#i may decorate him a little more ornately

[skit-ladd]

I kinda liked drawing vampire Toño...hmm...

[steddiewithachance]

I'm Here on Business

Wayne is a regular at the bookstore Steve works at and badgers Steve into going on a blind date with his kid.

For @extocancer Happy New Years!!! I hope you enjoy your presents ◡̈

***

It's a quiet night in the little bookstore on the corner of Brinks and Williams. Steve is sitting behind the check-out counter flicking the leaf of a potted pothos placed next to the register. Soft music plays from the radio behind him.

Steve likes taking the evening shifts at the shop just to see the place warmly lit up by all of the eclectic and ornate lamps that Amber, the owner, has collected. The store doesn't give him migraines from obnoxious fluorescent light, which has been an issue at previous jobs.

Ever since Robin moved out of their apartment for Grad school, it's been upsetting to be at home alone at night. Without her company, the couch feels longer. And without her unhinged apartment decor, the walls feel taller and colder. Consequently, Steve has taken on more work hours instead of being home.

Plus, he has kind of fallen in love with reading. It came as a shock to him that he could enjoy it as much as he does. It started when his all-female team of coworkers began ranting to each other about these romance novels they were all into. He felt a little left out and decided to give one of them a try. It turns out that reading was actually a really great coping mechanism for dealing with his temporary loss of Robin.

The nicest, and most surprising thing to come out of this job though, is probably Wayne. A one-time customer turned regular, turned tentative friend for Steve. He's got a caring, parental energy that Steve's own parents never had.

The guy looks like he'd have a gruff or standoffish personality. His face naturally rests in a frown and he's got receding grey hair. He wears a flannel every day without fail; he's got a million different colors of them and Steve has even made a game of predicting which one he'll be wearing when he comes in.

"Did ya guess right today, boy?" Wayne will ask.

"No," Steve often admits glumly. "The universe told me you'd be wearing your green and blue one."

So anyway, Wayne comes around a lot to make small talk. He often mentions how he misses his son, Eddie. He's so stiff with personal information about his kid, but one time he let it slip that Eddie was on tour with his band. Steve had a field day afterward colluding with Google to find out exactly who Wayne's son was.

Eddie Munson, lead singer and guitarist of rock group Corroded Coffin.

Steve hadn't heard of ‘em but they certainly have a following. He listened to some of their stuff, to give himself some context for the next time Wayne brought up Eddie's music. It was nice enough, the guy has a good voice.

Steve's been waiting for Wayne to come in tonight. He's later than usual and it would be ridiculous for Steve to worry about a man who probably just thinks of Steve as that one kid who works at the bookstore. He may not come in at all tonight, and that would be fine too. Steve's still holding out on him pulling up in his... yellow flannel.

Steve's about to cave and start the next book in the current series he's reading when the door jingles. Wayne pushes inside in his mother fucking yellow flannel.

"Yellow Flannel!" Steve exclaims. Wayne chuckles and drops a book on the counter followed by a receipt.

"You got me right today?" Wayne asks fondly.

"Yup. It's been a while. I was aching for a win." Steve starts returning Wayne's book for him without giving him slack this time. Wayne treats the store like a library and Steve doesn't have the heart to tell him it's not allowed.

"Was this book any good?" Steve throws Wayne's receipt back at him and starts moving around the counter to put it back on the shelf for some other historical fiction lover to purchase.

"It was just alright." Wayne follows behind him languidly, eyeing the rows of colorful book spines for something that catches his eye. "But actually I'm here on business tonight."

Steve leans on the shelf and waits impatiently for Wayne to tell him what sort of business he's on.

"I think you ought to go on a date with Eddie. I think you two'd compliment each other."

Well, that's... not what Steve was expecting to hear.

"That's business to you? You came here to set me up on a blind date with your famous kid? I think he's gonna be a tad underwhelmed by a bookstore employee, Wayne." Steve's not gonna lie, he's a little intrigued by the prospect of dating a musician. He read a romance novel about one, not that long ago. Concerts, greenroom intimacy, targeted lyrics: Steve could be into it, in theory.

And ultimately, Steve did see photos of Eddie on Google and he's attractive. He looks good holding a guitar.

"He's gonna be home for a while so I figured now's a good time. Just go on one date. He's a big softie, you'll like him." Wayne pulls a book off the shelf and squints to try and read the title. He holds it further from his eyes before giving up and pushing it back into its slot.

"What happens if he doesn't like me? Will you still come around?" Steve runs a nervous hand through his hair. It wouldn't be the end of the world if Wayne stopped showing up, but it would probably hurt a little. It might fan the flame of his fear of abandonment.

"Of course, unless you break his heart. I know where you work, young man." Wayne pats his shoulder good-naturedly.

"Okay old man, you need my number to hand off?"

***

A day later, when Steve feels his phone buzz against his thigh, his instincts already know who it is. His heart gives that anticipatory squeeze he often gets before a first date with someone he finds attractive.

The text reads:

Hi Steve, this is eddie. Wayne swears we're soulmates. Wanna get dinner on friday?

It's a funny text to receive out of nowhere. Steve doubts Wayne actually used that word, but he imagines that Eddie is probably getting more of an earful than Steve got about this whole blind date. He also wonders what kind of person calls their dad by their first name.

Hi Eddie. I'd love to get dinner on Fri and discuss our soulmate status. I'm pretty sure he expects us to be married by the end of the night. Should I bring my tux? Also do you have a time and place in mind?

The master of puppets (Wayne) suggested we go to Maggiano's, are you okay with Italian? 8 maybe??? Tux optional but I think I will not be wearing one.

Haha. That sounds good Eddie, it's nice to hear from you. I'll see you soon.

***

Steve has to ask Amber to change his shift for Friday to work in the morning instead of the evening.

"Steve has somewhere other than work to be on a Friday night? Unheard of!" She slaps her palms down on the book display she was laying out.

"I know. I'm surprised too." Steve fiddles with his lanyard and gives her a 'please say yes' smile. She sighs.

"Yeah, I'll cover you. You can take my morning slot."

"Thank you! I owe you, boss."

***

When Friday arrives, Steve has the nervous jitters. It's been about a year since his last date, it didn't go very well. He's flattered that Wayne thinks highly enough of him to set him up with his kid.

Steve picks up a few small gifts for Eddie on his way home from work. He always brings his first dates a little something. He likes to see the way their faces light up. He thinks maybe he should get Eddie something music-related. So he walks into a little music store he's never been in and asks for small gift ideas for guitarists. He walks out wearing a smile, and hoping Eddie digs what he bought him.

And he's all smiles and confidence until he pulls up to the restaurant at eight and realizes he didn't send a confirmation text this morning. That's like, a rule, right? What if Eddie doesn't show up?

Steve steps out of the car and is equally anxious and relieved to find him leaning artfully against the restaurant near the front door with his hands in his pockets.

His curls are haloed by the warm light spilling out of the restaurant window. He's wearing a dark button-down with the sleeves rolled up to reveal tattoos on his forearms. And yeah, okay, he's hot.

The fact that Steve's going on a date with someone sort of famous hasn't fully sunk in. He's not sure he needs the added nerves though. He approaches as casually as possible and smiles when Eddie looks over.

The man does a double-take when he sees Steve. His eyebrows shoot up and he pushes off against the wall to stand straighter.

"Hi, Eddie?" Steve steps up onto the curb with a little wave. Eddie gives him a thorough once over.

"Oh, damn. Hi." He pulls a hand out of his pocket to shake Steve's.

Eddie is pretty up close. He's got long eyelashes and a bridge of little freckles across his nose. Steve notices all the little details that the on-stage photos didn't capture. He wonders if Wayne described what he looked like to Eddie who was at an informational disadvantage.

"I don't know what I was expecting you to look like, but my uncle didn't mention you were model pretty." Eddie tucks one of his big curls behind his ear and then steps forward to open the door. Steve's face gets warm at being called "model pretty", but he's terrible at taking compliments. He tries to redirect the conversation.

"Your uncle?" Steve asks.

"Wayne? My uncle?" Eddie motions towards the open door and follows after Steve once he's inside.

"Oh. You know he tells people that you're his son?"

Eddie's face softens and he scratches at his cheek. "Oh. Yeah well, I basically am. Maybe I should start calling him dad, I don't know."

"We don't take walk-ins." The hostess of the restaurant announces, breaking up their small talk. Steve looks over to see a tall woman with a slicked-back ponytail mad-dogging them. She has a cold demeanor, she kills the mood with one look between them. Steve knows the look, he's sure Eddie does too.

"Good to know! I have a reservation, though." Eddie responds.

"What's the name?" The woman pulls her iPad closer to herself like a shield.

"Munson." Eddie glances at Steve nervously.

"Hm. I don't see it." She pretends, tapping around meaninglessly. Eddie is getting agitated and maybe embarrassed too. He's scratching at his arm, unsure of how to proceed. First dates are already so awkward, especially blind ones. And if there's one thing about Steve, it's that he's gonna try to lighten the mood.

"Don't you know who he is?" Steve asks offendedly. Eddie whips around to look at Steve with wide, panic-filled eyes. The hostess raises an eyebrow and looks more closely at Eddie. It makes Steve chuckle. "I'm just kidding, let's go get burgers or something." He grabs Eddie's hand and pulls him back out the door.

"Holy shit, you scared me. I didn't know you knew who I was." Eddie has a hand on his chest and a wild grin. "She definitely didn't."

"I was just messing around. She did not want to seat our gay date." Steve sticks his hands in his pockets and then remembers Eddie's gift. "Oh but hey! I got you something."

Steve pulls out a nice bar of chocolate and a little tin of black pearly guitar picks. He offers them to Eddie with an open palm.

"Oh, what? You didn't have to do that." Eddie grabs them eagerly and slides open the tin. "This is so nice! How'd you know I've been needing picks? Now I feel doubly bad about dinner falling through."

"Hey, if I'm honest, sit-down dinner dates kind of give me anxiety. Too much pressure to keep the conversation going." Steve pulls out his keys, "You like burgers?"

Eddie huffs dramatically. "My palette is far too sophisticated for greasy burgers, Steve. I'm a chicken nugget man, obviously."

"That makes sense. You look like one." Steve teases. Eddie pouts.

"I'm taking that as a compliment."

"If you want nuggets we can just walk down the street. Unless you want me to drive?" Steve points in the direction of the row of fast-food restaurants.

"Yeah, let's walk."

Steve slowly turns and starts walking, glancing invitingly over his shoulder.

"So you know me." Eddie rattles the tin of guitar picks and looks a little worried by the prospect that Steve is some sort of fan.

"Only through your uncle, really. And maybe a short Google search. Sue me." Steve holds up his hands guiltily.

"Oh yeah, Wayne's my marketing manager. I send him out to spread the good word."

"Well I don't know who you've been instructing him to market to, but he's spending all his time in my store making me read book summaries to him because he conveniently forgets his glasses every time he comes in." Steve deadpans. Eddie chuckles and shakes his head knowingly.

"Yeah, It's this new long-con form of marketing. We decided to go all in for just one new fan." Eddie's got these sweet little dimples on either cheek when he smiles.

"Kinda worked, I dunno. I'm charmed by the Munsons." Steve and Eddie are veering towards each other as they walk. They're set to collide like two little asteroids. When they do end up bumping shoulders, it's soft. They stay close after that.

Steve hears a truly horrible sound coming from a bar a few meters ahead of them.

"Oh shit! Karaoke bar!" Eddie exclaims and speeds over. Eddie stands in front of the fenced-off patio and looks in while someone butchers Guns N' Roses. He looks absolutely delighted.

"What, you want to go show off in front of these poor, tone-deaf drunkards?" Steve rests his arms on the little fence and leans forward. Eddie vehemently disagrees.

"God no, I just like hearing all the very talented Midwestern voices." Eddie wiggles his eyebrows to express his sarcasm. "In other words, I enjoy making fun of bad music. I'm only human."

They sit there and give each other pained looks at the bad voices for a few minutes until someone starts trying to drunkenly stumble over the verse to a Nicki Minaj song and then Eddie drags Steve away in anguish.

"Can't take it anymore, Steve. Spare me."

***

The two of them have a good rapport, Steve thinks as they sit on a curb and share a big box of chicken nuggets. Maybe Wayne was right. It's playful. He can see how Eddie and Wayne share a handful of mannerisms and a sense of humor.

"Let's intertwine our arms like newlyweds do when they drink champagne," Steve says with a ketchup-covered chicken nugget in his hand. He wraps an arm around Eddie's and then takes a bite. Eddie follows his lead and giggles.

"I didn't know they did that. I've never been to a wedding." Eddie swallows and reaches for his soda.

"What? Never?"

Eddie shakes his head and looks up at the night sky. It's too cloudy to see any stars, unfortunately.

"My tux is in the car, by the way, should things pan out tonight." Steve jokes.

"I think they're panning." Eddie winks and leans in slightly.

"Oh yeah? Have I lived up to Wayne's description of me?" Steve bats his eyelashes and gives Eddie a sweet little smile.

"You've exceeded it, sweetheart." Eddie picks up Steve's hand and presses a chaste kiss to the inside of his wrist. Steve's heart jumps. When Eddie pulls back, he doesn't pull back far.

"Do you ever kiss on a first date?" Eddie whispers and squeezes Steve's hand. He glances at Steve's lips.

"Mmm, I could be persuaded." Steve feels a heady rush at the fact that he has somehow won the interest of a successful musician who probably meets loads of people every day. Steve reaches forward and tugs at one of Eddie's loose curls. He twists it around his finger and looks up with big doe eyes.

The tension is cut from Eddie's body when Steve looks at him like that. The move has a pretty good success rate at this point. And it doesn't fail him tonight. Eddie rests a hand on the base of Steve's neck. He strokes his thumb back and forth against the hollow of Steve's collarbone and leans in slowly.

Eddie's warm lips press against his own gently, experimentally. Their lips make a sweet sound when the suction is broken and Eddie's immediately reseal against Steve like he's irresistible. It's been forever since Steve kissed anyone, especially anyone worth kissing. He forgot how sweet and floaty it feels.

The hand on Steve's collar slides up so it's lightly holding his neck, it feels quietly possessive. It makes Steve's face heat up. Eddie's free arm wraps around Steve's waist pulling him closer. He lets himself be pulled.

Eddie starts getting more confident and hums softly when Steve weaves a hand into his long hair.

Steve could keep this up for hours, he wants to. But as dark as it is, he doesn't love the idea of continuing this so out in the open. He pulls back with regret.

"Damn, how are you not already taken?" Eddie wipes at Steve's shiny lips with his thumb.

"How are you not already taken? You're the accomplished one." Steve counters, squeezing one of Eddie's knees.

Eddie gathers their trash around them and stuffs it into the paper bag. "Well, I'll be home for a while if you'd want to do this again sometime. I can take you to a nice restaurant next time, I promise." He stands to throw away the trash. "Damn, I don't want the night to be over..."

"It doesn't have to be, you're welcome at mine." Steve leans back on one of his hands and bats his eyelashes up at Eddie.

"My New Year's resolution was to not do first date hookups, though."

"We don't have to, just come hang out." Steve holds an arm out to be pulled up to his feet from where he’s still sitting on the curb.

"Oh, yeah okay. You want me to?" Eddie pulls him to his feet with more force than necessary. It sends them both stumbling and giggling.

"Obviously I want you to."

***

The walk back to the restaurant is much faster than it was at the start of the night. They regretfully have to split at the parking lot, each having their own ride.

"Wait, call me so we can still talk on the way there." Eddie requests before jogging off to Wayne's truck. There really isn't much need to talk on the phone since Steve lives so close, but it's kind of cute that he wants to. Steve hits the call button on Eddie's contact.

"Hello, to whom am I speaking?" Eddie asks in a formal, over-the-top voice.

"This is Steve Harrington. I'm contacting you regarding your car's extended warranty." Steve backs out of his spot and waits for Eddie to do the same before driving out of the parking lot.

"Oh wow, what a coincidence. I was just wondering if my car had an extended warranty." Eddie always plays along, he digs into all of Steve's jokes and finds his own spot to grow there.

Steve drives slower than he normally would so that he doesn't get separated from his date. Eddie doesn't appreciate the sentiment.

"You drive like a grandpa. Has anyone ever told you that?" Eddie laughs and honks his horn. Steve hears it both over the phone and from his window.

"I'm only driving slow so we don't get separated, asshole."

"There's barely anyone on the road tonight to separate us, but it's fine, Steve. I value your safety. Drive at your comfortable geriatric pace."

When they pull up to a red light, Eddie instructs Steve to roll down his window so they can stick their hands out and play Rock Paper Scissors. Steve is so distracted watching Eddie's hand through his side mirror that he misses when the light turns.

"It's green, honey," Eddie alerts him softly through the phone, and Steve apologizes.

He's smiling real big the whole way there and when Steve eventually gets out of the car, Eddie comes up and grabs him from behind.

Eddie plants a few eager kisses on the side of Steve's neck. "You're fun, Steve."

"I'll show you real fun some other time." He jokes and pulls Eddie towards his place.

As soon as Steve opens the door to his apartment, he feels self-conscious about how dull it looks inside. Eddie looks around quietly. His eye catches on a picture of Steve and Robin.

"That's my best friend, Robin." Steve clarifies, just in case Eddie reads it wrong like dates have in the past.

Eddie smiles and pulls Steve back against his chest. "She looks nice."

"Looks can be deceiving." Steve laments which has Eddie chuckling into his shoulder. Eddie rubs at Steve's tummy.

What Steve really wants, what he's been desperate for, for months and months is human touch. He just wants to cuddle so badly. And Eddie doesn't seem the type to cuddle, but looks can be deceiving, so Steve's gonna ask anyway.

"Wanna cuddle and watch trash reality TV?" Steve's shoulders rise to his ears, it's a defensive gesture and he's expecting to be rejected. Eddie looks slightly amused by his offer, but he nods.

***

"So you liked him alright?" Wayne asks smugly patting the counter. Steve nervously watches the back of the store where Amber is reorganizing. Steve shouldn't be having a conversation like this at work while she's around.

"Yes, Wayne." Steve rolls his eyes. "Your nephew is lovely."

"I told him he should come here with me next time. Maybe we'll both visit ya." Wayne looks happy. The corners of his default frown have been pulled upwards by the return of his nephew. He's a good man. Steve thinks if his kid was only home a few weeks he'd want to hoard all of his attention, surely not set him up on dates.

And that's the thing about Wayne, it seems like he puts the people he cares about first. Steve wonders if Wayne is all that lonely when Eddie's gone, or if he just comes into the store so often because he knows Steve is.

"I'd love that." Steve hopes things work out with the Munsons.

[cassieuncaged]

Batstarion (Astarion x Reader)

Summary: You share some time with a certain Ascended Vampire in bat form.

TW: none :)

WC: 1 K

A/N: just a fluffy oneshot inspired by Pani-artz Batstarion series, that’s all :)

Long, leathery wings stretch across the tufted cushion, a flurry of squeaks escaping before you whisper an evocation.

“Amicus animalis,” your fingers trace his tiny body, getting lost in the snowy coat that covers him. “You may speak now, love.”

“Lord,” he corrects in that buttery voice you delight in so much, though it’s difficult to take anything serious when Astarion lounges about in bat form. White pinpricks appear from behind an upturned snout, his menace evaporated as beady eyes muster any intimidation. “I am your lord and you will regard me as such.”

“Oh?” You bring a finger up to one fang, releasing a droplet that’s offered to the bat. A tiny pink tongue laps at it lazily. “It’s I who sits upon your throne; shan’t I be your lord?”

“Do not mock me, pet,” he seethes, though that pink noses nuzzles against your finger before sharply latching. He sips though it feels more like a tickle when he’s in this form, “I’m ghastly.”

“You’re adorable.” You coo, scratching beneath a fuzzy chin as he likes. When you stop, you noticed his batty expression has softened, tiny features relaxed. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Immensely,” he sighs, wings twitching against either of your thighs, cartilaginous sinews loosening as his claws dig into your breeches. “Turn me."

“Isn’t my lovely face enough?” You jest though some truth is hidden in that; after all, it’s been almost a year since you’ve last seen your own reflection. Now you chat with the bat form of your lover and closest confidant. Were you finally losing what was left of your mind?

“Don’t be naïve,” he tsks, sinking into the tufted velvet. “I’d like to look upon the audience.”

“The hall is empty, my love,” your eyes fall on the empty benches as wings threaten to flap. “Patience, I’ve got you.”

One hand slid beneath his warm belly, enjoying the heat you no longer wrought. Then he was carefully scooped and turned so that beady little gaze to see the ornate room that often clamored for the attention of the lord regally displayed upon the dais. Then a content chirp echoed through the vaulted ceilings as his body spasmed.

“Imagine if all the citizens of Baldur’s Gate saw you now, my lov…, my lord.” One finger began stroking from between tiny coned ears to the root of a wiry tail. His fur was so luscious and soft, not unlike the curls so carefully manicured atop his head, “Commanding with such ferocity propped upon the lap of your consort.”

“I suppose it would be quite the sight,” he chuckled, making her shiver like it always did. “Baldur’s Mouth would have quite the story. ‘Decrees heralded by rodent’; I think it’s silly enough to make the front page.”

“Think yourself popular, do you?” you teased, enjoying the moments he was seemingly relaxed and docile; they were so far few and between these days.

“Darling, I know I am.” He wriggled playfully against the cushion before pinkish hued wings began to flap. It was always mesmerizing to watch him float, expecting him to morph back into himself with a cloud of smoke. But he remained as he was, eyeing you expectantly. “The sun has long set; let’s peruse the palace gardens.”

The velveteen cushion was tucked upon the seat of the gilded throne as he began to glide to the far end of the hall, leaving you practically sprinting to catch up. Boots clacked against the marble floor, robes swishing around sure legs as you raced down the aisle. He paused, wings flapping in place as your place was taken beside him.

“Do keep up, dear,” he chided, little teeth clicking as he gracefully dove through the opened oak doors and down the decadently decorated hallway. “We haven’t all night. Oh, wait; we do don’t we?”

Your chuckle mingled with his, allowing the flamboyant bat dart to through the ornate glass doors that servants obediently wrenched open. It was a treat to watch him dive through the hedged archways, dipping down to bury his nose in a budding rose that practically glowed beneath the full moon.

“Pick one,” he encouraged, “Put it behind your ear.”

Doing as asked, two red pinpricks watched diligently as the petals hung over the shell of your ear. Then, it finally happened, fluffy white bat dissipating into a black mist before Astarion stretched out in front you, gently tipping your chin upwards.

“Beautiful.” He cooed before pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Just beautiful.”

“Would ‘Batstarion’ agree?” you giggled, enjoying the quiet moments before the hammer inevitably dropped. He was so rarely this tender and you missed it terribly. Gently, he pulled your hand into his before drifting to the edge of the gardens.

“He loves flowers, that’s true.” He grins, wiping residual pollen from his own nose, “Though I’m unable to hold you with those bloody wings. Not to mention the language barrier.”

“I love the chirps,” you argued, enjoying the arm that instinctually wrapped around your waist, possessively. “It’s very cute.”

“I’m meant to be menacing,” he growls and you’re reminded of his other form, back elongating, jaw distending. You shivered at the thought. So you allow your fingers to dance across a strong cheekbone as his gaze fell upon the lights twinkling lights in the Lower City below. “How will I ever rule The Sword Coast if I’m not?”

“In due time, my love.” You reassured him, enjoying the caress of his cold breath against your ear. “This will all be ours. They’ll pledge fealty and you can rest upon as many velvet pillows as you please. I’ll even rub your little furry belly.”

