three overtaking two, he was allowed to do so. It was an old myth of the town you all resided in for the week; a Slenderman type of entity of the forest that the locals from dozens of years before chose to call Siren Head. The name stuck once old photos were found and set up in the small museum in the Common. He stood at forty feet tall, with two megaphones for heads and tangled wires for a torso. He had the ability to perfectly mimic broadcasts, conversations, sirens and screams, and had been said to only emit white noise if ever asleep. Speed nearly matched that of a cheetah and his strength was unbelievably high due to his size. Every sighting of said species had only been released by victims, and it was an urban tale that stood alive to this very day.

Rae was on the grass now, legs crossed one over the other as she tried to look at everyone at once. “Why the hell did we all come to a place called Siren Woods, then?!”

“Well.. the town looked really nice online, and it’s living up to that. And I thought siren meant more mermaid than a freaky Creepypasta-type thing.” Sykkuno could do nothing but respond with nerves showing through his face and every subtle movement of his body as he explained why he ended up agreeing with the destination.

“Yeah, I did too.” Y/F/N piped in, shrugging her innocence as you all began telling your sides. “Who doesn’t think of a mermaid when you hear the word siren?! That’s basically what they are.”

“I, for one, think we should find another place to stay.” Ethan spoke up.

Seán gaped at his longest friend in the group, “You don’t actually believe in that.”

“I’m not taking any chances, dude. Those people believe in that thing enough to build a whole section of the museum for it.”

You watched your friends go back and forth, some freaked out by the story but not believing it was real while the rest wanted to find a new vacation spot. “What do you think, Y/N?”

You turned to Corpse, blinking as the simple question processed in your mind. “I’m with Ethan on this.. even if that thing isn’t an actual being the belief here is hardcore.” Three faces lit up in relief while the roommate, Irishman, and faceless internet persona felt differently. “Let me finish..” you sighed, “Let’s stay another night but keep an extra cautious eye on Spencer and Luna. Animals have a sort of sixth sense, so if anything weird happens they’ll warn us. Deal?”

Y/F/N shared a glance with you, letting out a sigh of her own. “Suddenly I’m feeling a lot better that we brought our dogs instead of getting sitters.” She bent down to pet the canines laying between the logs, hoping if they did bark it would just be from a resident knocking on the door.