“Will you?” then, when you expected his teeth to plunge into your neck but nuzzled against you again. A welcome change. “That’d be strangely comforting.”

[craisinsensation1029]

Not Like It Matters

Kento Nanami

originally posted on AO3! :3 it was the first Nanami one shot I wrote :)

You just moved and your new next door neighbor, Nanami, is extremely easy on the eyes. He’s a bit older and grumpy, but sweet, always bringing you food and keeping you up to date with your other neighbors' business. Then there are the offers; bringing up heavy groceries, building furniture, movie nights… and using his pool, whether or not he’s home. You always politely decline visiting without him there, feeling it would be too invasive. However, an unbearably hot day and a broken AC changes things one day.

fem reader, neighbor!Nanami, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex (female/male receiving), alcohol consumption, provocative dancing, slight age gap, inappropriate use of whipped cream, praise, degradation, nipple licking, some sexual tension, making out

9.7k

MDNI

You huffed as you carried another box from the moving truck to the steps of your newly purchased bungalow. You didn’t remember owning all this shit in the tiny apartment you moved from. Lucky for you, your new place was single story, so there would be no diabolical stairs as another obstacle in getting your shit inside.

You walked back to the truck, grabbing another box of many to be unloaded, practically throwing it with the other ones on the steps. You admittedly were exhausted, and figured you would continue to tackle the rest of the boxes tomorrow.

You dug your keys out of the back pockets of your denim shorts, unlocking the door and kicking the box nearest to it inside. You proceeded to do the same with some of the other nearby boxes when you saw a figure exiting from the neighboring house on the right.

Their house was a little larger than yours, with a well taken care of lawn. Their home had a second story, with a large balcony on the second floor. A plethora of pink, purple, and yellow flowers decorated the area. Your eyes couldn't help but wait for the figure to come into focus to get a better look at them.

It was a tall man with blonde hair. He wore a black V-neck and running shorts, showing off toned arms and legs. He seemed to have sensed you staring because he turned and looked in your direction. It was a bit difficult to make out the exact expression on his face, but he started cutting across his lawn and walking in your direction.

Your limbs seemed to lock up as his long legs made quick strides to close the distance between the two of you. You started praying to every higher power imaginable that you did not somehow piss this man off.

As he made the final step to get to your lawn, more of his features came into focus. An ornate watch adorned his wrist, and you couldn’t help but take a look at his hands. They were large with slender fingers that appeared to be well manicured. Trailing up to his face, it was void of facial hair, but that only exaggerated his defined cheekbones. He had somewhat of a button nose, and warm, brown eyes.

He looked to be about ten years older than you, give or take. Not old enough to be your father, though.

Not that it mattered or anything.

He extended a hand to you, a ghost of a smile dancing across his lips. “Finally, my new neighbor has arrived. Kento Nanami, pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, nice to meet you too.” You shook his hand, and his grip was firm; the man nearly used the opportunity of this greeting to yank your fucking arm off. You introduced yourself, and looked down at all the boxes littering your front steps. “Heh, just…ignore that.”

“That would be pretty difficult,” he answered, raising an eyebrow. “I heard you groaning and huffing from inside. May I offer you some help?”

You felt the color drain from your face at his admission.

Okay, so maybe you didn’t have the best stamina for physical activity such as moving shit, but he didn’t need to point that out.

“What? You're saying you’re some big, strong man that has to come to my rescue by moving my stuff?” You crossed your arms over your chest, challenging him by raising your brow as well.

He wasn’t taken aback by your response at all. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but shut it. Instead, you walked back over to the truck, opening up the back to show him the remaining boxes. You reached to grab a box, but his hand landed on your wrist. His hand practically dwarfed and encompassed your whole wrist, and the rough skin against yours was oddly… calming.

“I got it, sweetheart,” he assured, easily stacking two boxes on top of each other. “Just let me know where you want me to put everything down, okay?”

Being the genius that you were in the haste to leave your old place, none of the boxes were labeled except for one citing fragile . “Anywhere inside, really. It doesn’t matter, sweetheart. ”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he shook his head, starting the process of moving the remaining boxes from the truck to your home. 

After about half an hour, the back of the truck was bare. You tried to hide your shit eating grin, but to no avail. “So Kento, you big, strong man,” you teased, faking innocence by placing your hands behind your back, “You move things pretty well, what else are you capable of?” 

A light sheen of sweat glistened against his forehead, and he wiped it using the bottom of his shirt. His exposed happy trail was golden, and you averted your eyes anywhere else, knowing your staring would be too obvious. Now, the only thing on your mind was what he looked like shirtless.

He chuckled again, a short but deep chuckle. “In the grand scheme of things, I am capable of a lot, I suppose.”

“Pfft,” you grunted, rolling your eyes.

“Well since specificity is what you seem to be looking for,” he began, his voice lowering just the slightest bit, “I would say I cook quite well, are you hungry?”

Your stomach audibly growled before your words could deceive you, and you nodded sheepishly.

“Eating before engaging in anything physical is important, sweetheart. I hope you know that.” Again, you opened your mouth to say something, but his hand was on the small of your back guiding you toward his home before you could respond. “Come on, I was marinating some steak for carne asada. Won’t take too long to prepare.” 

You couldn’t even lie, that sounded great.

Once the two of you made the short walk across the grass, he opened his door and you immediately craned your neck inside to see what his place looked like. You already had an idea in your head from seeing his manicured hands; Minimalist with chrome appliances and white furniture. 

Needless to say, you weren’t completely wrong. From the view of the foyer were bay windows converted into french doors which overlooked a large deck and pool. On the deck was a grill and a few lounging chairs. The living room had gray, felt couches with probably the biggest fucking televison mounted to the wall you had ever seen in your life.

Like seriously, did he steal that from a movie theater or something?

The appliances in the kitchen were all stainless steel, and his fridge had one of those screens on it for crying out loud. Some art hung along the walls and more plants were in various places around the space. It was neat, tidy, and smelled like lemon and lavender. You could only imagine upstairs looked the same.

You turned to look at him, pointing at the television. “How big is that TV?”

“Large enough for me to enjoy whatever I’m watching.”

“Right,” you scoffed. “What are you, rich?”

He seemed to ponder your question for a moment. “I’m fortunate to live comfortably with all my needs met.”

“You get that question a lot? That answer sounds rehearsed.”

He chuckled again, shaking his head. His hand was on the small of your back again, guiding you toward the deck outside. Your gaze couldn’t help but land on the clear, blue water of the pool. Some inflatables were lazily bobbing on the water’s surface.

“Must be nice having a pool,” you murmured.

“You’re welcome to use it anytime you’d like.”

You beamed, clasping your hands. “Really? I can swim in your pool?”

“I’m unsure what else you would do in a pool,” he deadpanned. “I will ask you to limit your activities in the pool to just that, but yes. Even if I’m not here you just have to unhook the latch to the fence.” He pointed to the direction of the fence in question. It looked like it was right next to your backyard.

You put your hands up sheepishly. “Oh no, I couldn’t come when you aren’t home.”

“Of course you can, I just said so.” Before you could say anything, he turned to go back inside. “I’m going to grab the meat to throw on the grill. There's a mini fridge right there if you’re thirsty. Sit, relax.”

You nodded although he was already gone, and grabbed a mango whiteclaw from the fridge, plopping down in one of the chairs. It was comfy, and there was a comfortable breeze in the summer air. 

Hot, rich neighbor that cooks and has a pool? I’m going to like it here .

Your mind still lingered on the prospect of using the pool when he wasn’t home. You couldn’t do that. That must be crossing some kind of line. But was it really if he was the one encouraging it?

The sound of the doors opening pulled you out of your thoughts as he reemerged with the meat and some vegetables. He fired up the grill, and started preparing everything.

Once done, he made your plate which he served with some rice, pico de gallo, and chimichurri sauce. You practically moaned at the first bite. The steak was so tender in your mouth, and the flavors were absolutely perfect. “Kento, you’re spoiling me here, you know?”

“What? No one has ever given you food before?”

“Oh, shut up!” You shoved another piece of steak in your mouth, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your head. You waited to swallow that bite before asking, “What about that TV? Can I come over sometime and watch that too?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“Have fun trying to get rid of me now,” you replied, relishing in another bite of the food.

“As long as you don’t turn into a gremlin after midnight, I’m sure there will be no need to get rid of you.”

You don’t know why that made you flush. 

As the sun went down, the two of you sat on the back deck talking. You spoke about your career, and how the salary jump from your new job allowed you to purchase the home next to his. In return he spoke about his career as well. He’s the CEO of a non-profit that helps people facing food and housing insecurity in the area. In addition to that, he’s an adjunct professor who teaches English at a few local community colleges every other semester.

Good to know this money of his came from actual work rather than some generational wealth.

Not like it mattered.

The two of you also spoke a little of family, political views, and hobbies amongst other things. He even told you about some of the neighbors like an eccentric white haired man and his partner, though he seemed to mention them with a grimace. Speaking to him was easy.

“So let me make sure I understand this correctly.” By now the sun was setting into a pink sky, and small lights began to illuminate his backyard. “You have all this wealth and knowledge, you give back to communities and shit, but you’re single? Like, how are you not married?”

He shrugged.

“Did you… I don't know… ”

“Did I what?” he questioned. “Kill my wife and use her insurance policy to live the life I’m living now?”

You put your hands up in defense. “Hey, the words came out of your mouth. Not mine.”

He was in his lounge chair across from you, and scooted it slightly so both of your knees were touching. “You know if I said yes, you’d be next, right?”

By now you had drunk about three white claws, and he probably did the same. You were comfortably buzzed. “I’ll have you know I don't have an insurance policy. There would be no benefit.”

“Oh sweetheart,” he drawled. “If I hypothetically confessed a murder to you, there’s not a chance I’d let you live.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was an attraction forming, but his words made you shudder. 

You opted to just blame it on the alcohol.

“Remind me not to ask you of any murders you may or may not have committed.”

“You got a deal,” he replied. “I wouldn’t want to murder you anyway.”

This time, you felt the need to clench your thighs.

Yeah, definitely the alcohol and definitely time to go.

“On that note,” you said, rising from your seat. When was the last time you stood? You wobbled, and he quickly stood, grabbing your elbow to ensure you wouldn’t fall.

“Ready to go home?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s getting pretty late,” you yawned, squinting your eyes to look at the time on your phone. It was nearly four in the morning. Where did the time even go? You had a fuck ton of unpacking to do tomorrow. “Thank you again for dinner. And for saying I can use your pool. And for the drinks. An-”

“You’re welcome,” he cut you off. “Now come on, let’s get you home.”

“Kento, I live a skip and a hop away. I think I can manage.”

His eyes narrowed. “Sweetheart, you’re not even sober. You’re insane if you think I would let you walk out my door alone.”

You bit your lip and nodded, looping your elbow through the one offered to you as you made the quick journey back to your house. 

Before you could say anything, he unlocked elbows and grabbed the palm of your hand. “May I?”

You had no idea what was happening, but nodded anyway. 

He pressed a soft kiss to the skin on the front of your hand. “Goodnight. Sleep well, sweetheart.”

“You too,” you breathed, closing the door and locking it behind you.

You slid down the back of the door, feeling like some kind of teenager with the way that hand kiss made you squeal. Perhaps Nanami and alcohol weren’t a good mix. 

Over the next few days you successfully unpacked everything in the boxes. The only thing left was some more furniture getting delivered today. You’d been sleeping on your futon as you waited for your bedroom set to arrive. 

Want to come over for dinner tonight? Chicken parm is on the menu.

You and Nanami exchanged phone numbers the day after your first meeting, and you two would exchange a few messages everyday. Nothing of major significance, but then again, food was important.

Waiting for furniture to get delivered today. Might be up all night trying to assemble it, wish me luck :( 

His reply came in before you even set your phone down, I can do that for you. Let me know when the truck gets here.

You knew there was no arguing him down about it. My hero, thank you so much <3

Don't mention it, sweetheart.

Normally, you would cringe at any man who dared to call you a pet name without permission, but this was different. He was different. You smiled at the message while taking care of a few things around the house waiting for the delivery.

Some hours later with music blaring from your speaker, your doorbell rang. “Coming!” you yelled, turning down the music slightly. You looked through the peephole, taken aback to see Nanami on the other side. You opened the door, “Kento? You’re early.”

“Why yes, hello to you too,” he grunted. You couldn’t help but laugh at how grumpy he could be sometimes.

“Did you miss me?” you teased. “You were just dying to see me, huh?”

“It’s always a pleasure to see you, sweetheart,” he answered. “But if you must know the reason I’m so early…” his voice trailed off as he pointed to the UPS truck that was making its way down the block. “I got back a few minutes ago when the truck was still on the other side of the block. Figured I’d just come now, save you some trouble.”

And there it was, the duality of him. Something about him being so grumpy, yet performing acts of service… yeah, you didn’t have words for it. 

DILF energy, maybe

DILF energy without kids, at that.

Not that it mattered.

“Thank you,” you smiled warmly. The truck was chugging along, and stopped outside of your house. You jogged out to meet the driver to sign for it with Nanami right behind you.

After you signed, he assisted the delivery man to bring the large boxes containing your bed frame, headboard, mattress, dresser, and night stand inside. Once he was settled in your soon to be furnished bedroom, he stared at you with his hands on his hips.

“What?” you questioned.

“I didn’t plan on putting these things together with my hands.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index fingers. “Do you have a toolbox?”

Uh, didn’t the tools come in the box? You went into your bathroom and returned with a hammer and screwdrivers. “Does this work?”

His lips formed a flat line as he brushed your shoulder on the way to exit the room. “Going to grab mine real quick.”

He returned moments later with his toolbox, and a drill. He used a switch blade to open up boxes and soon the pieces were scattered all around him. He took one look at the instructions and seemed to understand what they said and got to work.

Today he wore a gray shirt with straight blue jeans, and you watched the way his muscles flexed as he moved pieces around and placed some more of them together. You should probably do more than just stand around and ogle him. 

“Oh, um…” you began, walking around so you were in his view. “Anything I can do to help? I can…” your voice trailed off as you looked at the instructions. What the actual fuck. “I can like, hand you the stuff.”

“The stuff?” He raised an eyebrow.

“You know!” You waved your arms to gesture to the pieces laying around.

An easy laugh left his lips as he shook his head. “How about you just sit over there and look pretty? I always like working with a view.”

Was he flirting with you? You genuinely hoped that he was. Hoping your face wasn’t too flushed, you nodded and sank into your beanbag chair in the corner of the room.

“Is this view to your liking, Mr. Nanami?” you teased.

His eyes roamed over you and then gave you an approving nod. “Perfect.”

You blushed and giggled and squealed and kicked your feet internally, but gave him a polite smile externally.

Over the next few hours, you two had conversations about pretty much everything and nothing and before you knew it, all the furniture was built. He was dragging the mattress on the bed to finish off his work.

“Thank you again so much, Kento,” you smiled, surveying your now furnished room.

“It’s nothing.” You shot daggers his way. “But yes, you are very welcome, scary lady.”

You slapped his arm. “I am not scary!”

“Debatable.” He rubbed his arm, faking pain. “Despite your abusive nature, you are still welcome to have dinner with me. I just have to put the chicken in the oven.”

“Of course!” You decided to ignore the abusive comment, because he obviously loved it. “Oh! Can we watch a movie tonight in your movie theater?”

“You and this TV,” he muttered, hand on the small of your back as you two crossed your lawn.

You sat in the kitchen, again making conversation while he finished preparing dinner. He set up two dinner folding trays, placed your plates down, and dropped the remote in your lap.

“What should we watch?” You were already scrolling through the streaming apps he had.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” You looked over at him, trying to see if there was any hint of flirting at all, but nothing gave it away. He was already engrossed in his meal. You guessed he genuinely was just a nice guy.

You settled for a comedy and paused it once you two were done eating so he could take the dishes and wash them quickly. When he returned, you resumed the movie.

You both decided to watch another movie, an action one this time. He turned off the lights and put the surround sound on to give you that real cinematic experience. At some point during the second movie, he wrapped his arm around you letting his fingers drum against your shoulder. You silently snuggled into him, glad your sigh of content was hidden by the volume.

At the conclusion of the second movie you stood to stretch, your eyes landing on the pool through the french doors. You almost wished you asked to go for a swim instead of watching a second movie, but then you wouldn’t have been able to cuddle into his side.

He must have noticed where your gaze was since he asked, “Late night swim?”

You nodded eagerly, practically bolting through the doors and into the backyard. He followed closely behind, hitting a switch to turn on the pool lights. The blue water was quickly illuminated with small purple and pink lights. “We could walk over to your place and-”

He cut himself as you pulled the tank top you were wearing over your head. You threw it on one of the deck chairs and undid the button on your denim skirt, shimmying out of the garment. You were left in a purple bra, and lacy black panties.

You dipped your foot into the edge of the pool, getting a feel for the temperature. It was just right. You used the steps to step into the pool, wading through the water until you were in the middle of it. You decided to float on your back, closing your eyes to enjoy the calmness of the water. When you opened them, the sky was filled with stars. You would never get that view at your old place.

“Was going to say we could walk over and get your swimsuit, but I guess this also works,” Nanami’s voice called out to you.

You opted to stop floating, and swam over to where he was standing at the edge of the pool where you entered. “You’re not going to join me?” you asked, an exaggerated pout on your lips.

He seemed to contemplate your request. “You sure?”

You gestured to the large expanse of water. “I promise there’s enough room for both of us here. This isn’t a bathtub.”

“Two people can easily fit in the tub I have upstairs.”

“Good to know.” You rolled your eyes.

“As long as you’re sure,” he murmured as he started undoing the button on his jeans. You don't know why you were so mesmerized by the action. Your eyes followed the movement as he pushed them down his toned legs. Next was his shirt, which made you bite your lip in anticipation.

You literally were wondering what he looked like shirtless the first day you met the man.

He peeled off his shirt, and needless to say, you had new fap material tonight. He wasn’t grossly muscular to the point where it seemed like he had steroids with every meal, but he was built, sturdy. Abs indented his frame, and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring at his V-cut and his happy trail. 

You wanted to rub your hands down on them, desperately.

You didn’t look down any further afraid you might actually cream yourself if you ogled his body any further. 

He began descending down the steps to enter the pool, and suddenly you were nervous. You didn’t know why.

You swam back out toward the middle of the pool and he followed closely behind. 

Maybe you didn’t think this through asking him to join you; Or maybe you should have had a drink or two prior to getting in the pool. “The stars look amazing tonight,” you blurted out, pointing a finger toward the sky.

He craned his neck to look up at them. “They do.”

The sounds of leaves rustling in the slight breeze and crickets filled the air as you two bobbed in the water. Your mind couldn’t help but wander about the man next to you. Were you reading too much into it? Was there a mutual interest here, or have you just encountered really shitty people?

“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?” he asked, voice intruding on your thoughts. “Don’t think I’ve seen you this quiet before.”

You turned to face him, appreciating how the water made his body glisten. “Nothing much,” you answered slowly.

“So there is something then.” He put a hand on your forearm, his thumb making small circles on your skin. “You are always welcome to talk to me. I won’t push it, I just want you to know.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled. You wished you could lean more into his touch, it wasn’t nearly enough. “I’m just thinking about how I’m glad to have you as my neighbor, that’s all.”

For the first time in the short span of time you’ve known him, he smiled. An actual smile. Not one of those little half smirks, or stifled smiles, but a gentle one to show he appreciated your words.

“Likewise,” he answered. “But I'm sure that’s not the only thing you’re thinking about.”

“It isn’t,” you answered, your voice barely above a whisper.

He waded a little closer to you, putting his other hand on your forearm. “Do you want to tell me?”

You didn’t know it was possible, but you felt both solid and liquid at the same time. If his arms weren’t there to support you, you may have even forgotten how to swim at that moment.

“Just thinking about your workout routine,” you laughed nervously.

He absolutely knew you were full of shit, but decided to entertain you anyway. “Yeah? What do you want to know about it?” He inched in closer, his thumbs still rubbing circles into your arm.

You tried to steady your breathing, but to no avail. He could see the heavy rising and falling of your chest. “Hm? Ask me anything.”

Your mind went blank. What the fuck did you even say before?

“Oh, um…”

He let out a soft chuckle as one of his hands moved from your forearm to your waist, pulling you against him. You couldn’t stifle the moan that escaped your lips feeling the hard contours of his body pressed against yours. “Okay,” he whispered. “If you don’t want to tell me what’s on your mind, how about you tell me what you want?”

What you wanted… that was easy.

“I want to touch you,” you whispered.

“Do it then,” he answered immediately. “Anywhere you’d like.”

One of your arms instantly snaked around his neck, and your other hand began to slide down the indents of his body. You took your time, letting your fingers run through each ab, and into the creases of his V. Contrasting the rough skin of his hands, the skin here was smooth, and his breath became more ragged with each touch.

The effect of your touch was obvious as your hands dared to trail down further. With black boxer briefs on it was hard to tell if he was at full attention, but he felt thick and long. You rubbed him over the material as he sucked in a breath.

In the blink of an eye, his hands shifted until one was on the back of your head and the other on the small of your back, his lips crashing down onto yours. The hand that was trailing his body wrapped around his neck to join the other one, urging your body to be as close to his as possible. 

The kiss was rough. Carnal. Aggressive.

One of his hands moved down to grab the flesh of your ass, his nails digging into your skin. You didn’t care, it was a good kind of hurt.

His tongue was grazing your bottom lip and you parted it slightly so his tongue could slip inside, and sensation made you moan into his mouth. Soon, he was tipping your head back, peppering kisses under your ear and down the expanse of your neck.

“Kento,” you whimpered.

“Hm?” He was still entirely busy kissing your neck before moving back up to your mouth, placing a final, soft kiss against your lips. “Still have anything on your mind?”

Your ass was still in his hands and your arms firmly around his neck as you shook your head no.

Let’s go out tonight. I wanna dance.

It had been about two weeks since the nearly naked makeout session in the pool and admittedly, you were scared.

Scared that Nanami would have seen it as a mistake. Scared that he wouldn’t want to speak to you anymore. Thousands of fears and insecurities flooded your mind after he walked you back home.

Those fears were alleviated the next day when he asked you to come over for dinner and greeted you with a kiss. You two had spent nearly everyday together since then, eating dinner, hanging out at the pool (in actual swimsuits), and having makeout sessions. You even slept over some nights snuggled into his arms. It was a different kind of bliss.

Okay…? No sooner than you received his text, there was a knock at the door. You looked through the peephole for good measure before opening it. You smiled seeing Nanami on the other side in a black tank top and some shorts. “Hi, sweetheart,” he greeted as he pressed a soft kiss against your lips.

“Hi,” you greeted in response, moving aside so he could step inside. 

He settled on your futon, tapping his knee. You settled into his lap, stretching your legs across his other leg. He rubbed your thighs and questioned, “You know we can dance at home, right?”

You rolled your eyes before hitting him on the chest. “Not the same, and you know that.”

“Fine,” he muttered. You somehow always got your way with him, not like he ever put up much of a fight. “What time do you want to go?”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Maybe eight or so? We don’t have to stay out too long.”

He agreed and left shortly after so he could get some work done before tonight, and you did the same.

Some hours later you started getting ready for the night ahead. You wore a black crop top with a plunging neckline, and a stretchy, black mini skirt to match. You swayed your hips in the mirror, just to ensure you could dance the night away. You rushed to apply some boob tape, as your pre-outing dance session resulted in a nipple popping out, couldn’t have that. 

After the girls were secured, you applied your favorite lipgloss and your bell rang at the same time. You opened it after looking through the peephole, and couldn’t seem to help but smile whenever you saw Nanami on the other side. He didn’t look much different, donning a black V neck and blue jeans with some distresses and sneakers, but you loved the simplicity of it nonetheless.

“Ready?” you asked.

While you were ogling him, you didn’t even realize he was doing the same. His eyes jumped between your thighs and your breasts, making you bite your lip. “I just hope you know I’m not letting you out of my sight tonight. Not even for a second.”

You chuckled, shoving your credit card, ID, lipgloss and key into your bra. “And what if I have to use the ladies room, Kento?”

He put his hand on the small of your back to pull you toward him, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke, “I guess the most I can do is stand outside and wait then.”

You pressed a quick kiss against his nose as he called an Uber for the two of you.

You had both decided earlier you didn’t really want to go to a club, but there was a lounge not too far away that would have some live music tonight. You almost flew to the bar as Nanami held open the door for you, ordering an amaretto sour for yourself and a whiskey on the rocks for him. 

After some appetizers and two more drinks, you were ready to dance. The DJ was playing an upbeat song, and you dragged Nanami to the dancefloor as a child would drag their parents into the toy aisle.

You immediately positioned him behind you as started moving your hips to the beat of the music. You stretched your arms upwards to wrap them around his neck as you danced, feeling your body get engrossed in the music with every passing second.

Although hesitant in his movements, he started moving with you, the movement of his hips matching yours. His hands moved down the sides of your body, softly caressing your breasts and settling in the dips of your waist. He couldn’t see, but you had the biggest smile on your face dancing with him.

The DJ continued playing banger after banger, and you felt sweat beginning to drip from your body. Glancing around at some of the other people dancing, you didn’t feel bad. Some were practically drenched with sweat.

A slower song began to play, and you slowed your movements, with Nanami matching you yet again. His hands moved down lower, landing on your hips. “You were right. This is better than dancing at home,” he whispered in your ear.

You turned your head to face him, letting out a giggle. He was significantly sweatier than you were. “Seems like you’re having fun. I didn’t even know you danced, Kento. You’re good.”

“I don’t. I’m just insanely good at anything I do,” he answered. He pulled you tighter against him and you stilled as you felt his erection through the thin material of your skirt. “I would say you’re much better at this than me, though.”

On instinct, you grinded against him again, and he let out a small groan in your ear. “Oh I already know I’m better,” you teased. “I can just tell how excited you are.”

He chuckled softly, his hips matching your movement, his clothed cock grinding against your ass. “To have a beautiful woman dancing with me? How could I not be?”

“I just thought you would be embarrassed or something. I thought you were the epitome of modesty.”

“No,” he chuckled, almost darkly in your ear. “I just thought you were a good girl, that’s all.”

“I am,” you whined almost immediately. 

“I know,” he answered, grinding against you again with a firm hand on your hips. “But even good girls can be naughty sometimes, and I have no problem with that.” His lips brushed against your ear with every word he spoke, and his tongue licked the shell of your ear after the final one.

Coming out to dance really was a great idea. 

You two ate some more and had some more drinks, followed by a lot more dancing. In the darker corners of the space, he grabbed your breasts more as you danced. His fingers brushed against your stiffening nipples in your top, and his hands would rub your thighs at random intervals.

So much for not staying out too late, as you two were stumbling out of the lounge at three in the morning. You both crawled into an Uber with him rubbing the flesh of your thighs. “You’re a bad influence, you know that? I have work in the morning.”

“Call out then,” you giggled, which only made him shake his head.

Once at your home, he walked you inside. You were too horny, too sweaty, and too drunk for your own good.

You plopped down on the futon, turning on the AC before you did. Nanami chuckled at the sight of you, throwing a blanket on top of you and ensuring your head was propped up with a pillow. “Good night, sweetheart,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to your forehead before leaving, locking the door behind him.

You woke up the next morning drenched in a pile of sweat, your head pounding from the night before. You smiled at the memory of the night out with Nanami, his hard cock pressed against you and his hands roaming every part of your body as you danced.

The memory was short lived as your head throbbed again, and you stood slowly. You walked over to the AC, frowning at the sight of it being powered on but refusing to blow out any cool air. “The fuck…” You turned it off and back on again, but nothing. “Ugh!” you groaned.

You looked up a few HVAC companies around, with one of them saying the soonest they could come take a look was in three days, citing a high demand for their services at this time. You groaned again, checking the temperatures for the next few days. It was going to be unbearable.

You opted to take a cold shower and sit on the futon, but it was no use. Even sitting in the nude didn’t help.

Then, a light bulb seemed to glow above your head.

The pool.

You dressed in a lavender drawstring bikini, packing your towel and some sunscreen before going out the back door to get to Nanami’s back yard.

You stared at the latch, biting your lip. You had never taken him up on the offer to visit when he wasn’t home, but he said it was fine, right? You undid the latch, locked it back behind you, and set your bag on one of the pool chairs. 

You made your way inside the pool, feeling relief wash over you as the cool water surrounded your body. You don’t know how long you spent there, but you came out when your fingers were pruny and you were exhausted from swimming. 

You grabbed a white claw from the mini fridge on the deck, cracking it open and taking a sip before setting back onto one of the pool chairs, laying on your back. You remembered there were some snacks, so you went back up and dug around, finding some strawberries and whipped cream. One thing about Nanami, he made a mean strawberry daiquiri. 

You ate the sweet treat and then flipped over on your stomach.

You must have dozed off at some point, because you were awoken to a slap on your ass. You yelped, sitting up to see Nanami with a smirk on his face.

“Glad to see you finally took me up on that offer,” he began. He was shirtless and wearing swim trunks. You guessed he had the same idea as you. “Did you leave your phone at your place?”

“Huh?” You looked in your little bag, and you guessed you did. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“I know. I called and texted you,” he began, bringing a chair closer to sit by you. “I had a lot of fun last night, really. We should do that again.”

“Me too,” you breathed, a grin spreading across your face. It started to fade when you remembered why you were here in the first place. “You don’t know how to fix air conditioners, do you?”

He furrowed his brow. “I suppose it couldn’t be too hard after I look up a few things, why?”

“Mine is broken as fuck, I dont even know what happened,” you sighed.

“Oh, so now you’re just using me for my pool is what you’re saying.” He put his hand over his heart. “I thought we had something real here.”

“Shut up!” You threw your bottle of sunscreen at him.

He caught it effortlessly. “I’ll look up some stuff tonight and take a look at it tomorrow. Why don’t you sleep over tonight?”

“If you insist,” you smiled. “While you’re holding that, come put some sunscreen on my back.”

“Yes sweetheart.” He adjusted the legs on the pool chair so it laid flat, and nudged your legs open slightly so he could sit between them, not comfortably, but just enough to get the job done.

He squeezed some of the liquid in his palm, rubbing it in his hands to warm it up. Then, his hands began to massage it into your skin, his hands cascading from your shoulder blades down to the middle of your back, and right above your ass. His hands glided beneath the strings of your bikini as he rubbed your shoulders blades once more, making you arch your back in response.

“You can untie it,” you whispered. Despite some heavy petting and other nights spent together, neither of you have seen the other bare. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay,” he answered, first pulling the one around your neck and then the one securing it on your back.

He resumed the massage without the barrier, rubbing small circles with his thumb into your spine. You couldn’t help but moan, letting your back arch again at the sensation. “You like that, huh?” he asked softly, repeating the action again. 

He then moved to rub circles into the dimples of your back, and it was a cycle. Shoulder blades, middle of your back, and then the dimples. “All done,” he murmured after some time.

You flipped back over on your back to face him, chest on full display. You both stared at each other for a few moments before motioning for him to come closer. You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought your lips to his. The kiss was gentle as he made his way on top of you, one hand on your hip and the other caressing the side of your face.

His mouth moved from your lips, leaving a trail of kisses as he began to kiss down the slope of your neck, his erection beginning to poke your stomach. You arched up into him, whining as he kissed the area right above your breast.

You both seemed to look up at each other at the same time as you gave him a nod. He instantly sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, shifting one of his hands to knead the other between his thumb and index finger. You moaned immediately as his tongue began to swirl around the nipple in his mouth. He eased up for only a moment, using his other hand to squeeze your breast and swirl his tongue around the nipple before sucking it back into his mouth.

You grabbed his hair, unable to stop the writhing your body was doing under his touch. He switched, now kneading the nipple that was in his mouth, and trailing kissing across your chest and sucking your other nipple into his mouth. This time, he bit your nipple gently before sucking it harder into his mouth, a skilled mouth at that. He knew just when to apply pressure and when to ease off.

He eyed the whipped cream you were eating the strawberries with, and grabbed it quickly, easing off of you entirely.

“Why’d you st-” you stopped talking when he sprayed a neat dollop of the cream on your nipple, diving back down to lick it off of you. “Kento,” you moaned, lewd sounds of him slurping the cream off of you filling the air.

Once he licked you clean, he did the same with the other, his cock growing harder by the second as he licked it clean off of you. He kneaded both of your nipples as he began descending down your body, kissing down your sternum and stomach. One hand utilized the can to spray some whipped cream into your belly button and returned to your nipple once it was on you in a neat dollop. His tongue circled your belly button before diving in deep with the hardpoint to clean it off of you.

“ Fuck ,” you moaned again, looking down at him. Again, your eyes met at the same time as he went lower, feeling yourself quiver when his mouth was at the edge of your bikini. You gave him an affirming nod as he pulled at the strings, discarding the material quickly.

You were already wet, but if you were being honest, you were wet the moment he slapped your ass when he saw you.

He positioned himself on his knees, and grabbed your thighs to bring you to the edge of the chair, your pussy perfectly aligned with his mouth. “Been thinking about doing this for a while, sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh.

You bit your lip at the admission. “Me too.”

His eyes darkened, “You are a naughty little thing, aren’t you?”

You had no time to answer as his mouth suddenly sealed around your clit, making you cry out and buck your hips. He placed his arms under your thighs to rest them on his shoulders, his mouth still latched onto your clit in the process.

He eased off your clit and looked at your wetness as if it were a pot of gold on the end of a rainbow. “All for me, huh?” His tongue dragged slowly through your folds, and he moaned against you. He repeated the action again and again, reveling in the taste of you. Each swipe of his tongue elicited moan after moan from you until the pressure building in your belly was undeniable.

You tried to haul yourself up in the chair for a moment of relief from the onslaught of his tongue, but he wasn’t having that. He held you firmly in place and his mouth sealed around your clit again, making you buck your hips against his face. “Kento, please!” you cried out, your hands gripping his hair so hard, you were scared he would need a hair transplant after this.

He moaned against you, dipping down to fuck you with his tongue. That’s when you saw stars, your body going limp as your pussy spasmed around his tongue. He unhooked your legs, crawling back on top of you to kiss you. It was rough and sloppy and you moaned, tasting yourself in his mouth.

He grabbed your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him. “Turn back around and arch your back for me,” he ordered.

You nodded, scrambling to crawl back up on the chair, arching your back as deep as you could to present your ass for him. You felt him coming behind you, giving one cheek a firm slap before kneading it after. He repeated the same with the other cheek and you let out a moan, your face pressed against the plastic of the chair.

You felt a finger nudging at your entrance, and you pressed against it before he slapped your ass again. “Greedy, aren’t you?” His index finger pushed inside you shallowly and you resisted the urge to push back against it. Another finger joined the first, only about half knuckle deep. You whined, desperate from more than the measly half of his fingers.

“Good girl,” he murmured, praising your patience. You clenched around him. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

“I want you to fuck me,” you answered immediately, your breathing uneven with anticipation.

“Like this?” His pushed the remaining length of his fingers inside of you, and you had to remember not to fuck them. They pumped in and out of you at a steady rhythm, but gosh you wanted more. “Hm, you wanted me to fuck you like this?”

“With your cock,” you answered. “Please,” you pleaded.

His fingers exited you slowly, and you heard velcro. You bit your lip knowing he was taking his trunks off, and then you felt the fat head of his cock nudging at your entrance. “Well since you asked so nicely…” He placed his hands on your hips as he began to slowly push inside of you.

“ Ngh, ” you moaned, feeling the delicious stretch of your pussy around his cock. He seemed to be pushing in forever as you adjusted to his girth, gripping the chair as tightly as you could.

You heard him let out a moan as you felt his hips against your ass. “So fucking tight for me,” he mumured, staying buried deep inside of you for a moment. One hand moved to caress the slope of your back before returning to your hips. “This is what you asked for, don’t you dare fucking move.”

Before you could say anything, he pulled out before slamming back into you, almost making you lurch forward. Gosh, it felt so fucking good. He did it again, coming out slowly before surging his hips forward. He gripped your hips tighter as he picked up the pace, his hips moving quickly to pound you from behind you with his thrusts.

You whined against the chair, your knuckles white holding on to the chair with the vigor of his thrusts, but you didn’t give a fuck. It felt amazing. He used one hand to deepen the arch in your back, and you swore you didn't even know you were that flexible. His balls slapped against your ass as the vicious pounding continued, pulling all sorts of sounds you didn’t even know you could make out of you.

One hand reached around to play with your clit, and you almost crumpled. “Don’t even fucking think about it,” he growled, his thumb circling your clit. “Be a good girl and take it.”

“Yes!” you cried out, tears beginning to stream down your face. Between the stimulation of your previous orgasm, his pounding, and the hand on your clit, you wanted to be good. More than anything you wanted to hear his praise but surely he knew how difficult he was making it for you.

“Mhm,” he groaned, feeling your pussy start to spasm around his cock. “My good fucking girl. I want to feel you come all over my cock.” He didn’t stop, his thrusts quickening along with the hand that was on your clit.

And that was it. You came around his cock as your body fell onto the chair. Still inside of you, he gave some lazy thrusts as he settled on top of you, pressing kisses to the back of your neck. “You think I’m done with you?” he chuckled darkly, sucking your earlobe into his mouth.

There was more? Maybe you really did need his workout routine. He crawled off, cock still hard, as he waited for you to sit up. You sat up, your eyes glazed in orgasmic bliss and arms and legs weak from maintaining your previous position. “Unless you’re do-”

“I’m good,” you answered quickly, rising to stand.

“I’ve got you. Come here.” He crouched down so you could wrap your arms around his neck, and easily hoisted you up, hands firmly under your thighs as you wrapped your legs around his waist. He carried you into the house and up the stairs, all while you peppered his face with kisses. He all but threw you on the bed once you two reached his room. 

You scrambled onto the bed and he was already on top of you, cock nudging at your entrance once more. Your hands caressed the strong muscles of his back as he pushed into you again, making you throw your head back in pleasure. “Feels so good,” you moaned as he grabbed one of your thighs to put over his shoulder.

His hips surged forward once more, seemingly deeper with this new angle. “I’m glad it feels good,” he answered, his voice uneven and ragged, “Because this pussy feels amazing. You were fucking made for me.” He quickly got your other leg over his shoulder, and began frantically fucking you into the mattress.

Your breasts bounced with each thrust, and he leaned down to suck a nipple into his mouth as he grinded his cock inside of you. Your eyes began to close before you felt a strong hand around your throat. The pressure was just right, and you didn’t think you could possibly be any more turned on right now. “Keep your eyes open,” he growled. “You’re going to watch me fuck this pussy.”

“Yes!” You don’t know where your words went, because the only thing you could seem to say was yes and let out moans.

“Good girl.” His lips crashed on yours and you struggled to keep your eyes open at the sensation. Your nails began to dig into his back and you feared it would draw blood, but another rough thrust made that thought go out the window. The headboard steadily knocked against the wall with each thrust, and you were reaching your peak yet again.

His hand gripped your chin tightly, “Open your mouth.” You did as instructed and he spit into your mouth, which you welcomingly swallowed.

“Fuck. Fuck! ” you moaned, your eyes closing again as another orgasm was preparing to wash over you.

Except it didn’t.

You opened your eyes, watching him slowly pull out of you. “Kento-”

“What did I tell you?” He stood, exiting the room before returning with a chair. He positioned it in front of a large full length mirror in the corner of the room. “Come here, crawl to me,” he instructed, taking a seat in the chair.

You did just that, getting off the bed and getting on all fours. Never in your life had you done this, or even dreamed of doing it, but it felt right, doing it for him. Crawling was almost uncomfortable with how wet you were but you made it, settling on your knees in the space between his legs on the chair.

He grabbed your chin again, more gently this time. “Since you didn’t want to listen, I think you would look good with my cock down your throat. What do you think?” You nodded quickly, resting a hand on his thigh and wrapping the other around the base of his cock.

Making sure your eyes were on him, you swirled your tongue around the head, moaning at the taste of your juices combined with his precum. You sucked just the head into your mouth, bobbing slowly as your hand jerked the remainder of him. His hand stroked the side of your face, a devilish glint in his eyes. “Has anyone ever said you look good with a dick in your mouth?”

Mouth still full of him, you shook your head no. “Good, because it’s only going to be mine in your mouth from now on. You hear me?” You whined around him, pussy clenching at his words as you nodded, taking him deeper into your mouth. You pulled off, jerking him with your hand before taking him back into your mouth, taking a breath before slowly taking as much as him as you could. 

You placed your other hand on his thigh as your mouth slowly sunk down onto him, your nose touching trimmed blonde pubic hairs. Tears were falling from your eyes but you looked up again at him anyway, seeing his mouth hung open and head thrown back in pleasure. “Fuck sweetheart, do that again for me.”

You nodded, taking a breath to come off his cock and do it again, hollowing your cheeks as you did. “ Shit, ” he hissed, guiding you to his lap once you pulled off. “Such a good girl, sit on my cock for me.”

You nodded, aligning his cock with your entrance and lowering yourself down on him. You whined, wrapping your arms around him and giving him a sloppy kiss as he began to fuck up into you. You tried to match his movement, but your legs were incredibly weak as you buried your face into his neck.

“I don’t think so,” he chuckled, turning your face so you could see your reflection in the mirror. He planted his feet flat on the ground and cupped your ass before beginning his onslaught again, his thrusts hard and deep.

“ Kento, ” you moaned, finding it hard to turn away from the image of yourself getting fucked in the mirror. As much as you wanted to do something, you were absolutely spent. You were going to have to do something to keep up with him in the future if it was going to be like this.

“Look at you, full of my cock and taking it like a good fucking girl.” You whined at the praise, feeling your denied orgasm just a few moments ago come back with a vengeance. “But this is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be full of my cock while I fuck you silly.”

He wasn’t even asking, because he fucking knew, and you surely could feel yourself going dumb with his big dick inside of you. You nodded, tears fully streaming down your face as your last ditch effort to meet his thrusts finally proved to be fruitful. You lifted yourself, hearing your ass clapping against his hips as you met his thrusts, you both going at a steady rhythm.

“Shit,” he hissed, watching as your legs finally proved themselves to be useful. “Fuck yourself, make yourself come on my cock.”

You wrapped his arms around his neck more tightly as you bounced on his cock, sometimes faster and sometimes slower. You threw your head back as he watched you in the mirror, kneading your nipples as you slowly brought yourself to orgasm.

One more tweak of your nipples, and you were coming around him. His hands moved to grip your hips tightly as he thrusted into you a few times before finishing as well. Your chest was heaving as you fell against him.

His hand rubbed your back gently as he picked you up, placing you gently on the bed and crawling behind you wrapping an arm around your waist. He pressed a soft kiss to your head, pulling you against him. “You alright, sweetheart? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“I’m perfect,” you breathed out. “Just don’t forget about my AC.” 

The sound of his light chuckle filled the room as you closed your eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

With the way you felt in his arms and you getting the fucking of a lifetime, maybe the AC didn’t really matter.

A/N: the nanami brain rot was wild (it still is nanami nation 4LYFE)

[teenytinyjimin]

baroque (j. jungkook)

summary: masquerade balls are all fun and games until you meet that one person that you feel like you’ve known for a lifetime, but regardless as to who he is, you can’t just let him go.

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 2.4k

tags: masquerade, mystery, academia/renaissance/baroque (i know these are all different but its a little combination), ballroom dancing, reader is absolutely in love with this mystery man she’s dancing with, and he’s kinda in love with her too, spoiler: they know each other, kissing of course!

warnings: none

author’s note: IM BACK! IM SO SORRY BUT IM BACK! anyways i hope u guys enjoy! my last kook fic got a lot of traction so thank u so much <3 so i hope this is up to par with that one :)

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

As you stood at the steps to the entrance of one of the largest ballrooms in town, you took a deep sigh. This wasn't a sigh of distress, however, it was more of a sigh of anticipation.

Balls weren't necessarily a thing of the 21st century. Had it been, say, four-hundred or five-hundred years prior, a ball would be the talk of the town and absolutely everyone would be flooding into the ballroom to have the time of their lives dancing with one another. Alas, it was 2024, and the only people you'd see attending a ball nowadays would be people who are actively interested in Renaissance and Baroque culture and seek rare events pertaining to such.

There was something about these classical time periods that felt ageless and beautiful to you. The big gowns, glimmering jewels, and elaborate ballroom designs were absolutely gorgeous. So of course you were going to indulge in as much classical beauty as possible in modern times. And that meant going to balls whenever you could (or, in other words, whenever you were able to hear about them through the grapevine).

So here you were, in your elaborate Renaissance dress, staring at the entrance ahead of you. This particular ball was a masquerade ball, so it was even more exciting considering the fact that most everyone would be anonymously dancing behind beautifully decorated masks. You looked down at your own mask in hand, a beautiful and ornate piece strewn with jewels, glitter, and feathers. You had spent the last week perfecting the mask and had gone through nearly a dozen prototypes before you created what you thought was the best piece of work you had ever done in your twenty-something years of living. It was beautiful, and it would do a perfect job of hiding exactly what needed to be hidden to make this masquerade a true mystery for you.

Fastening the mask over your head and onto your face, you began to ascend the steps and enter the ballroom. As anticipated, the venue was covered in beautiful Renaissance artwork and ornate chandeliers. The marble pillars holding the place together really brought everything to life as they echoed the Roman influence that they possessed into the large room. Ahead of you was a sea of elaborate gowns and tuxedos, all spinning around in harmony as they danced with one another to the beautiful orchestral music that played.

"A glass of champagne, miss?" A voice called out from next to you. You looked over to see a masked waiter with a tray of champagne flutes in his hand. You gave him a polite nod and curtsy as you took a glass from him. Champagne wasn't necessarily your drink of choice, however you needed something to keep you company while you waited for a good opportunity to join the dancing or, alternatively, until you were asked to dance.

As you approached the floor of the ball, navigating through the sea of dancing people, you attempted to find someone you may have recognized. Sure, masquerades made it rather difficult to identify a person and thus it was quite hard to know if you knew anyone anyway, but it was worth a shot for the sake of socializing. For the most part, everyone seemed pretty invested in their partners, committing to the elaborate ballroom dance that was taking place to the sound of a piano and violin.

Within a matter of moments, you suddenly found yourself on the ground as you had accidentally run directly into another individual. You looked up to see a gloved hand reach down to you, begging for your touch so that it could help you to your feet once again. As you obliged, you realized the body to which the hand was connected was much stronger than you had anticipated as you practically flew back to your feet. A little lightheaded from the rush of movement, you swayed for a moment and tried to find your footing, but the hand that previously helped you was now firmly on your waist as a form of support.

You brushed off your dress once you found yourself more stable, a bright red blush creeping to your cheeks. "I'm so sorry-" You began before looking up to the person in front of you. Something about his presence left you fascinated – He was tall with wide shoulders and toned arms, something you could immediately notice through his tight-fitting shirt. Despite being fit to his body, his shirt was beautiful and contained all sorts of frills and jewels. Only one of his hands were gloved, as the other one was covered in bracelets and rings of a particularly ornate design. He had the most beautiful chain necklaces wrapped around his neck which perfectly suited his beautiful jawline, which was both sharp and soft at the same time. His lips, a perfect amount of plump, were curled into a soft smile which made him a lot less intimidating than he seemed. When you finally saw his eyes, you were met with the most beautiful black orbs that were wide with wonder and amazement. You could've sworn that you've seen those eyes somewhere, as they reminded you of all the comfort you had ever felt in your life, but you couldn't quite put them to a face you recognized. Though this man's face was hidden behind a beautiful mask, you could tell that he was breathtaking in every sense of the word.

"Are you okay?" He asked, maintaining eye contact with you. There was no way you were going to escape his gaze, not because he wouldn't let you but also because you didn't want to. You nodded softly as you continued awkwardly brushing off your dress, unsure of how to speak to the man in front of you. The soft smile that was once on his face now grew to a more toothy grin as he took your hand in his and gently pressed your knuckles to his lips. "If you'd like to make it up to me, I'd love to dance with you."

How were you meant to say no to him? Besides the fact that he had quite literally left you speechless, everything about him was absolutely gorgeous and you'd never turn down an offer to dance with someone like him. As you once again responded with a nod, you felt as he used the hand he had wrapped around your waist to guide you further into the crowd of people and to a more open area where you could properly dance. Once there, he pulled you slightly closer to him as he took your hand in his free one. You naturally placed your other hand upon his bicep, which was tense under your touch, and he began to guide you into a waltz-style dance. It felt as if this came naturally to him as you effortlessly swayed around. You continued to stare into his beautiful doe eyes which shimmered with fantasy as they quite literally pierced into your soul. Whoever this man was, he was perfect in every sense of the word. He was just so perfect.

"You look absolutely stunning, by the way. I'm not sure if I mentioned that," He said after a moment, causing you to blush and look away. "I could say the same about you," You responded quietly, letting yourself feel the air around you blow through your hair. "Thank you for helping me up, by the way. This dress is difficult to maneuver in when you're on the ground."

"It's my pleasure. After all, we bumped into each other. I had an obligation. I wasn't going to let a beautiful girl fend for herself on the ground as a bunch of people danced all over her." You looked back over to him and let out a soft giggle, watching as a grin rose to his face. Something about him was just so warm and inviting, yet you couldn't put your finger on what it was. Perhaps you two knew each other in a past life, one in which you were actually attending balls together in the Renaissance.

"I bet you call a lot of girls at these sorts of things beautiful. I mean, look at you." You say in a teasing tone, watching as his grin dropped to a smirk. "Bold of you to assume that I go to these dances very often, miss." He lets out a soft sigh as he continues to effortlessly sway you around, refusing to stop staring at you. "But even if I did, you're the most breathtaking of them all. Honest."

You remove your hand from his as you bring both hands to rest on the back of his neck, attempting to push yourself closer to him so you can talk a little quieter. "You seem like a pro, do you really not go to balls very often?" He shrugs under your touch as he wraps both arms around your waist, holding you tightly. "Not really. This is my first time coming to this place at least. I'm more of a contemporary dancer."

"Ah, I see," You say softly, letting one of your hands feel at the hair on the back of his neck. He lets out a hitched breath at your touch but continues to sway the two of you back and forth. "It's a beautiful venue, though. It feels like we're in the 1700s and not the 2000s." He comments, looking up briefly at the chandelier above the two of you. You couldn't help but agree. Sometimes when you go to events like these you forget about the chaos of life and pretend that you're still in the Renaissance, which is beautiful in and of itself.

"Have you been on the balcony yet? It has a beautiful view of the city if you want to go take a look," You propose, looking back down at the man in your arms. You watch as his eyes soften and a small smile grows on his lips, pulling away so he can offer you his hand. "You lead the way," He says as you take your hand in his and gently pull him away from the crowd.

As soon as you reached the fresh air of the empty balcony, the two of you stood in silence as you admired the shimmering lights of the city in front of you. "Wow..." He muttered, clearly surprised at the sight in front of him. "You can see pretty much everything from here. How is that possible?" You approach the railing of the balcony and lean against it, taking a moment to look around. "The ballroom is on a hill, even though it doesn't really feel like it. It's actually above the rest of the town so the balcony is able to look down on everything around us."

"I hate to say it, but it seems like I might have found something more beautiful than you." Letting out a small gasp, you turn around to face the man behind you, noticing a huge grin on his face. You smile in return. "I guess I don't blame you. A good view beats a pretty face any day."

"Mmm." He hums, approaching you slowly. He secures his hands on your waist as he picks you up with ease and places you on the railing, keeping contact with you at all times to ensure that you don't fall. Once you are steady on the railing he wraps both arms around you and presses himself tightly to you for extra support, and you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck to stay safe. "I'm only joking anyway. I don't think it's possible to be more beautiful than you."

"Well, I think you're living proof of that, because you're definitely more beautiful than me," You mumble as the distance between your faces becomes much shorter than it once was. He lets out a breathy laugh as he removes one of his arms from your waist and attaches his hand to your face, stroking it gently before closing the gap completely and bringing you in for a kiss.

Kissing someone under the stars is one thing, but kissing someone mysteriously under the stars is another thing. You have no idea who this man is, you don't even know his name, yet here you are, lips connected to his. This is perhaps the best kiss you have ever experienced, as he is so soft yet so passionate with his movements. He never once lets go of you with his other hand, keeping you secure on the railing so that you don't accidentally slip. The one on your face is so soft and gentle, holding onto your face in the most perfect way. It is only now that you are able to really breathe in his scent, an obviously expensive cologne that you would kill to drown in at this point. He was consuming every part of you and you wanted him and only him.

The two of you pulled away briefly so that he could stare into your eyes for a moment. "You really are breathtaking," He mumbled, fiddling with the bottom edge of your mask. As he began to slowly pull it off of your face, you watched as his expression went from lovestruck to shocked. It looked as if seeing your face without the mask scared him. He didn't like how you looked.

"I'm sorry-" You begin to say, tears welling up in your eyes. However he stops you as he takes his own mask off, revealing a face that you could never forget. Jeon Jungkook. Your childhood best friend. The boy you had a crush on for years several years ago. He wasn't disgusted by how you looked. He was shocked that it was you.

"Jungkook?" You said breathlessly, unable to say anything beyond his name. He only stared at you in response, unsure of what his own next move would be. This wasn't something you had ever expected. Not the whole 'kissing your childhood best friend' part, but the fact that somehow in an event of anonymity, you would find your way to each other. And now that you have shared this night together, it's almost as if all the feelings you ever felt for him over the years have flooded back to you as you once again felt head-over-heels for him.

Finally, you watched as a toothy smile returned to his face. He placed his hand once again on your cheek and brushed it as you watched him admire your features. "Thank god it's you. I've been waiting for this moment for years," He mumbled before pulling you in again for another kiss.

[virtualreader]

broken hearts and healing souls – part 2

deanwinchesterxfem!reader

summary: a few days after the unexpected events that took place on the night of your biggest argument, Dean has a nightmare. And both of you are forced to face the feelings you had pushed aside.

word count: 2,1k.

warnings: nightmares, mentions of anger, kiss, regretful Dean.

part 1

a/n: you've been asking quite a lot for a second part for this fic, so here it is. I'm not entirely satisfied with the ending, but I still hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. also, as the part 1 was based on a song, i opted to base part 2 in another one — I’ll be good - James Young.

Another hunt, another city, and yet another sleazy motel room. But you and Dean still hadn't exchanged more than the essentially necessary words.

Ever since that night when you kissed, Dean had been ignoring you with perfectly applied silent treatment, as if you had turned into a ghost. Not that it was totally bad, a part of you preferred not facing the real issue.

Bringing the matter up would be like tearing off a scar, like reopening a wound that had never even closed. Blood would ooze from the raw, exposed skin, once again, and the pain would return, and it would hurt the same way it did when hearing those words escape his mouth: ‘this was a mistake’.

However, another part of you, though small yet present, longed for things to return to normal. To joke around with Dean again, like the time when he had made a hilarious impersonation of the local parish priest, and you had laughed until your stomach hurt. To get ingenuously mad with him for teasing you just because you were younger than he was. Damn, if you could go back in time you would have simply avoided that first argument altogether.

You stared at the ceiling, moisture stains here and there and the paint that once covered it, flaking off, revealing the rough surface underneath. Perhaps it had once been a grand and luxurious space, filled with beautiful furnishings and ornate decorations. But now, it was a shadow of its former self, a tired and worn-out shell of a room.

You should have known better. Hell, you did know better. You just didn't want to acknowledge the fact that he had no romantic feelings towards you and never could. You had become a part of the Winchesters' family a long time ago and grew up with them. Chances were Dean considered you his little sister. How could he be romantically involved with you?

I thought I saw the devil this morning Looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue With the warning to help me see myself clearer

The quietness of the room was only interrupted by the occasional sound of a distant car passing by outside and the desultory barking of a dog nearby. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

“What’s gotten into you guys?” had asked Sam the morning after the event, after noticing Dean’s unusual and dismissive behavior.

“None of your business, Sammy.” Dean had replied, not meeting your eyes.

You had tried to talk to Dean several times, but he would always find an excuse to leave the room or change the subject. It was like he was avoiding you, and it hurt more than you cared to admit.

Dean had always been like an older brother to you. You shared so many memories together, from hunting supernatural creatures to simply hanging out and joking around. But maybe, deep down, you wished for something more than just a sibling bond.

Trying to ignore the feeling of emptiness in your chest was hard if not impossible. It was like a piece of you was missing, and you couldn't find a way to fill the void. Knowing this would be the end result, you would never have kissed him.

You may have felt fortunate to find a motel with two available rooms, but your luck ran out when Sam claimed the one with a single bed for himself. So you were forced to share a room with Dean.

I never meant to start a fire I never meant to make you bleed I'll be a better man today

You let out a sigh, feeling frustrated and lonely. You didn't want things to be like this between you and Dean, but you didn't know how to fix it. You knew that you needed to talk to him, to tell him how you felt and try to work things out. But you were scared of what might happen if you did.

You heard a muffled sound coming from the other side of the room. You turned your head to see Dean tossing and turning in his sleep, his face contorted in pain. It was obvious that he was having a nightmare.

With a hand, you tossed the bedsheets along with the flowery comforter away, uncovering your body. You rolled your legs off of the bed and slowly yet surely moved to a sitting position. You tilted your head slightly and tried to take a glimpse of what was going on in the adjoining bed, but failed pathetically due to the scarce lightning.

Feeling concerned, you reached out blindly for the light switch. After a moment of fumbling, you found it and turned it on. The wall-mounted lamp flickered to life, casting a warm, dim light throughout the room. Dean's grimacing expression was now clearly visible, and you hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do next.

“No! No, no!” he growled low, his teeth gritted. “No! Y/n!”

That you were not foreseeing.

You were taken aback by his outburst, not expecting it at all. What could he be dreaming about that would elicit such a strong reaction?

I'll be good, I'll be good And I'll love the world, like I should Yeah, I'll be good, I'll be good For all of the times that I never could

Dean was sweating profusely. His breathing was shallow and ragged, and he was muttering incoherently. Waking him up seemed like an idea. Sure, you were mulish, but you were not some heartless monster.

You reached out and gently shook Dean's shoulder, trying to wake him up from his nightmare.

"Dean," you whispered, hoping that your voice would be enough to pull him out of his dreams. “Dean, wake up.”

He did not respond, and just as you were about to try again, he hastily sat up, his eyes wide, and his breathing heavy.

"Y/n?" he asked, his voice shaking. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me," you replied, relieved to see him awake and alert. "Are you okay? You were having a nightmare."

Dean ran a hand through his hair, looking around the room as if he was trying to orient himself.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said finally, his voice still shaking a little. "It was just a bad dream."

Silence took over the place. You stared at Dean, and Dean stared at you, both waiting for the other to speak first. The tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife, and the eerie environment did nothing but add to it.

"Wanna talk about it?" you asked, sensing that there was more to his nightmare than he was letting on.

Dean hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering over to you before returning to the floor. You could sense that he was struggling to find the right words to say, and as the silence stretched on, you began to feel a growing sense of unease.

My past has tasted bitter for years now So I wield an iron fist Grace is just weakness Or so I've been told I've been cold, I've been merciless

"It was about you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, and you felt your heart skip a beat.

The confession caught you off guard. You were surprised to hear such a heartfelt admission from him.

“Me?” You could feel your pulse quickening as you waited for him to continue.

"Yeah. I dreamed that the demon got to you," Dean continued, his voice still trembling. "That I couldn't protect you. And then...then you were gone."

You felt a lump form in your throat at Dean's words, and you instinctively reached out to place a hand on his arm. Yet, you kept a reasonable distance between the two of you, unsure of how this could alter your current situation. Unsure of whether it could bridge the seemingly unfathomable gap that separated your wounded souls.

"Dean, I'm right here," you said softly. "I'm not going anywhere."

But the blood on my hands scares me to death Maybe I'm waking up today

The mattress dipped while you sat facing Dean.

"I know that," Dean replied, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since he woke up. "But...I don't know. It's like I can't shake this feeling that something's going to happen to you."

You could see the fear and uncertainty etched into Dean's features, and you knew that he was struggling with his emotions. It was hard for him to admit that he was scared, especially when it came to you.

But you also knew that you couldn't keep ignoring the elephant in the room. You needed to talk to Dean about what had happened between you, or you would never be able to move forward.

"Dean," you said, your voice steady but firm.

He looked away, his jaw tight and his hands clenched into fists.

"I messed up,” he uttered, deciding to address the matter before you had a chance to gather your thoughts. “I didn’t want us to end up like this.”

"I know," you said softly, your heart aching at the sound of his voice. "But we can't keep avoiding each other like this. We need to talk.”

Dean let out a sigh and his shoulders slumped, his entire demeanor reflecting the weight of the situation. Dean had always been good at avoiding his feelings, pushing them aside in favor of the mission. But this time, he couldn't do that. You both knew that it was time to stop tip-toeing around the issue and get to the heart of the matter.

"I was scared," he admitted. "Scared of losing you. Hell, I still am. That’s why I didn’t want you to go on hunts anymore."

Dean's voice was low and steady, but there was an underlying intensity to it that betrayed the depth of his emotions. He was laying it all on the line, baring his soul in a way that he had never done before.

I'll be good, I'll be good And I'll love the world, like I should (oh-oh-oh) I'll be good, I'll be good (I'll be good, I'll be good)

Afraid he would retract on opening up to you, you did not dare say anything, instead you fixated your gaze on his glossy, green eyes, encouraging him to continue. He took your hand in his, and his eyes softened.

“I don't think about you as a kid. It's just that…when you love something, you protect it.”

Dean's words hung in the air, the weight of them almost palpable. He looked at you, waiting for a response, his heart pounding in his chest.

The walls around Dean's heart, which had once been so solid and towering, had finally come crumbling down, leaving him vulnerable and exposed. It was clear that there was no going back from this point, as Dean had decided to tear down his emotional barriers and reveal his true self. The honesty and openness that he was displaying left you feeling speechless, as if you were witnessing something truly special and rare.

“Please, y/n. Say something,” he said with his voice at the verge of breaking, when you did not say anything.

“You love me?”

“I can’t pretend anymore. You are everything, everything.” Dean finally confessed, his grip on your hand tightening.

For all of the light that I shut out For all of the innocent things that I doubt For all of the bruises I've caused in the tears For all of the things that I've done All these years, no, yeah For all the sparks that I stomped out For all of the perfect things that I doubt

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. But this time, they weren't tears of sadness; they were tears of joy. You had wanted to hear those words for so long – even if it was not a straightfoward 'I love you' –, but you had never dared to hope that they would be true.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," Dean uttered. "The idea of losing you, of ruining what we had, terrified me. You were always like a sister to us, and when I first felt something more for you, I didn't want to admit it. But I can't keep pretending that I don't feel this way.”

I'll be good, I'll be good And I'll love the world, like I should Yeah, I'll be good, I'll be good For all of the times I never could

“Dean, I-I…” you tried to say, yet, the words got caught in your throat, the upheaval of the moment hindering your ability to vocalise something coherent.

Delicately, he reached out and carefully tucked a strand of your hair that had come loose behind your ear. His fingers lightly brushed against your skin as he cupped your cheek in his hand, his thumb tracing circles on your skin.

Dean looked at you for a long moment, his eyes softening as he took in your presence. You could sense the shift in his demeanor as the distress that had been etched in his features not five minutes before, had now completely vanished. His eyes seemed to sparkle with a new sense of calmness and peace.

Warmth blossomed in your chest, sparks igniting as Dean leaned in close, lips brushing together, tentatively, for the first time that night, though not the last.

His fingers danced through your hair, caressing the back of your head with the sweetest touch. His lips parted slightly, allowing your tongue to slide inside his mouth, and a hint of cinnamon and vodka mingled together, creating a unique and intoxicating combination that lingered on your taste buds.

Oh, oh-oh Oh, oh Oh, oh-oh For all of the times I never could

“I love you too, Dean.” you whispered in his ear, momentarily pulling away.

And, as you held each other, melting into the kiss, you both knew there was no going back to the way things were before.

@losa12308 – as you requested, I'm tagging you in part 2 (I'm actually thinking of making a taglist)

[beloved-belittled]

Gods/Titans x Reader: Birthday Gift Headcanons

Characters: Shinnok, Raiden, Fujin, Liu Kang, Shang Tsung, Cetrion, Kronika 

A/N: Not me forgetting Shang Tsung was a Titan in the last one I did like this, *cough cough*. This is a lot fluffier than my usual content, enjoy!

TW: Nothing really, aside from maybe an implied yandere with a few characters.

18+ to interact.

Shinnok

Likely doesn't know when your birthday is, nor does he care to ask. He's existed since before the concept of time, so what's another year around the sun supposed to mean to him? You’ll accidentally tell him about your birthday too, thinking out loud while he's around. Like, “oh it's my birthday today” or “I wonder if my birthday's coming up.” To which, he'll scoff and ask why you care about such a thing. Mortals and their customs have always irked him to no end.

For that reason, you shouldn't expect a gift or anything special when your b-day does roll around. If Shinnok wishes to treat you he'll do it any day out of the year. And his treats are rare, so I recommend appreciating them when they come. 

If Shinnok was to buy you a gift, he'd consider his tastes more than your own. So that means receiving items he likes and you may not enjoy. This includes: literature in an unknown language, skulls or other trophies from his enemies, overly ornate jewelry or clothing, and even a fresh soul for decoration or consumption. Be sure to smile and thank him even if the present is… Undesirable. It'll save you some pain and maybe he'll get you something better next time.

Raiden

He hasn't asked when your birthday is simply to be polite. But, you'll likely tell Raiden at some point and he'll never forget the day. Like most characters on this list, he doesn't have a birthday himself to celebrate. He understands how important it is to mortals however, and will make an effort to impress you.

Raiden may not get you a gift for your birthday though. It's not because he doesn't care, but because he'd rather not incite rumors or other speculations in his followers. This is especially true if your relationship is secret or even forbidden. It pains him, but he binds himself to a certain standard for good reason. It's only if he became Dark Raiden, or if your relationship was open/public would he offer you a present.

Raiden isn't very much “in-touch” with mortals, so he would also base a gift on his preferences. He enjoys things that enrich the mind and offer more perspective on the world. Some examples are: classical literature/philosophy, historical records or artifacts, spiritual aids such as incense or other herbs, and potentially a jar of Jinsei only if you have max trust with him.

Fujin

He asks you about your birthday, and like his brother he doesn't forget. While he doesn't have a birthday either, he likely adopts a fake one just to connect with humans. So, he knows the importance of your b-day and will ponder what to give you months ahead of time.

He's the first of the characters here to consider your preferences over his own. He'll ask you a lot of probing questions to find out your likes, but he's rather smooth about it so you won't know the intent behind it. He also observes you and learns more about your hobbies, while also doing a little bit of research on them to see what would make a good present.

The type of gift he offers is dependent on you, but he'll aim for something affordable yet memorable. It's worth noting that he may also invest in an experience such as going to a certain city or place. For your birthday Fujin would like to take you to a local restaurant, see a movie or some form of theater, or bring you something you've always wanted. 

Also, please give this man a gift for his fake birthday. He will appreciate it.

Liu Kang 

He should have an idea of when you were born due to him crafting your destiny. But, he makes sure to ask so you're not surprised about him knowing when your birthday is. His god-like memory won't allow him to forget your birthday, and he plans ahead for it a crisp 11 months in advance. He needs the time, considering all of the duties on his plate.

Like Raiden, offering you a gift on your birthday may cause jealousy in the Wu Shi Academy. The last thing Liu Kang wants is for his subordinates to suspect he has some kind of favoritism towards you. However, he has little problem with your relationship being public if you're dating. So, if you're in a relationship with him you'll get a gift. If not, he'll just say “happy birthday" and recommend you take the day off.

He’s considerate of your tastes when scrounging up a present. At the same time, if he feels that giving you what you want would enable bad habits, (ex: behavioral addictions or an unhealthy lifestyle) then he'll resort to a more generic gift. Some examples include: birthday/gift card, baked goods, potted plant or gardening seeds, and candles.

Shang Tsung

He knows your birth date, home address, and banking information before you've even met him. He enjoys thoroughly researching his prey before acting, so he knows all the little details of your life. And once he's wrapped you around his little thumb, you happily spill to him when your birthday is. 

His gift is determined by your relationship with him. If he's in the early stages of wooing you, then he'll get whatever you love. His budget is the most lenient out of anyone here, so if you want something on the more expensive side you'll get it. He can be far too lavish with it as well, easily spending thousands of dollars to get what you desire. Of course, he'll keep reassuring you that such a paltry amount is nothing if it's for you…

If he has you under his control already, then he just gets a gift that will please him. He sees you as a little trophy to show off and tease all the time, so you can imagine what his gifts would be like. Fine silks, opulent jewelry, fancy furniture for you to lay on… If the gift is anything that visually stimulates him and shows off his power then he'll offer it to you.

Cetrion

She knows when your birthday is because she is nigh omnipresent. However, unlike everyone else in this list, she likely won't be able to spend time with you on your birthday. Cetrion would observe you from afar, in Heaven, unless you've already died or she's gained her freedom from Kronika. Still, that doesn't mean she won't do something special for your birthday.

Cetrion has to be a bit sneaky when giving you a gift. While other Gods have to worry about their mortal followers getting angry, she has to worry about the wrath of Elder Gods and a Titan. But, she's been playing this game for a long, long time. She has her methods of getting one or two things past without their notice.

Cetrion's gift involves her powers. She may grow a large and beautiful tree in your yard overnight. Or (especially if you garden) find all of your plants blooming and thriving. If there's a particular animal you've really wanted as a pet, it'll show up practically on your doorstep -begging you to adopt it. Alternatively, you may just wake up with a power you've never had, wondering when in the hell were you able to talk to animals or had a green thumb.

Kronika

She probably cares the least about a birthday, second to only her son Shinnok maybe. But unlike him, she's far more considerate of you once you're in a relationship. If you want to celebrate the passage of time, so be it. 

She sees herself as an artisan in a way, and would likely craft you a gift utilizing her powers. By the end of it, you may end up with a powerful artifact on the levels of Shinnok's Amulet or a Kamidogu. Naturally, whatever object she creates will be imbued with the power of time. Speeding up time, stopping time, reversing time -as long as it relates to chronokinesis she'll create it.

And although she'll put time (literally) and effort into a present, her most important gift to you would be her presence. She'll want to hang out with you like normal, simply enjoying each other's company and voice. Kronika makes for a surprisingly good partner on your b-day. She's swayed many people to her side and for good reason -she considers other people's thoughts and desires. Of course, this is all assuming you didn't break her heart.

[welcometowhore-rrorville]

𝒩𝑜𝓉 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀

Featuring: Brahms Heelshire

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: slightly inaccurate to movie, i did not rewatch it before writing this so details might be off, injuries, blood, wounds, patching wounds with unsanitary and unsterile materials, canon-typical violence, horror and thriller themes, sort of fluffy but also dread inducing, hopeless ending? 

-

You hated the idea of going to visit the manor your friend worked at—ever since you’d moved to town, you’d heard nothing but terrible rumors surrounding the place. Still, it worried you that Malcolm hadn’t called. Despite knowing it was probably just him getting caught up with the new nanny—you couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong. He may have been a little love-drunk, but he knew better than to scare you like this.

Especially given the house’s more-than-strange residents, you found yourself with a heavy feeling in your chest. It pulled you forwards, leading to your current situation—taking the closest cab available to drive you up to the secluded abode. 

You clutched your phone with shaky fingers. You’d tried calling, texting, leaving voicemails—he hadn’t gotten back to you. Was this some sort of joke? He played the odd prank every once in a while, but you would kill him if this was his idea of funny. You thought of him as a brother, and if something had happened. . . 

You let out a sigh, looking out at the pouring rain. This was over-dramatic, even for you. He was probably too busy swooning over. . . Greta? Was that her name? And tossed his phone aside somewhere.

You nodded to yourself. You were just being silly—in fact, you should probably just tell the cab driver to take you back home, but by the time you talked yourself out of it, you were already being ushered out of the vehicle. 

The driver tipped his hat, hurriedly clambering back inside before slamming his door and driving off into the night. You huffed. You were going to ask him to wait for you, but looked like you’d have to find some other way home.

Deciding not to worry about it, you turned your focus to the looming black gates in front of you, still partially open and shuddering slightly in the wind and rain. Taking one last look behind you, you stepped in, slipping past and heading towards the looming home in front of you.

You couldn’t make out much detail besides the odd silhouette illuminated by flashing lightning, but the looks of the place were the least of your problems. 

You finally reached the front door, and hesitantly reached out, fingers rapping against wood. Would you even be heard over the storm?

Nobody answered, and you began to shiver, regretting not bringing something heavier than a cardigan and sweatpants. In your defense, you didn’t expect to be visiting the Heelshire tonight, or ever for that matter. 

Without thinking, you tried the door handle, only to find it unlocked. You rose a brow. You would’ve thought a place as fancy as this would lock their doors at night. The dreadful feeling in your chest grew, but you cracked the door open, anyway. It hinged outwards with a squeak, and you quickly slipped inside, shutting it behind you.

The spacious home muffled the rain, and you were left in a dark and quiet manor. You weren’t quite sure what to do. Should you call out for somebody? Should you even be here? No, you answered yourself. 

You took a few unsure steps forwards, eyes squinting in an attempt to see around you. The only glimpses you had were when lightning struck, and so you felt around blindly for a light switch. Did a house this old even have electricity? 

Your hand hit a small lever, and you let out a sigh of relief. You flicked it, eyes adjusting to the now lit entry-way. It was a beautiful place, you had to admit. Everything was aged like fine wine. Ornate wooden railings led upstairs, decorative floor and ceiling crowning etched intricately around the room, paintings of long forgotten places hung in perfect order against the pretty wallpaper. 

If you didn’t know any better, you’d feel comfortable here. But you did, which is why you quickly moved along. You slipped off your wet shoes, socks sliding against the wooden floor as you walked. You weren’t sure where to start your search for Malcolm, and so wandered aimlessly. 

You soon arrived at the entrance to a game room of sorts, though you weren’t even sure if you could call it that. A billiard room was probably the better term, but you weren’t rich enough to dwell on it. 

It was dark inside, but you could see a pool table in the middle of the room. Something inside of you forced you forwards, and you tiptoed into the darkened space. Your fingers again moved to find the lightswitch, and you flicked it on. 

You wished you hadn’t.

Your eyes widened, and you bit back a scream at the sight before you. A man lay dead, sprawled out as blood pooled around his body. You froze, looking at his face. It wasn’t your friend. In fact, you’d never seen the man before.

It didn’t matter.

You rushed over, panic in your voice as you spoke. “Oh, my God,” you whimpered, reaching out to feel for a pulse. Nothing. You figured, but couldn’t help but let out a choked sob. What had happened here?

Your eyes suddenly widened, a realization dawning on you. The body was still warm. Whoever did this was still around.

Panic set in, and you bolted up from the corpse, head spinning. You grabbed a discarded pool stick from the table, clutching it in fear. “Malcolm!” you cried, rushing out of the room. “Where are you! Answer me, please!”

You had no idea where you were running to in this maze of a house. Every hallway led to more doors, more rooms, more spaces with who knows what lurking within. Tears rolled down your burning cheeks. You could only hope your friend didn’t suffer the same fate as the man in the room.

You wound up upstairs, slowing your wobbly running into a cowering walk, pool stick still in hand. You gripped the wooden rod, inching forward down a particularly long hallway.

“Malcolm,” you whimpered, voice barely louder than a whisper. “Please come out. . .”

A faint noise sounded from a nearby room, and you froze in place. Slowly, you turned to your side, staring at the closed door. “Who’s there?” you murmured, unsure if you wanted the occupant on the other side to hear you or not. 

Whoever it was fell silent. You let out a hushed breath. Your hand rested on the door handle, the other hand poised with the pool stick in hand. Counting to three in your head, you finally swung open the door, only to drop your pool stick at the sight that greeted you.

A man was slumped against a dresser, a giant red splotch on his low cut white shirt dripping blood onto his dark pants. His hair was unkempt, curls falling into his face—well, mask you should say. A broken mask adorned his face, revealing a burned and scarred visage. Upon spotting you, he moved to stand, but fell back against the wooden furniture, clutching his wound. 

“Woah, woah, woah,” you chastised, holding both hands out to settle him down. “Don’t move, you’re injured.”

You had no idea what had happened here, but you weren’t about to let another person die tonight. 

You looked around the room for anything to plug a wound before ultimately taking off your sweater, holding it in front of you. You stepped slowly towards the stranger. “Let me help,” you said gently, noting the fear in his eyes. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

It’s not like he had a choice—he was too weak to move, but you wanted to get his permission, anyway.

“Please,” you urged. “You’re bleeding bad.”

He pulled his hand away from his wound, staring at the blood coating his fingers. He stared at you from behind his mask, studying you. Finally, he nodded weakly.

You wasted no time in clearing the distance and dropping to your knees in front of him, carefully lifting his shirt. 

You winced at the sight—a gaping hole oozed blood steadily from his abdomen, curls of hair on his chest soaked in the red substance. “What happened to you?” you whispered, pressing your balled up sweater against the injury.

You felt his body tense underneath you, his hands wrapping around your wrists tightly.

“I know it hurts—I’m sorry,” you explained, trying to shake his hands off of you. “If I don’t stop this bleeding. . .”

Your sentence gave him pause, and he released your wrists, allowing you to continue putting pressure onto it. You knew pressure alone wouldn’t stop this wound from bleeding, though. “Do you have a sewing kit somewhere?” you asked through grit teeth, your hands becoming sticky with gore.

His eyes widened, looking apprehensive. His hands rested close to his chest as he stared at you like a small child stirred from a nightmare. You brought one hand from tending his wound to rest against his clasped hands. “You’re scared. Me too. But I’m not gonna leave you to die.”

Something about your words stirred a fire underneath him, and with newfound strength he moved his sprawled out legs, arms swinging to either side of him as he forced himself to stand. 

You recoiled backwards, arm immediately grabbing his own and placing it around your shoulders. You still pressed your sweater against his wound, making sure to keep it tight enough to stop the blood. 

He was tall and well-built, and you strained against his weight as he leaned against you. Still, you managed, following his every step as he led you out of the room and towards a particularly large painting. Reaching out a hand, he pushed it aside, revealing a small entryway carved from the wall.

You didn’t stop to question it. Those could come later. You simply helped him inside, coughing at the dust floating in the space between the walls. 

Down a cramped corridor the two of you went, suffocating walls pushing the two of you against each other. Finally, the space opened up, and you were met with a small living space—it was unfinished, dusty, and a little unkempt, but as long as it had something to sew his wound shut, it didn’t matter.

You spotted a bed and helped him take a seat. “Keep holding my sweater—where’s the needle and thread?” you said, leaving his side to examine the area.

You saw him look to a desk tucked in the corner and raced over, seeing craft supplies scattered messily over the surface. Finding what you were looking for, you snatched a particularly sharp needle and some fine black thread. You returned to his side, scooting a wooden stool over to sit as you placed the supplies on the bed.

Ideally, you would somehow clean the needle and thread beforehand, but ideally you’d also not be in this situation in the first place. You simply got to work, threading the needle. 

You looked into his eyes, asking for permission.

“Do it,” he rasped, voice deep and barely audible. It was the first time you’d heard him speak. He set your bloodied sweater aside, pulling up his shirt once again.

“There’s too much blood,” you muttered. “I can’t see where the wound stops and skin starts.”

You needed something to clean the area at least temporarily, but your sweater was already ruined. You looked down at your t-shirt. Setting the needle on your lap, you grabbed the hem of your top, pulling it up and over your head quickly before getting to work wiping the area. It would only provide a temporary visual, and so you maintained your focus, unbothered at your now shirtless state. You still wore a bra, but under any other circumstance you’d feel more than embarrassed. But this was an emergency, and a little nudity wouldn’t kill you, but not getting this injury patched up would kill him.

You swapped your shirt for the needle, holding your breath as you brought it to his skin.

“Here we go,” you warned. “You might wanna bite down on something.”

He made no move to take off his mask, or even look away from you. He sat, weak, bloodied, and transfixed. Nobody had ever treated him like this before. You were strangers—you’d snuck into his house in the middle of the night after Greta and Malcolm had left him for dead, working non-stop to save him after finding him bleeding out in his room. 

Now you sat in front of him, half-naked and a worried look in your eyes as you loomed over his injury. He already felt numb from the blood loss, and so barely even flinched when the needle pricked his skin, pulling it up to meet the other side of the gaping wound. 

You looked more hurt than he was, an expression of anguish on your face.

“I’m so sorry,” you repeated over and over, whispering it as you sewed him together.

He brought a weak hand up, gently resting it against your cheek. You looked up from your task, tears in your eyes. He wiped them away with a bloodied finger. You sniffled before getting back to work, knowing he was having a hell of a worse time than you were.

Still, his hand never left your cheek, rubbing soft circles against your flushed skin with his thumb. 

You looped the last stitch, pulling it taut as the wound cinched shut. Quickly, you tied it off, using your teeth to bite the thread until it snapped. You set the needle and thread on the bed, grabbing your shirt once again to clean up the blood that had returned. The stitch up wasn’t pretty, but it seemed to be holding. Only tiny droplets seeped out from between the stitches, black thread laced through his pale skin.

You let out a sigh. “Looks like that stopped the bleeding,” you said, hands stopping, your shirt still pressed against his abdomen. You stared, horrified at what you’d done to him. You just sewed a man like he was a pair of ripped jeans. What was wrong with you?

His hand which rested against your cheek moved to grip underneath your chin, tilting your head up. You met his gaze. There was no malice. No fear. No pain. Only a look of. . . what was it? Gratitude? Sympathy? Love?

You didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. You were sure he wasn’t upset at your patchwork, you knew that much. 

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” you asked, tilting your head. He finally removed his hand from your face, instead skimming over your stitches.

“Hey, careful!” you chastised, hand gripping his own to prevent him from touching it further. “That’s just sewing thread. Any movement could tear your wound wide open.”

His head fell, looking like a child scolded.

“Sorry,” you added, releasing his hand to rest your arms in your lap. “I didn’t mean to yell, I just—I don’t want you hurt. Are you okay otherwise?”

He brought a hand to his face, feeling where his mask had broken. He felt the tough flesh of his scars, burn marks seared into him from the fire long ago. 

“Did you burn yourself?” you asked. 

He shook his head. It must’ve been old, then, you assumed. Was the mask what he was worried about? The porcelain was cracked and worn. It must’ve been important to him.

“It broke,” you said, frowning. “Did that happen tonight, when you got hurt?”

He nodded. ��When she left me,” he mumbled, voice audibly higher than the last time you heard it. It sounded like a little boy. You didn’t think much of it, instead more focused on what he said.

“Who left you?”

“Greta. She was supposed to stay,” he said quietly before his hands balled into fists. “She was supposed to stay!”

This time, his deep and raspy voice returned, causing you to flinch backwards. 

“Hey,” you whispered calmly, hands moving to rest on his knees. “You’re okay. It’s okay. Just let yourself heal. We can figure out the rest later.”

“We. . . ?” the soft and delicate voice was back.

“I can’t leave you here like this,” you replied. “And if you don’t mind if I stay a little longer. . .”

You were taken aback when he suddenly wrapped his arms around your neck, pulling you forwards until you stumbled off of your stool and into him. The two of you fell backwards onto the bed, leaving you to try and find a grip on something without disturbing his fresh wound. You eventually settled with your hands on his upper chest.

Your head was pressed in the crook of his neck and shoulder, your legs to his side.

“Stay,” he whispered, petting your hair.

You weren’t usually the hugging type, especially given your still topless state, but you supposed you’d let this slide, being he was severely wounded and almost half of his blood was stained into your clothes. 

“I’ll stay as long as I can,” you replied, each word sending your breath against his neck. He fought back a shiver. “But you need to quit with the sudden movements. I just told you those stitches could burst open with a light breeze.”

“Whatever you want,” he muttered. “Just don’t leave me.”

You let out a breath. This surely wasn’t how you pictured your night going. Still, it was kind of nice to be wrapped in someone’s arms, even if it was a stranger. You pressed against his chest just enough to lift yourself up. You looked down into his eyes. “I never got your name,” you said before introducing yourself.

“Brahms,” he replied. “Brahms Heelshire.”

Your hair stood on end.

Memories of rumors came flooding back to you. The fire. The missing little girl. The strange little boy. He was always clinging to her. He never wanted her to leave. He was obsessed. Unhinged. The little girl never stood a chance. No. It wasn’t possible. That boy died in a fire.

Your eyes gazed over his scarred face. You swallowed harshly. No. No he didn’t. He was alive. And you’d just saved his life. And now you were in his grasp, laying in his arms, in the depths of a house swallowed by haunted memories. You were never getting out of here. 

[eyehearthoshi]

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ key as romantic tropes!

pairing ⟢ kim kibum (key) x gn!reader

warnings ⟢ mention of injuries and use of the pet name “baby” towards the end. lowercase intended.

wc ⟢ 1.8k

author’s note ⟢ i obviously don’t know key personally, this is just me being silly goofy + delusional. so, he may be written ooc, sorry. !!this is very self indulgent!!

₊˚⊹ ☁ royal x commoner ☁ ₊˚⊹

if you don’t think that key gives off major royalty vibes, then i don’t know what to tell you tbh. i can just picture him in the fanciest regal outfits and i think he’d love to throw parties for his court. this is where you and him would first meet properly.

you were a royal gardener at key’s estate and you loved watching the parties through the windows because key is known for going all out on decor. one night you decide to sneak into a party, wearing your best outfit and donning a masquerade mask to match the occasion—thinking that no one would recognize you.

but key isn’t dumb, so he knows it’s you under the mask the moment he spots you amongst the crowd. he recognizes you, not because of your attire, but because he knows all the people he employs (you think this entj is not gonna supervise the running of his house? as if.)

he isn’t upset that you snuck in, in fact, he is quite amused at how you stare at all the facets of his ballroom with a smile on your face while moving along with the music that fills the room. you are incredibly shocked when you are asked to dance to one of the slower songs by a man in an ornate gold ensemble. it doesn’t take long for you to identify this man as your employer.

strangely enough, conversation flows quite naturally between you two as you spin around the ballroom for multiple songs. you both were lost in each other until a member of key’s court butted in to ask for a dance with him.

it was only after bowing to your partner and stepping off the dance floor that you noticed how late it had gotten. you still had work in the morning, so you decided to retire back to your room.

you tried your best to return to reality after a night spent dancing with key. surely he hadn’t known it was one of his gardeners under the mask, or else he would have never asked you to dance in the first place! that thought was sobering, but it didn’t stop you from picturing his deep eyes as you fell asleep that night.

the next morning was similar to most with you completing your tasks with the usual efficiency despite your thoughts lingering on the evening prior. you were tending to some rose bushes when you heard footsteps approaching. thinking it was your supervisor, you turned your head, only to be met with key standing above you.

it wasn’t rare for key to check in on the upkeep of his estate, but it was rare for him to approach you specifically. he usually communicated with the head gardener for updates on his gardens.

you bowed your head respectfully despite the nerves. did he know you snuck into his party? were you about to be fired?

“a late night of fun and yet you are still diligent in your work,” he smirked, “i’m impressed.”

your mouth gaped open, shocked at his forwardness before you sputtered out an apology. “i’m sorry, sir! i shouldn’t have attended last night. but i know my place and it won’t happen again!”

“that’s a shame,” he said with a playful frown tingeing his lips, “i was looking forward to more nights with my new dance partner.”

₊˚⊹ ☁ rivals to lovers ☁ ₊˚⊹

i’m picturing this in an office environment so good & great key energy. i think key would definitely have a rival at the workplace because he’s pretty sassy and ambitious which could create some tension…

both you and key are on the same hierarchical level in the office, but you often felt like he would look down on you in little ways. he’d always double-check your work before handing it to a supervisor and he never seemed to trust you enough to collaborate properly with you.

now, you’re a kind person and want to give key the benefit of the doubt. so, you decide to tell him, in private, that his behavior upsets you sometimes. you’re both mature adults, surely communication would be the best way to solve this issue.

“i’m only guaranteeing the success of our team,” he replies, “you can understand why it is important to make sure there aren’t any weak links.”

weak links? is he serious? that conversation did more harm than good for your relationship with key. after that, you worked even harder to make sure your assignments were immaculate so that the jerk in thick-rimmed glasses had nothing to complain about.

one day, your supervisor announced the opportunity of a promotion for one of your team members to fill a new leadership position. you knew that this was your time to truly show how impactful you were in your workplace. the issue was, key would also be gunning for that position alongside you.

late nights in the office became the norm as you worked towards your goal, spending hours on your computer until your eyes got itchy and tired. key seemed to be in a similar boat as he typed rapidly a few desks down from you. you felt like you couldn’t call it a night until he did. problem is, he rarely went home before 10:00 p.m.

“do you ever sleep?” the words came out harsher than you had meant as you looked up from your screen to make eye contact with key.

you heard him breathe out a laugh as he turned back to his work, “i can’t sleep until everything is perfect.”

you furrowed your brows. his mentality seemed incredibly serious and honestly, quite depressing. perhaps it was none of your business, but your exhaustion-muddled brain diminished your usual filter, “i think you need to chill.”

key’s eyes shot back to yours in shock. you never really questioned his behavior after the first time you confronted him, so he wasn’t used to you being so assertive. he crossed his arms over his chest, “oh really? trying to get me to relax and forfeit the promotion? nice try.”

you shook your head, for once you weren’t thinking about the promotion, but rather the dark circles forming underneath his eyes. “no. i just think that you’re running yourself ragged and soon you’re going to crash.”

key’s accusatory stance immediately softened at your words, before he defensively turned back to his screen, “i think you should focus on yourself instead of worrying needlessly about me.”

you chuckled softly, “i don’t think my worrying is misplaced since the last thing you ‘ate’ was an iced americano at 5:00 pm,” stubbornly staring him down, you added, “just because you’ve been mean to me doesn’t mean that i want you to pass out.”

key sighed and rubbed his eyes under his glasses, “i don’t intend to be mean to you. i just…” he turned to look at you “you’re a brilliant person and i don’t want to see you waste your talent.”

smiling softly in the dim office, you stood up and reached a hand in key’s direction, “let’s go get a late dinner. i think we have a lot to talk about.”

₊˚⊹ ☁ overprotective x clumsy ☁ ₊˚⊹

okay so key is shinee’s mom we know this and i just feel it in my bones that he would be overprotective with his partner. this would be especially true if his partner was clumsy or accident-prone.

let’s just say that sometimes you weren’t the best with spatial awareness. you often bumped into walls and knocked against furniture. this became so normal to you that you honestly didn’t even notice the pain anymore.

that is, until you started dating key and he noticed all the times you bumped, slipped, or fell. not only did he notice, but he actively scolded you for your clumsiness.

“yah!” a shout came from behind you, causing you to turn around in shock. key quickly made his way across the room to where you were standing.

perplexed, you looked around for evidence of what you had done, “what?”

key slid a hand onto your shoulder that he had just watched slam against the wall moments before, rubbing it gently, “what do you mean ‘what’? you need to be more careful.”

you smiled at his words, knowing that he was concerned for you, “don’t worry, it doesn’t really bother me anymore!”

key scoffed at this. he disliked how little attention you paid to your injuries. even if they were minor, he didn’t like the idea that his baby was in pain. if it was up to him, he would be able to stay by your side and protect you from yourself.

certain injuries were more worrisome than others. for instance, a couple of days later while key was relaxing on the couch, he heard a loud crashing sound from the kitchen. alarm bells going off in his brain, he immediately stood and rushed to find you knelt on the kitchen tile, picking up shards of glass.

“what are you doing?!” his voice was more startling than he intended as he quickly knelt in front of you, gently taking the broken glass from your hands.

you took his annoyed tone to mean that he was upset about you accidentally dropping his glassware onto the floor, so you apologized, “i’m so sorry ki! i was going to fill it with water and…i can pay for a new one!”

key watched as you looked at him with watery eyes. he was shocked at your misjudgment, “you think i care about the cup?! i’m only upset that you tried to clean up glass with your bare hands, dummy!” he raised himself off the floor to grab the broom from the corner, “you’re gonna get yourself hurt and i can’t stand that.”

you swallowed and backed away from the chunks of glass on the floor, more emotions bubbling in your chest, “you can’t stand that i’m clumsy?”

“yes.” key looked at you sharply before changing his tone, “well, no. it’s not your fault. i just can’t stand watching you get hurt all the time,” he diligently swept the glass into the dustpan before putting it in the bin. he sighed, “i just feel like i should be able to prevent it.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, causing key to glare at you, “hey, i’m serious! you think this is funny?”

you reached for his hand, still smiling, “a little bit, but only because you can’t prevent me from accidentally hurting myself, baby.” you squeezed his hand, “it always makes me feel better when you care for me afterward though.”

key’s face softened at your words, “i’m glad. it makes me feel better to see that you’re alright.” he smiled softly, “so, will you allow me to check if you cut yourself on any of that glass?”

you rolled your eyes in good humor, flipping your hands over so he could see your palms. even if he was a bit excessive, you did love your overprotective boyfriend.

[ashleyfableblack]

A Mother's Day Eternal Courtship Jam. Love is complicated. Love takes work. For a Big Mama Bughorse with a family spanning several species it can take alot. A hard tale about love and family some may find all too familiar. TW in hashtags

"THERE'S my SPECIAL Boy..." Chrysalis beamed a grin of gleaming, razor-keen fangs at Pharynx as the guards shut the balcony bay doors behind them. She levitated a bunch of grapes from a nearby table of assorted dishes and goblets, offering them. "MY Pharynx. Come. Sit with me. Something to eat?" Pharynx politely refused with a reserved smile. "No, thank you, My Queen." Purple grapes. Very plump, ripe ones at that. He wasn't surprised that she knew his favorite fruit. Though he'd gotten to spend very little time with her since The Exodus of their people, he had little doubt that her agents were still hidden among his Lovebug kind. She likely knew more of their affairs than he did. Making his way to the heap of cushions she was lounging upon he climbed the pedestal and sat. "Happy Mother's Day." He gave a sheepish grin. After last years celebration he hadn't been sure what to expect from her. 'Mother's Day' wasn't a changeling concept. Every Day was Mothers Day as far as The Hive was concerned. His people's decision to adopt the pony holiday as a lovebug tradition was received awkwardly at best. But Chrysalis was a Queen and the Mother of her entire race and she was certainly making a go at it for her sons sake. She was looking healthy. No doubt she was eating very well. Her pony wife had made it very clear that she alone would give her wife all the love she needed. She had always been large, so tall, beautiful and majestic in an indefinable way, by changeling standards. But she seemed larger still, these days. Her chitin gleamed, dark and smoky. The pitting of her limbs seemed reduced. Her mane of spidersilk seemed more like the hair of a pony. Her shape even seemed different. Her plot, in particular seemed rather... round. He wondered if she was unconsciously adapting her form to suit her wife or maybe to fit more closely with their pony subjects? It was a common enough trait among changelings in deep-cover. Her eyes shifted between her two sets of irises as she looked him over, examining him both visually and taking note of his emotional state. "I trust your trip was well. Hmmn." She could see he was particularly troubled but spoke nothing of it. Decorum was to be observed. She was a Queen. "Where is your idiot brother?" Pharynx chuckled. "Heh. He got pulled into a discussion on some artsy-craftsy garbage about 'decorative baking' with one of Queen Twilights advisors. The bubble-headed pink one." "Ah." Chrysalis nodded. "That would be Pinkie-pie." "That's the one. Ugh." Pharynx shifted uneasily on the pile of assorted cushions and royal-blue throw rugs. Some creatures would say that all ponies looked alike. He knew this to be untrue. Though he was a lovebug he still had a changelings eye for fine detail. Ponies of any tribe were very distinct, visually. Their personalities on the other hoof, on that he could definitely see their point. They were all so cloying, so irritating. They all just blended into one big blur of annoying, bouncy, frivolous children to him. Tasty as food but still, annoying. "I told him to just go on with her and he could meet us later. Seemed just as well."

"Indeed." She pursed her lips, studying him. The Queen took a sip from an ornate silver goblet. "She has a way with most creatures, one I would imagine fitting your brother's demeanor all too well." Pharynx regarded the view. He could see why his Queen-Mother had chosen to make this balcony into a receiving area. From here, New Canterlot castle had an impressive view of the surrounding land. From the peaks of far-off Yak-Yakistan to the tides coming in off the Celestial Sea. This perch was as tactical as it was deceptively pleasant. She could plot out an entire campaign from here as easily as charm unassuming diplomats. He sighed. He missed those days as a changeling agent. Chrysalis broke his drift into the past with her sharp, multi-tonal Hive voice. "But you desired a private audience." It wasn't a question. She knew. "Yes." He cleared his throat, straightening himself. "Yes, My Queen." Her emerald snake eyes stared expectantly. Most of his life those eyes had been a place of comfort to him. She was his Queen-Mother, the source of all life for his people. However, in this moment, he would almost be anywhere else than in their gaze. Still, he had planned. He had prepared. This was the time and this was his moment. He was going through with this. "I wished to speak with you on a personal matter, My Queen." Chrysalis raised an eyebrow. "Pharynx, it's not like you to be so nervous. Speak." "I needed to-" he paused. His deep, gravelly voice cracking, he cleared his throat. He couldn't believe it but he was actually trying to recall Thorax's 5-5-5 rule for dealing with his anxiety. Or was it 3-3-3? UGH. He would have to punch him when he saw him next time- more than he usually did. "I needed to apologize... to you, My Queen."

Chrysalis furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?" She adjusted her irises to study the shimmering pattern of emotions emanating from her lovebug son. Guilt, radiated from him like smoke from a oil-fire, guilt, shame and a deep, black loathing. She craned her neck and drew slightly closer. "You've nothing to apologize for." Pharynx visibly shrank. The words and the feeling behind them hit him like fists. "Respectfully, My Queen-" his lavender eyes glanced to her "I feel I do." Pharynx sighed hard. It had been years in the build-up. He'd finally opened the door. Nothing to do for it now but walk through. "Mother... I failed My Hive. I failed our people. I failed myself. Most of all, I failed you." His lips pursed as her struggled to contain the breaking dam inside his chest. Chrysalis straightened herself. She narrowed her eyes, her intense gaze could cut through stone. Her ears flitted as she listened intently. "Continue." Pharynx stared into the floor. His eyes looked to the same past his voice spoke from, a time some decades ago now. He could almost see the timeline in front of them, the chain of events which led him to this moment. "Look after her." He paused. The word, the identifier, it stung his tongue to say it. "That's what you said to me. The first thing you ever said to me. Look after her. You ordered me to protect my idiot younger sister, my broken, faulty twin." Pharynx sighed. "She was born wrong. You knew it. I knew it. She wasn't like the rest of us. From the moment I crawled out from our egg and looked back at her, still wobbling around, she was silent in the hive-mind. Not a ghost, not a whisper, just nothing. But rather than just leave her to our sisters to be eliminated, you ordered me to protect her. You seemed to value her, maybe me as well, if by proxy." He looked into his hooves as if searching for the secrets of his past in them. "You didn't give us designations like our sisters. We were different. We got names. I would be Pharynx. She was Thorax." He bit his lip. The dam was stressed but holding. "I wanted you to be proud of me. My Queen. My Mother. So, I protected her, the idiot. The coward. The weakling. Our sisters knew she was born wrong and they hated her, wanted her gone, if not dead. She was not of The Hive. She smelled wrong, tasted wrong. None of us could hear her in the Hive Mind." Pharynx gritted his tiny nub fangs "But I protected her from them. I kept her safe. When they bullied her, I fought her fights. When she failed missions, I cleaned up her mess. When she betrayed us, ran away like the traitor she..." He paused, the words caught in his throat. The dam was cracking. "The traitor he was. I still obeyed. I kept the patrols from finding him. I guided any incidental seekers from his pathetically obvious hiding spots. I even masked the scent of his fear in the air- THAT took ingenuity. But All for you, My Queen. All for The Hive. I protected him even up until..'" Pharynx shuddered. He hesitated to even say the words. The name his changeling people had given to the day of their near-genocide. The day their home was destroyed and the lovebugs were born. "The Exodus. I could have stopped him. I could have stopped all of them. The cowards." He gritted his teeth, hooves clenched against his thighs like fists. "The ingrateful, treasonous scum. The filthy pony intruders, that stupid draconequis-thing, my traitorous brother. I could have stopped them but I didn't." Pharynx looked to his Mother, His Queen. He owed her the respect of looking her in the eyes when he said this. When he admitted to the price of his shame. "I had a choice to make. In that moment I had to choose. To be the perfect daughter for you like I always wanted to be..." The weight of his guilt was crushing. The dam was breaking. Held back for the last thirty years The edges of his eyes moistened. "Or be the... the worthless... Son... I always knew I had needed to be."

His shoulders shook with the pressure of containing the tears. Gritting his teeth he continued. "I hated him. He wasn't a Changeling. He wasn't one of us. I hated him for being weak. I hated him for being different. I hated his stupid smiling face. I hated his stupid feelings, his selfishness, his self-important, self-righteous- OH, he was SO much better than the rest of us, he was better than The whole HIVE. He was so special, like those stupid pathetic little ponies. But I-" Pharynx choked. "He... He was braver than me. He was Thorax. He was... your son. And I made my choice." His lips quivered. The hot stinging droplets formed. His vision blurred and he looked away, sending the tears to patter against the cushions. "I could've stopped him, Mother. I could've saved you from all that. I could've saved all our sisters. I should've stopped him. I wanted to. I... I wanted to be strong for you. I swear I did. I swear I- but I couldn't- had to- I had to be- Ff- Ff- Ph-" Years of self-loathing buried the rest in a mass of sobs as he pressed his face into his hooves. The dam was broken now. Pharynx was broken. His chitinous body convulsed as he wailed. Like a tiny foal, he shrieked, loosing out the tears of self-hatred he'd held deep inside for decades. The venom within him had rotted away, cold and black, like tar on his heart for years. Pouring out from his eyes now, it burned, searing like fire. His lips curled back, baring his tiny lovebug faux-fangs. They were not the fierce, dagger-like sabres of a changeling. He chattered them together, trying to finish his thoughts but all that came out was a gibbering, wailing mess. To his shock Chrysalis pulled him to her barrel. Without thinking, he threw his hooves around her, hissing his tears into his Mother's chitin in thick, painful sobs. Several minutes passed as years of hate poured forth, drenching her chest. Not as The Changeling Queen-Mother but as his Mother, she held him firm and steady. Several minutes passed as years melted away between them. Finally, enough of the pain drained off, Pharynx found his words again. "Mom? Do you... hate me?" Chrysalis stared back at him with her giant serpents eyes. In all these years, he had never called her that. No drone had. 'My Queen'. 'Majesty'. 'Excellency'. 'Queen-mother.' 'Perfect One'. 'Exalted One' 'Our Beloved Perfection.' Never 'Mom'. She considered the question in silence. Her horn glowed. In a small eruption of emerald flames a trinket appeared in Pharynx lap. Her multi-tonal voice cut through the tense silence between them. "Do you know what this is?" He looked to the trinket. A fine golden chain set around a series of opaque transparent flakes of shimmering, almost crystalline material, chitin from a changeling. As many times as he'd seen his alicorn mother-in-law wear it, of course he knew what it was. "This is the wedding token you gave to Queen Twilight." "And its significance?" He swiped away a bubble of snot with the back of his forelimb. "It's an ancient pony practice- unicorn, specifically, to give an expensive token of affection to a mate." She starred expectantly.

He expanded- "Adapted during the fusion of their 3 tribal cultures to include the Terrestrials... Err... colloquially, 'Earth Pony' tradition of an exchange of a family heirloom ... one holding a more personal value than one dependent on the unicorn system of material worth." Chrysalis nodded. A smile began to warm her lips. "And what is this?" "It's your token to your mate- Queen Twilight." The Queen gave a small huff of impatience, touching the article with her pitted hoof to accent each word. "What. Is. This?" Pharynx wasn't certain what his mother was asking him. He lifted the article carefully in his hoofs and examined it. He'd never actually seen it this close before. He could see now the small plates of chitin were quite old. He had always thought they were just tiny clippings his Mother had made from her wings, emulating the pegasus practice of giving their mate one of their primary feathers. But that couldn't be. They were far too old for that. Their translucent quality was caused not by their age, but by their structure. No only that, they were slightly curved and shaped irregularly, each slightly smaller than the last. They were fitted plates. "These are..." he straightened as the realization dawned on him, suddenly taking even greater care to be very gentle with the artifact in his grasp. "These are the plates of a grub's first molting." She nodded again, her smile growing to expose her fangs. "They're yours."

Chrysalis draped a hoof around his shell. Pharynx fought to find the words. "Mine? But... How? Mine? They're... How did y-" "Your idiot brother saved the discards of your first molting. Don't ask me how he secreted them away or where he hid them. None of your sisters ever knew." She looked from the tiny bracelet to the astonished Pharynx. He stared at the jewelry as if it were speaking to him in a foreign tongue. "I've never found the knowledge in the Hive Mind, anyways. " She gave a wistful sigh. "I remember. You had both just completed your nymph molt a few days before. He came to me, all puffed up and smiles, and presented me with a set of baubles he'd made. A necklace and a bracelet. He'd managed to cobble together the materials from one of our caches of acquired valuables. I'm still not sure how he learned the skills required to craft them, half-dumb as he was. Still, he did. A necklace from his own remnants..." She lifted the trinket in her green flames. "...and this, from yours." In an implosion of magic the matrimonial token vanished, teleported back to Twilight's dresser. Pharynx stared in silence. She'd held onto such a thing, all these years, in secret. With a gentle touch of his angular cheek, Chrysalis regarded him. "I gave this to Twilight, my immortal love, as an act of trust, to honor the ancient custom of her people. It was only a thing but it was my most precious of things. And if I could trust her with this thing I could trust her with my hearts." She stroked his cheek, drawing close. "I am your Queen. I designate you all with purpose." Her snakes eyes held him like a helpless little grub. "When you hatched, I knew it. You were never born wrong. But you were born different. You weren't like any of our kind, ever, more like..." She paused, catching herself as if to keep a secret. "Yes, I named you. I knew what you were, as I have all my children from the dawn of our kind. Your foolish, flighty brother, he was Thorax, 'my heart'. You..." She smiled in a warmth he had never seen from her before. "...you were stronger, fiercer stuff. Pharynx, 'my voice'." As she smiled down at him the tears came again. He didn't fight them this time. "I've never hated you. In all The Hive, I've thousands of drones. Infiltrators, Warriors..." She wiped at his cheek with her pitted hoof. "But I've only one Pharynx. One you. You are my son."

He returned her smile, wiping at his cheeks.

They sat in silence. Maybe for the first time in their lives, they were truly Mother and Son, as Pharynx would see it. "Any other questions?" She gave a playfully irreverent smirk. still draping a hoof over his shell. "Heh... Maybe... Another hug? My Q-" She cut him off, pulling him into her hooves and squeezing her son tightly. He embraced her in return. He could almost taste the love in the air around them. It was an unusual feeling, this warmth. Was this 'acceptance'? It was alien but certainly not unwelcome. If this was what Thorax was always going on about Pharynx could get used to this 'family' business. The balcony-bay doors creaked open. A guard broke the tender silence of their moment with her announcement. "My Queen. Prince Thorax awaits Her Grace." Chrysalis looked to the guard, then to Pharynx. He smirked, making to hop up. "I'm gonna go pound him." The Queen rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Don't pick on your brother." Pharynx sniffled and froze. He had an almost pouty quality to his silent obedience. She sighed in resolution. "Fine. You're brothers..." Pharynx leapt up with a burst of energy and sprinted for the door. From the halls Chrysalis could hear the sounds of things being broken and shouting of various slurs of endearment. She chuckled and took a large mouthful of the grapes, chomping them down hungrily with a smug, self-satisfied smile. "Best. Mom. EVER."

[popatochisssp]

GAH!!! I’ve had this question on my mind for so long, but do the boys have any particular tastes when it comes to interior design? Minimal, eclectic, etc… whatever boys you want to choose! Thank you!!!

This was interesting, I had to go on a bit of adventure through interior décor styles because I’m not too familiar with all the terms, but I definitely had fun~

Forgive any misuse of interior design words below, I am not an expert! XD

(Featuring many images stolen from Google)

Sans (Undertale): Sort of a revival post-modernist, not quite as loud as the original post-modern look in terms of colors, but still a mix-and-match of shapes and materials, spacious areas, not afraid of décor or accenting a space with unique pieces that don’t perfectly coordinate with the others. Comfort and space over rigid adherence to an aesthetic.

Papyrus (Undertale): Memphis style designs really capture his imagination, lots of shapes and bold, bright colors, circles and checkerboards and zig-zags. It’s fun, he likes fun things! Abstractly-shaped furniture and weird objets d’art—could use some more stuff with cool flame-patterns, or maybe some spikes here and there, but he can experiment to get the right balance in there!

Sky (Underswap Sans): Into modern styles, mostly, he does like the minimalist look but absolutely goes in for strategic splashes of color to brighten things up. Sleek shapes and clean lines are great, but absolutely must be offset by some rich lively colors for an open, welcome feel, can’t let it feel too sterile.

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): Favors sort of a regence look, tends toward curving lines and intricate elegance in the little details. Chair arms that swirl, fleurs in the carving of a cabinet, decorative patterns and motifs to tie everything together as a cohesive whole. He finds the charming elegance comfortable and easy to settle into.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): Definitely more of an artisan/arts and crafts style kind of guy, cares less about the Look of things than he does the craftsmanship of it—he wants things to be well-made and able to stand up to consistent use, so most of what he favors are sturdy pieces and designs without ostentation or elaborate details. It may not be the prettiest, but it is homey and comfortable and ready to be actually lived in.

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): Empire style, he is all about the ostentation and elaborate details, silk and velvet, ebony and gold, it has to be bold and artful and dramatic (just like he is). If something’s a little too plain and simple, he’ll pass on it or find a way to dress it up prettier.

Mal (Swapfell Sans): Contemporary design is more his thing, sleek lines and sharp angles, with a strong aesthetic preference for more industrial materials (glass, metal, marble, etc). Tends to avoid most color, sticking with black and white, and just a few decorative objects here and there to draw the eye. He likes the clean look over a more comfortable, lived-in one.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): Big fan of art nouveau, swirling lines and curving forms. Stained glass lamps, art, and windows are big hit with him, as well as wrought iron railings or table frames and the like. He likes colors and things that feel like they flow, mostly, and any intricate detail-work that catches the eye.

Slate (Horrortale Sans): Cottage style is more his speed, a little rustic and a lot cozy, with a special emphasis on plush furniture. He’s all about the comfort and the homey feel, nothing pristine that an accident or a bit of wear-and-tear will ruin quickly.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): More of an English country sort of guy, big on patterns and florals, but also into a bit of delicacy and charm—some more ornate accent chairs here, decorative curtains there, unique antiques and plants everywhere. Definitely cozy and comfortable but done in a very thoughtful and deliberate way.

Ash (Undergloom Sans): Clutterbitch—wait no, I mean maximalist. He likes having a lot of stuff and putting it on display, and bright colors (especially turquoise!) make him happy to look at, so he’s drawn to that kind of thing when customizing a space. Lots of knickknacks and prints related to his hobbies, maybe a novelty end table or two, shaped like a record or a cloud or something. A bit chaotic but he probably knows where everything in it is, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): He goes for a bit of a modern farmhouse look, soft neutrals with warmer rustic touches. Likely to spruce it up a little further with some bright yellows and greens, but mostly in the accents—flowers, artwork, et cetera. Also likely to decorate with lots of candles and mason jars and anything he comes back with from the home goods store, because he is very passionate about the home goods store.

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): Tends toward Tuscan style, warm tones, wood and tile and wrought iron, sturdy and well-crafted furniture. Not opposed to some intricate designs here and there, but not that intricate, just enough to look a little nice. Maybe a bit nicer than the absolute basics, but he’s not trying to impress anybody, he just wants cozy and comfortable, and maybe he’s earned the right to a tiny bit of fance here and there, y’know?

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): Something of a traditionalist, with a strong appreciation for clean, elegant, and cohesive styles. The classics never go out of fashion—dark wood, damask patterns, ornate detailing, maybe some fine red drapery and a chandelier or two, but nothing too ostentatious. Less is more, but no need to go full minimalist to show your class, after all.

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): Definitely about the shabby chic, clean and simplistic styles but with a touch of wear or softness to keep it inviting. Not a sterile space that can’t be lived in, but still a bit neat and thoughtfully arranged!

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): More a fan of the urban look, exposed brick and beams but some softening elements incorporated too, like abstractly shaped furniture and décor, and lots of lighting. More minimalist than cluttered and probably not a huge fan of rugs, but he definitely wants a good balance between hard and rough, and soft and wavy aesthetics.

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): He can’t actually see it, but tends to favor Mediterranean styles. He likes a lot of sunlight, open floor plans, and wide doorways, and he’s a little less picky about his furniture but anything with ornate designs and detailing that he can physically feel to appreciate is a bonus. Function over form, though, comfort and utility is always foremost in his consideration.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): Fond of mission style, slatted wooden furniture, simple and clean designs and only a couple accent colors that work well with them—autumnals are a favorite. Some nature-inspired touches like plants, artwork, and other accents to bring a little of the outdoors in, but not so much as to be cluttered.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): Mid-century modern, for the most part, uniquely shaped items to stand as conversation pieces, but still primarily designed for utility. A little off-beat and retro, but still a homey and comfortable place to chill in.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): Big into art deco, metal and glass, geometric patterns and angular designs with bold, rich colors. He finds it to have a very fun and classy feel and likes things that make a statement—so he’s likely to incorporate a lot of centerpieces and décor wherever he can to draw the eye.

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans): Full-on industrial, brick and metal and hardwood, ideally with open and lofted spaces. It’s kind of what he’s gotten used to and gained an appreciation for along the way, so it may not be the most innately homey-feeling place, but he’s comfortable in it. Likely to accent the space with art—wall or sculpture—rather than rugs or blankets.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus): He’s a minimalist. He doesn’t actually have a physical body most of the time, so his taste in decorating a space tends to prioritize aesthetic over what it would be like to actually live in it. Still, he is fond of aesthetics so he’s sure to pick out at least a few interesting and attractive centerpieces—light fixtures, table décor, an accent pillow, something—to make it a little prettier.

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans): Sort of an eclectic/boho thing going on, lots of color and design and pretty much anything fun that catches his eye-socket. He’s very into crystals and wall hangings and art (or plants!) that can be strung up to dangle from the ceiling, so any space he’s involved in decorating is bound to look a little messy, but it’s comfortable and fun so it works out in the end!

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus): Give him that Hollywood glam, glossy high-shine surfaces—glass, gold, mirrors—mixed with soft velvets and satins. Mostly black and white but with a prominent accent color or two to really make the eleganza pop, he’s decorating to impress and show off his taste in design.

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans): Ends up falling into a bit of a steampunk style in terms of décor, lots of metal and lighting, plenty of stuffed shelves, and clockwork junk and tools lying around. He certainly has nothing against brass and leather either so y’know, if that’s what you wanna call it, there it is.

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus): Country house design is more his speed, very fond of gingham and natural light and an overall homey feel. It’s not what he’s used to, per se, but that’s kind of…better. He likes light and open spaces, big tables for activities and soft furniture for sitting, but nothing so clean and new that it doesn’t feel like it’s meant to be used.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans): International/modernist is mostly what he goes for, emphasis on steel and glass and concrete, and sharp minimalist lines. If he’s going to splurge on any patterns or color, it’ll only be in a few select pieces, nothing too outrageous.

Hunter (Swapfell Fruition Papyrus): He prefers a bit of a rustic look to things, with a high preference for natural materials, like stone and wood. Lofts are cool, as are sturdy shelving and exposed beams, but he’s especially into a good view, so if there’s high windows or just a lot of them, he’ll be happy.

Kohl (Descendtale Sans): Tends toward a dark romance style, deep rich (but of course, dark) colors, soft lighting, and graceful, sometimes ornate lines. Not one to overclutter with décor and accents, mostly simplistic, but a few items here and there—quilts and dried flowers and overstuffed pillows.

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus): Whimsigoth, a fondness for the ornate and intricate and elegant, but a tendency towards eclectic amounts of décor—wall hangings, candles, bones, and books all artfully arranged. Very into patterned furniture with texture, from the pattern being either pressed or stitched into the fabric. A little messy at first glance but he’s actually very deliberate with his arrangements for the most balanced look.

[not-wholly-unheroic]

A Comparative Analysis of Hook’s Ship and Cabin in Popular Media Portrayals

Part 5: Peter Pan & Wendy (2023)

For the final part in this series, I want to take a look at Disney’s most recent live-action retelling of Peter Pan. While the film itself isn’t perfect, I will say that at least in terms of its external appearance, this is one of my favorite representations of the Jolly Roger because of the intricate details included. They’re subtle—blink and you’ll miss them entirely—but they tell an interesting story.

First, let’s take a look at that figurehead, shall we? Unlike so many other versions of Hook’s ship, this time, it isn’t a menacing skull or claw but a lady. While this wouldn’t be an uncommon sight on a ship, this particular lady is not a saucy mermaid or proud goddess… Instead, she appears to be in mourning, her left arm raised to cover her eyes while her right is extended longingly toward the side of the ship. Zoom in and you’ll see why. Carved into the wood is a row of children. We can see the wooden children again in a brief close-up near the end when the ship is flying and nearly runs into the cliffs. This figurehead is a mother weeping for her lost little ones. And if that doesn’t break your heart and make you seriously think on what this version of Hook’s mindset must be like, I don’t know what will.

There are even children’s faces—or rather, a specific child’s face—carved into the railings on the ship. We can see it in a few scenes but this is one of the clearer images I could find. Does this look eerily like Molony’s Peter to you? Because I think it does. But maybe that’s just me.

Then we get to the outside of Hook’s cabin—which unfortunately is never really clearly shown in the film. However, we DO have some behind-the-scenes images of it and OH MAN…. This part of the ship very clearly depicts Peter chained to a tree while four mermaids reach out to him, attempting to offer comfort and aid.

If you’ve ever seen the original cover art for the novel, this seems to be a nod to it. On it, Peter sits on a rock playing his pipes while a mermaid approaches on either side and the crocodile lays curled up beneath, Hook’s claw poking out of its mouth.

That Hook would have such artwork blatantly referencing his time on the island as a part of his ship tells us a great deal about how effected he was by his time there. This ship seems to be one that Law’s Hook himself designed very intentionally. Despite all his hatred for Pan, he keeps his long-lost friend close at all times and openly bears his grief over the loss of his mother and Peter through the artwork that surrounds him.

In contrast to the ornate decorations on the outside of the ship, the inside of this Hook’s cabin is surprisingly sparse and practical. It is probably more realistic than any other version we have seen thus far, but it feels strangely empty and dark for a Hook’s residence. The bed is—much like in Disney’s animated film—a simple cubby built into the wall with only a thin curtain to separate it off from the rest of the room. There are a few books on the shelves to the right of the bed and some bags of what I assume may be rations stacked to the left.

What’s really interesting, though, is what we see in the brief close-up shots we get of the shelves near the doorway. There are all kinds of things in jars, preserved presumably in alcohol. One jar noticeably contains what looks like an octopus (or part of one)…possibly in passing reference to Hook’s animal antagonist in Disney animated sequel…while at least two others contain human hands. Right hands, to be specific. One of the hands is actually even labeled with a name—Stubby Bartholomew (?). According to an interview, Law seemed to indicate that his Hook was looking to see if he might somehow replace his own missing hand. Regardless, though, I want to know the stories behind these hands. Who were the men they were attached to? Why was Law’s Hook fighting them? Did they know he was going to save their hands, once severed? Did he just take the hand of the person or did he kill them and remove the hand after death as a kind of sick trophy? This is definitely one of the creepier things that we have seen with any Hook.

Speaking of creepy…on another wall, we see a dried fairy corpse pinned up like a butterfly. We don’t often see Hooks being completely ruthless on-screen, but this one definitely gives off a threatening vibe from all the dead things he has collected within his cabin walls.

There’s even a dead crocodile… Not THE crocodile, of course, but there IS a large skull which we can see he keeps underneath his desk. It shows up again later more noticeably and in a comic fashion in the finale when the ship is being turned upside down and the skull becomes stuck on his head…but it’s there even in the first shot we see of his desk. There’s also an hour-glass… Not a clock, of course, but the time theme is still present.

And then there is the gramophone, which once again, clashes with everything else about this Hook (clothing, a more classic wooden ship, etc.), which otherwise suggests someone from the earlier part of the Age of Sail. Unlike the ones in Hoffman Hook’s cabin, though, this gramophone is pretty obvious because Law’s Hook is actively listening to something on it when the kids first enter his cabin. A friend did a great write-up on the significance of exactly what he is listening to that you can read about here. Suffice to say for our purposes here, though, that the opera he is listening to wasn’t written until 1853, and gramophones themselves were not around until even later in the 1800s. Law’s Hook does mention that his mother is long gone by the time he leaves Neverland and goes looking for her, though, so perhaps his ship and belongings are reflective both of the time period of his youth and a later time period when he returned to the “real world.”

Then again, Smee is said to have pulled Hook out of the water as a child, and Smee seems intimately familiar with the older wooden style ship as opposed to steam ships, which would have been becoming pretty common by the mid to late 1800s, so it’s hard to say for sure. (Bonus content not entirely related but just because it’s cool… In a few shots of Mr. Smee, we can see there is a very small tattoo on his right hand. It’s a teapot. Which is just…such a perfectly Mr. Smee thing to have a tattoo of, and I love it.)

While Law’s Hook was disappointing for some fans of the more classic elegant, over-the-top versions of the character, he’s undoubtedly intriguing, particularly when we examine his Roger. This Hook is unlike any other. He wears his heart on his sleeve—or rather, his ship—and surrounds himself with reminders of Death and Time, as if he knows his own symbolic significance as a manifestation of the doomed Old Man going up against Youth. And yet…in this version, he is not quite so doomed, returning in the end, to make peace with Peter and accepting that one can be “old” while maintaining a spirit of youth.

[crystallinestars]

May I Have This Dance?

A little something to celebrate the birthday of another one of my favorite Genshin boys! Happy Birthday, Childe!

Contains: fem!reader, masquerade ball AU, spoilers for Childe's real name if you still haven't read his character stories

The Earl and Countess of Morepesok held a grand masquerade ball in honor of the 23rd birthday of their middle son Ajax. But more than just a birthday celebration, it was also a ploy to find their son a wife since he was long of age.

Being of age yourself, your parents insisted on attending. Though your father was a baron, several ranks lower than an earl, your family was still permitted to attend the ball. Which is how you found yourself dressed in a poofy gown, shimmering black and gold under the lights of the ballroom chandeliers, and your hair pinned up in a fancy bun. Completing your look was a black cat mask with gold accents.

You stood at the edge of the ballroom, surrounded by guests dressed in expensive, colorful clothing decorated in feathers, gems, sequins, and many more ornate details that your eyes couldn’t catch. Amongst the chattering of guests, you could make out the voices of the Earl and Countess somewhere nearby, asking where in the world their son went during his own celebration, and the meek apologies of what you assumed was their servant, but you chose to ignore the conversation.

The constant chatter, loud orchestral music, bright lights, and dancing of the guests overwhelmed you and gave you a headache. You didn’t want to be here since you had no interest in trying to appeal to the Earl’s son and becoming his wife, but your parents insisted. You knew disobeying was not in your best interest, so you came along just to please them.

Fortunately, your parents were busy chatting with some of their friends that were attending the masquerade and paid no attention to you. You used this opportunity to slip out to the balcony to enjoy some fresh night air. Beyond the balcony railing you could see an expansive flower garden with a small hedge maze and a fountain in the center. Though it was dark, the gardens were well illuminated by the lights coming from the ballroom windows, and to your luck there was nobody roaming about outside.

Wanting peace and quiet, you hoist your heavy skirts and descend down the steps leading from the balcony to the gardens. Carefully making your way through the dark, you follow the sound of the bubbling fountain somewhere until you finally find it. It was fairly large, taller than you, and with a wide rim you could sit on to admire the starry sky and crescent moon above.

As you rounded the fountain to find the best spot to hide yourself from the light of the bustling party, you come to a halt when you spot a lone figure already sitting on the lip of the fountain. The sound of your footsteps alerts the man, and he whips his head in your direction. You catch the glint of an earring dangling from his left ear.

“Who’s there?” he asks, but his tone of voice is not hostile, rather it’s more curious.

“Oh, I apologize, I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just looking for a place to get away from the noise of the ball when I stumbled upon you. I’ll leave you be,” you apologize and turn around to leave when the stranger’s voice halts you once more.

“No, it’s fine, you weren’t disturbing me. You’re welcome to stay here if you want. This place is the best for leaving behind the clamor of the ball. Don’t let my presence scare you away,” the young man said in a friendly manner, and you felt compelled to stay.

Thanking him, you carefully take a seat beside him on the lip of the fountain. At this proximity you could better make out his features in the dark. The man was lean and dressed in an ornate monochrome suit, however the collar of his red dress shirt was messily undone, revealing his collarbones. He had short hair that glowed a warm amber in the faint light coming from the ballroom windows. You couldn’t see his face since it was hidden by a red fox mask that covered the upper portion of his face, but the amused smirk on his lips was clearly visible.

“Like what you see?” he teased, referring to how you were studying his appearance.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you tense and hurry to redeem yourself, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare! I’m just surprised that someone else would be here, is all. Are you also not fond of large gatherings?”

The smirk drops from his face, and the young man turns to face forward, gazing up at the twinkling stars overhead.

“You could say that. I’ve never liked balls—they’re stifling and boring. Ball etiquette is too restrictive, and everyone always talks about shallow topics and puts on an act for the sake of pretense. It all feels so fake and like a waste of time. I’d rather be doing something more interesting with my time, like training or fishing or-“ the man cuts himself off, clearly thinking he said too much.

To not let the silence linger for too long, you choose to continue the conversation. “Me too. I don’t like balls for similar reasons as you. Having to uphold etiquette and participate in shallow pleasantries to form shallow connections is exhausting and unfulfilling. Rather than attend this ball, I’d have liked to spend this evening doing my hobbies.”

At your words, the masked man turns to face you again. After a beat of silence, he breaks out in a smile but it somehow feels more genuine than before.

“You can call me Childe. May I know your name, fair lady?” he extends his hand out to you, palm up.

You quirk a brow at his choice of name, finding it amusing but don’t question his desire to stay anonymous. It’s not rare for nobles to want to hide their identity and enjoy some peace.

“My name is y/n. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir Childe.” You place your hand in his, and Childe gently lifts it to brush his lips against the back of your hand. The touch of his warm mouth against your skin sent a tingle down your spine, but you tried to ignore it.

“The pleasure is all mine. It’s rare for me to meet someone who shares my views,” he says with a note of excitement in his voice as he lets go of your hand.

The two of you spend more time in each other’s company. Childe turned out to be a lot of fun to talk to, and you felt comfortable to open up to him, whether because of the anonymity provided by your masks or because of the nighttime atmosphere or something else, you didn’t know.

He had a lot of interesting stories to tell about his family. You learned that he had a lot of siblings, which wasn’t uncommon among noblemen. Childe talked at length about each of his siblings and how much he wanted to help their dreams come true. He also told you about his fishing adventures with his father ever since he was a boy, boasting about catching the biggest fish ever for his family. In all honesty, Childe mostly talked about his family rather than himself. It wasn’t until you asked him what his dreams were that he shared some of his ambitions with you, albeit reluctantly. He said wanted to become a knight and that he’s been putting in a lot of effort into training to become one, and he hopes he’ll be knighted soon.

As you listened to him, you couldn’t help but think his story sounded a lot like what you heard about Ajax, the son of the Earl and Countess of Morepesok who also wanted to become a knight.

“What about you?” Childe asks. “What are your dreams?”

You hesitate, unsure of what he’ll think of you if you tell him the truth. However, Childe has been nothing but open and friendly with you, so you wanted to reciprocate that kindness.

“To be honest, I don’t know. My parents’ expectations for me are to marry to a nobleman and start a family to keep the bloodline going since I’m their only daughter. I didn’t want to build any grand dreams for myself because I don’t know what kind of husband I will have. He might not let me do what I want,” you sigh.

Hearing that, Childe’s mouth forms a thin line, and he stands up from the fountain.

“It wouldn’t be an issue if you and him were in love,” he says.

“That’s true, but I have no guarantee I’ll be able to marry based on love rather than convenience. I fear if I take too long to choose a husband, my father will arrange a marriage for me,” you frown. “I still haven’t been able to find anyone I liked enough to want to be courted by.”

Childe looks like he wants to say something else, but loud orchestral music from the manor interrupts the moment between you two. Both of you glance back to peer through the windows, and see guests pairing off to waltz along to the music.

“May I have this dance?” Childe grins and extend a hand to you.

You’re briefly caught off guard by this change of events, but ultimately decide it wouldn’t hurt to have some fun dancing in a private corner of the garden.

“With pleasure,” you say and place your hand in his and let Childe pull you up from your seat.

Childe takes your right hand in his left, placing his right around your waist to pull you close. You rest your other hand on his broad shoulder and let yourself be led by him along to the music. Childe moves nimbly, leading you with confidence and ease as the two of you dance under the starry sky. You couldn’t see his whole face because of his fox mask, but the delighted smile he had as he looked at you was unmistakable. There was something magical about this moment, watching the stars and flowers spin around you as the two of you danced in your own little world, far removed from the bustling masquerade. For the first time, you were actually enjoying dancing. You weren’t doing this to fulfill some criteria or to appease your parents but were dancing simply for fun. It helped that your partner was good-looking and a fun conversationalist.

Once the music came to an end, it was time for you to part, however Childe seemed reluctant. He kept his hands on your waist, but his grip was loose enough that you could break free easily if you wanted to. You didn’t, though.

“If I asked to see you again, would you let me?” he asked softly.

“Are you implying that you want to court me?”

Childe chuckled at your question, but you could detect a hint of nervousness in his voice.

“To be perfectly frank—yes, yes I am. I’ve never met a woman who has been so genuine and honest with me, yet also so intriguing. I want to get to know you more. So, what do you say?”

“I’d like to accept, but I still don’t know your real name. Who are you really, Childe?” You gaze into his eyes, trying to discern his identity through the fox mask. He looked vaguely familiar, so you were sure he was one of the nobles you knew.

Childe sighs. “As fun as this has been, I suppose it’s only fair I give you my real identity since you gave me yours, but only if you take off your mask too.”

You chuckle in amusement at his request but agree to the terms. On the count of three, both of you remove your masks. Your eyes widen when you finally see Childe’s entire face in the dim light—he was none other than Ajax, the birthday boy and son of the Earl of Morepesok.

“Ajax…?”

“The very same. I know I shouldn’t be skipping my own birthday party, but I really didn’t want to spend the night dancing with random ladies while trying to find a potential wife. I had fun dancing with you, though,” he gives you a charming grin. “You’re quite pretty. I’m glad I got to spend the evening getting to know you, y/n,” his deep blue eyes skim over your exposed face, and you swear he looks lovestruck.

Clearing your throat, you turn your head to try and hide your flushed cheeks in the shadows cast by the ballroom lights.

“Thank you for the compliment. I had fun with you too, Ajax,” you give him a brief glance, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as your recount the memories of the night you spent with the charming man. “I look forward to being courted by you,” you say coyly.

Ajax grins and leans in, his face drawing closer to yours. You can feel his warm breath against your face, and your heart pounds at what he wanted to do. Will he kiss you? So soon?

…would you even mind?

However, before you had the chance to find out, you hear the voices of the Earl and Countess calling for Ajax in the distance. It seems they went to search for their son themselves and have made their way to the gardens.

Ajax reluctantly pulls away from you with an annoyed sigh at having your moment interrupted.

“I’m sorry to cut our time together short, but it seems like I have to go. I’ll let my family know this ball wasn’t for naught and that I have my sights set on a lovely lady which I wish to court. Hopefully this will also buy you more time to figure out what your dreams are. Don’t give up on your dreams, y/n. Until then, take care,” he says before kissing the back of your hand and turning around to leave.

“Ajax, wait!” you call out.

Ajax turns around, a bit surprised that you stopped him.

You quickly walk over to him and stand on your toes to reach his face. Planting a short but sweet kiss to his cheek, you pull away with a blush.

“Happy Birthday,” you say quietly.

Ajax looks stunned for a moment before his face heats up in a blush. He brings a hand up to cover the lower half of his face, but you can still see the happy grin peeking through his fingers. The ginger man looks like he wants to say something more, but the voices of his parents are heard again nearby, so he gives you one last wave before dashing off to find his parents, the lovesick grin never leaving his face.

Taking a seat on the rim of the fountain again, you hold your warm face in your hands, trying to calm your racing heart.

You didn’t think much of the masquerade ball when you first came here with your parents, but the night was full of surprises. Meeting Ajax and getting to dance with him was a pleasant surprise, but the most surprising thing of all was that you finally found your first love.

[myreia]

Divergence of the Heart

CHAPTER FIVE: THOSE OF NOBLE STOCK

Chapter Rating: Teen (full story rating is Explicit) Characters: Aureia Malathar (WoL), Aymeric de Borel, Thancred Waters, Hilda Ware Pairings: Aureia/Aymeric, Aureia/Thancred, Thancred/Hilda Chapter Words: 7,127 Notes: Set during the Heavensward patches. Summary: Aureia Malathar may have made a name for herself in Ishgard, but her deeds come with a hefty personal toll. Despite her victories at the Grand Melee she has never felt more unsure of herself. Her relationship with Thancred—the person she thought knew her the best—is strained, yet she cannot abandon him. Aymeric is falling for her harder with each passing day, yet she cannot bring herself to accept it. All may be fair in love and war, but at least war is predictable. Love on the other hand… Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 Read on AO3

Aureia lingers in the shadows, huddled in her coat, breath misting in the night air as she stares up at the building looming before her. Like all the estates befitting the Ishgardian nobility, the Borel Manor is an imposing display of high arches and ornate decorations. Elegant spires reach for the heavens, black against a sea of twinkling stars, and stained-glass windows glow with a welcoming and lively warmth from within. A handful of steadfast guards patrol the gate, attentively surveying the street for signs of trouble. Though this part of the Pillars is hardly prone to bustling activity, there is good reason for the Lord Commander’s residence to have tighter security than most.

Though Aymeric himself may be keen to forget it, the attempted assassination is fresh in many of his inner circle’s minds. Ishgard may be more acclimatized to its new state now the Dragonsong War is well and truly over, but swift and drastic political changes do not come without a price. The chances of some disgruntled adversary trying again are too great to ignore.

She sighs, shivering in the cold, and tucks her hands into her armpits. The thick leather sits oddly on her shoulders, suffocatingly heavy and offering little warmth. She is beginning to regret wearing the damn thing. The more she thinks on it, the more she feels as though strolling up to his manor armed and in her combat gear will turn what was supposed to be a relaxing dinner between friends into a glorified business meeting.

And maybe this is all that it is, she thinks, knowing full-well it is not.

What is her personal relationship to Aymeric anyway? They have circled each other for more than a year, true, but it was always within the context of greater—yet impersonal—events. Politics, battle, the birth of a nation’s new era… How does one become friends through events as momentous as that? This is not like her bond with Estinien, informed by weeks of reluctant travel and time spent snapping at and figuratively stepping on one another’s toes until begrudging respect set in.

This is different. This is…

Stop it. Stop fooling yourself. You practically proposed this dinner as much as he did and you want to back out now? So what if he might be in love with you? Is that truly such an awful thing? What in the seven hells is wrong with you?  

“Can I help you, mistress?”

Aureia jerks back and instinctively reaches for her rapier, eyes wide as she stares the young Elezen guard in the face. “No, I—I’m fine, thank you.”

He glances at her weapon. “Then I must ask that you move along,” he warns sternly. “This is no place for idle loitering.”

Her surprise evaporates in an instant. “I am here to see Ser Aymeric.”

“Is that so? The Lord Commander does not accept audiences in his private home, and certainly not from wandering adventurers.” The tone of dismissal is impossible to ignore as his gaze lands on her rapier. “I must ask again that you move along.”

She flushes. Most times she would be pleased that her face has gone unrecognized, however in this case it is both amusing and mortifying that she will have to leverage her name to simply get through the gate. “Tell me, what is your name, ser?” she asks, hand still on the hilt.

“Gillesoireaux, mistress. Now, you must—”

“Move along, yes, I heard you the first time.” She raises her chin, calmly brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, exposing the point. “I would be very interested to hear what Aymeric has to say when he discovers you prevented the Warrior of Light from attending a much long awaited for dinner.”

The guard blanches. His gaze passes from her face to her rapier and back again, noting her mixed Hyur and Elezen features. Her image has been passed around Ishgard long enough now most citizens have some idea of what she looks like even if they haven’t seen her at official events.

“I’m sorry, mistress,” he says. “Even if you are the Warrior of Light, as you claim, I cannot allow you to pass without verification of your identity—”

She folds her arms, annoyed. “What verification? What else do I need to do to prove I am myself?”

“I—”

“That is quite enough, Gillesoireaux, thank you.”

Aymeric’s voice resounds from beyond the gate. Peering past the young guard, Aureia finds him on the threshold to the manor, a slightly perplexed look in his eye and an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. For once he is not dressed in his uniform, but the refined doublet and hose common among the Ishgardian nobility.

Gillesoireaux’s mouth opens in shock. “But, ser, I must protest—Lucia—”

“I commend you for fulfilling your duty so thoroughly, Gillesoireaux, but I believe I know the identity of my guest well enough to recognize her. Now, if you please. Allow her to pass. It is quite cold out tonight.”

The young man’s cheeks turn red. Swallowing his pride, he nods in respect and stands aside, gesturing for Aureia to proceed. She walks quickly through the gate and up the stone path, a strange flush on her cheeks and a queasy feeling in her stomach. Though she suspects she and Aymeric will both find this incident amusing to reflect on in a few days time, for now she can’t determine whether she is embarrassed about it or simple anxious for the dinner that lies ahead. She was filled with giddy happiness several nights ago at the prospect of spending time with him. But now she is here, on the doorstep of his estate…

Where is the confidence she had that evening outside Estinien’s room? It takes more willpower than she would like to admit not to excuse herself and run straight to the Brume.

Do me a favour and go with him for once. Give it a chance, for Fury’s sake. He will never shut up about you otherwise.

“I apologize for the trouble,” Aymeric says, ushering her through the door. “Gillesoireaux is young and takes his duties very seriously. I suspect fear of being tricked into letting unsavoury personages through overcame his good sense—though I fail to see how any Ishgardian citizen would fail to recognize you on sight.”

“Oh, I’m not sure about that. For all he knows, I might have been Hilda in disguise masquerading as the Warrior of Light in a bid to further ingrain lowborn citizens into your ever-expanding social circle.”

He sighs soberly and closes the door behind her. “Though I would hope none of my staff share those proclivities, it is a sentiment often echoed in the Pillars—”

She lays a hand on his arm. “It was a joke, Aymeric. And not a very good one.”

Aymeric coughs, covering his embarrassment, and glances at her. The corners of his eyes crinkle with a wry smile as he notes her rapier. “You came fit for battle, I see,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

She frowns, folding her arms defensively across her chest. “The last Ishgardian dinner I attended ended with me drugged and on the floor. You never know what will happen—” Gods, Aureia, did you really just say that? “—besides, you’re not one to talk! Not once, in all this time I have known you, have you graced my presence without your greatsword. Or your armour.”

He stares at her, taken aback by the sudden deluge of words. “I…” A small chuckle escapes him. “I suppose you speak the truth. Lucia has said as much before. Routine is no small comfort, one that I perhaps rely upon too often and unthinkingly. One could say it is fortuitous that tonight I have finally relinquished some of my habits that are consequences of profession and position.”

“Are you sure? You have done away with the armour, but I’m not entirely convinced you’re not hiding Naegling behind your back.”

He laughs again and takes a step back, spreading his hands in a very un-Aymeric-like way. “Then perhaps you will have to examine me for yourself,” he says. He turns out to one side, then to the other—to call it a twirl would be too much—and sinks into a low bow. As he gazes up at her from behind long, dark lashes, the coy smirk on his lips feels private. Personal. Just for her. “No hidden weapons, greatswords or otherwise.”

She smiles, buoyed by his gentle humour, her mind reaching for a witty remark—and pauses. A shadow moves in her peripheral vision. She blinks, ripping her gaze away from Aymeric to dart around the foyer. A butler—tall, Elezen, genteel in the way of the Ishgardian upper crust, with all the quiet confidence and experience that Gillesoireaux lacked—enters the foyer and glides effortlessly across the room, stopping only to bow politely to them both. His piercing eyes linger on her in a way she does not like, taking in her tunic’s deep neckline and the tips of her ears poking through her hair.

Only then does she realize that the hall is far from empty. Behind Aymeric it unfolds in a kaleidoscope of marble floors and blue-trimmed walls, floor-length windows framed by sweeping velvet curtains, the crystal chandelier that is somehow gilded yet not gaudy, a magnificent staircase ascending to the second floor. It’s exactly the kind of staircase the demure little protagonist of those romance chapbooks Tataru stockpiled from the Jeweled Crozier would use to make her grand entrance. The butler is not the only servant here; a handful of others are going about their evening tasks while furtively glancing in her direction and eyeing her up.

She doubts she meets their expectations.

Aureia glances back to Aymeric, catching him still in his bow. Heat sears her cheeks—damn damn damn it—and she ruthlessly hopes the colour doesn’t show on her pale face. Maybe she can brush it off as a result of the brisk evening air.

Wind burn. Right. Is that where we’re at? I’m not blushing, it’s wind burn.

The butler appears a foot behind Aymeric, thick grey brows drawn together in an obvious frown, and clears his throat.

Aymeric jolts out of his bow and straightens, reverting seamlessly into the posture of the Lord Commander. Professional. Polite. Adroit. The picture of knighthood and chivalry. She knows him well enough know it is a role as much as the Warrior of Light. But the way he inhabits it every day, fully and resolutely, as fulfillment of his duty to his country… Sometimes she worries he is more the façade than the man.

“Marcel!” he says. “My apologies, I did not expect—”

“Merely here to receive your honoured guest, my lord, but I see there was no need,” Marcel interrupts smoothly. “I did not realize that you had departed your private office so early before dinner. Is there a change in your schedule I was not made aware of? I can amend my timetables—”

“No, that is quite all right, I assure you.” Aymeric lowers his head, almost as if he has been scolded like a schoolboy. “I was happy to greet Mistress Malathar myself.”

“Did you wish to return to the study? Mistress Malathar is early. I am happy to escort her to the sitting room in the meantime. Or perhaps the library. Your parents’ collection on Ishgardian cultural and religious history may be of particular interest to her.”

“That won’t be necessary, Marcel, thank you.”

The butler nods and places a hand over his heart, bowing deeply. “I am ever but your humble servant, my lord.”

Giving Aureia a calculated look, he excuses himself and departs briskly down the hall.

Aymeric coughs, a flush on his cheeks, and awkwardly links his hands behind his back. “Shall we?” he says hesitantly. “It seems we have some time before dinner is served. No sense in standing in the threshold, I wager. Unless you have a preference for waiting here, of course…?”

“Hm. You know, I do love a good foyer. And you have a particularly beautiful entrance hall.”

His eyes brighten. “Is it not? My parents did find much enjoyment in their taste and style…” He trails off, noting her expression, and sighs and shakes his head. “That was a jest, I see.”

“It was.”

“I am making a fool of myself once again.”

Aureia cocks her head and sweeps across the foyer. “Not a fool,” she says affectionately, taking his arm in hers. She’s uncertain where the impulse came from, but it feels appropriate in a hall like this. Maybe Tataru’s chapbooks had a more lasting impression on her than she thought. He doesn’t seem to mind or find it odd, at any rate. “Just incredibly easy to tease.”

“Incredibly easy? Well then, I shall take note. Perhaps I can put up more resistance next time.” He guides her down the hall, strolling towards a pair of arched glass doors. Count Edmont would never have the like in his manor. “But your remark did remind me that this is still very much my foster parents’ home. Their vision, their tastes, an inarguable inspiration to their peers. Perhaps they expected me to make changes once I inherited the estate, but I never could bring myself to overturn their memory. This house is as much theirs as it is mine. I count my blessings and my fortunes every day for the life they provided me.”

“I see.”

He eyes her, glancing down from his towering height. “You must forgive Marcel,” he continues. “He was the former viscount’s butler and he has been with the house since before I was born. He may be curt and fiercely protective of the Borel name—and, if you will allow me a moment of honesty, perhaps a little too protective—but his intentions are well-meaning.”

He pushes the doors open. They swing outwards to welcome them into a sitting room decorated in soft blues and periwinkles. A warm fire crackles merrily in the hearth, casting its dancing light around it.

“Protective?” Aureia asks as he shuts the doors behind them. Though any servant passing could spot them through the glass, at least the sound will be muffled, affording them some privacy. “How so?”

Aymeric gestures to the nearby settee. “There is a particular sense of Ishgardian propriety about House Borel’s old guard, so to speak,” he says carefully, waiting for her to sit down.

She sinks into the cushions, fingers plucking unconsciously at the frilled edges of a nearby pillow. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“I hold Marcel and his staff in nothing but the highest regards,” he continues, seating himself opposite her. A strange stab of disappointment pangs in her heart. Almost as if she wishes that he had joined her on the couch, close enough to touch. Close enough for her to lay a hand in his, to thread her fingers with his in imitation of that night in the infirmary. “But their enduring devotion to my foster parents’ and their reputation does blind them. My adoption caused a stir among the high and minor houses alike, one that was not easily mitigated. Gossip behind closed doors can be as brutal a warfare as any battlefield. Marcel does not intend any disrespect, but I believe he wishes I carry on my parents’ good name without subjecting it to further slander.”

Her gut tightens into a familiar knot, an unwanted prickle creeping down the back of her neck. “Why should inviting me to dinner be the cause of slander for your House?” she says flatly. “I thought we were friends.”

“And we are, are we not? Aureia, there is no person on this world whom I am prouder or happier or honoured to call friend—”

“You staff seems to think differently. Where would they get that impression, I wonder?”

He coughs, covering an awkward smile. “They are an imaginative lot, it is true, but—”

“Marcel’s concerned, isn’t he. He is Ishgardian through and through. The old kind, that is. Warrior of Light or not, he sees a half-Elezen woman appear on your doorstep and there is only one thought in his mind.”

A pause. He closes his eyes, wincing with pain as if she had stabbed him in the gut. “Yes. You see it plainly.”

Aureia exhales a long breath and folds her hands, resting them on her knees. This is not the conversation she imagined she would have upon entering his house, but it seems it has raised its ugly head regardless. “I’m sorry,” she says slowly. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He opens his eyes, relief flickering across his face. “You have not. Far from it. If apologies are required, it should be from me to you. On behalf of certain ancient gentlemen who are far too entrenched in their ways to avoid jumping to conclusions.”

There is a part of her—a niggling part, deep down, thrashing around in her mind that she must stamp out lest she let it slip across her tongue—that wants nothing more than to ask him point-blank what Marcel would do if they were more than friends. If he loves her the way she thinks he does it must be on his mind. She can imagine the horror on Marcel’s part, the conclusions he would race to while watching the son of his beloved viscount fall for a woman of mixed heritage. Bastard Elezen children are one thing in Ishgard. But bastard children with Hyur blood in their veins…

Her heart hammers, rising panic creeping across her skin. That would require so many elements to fall into place, so many variables to go both right and wrong. Besides, it’s not like she could ever… she can…

Not this again.  

“Aureia?”

His voice resounds quietly in her ears, a blanket of calm and warmth. The sound of him so close yet so far away cuts through her panic, dispersing it as easily as the sun melts mists in its morning glow.

She raises her head, meeting his eyes, and instinctively pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ve never told anyone this,” she says quietly. “Not even Hilda. But Haurchefant warned me near a year ago that Ishgard may judge me harshly not for who I am, but what I am. He believed I could win them over easily, that the nobility’s contempt for me would melt as soon as I gave them something to talk about other than exile, refugee or half-Elezen. He had more faith in the goodness of his peers than anyone. Perhaps a little too much. He hoped my association with his father would count for something, but I’m not certain if this city is prepared to judge me for anything other than who my parents may have been. And I’m not even Ishgardian.”

Aymeric nods and leans across to take her hand. “It should not be this way. And I do not wish for it to continue this way.”

She smiles faintly, running her thumb across the back of his hand. “I don’t care what they say about me,” she says firmly. “I’m a hero to some, a villain to others. I can live with it.”

“You should not have to. If there was a way—”

“Please, Aymeric, I’m begging you not to draft a new statute on my behalf. You can’t decree change and expect centuries-old beliefs to change overnight.” She pauses, her teeth scraping her lower lip as she considers her next words. An admission, one she hasn’t shared with anyone. “You know, when I first came here, I thought it would be easier to pretend to be Hyur. Even now, it’s easier to keep them hidden. But something in the city is changing. You’ve changed it. Hilda is changing it. And perhaps I am, too. In a few years, who knows? It could be different.”

“It could. It is my most fervent hope that it is. But Aureia, you should not have to hide who you are to placate the misguided few.”

She shrugs. “It’s fine. It is what it is.”

“It is not to me.”

Her heart stutters. There is such genuine warmth in his voice and in the way he is looking at her, she can barely breathe. He has quite literally knocked her speechless. She shifts her weight, pulling herself to the very edge of the settee so she can have a firmer grasp of his hand without straining her reach. If it weren’t for those glass doors, she may have very well thrown herself down next to him. Or into his arms.

Either feels appropriately impulsive. Like the protagonists of Tataru’s chapbooks.

Hells, why do you keep thinking of those? This isn’t some fairy tale.  

“Aureia,” Aymeric says gently, his fingers still entwined with hers. “If it’s not too presumptuous of me… may I ask you a personal question? Where in Eorzea do you call home?”

“I’m not Eorzean.”

The words are out of her mouth before she has time to think about them. She bites her lower lip, silently cursing her slip of the tongue. Aymeric, thankfully, has not noticed. He simply waits for her reply, patient and understanding. If anything, judging from his expression he seems to regret his curiosity out of fear of prying into a sensitive topic.

“I apologize,” he says quickly. “Please, do not feel imposed to tell me more than you wish—”

“It’s fine,” she interrupts. “It’s not something I often want to talk about.”

And not for the reasons you’re thinking.  

Where is home? Rolling meadows, babbling brooks, the scent of loamy earth and the rush of the sea. The bones of metal streets, wires above and below thrumming with magitek, air so freezing she can’t feel her nose, the metallic tang of blood industry in the air. These are the two sides of Garlemald—temperate Locus Amoenus, where she was born, and the glacial Imperial capital, where she was honed into a killer. Spy. Agent. Operative.

She had no home after she defected, not until Ul’dah. And though the scars of the bloody banquet have now healed, she can never see it the same again.

Two homes. One she rejected. And one who rejected her.

Secrets upon secrets. A different person then, under a different name, a name she never wants someone like Aymeric to hear. She has told no one her origins, not even the Scions. How would they react, knowing their dearest friend was secretly the very thing they were fighting against? It would be reasonable to admit the truth to Lucia, who as a Garlean defector and Aymeric’s left hand would be most likely to understand.

But she is anything but reasonable. She killed her former self the day she left. Better to let Kira decay for good then let her history be exhumed.

“Corvos,” Aureia says finally, careful not to use the Garlean name for the region. “I was born in Corvos. It doesn’t have much meaning to me now. I have no interest in seeing my parents ever again.”

“Corvos?” He raises an eyebrow. He has noted her tone and sagely avoids the topic of her parents. She’s thankful—she’s not sure if she could undergo another incident similar to Hilda’s blunt scrutiny when she asked which Elezen parent had a dalliance with a Hyur. “You are very far from home.”

“The world’s a big place, Aymeric. There’s a lot that goes on outside your own borders. I never could stay still for long.”

“A thirst for adventure?”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “For a better version of myself.”

The glass doors open, throwing streaming light into the room. Aureia jerks back and pulls her hand from Aymeric’s, situating herself deep into the settee’s cushions. Aymeric is not so fast. He remains hunched over, his hand hovering in the air, still grasping at where her retreating fingers had once been.

Shit. Dinner. Right.

Marcel clears his throat. “Dinner is served, my lord,” he announces, observing the scene before him with commendable detachment. If he disapproves of her, he will not let it show. “My lady.”

Aymeric rises to his feet, offering his hand to her. She pauses, mind flooded with question—should she take it? Should she not? Will Marcel see it as burgeoning romance if she does? Will he see it as burgeoning romance she is trying to hide if she doesn’t?—and stands up, hands falling straight to her sides, gripping a fistful of her leather coat.

Down the hall to the foyer, through a set of heavy double doors and into a hallway lined with windows. She almost has time to appreciate the view of the square outside before Marcel is ushering her through another set of doors and into a room whose purpose is utterly baffling to her and seems to be nothing but a square-shaped entry hall of some kind. Finally, he throws open the doors to the dining room and steps aside, bowing them in with the grace of an expert butler.

Aureia’s eyes widen. She slows her pace, boots scraping against the polished wood floors as she stares gobsmacked. The dining room is softly inviting with its familiar blues and warm hearth, the long table is outfitted for more than a single guest. Candlelit and with more cutlery and plates than she knows what to do with. Surely there has to be a purpose for the three separate wine glasses at each setting. And that is to say nothing of the mouth-watering smells coming from the feast laid out before her.

All of this? For us? Aymeric, what in the hells?  

Her stomach growls. He had to have heard it. Both him and Marcel.

Aymeric smiles, nodding for her to sit even as he strides around to the other side. She smiles tentatively in return and draws out her chair. For some reason, sitting at this table feels… important? Momentous? Decisive? As if the full House of Lords and House of Commons should be here in attendance and they are calling upon her to make yet another decision about the fate of their nation.

A dinner invitation should be a simple night at a tavern with good ale and good meat, not something amounting to a full fucking wedding feast. But then this is Aymeric. She should have realized what she was getting herself into the moment he sent that letter. It’s why she panicked dressing for this event. Because he always has to make it an event.

Aymeric is a man of extremes. Although he may come across as quiet and steadfast, there is a recklessness in his dependability. Fervour in his resolve. He has never been one do things halfway, he commits hard and fast with every fibre of his being or not at all. This dinner has been denied to them too many times, of course he is giving it his all. Whether he is in love with her or not is a moot point. This is a declaration of sorts, one made grander by how long it has been put aside.

He is Ishgardian through and through.

Genteel. Proper. Lavish. He is giving her so much, showering her with so much, his affection is as suffocating as it is heart-warming. A part of her is desperate to retreat into the shadows and flee. Maybe even crack a window open and dive over the balcony like Estinien.  

If only they could have stayed in that sitting room. All she wants is to spend time with him, talk with him, without all of this…

“Wine, my lady?” Marcel’s voice sounds above her shoulder.

Aureia blinks. Somewhere between seeing the table and her thought crisis, she has removed her rapier and stashed it on a nearby chair, sat down and pulled hers in as far as it will go. “Uh yes, thank you,” she says, shifting in her seat. The chair creaks beneath her. An inelegant and unladylike sound. The butler must be appalled. She coughs. Desperate to put her restless hands to use, she fidgets with her coat’s collar as he fills her glass.

Marcel sets the decanter expertly on a tray and takes a step back. “Shall I take your coat, Mistress Malathar?” he asks.

She drops her hand, the question cutting through her distracted mind. “I’m fine as I am, thank you,” she replies curtly. “Though admittedly I am not well versed on current Ishgardian dinner protocol, the Lord Speaker may have changed something without me noticing. Should I be giving you my coat or have I committed an abominable faux-pas?”

Aymeric snorts with laughter. The sound is faint and not very like him. It makes her smile.

The butler is not impressed. “I was merely inquiring as you seemed uncomfortably warm at the dinner table and your coat, mademoiselle, could be at fault,” he says, migrating around the table to serve Aymeric. “Though I will take this opportunity to inform you that it is not customary for lords and ladies to dine in their overclothes.”

“Good thing I’m not a lady.”

“All is well and good, my lady, and I thank you for it. I fear you would be inappropriately dressed should you remove your coat.”

Aureia flushes, her skin prickling, too embarrassed to be angry. “I—”

“Thank you for your service tonight, Marcel,” Aymeric interrupts. There’s a cold look in his eye. He holds out his hand, gesturing for him to stop pouring. “Protocol or not, custom or not, she can keep her coat and wear what she pleases. I think it fits her well.”

The tone in his voice communicates far more than his words. This will be addressed—firmly and without question. The manor’s staff will all no doubt hear of it.  

The butler’s mouth tightens. “Very good, my lord. Shall I send Timothien?”

“No,” Aymeric replies. “I believe the Warrior of Light and the Lord Commander are more than capable of handling this ourselves. We will not be needing anything else tonight. Please inform the staff that I wish to spend this evening with a cherished friend.” He glances across the table, his gaze finding hers. “Nothing would give me greater happiness.”

Marcel sets the wine and tray on the table, bows stiffly—once to Aymeric, once to Aureia—then turns on a heel and vanishes through a set of side doors. In the silence that follows, she can hear nothing but the crackle of the hearth and the steady, forced rhythm of Aymeric’s breath.

“I am as horrified as I am disappointed. He should never have—”

“I should have worn the dress,” she blurts.

He blinks. “The dress?”

She scrunches up her face. “Dress. Gown. Maybe that would have been appropriate attire. Maybe I should have done more with my face. Changed my mind. Last minute. It’s why I was late.”

“You weren’t late.”

“Wasn’t I? I missed our agreed upon time by almost a bell—”

“And dinner was not ready, so there was nothing to waste. If anything, I asked you to arrive earlier than necessary because I selfishly coveted time for us to converse alone. These moments with you are precious to me. But experience tells me there is never enough time, and sooner or later duty will call for one or both of us.”

Warmth floods her chest. Ignoring the blush on her cheeks, she sweeps a lock of hair behind her ear and reaches for her glass. “That doesn’t sound selfish to me. You are allowed to live, Aymeric. There has to be a day you can live for yourself. Not the House of Lords or the House of Commons. Or Ishgard.”

“Have you conversed with Lucia of late? I am certain she has said similar words once. Or twice.”

“She’s observant. You should listen to her.”

“I am listening to you.”

The lilt of his voice sends an excited shiver curling down her spine. Certain she will become tongue-tied if she answers him now, she grips her glass and takes a sip, the luxurious red wine sitting headily on her tongue. It is the most exquisite thing she has ever drunk. She may not be an expert in Eorzean vintages, but she’s spent enough time around Gibrillont to identify the signs of luxury wine. For all she knows, this wine could be a hundred years old and costs tens of thousands of gil.  

And he thought to serve this tonight? To her?

You’re being an idiot. Don’t read so much into it. You’ve dined with Count Edmont, you know this is how the aristocracy does this sort of thing. This is nothing special.  

She glances over the table, taking in the sumptuous food. Soups and meats and roasted vegetables. Pastries piled on a platter. There is risotto in front of her, mixed with something she thinks may be black truffles. Truffles. Aymeric is either trying desperately to impress her—unlikely, he’s not the sycophantic sort—or he really is…

What did I tell you about reading too much into it?

“Forgive me if this is strange to say,” Aymeric continues, reaching for the decanter and finishes filling his glass. “But I would rather you come as you are, not what you think you should be.”

She pauses. “What do you mean?”

“The dress you spoke of. Frankly, I do not care what you see fit to dress yourself in, nor how closely you choose to follow Ishgardian customs. It would make my heart heavy indeed to see you forgo the very essence of yourself and trade it for traditions that are not your own. I would not argue we besmirch custom and culture wholly and throw them to the wolves, but rather I do not believe their sanctity should go unquestioned. One must take part in tradition out of choice, not obligation. Traditions are precious and deserve to be celebrated, but to embrace them blindly does not equate respect in my eyes. There will always be those for whom tradition fails, and those who tradition forgot.”

He exhales a long breath and lays a hand on the table near his glass. “Perhaps you count yourself among them, more at home amongst the good people of the Brume then the lords and ladies of the nobility. I can lay no blame at your feet for preferring Foundation to the Pillars when some here see your very existence as an affront to the fantasy they deem a civilized society. Regardless, you have notoriety and grand stories of your accomplishments precede you. To some, you are as much a fixture of this era of restoration as the House of Lords and the House of Commons, or the efforts of the good overseers and caretakers of the Firmament. But as wont as the people are to place the Warrior of the Light upon a pedestal, so too are they to forget there is a very real woman at the heart of those tales. I shall not. You cannot be anything other than yourself, and I will not ask it of you.”  

She raises her head and meets his eyes, her heart throbbing in her chest. Gods, why must he be like this? What has she done to deserve a friendship like his?

“Perhaps it is something we share, then,” she suggests, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

He blinks, startled, and chortles to cover his surprise. “We do?” he asks.

“Aymeric, consider what you have accomplished. My hand may have brought an end to Nidhogg’s wrath, but it is you who had the conviction to pull Ishgard out of this war. Break down the walls this country encased itself in for centuries. Bring an end to the cycle—”

“It was not I who should be accredited with such deeds, but rather men and women far greater than myself. Lord Haurchefant and Estinien and Ysayle, to say nothing of yourself. I can still see you there on the Steps of Faith, striding fearlessly towards the wyrm. It is not a moment I will soon forget.”

“You place too much importance on it—”

“You think I say that as a commander commending his greatest general for feats in battle. It is not so rote as that. Ishgard held its breath that day and you—”

She exhales sharply. “Would you let me finish?”

He bows his head. “Of course,” he says, unable to hide his smile. “Consider me suitably chastised.”

Aureia pauses, twisting her hands together beneath the table. What can she say to get her point across? Whenever she pushes the importance of his political maneuvers, he seems keen on derailing the point to praise her actions in combat. Perhaps that is the soldier in him or the rhetoric of Halone, though in Ishgard, they are often one and the same. The fast and dazzling heroism of victory in battle will always trump the slow, tedious work of reform.

She turns her head, her gaze wandering the dining room as she gives herself time to think. Lights dance on the opposite wall, drawing her eye to the hearth and its crackling flames. A set of portraits hang above the mantlepiece, depicting a wise Elezen noble and his wife. Grey-haired, strong features, kind eyes… These must be his adoptive parents. The former viscount and viscountess. By all accounts they loved him dearly, placing no blame on him for his accident of birth.

He has spoken little of them. Considering her difficulties with her own family, she would never want to press the matter. But she can’t help to wonder how much of him came from them. He may have called Thordan “Father” in those final days, but his true father—the man who raised him—is remembered here, his memory hanging proudly upon the wall.

If there is anything she knows all too well, it is that family is a very different thing from blood.

“When the whole nation looks to you, what do they see?” Aureia says finally. “On one hand, the commander who did not come from noble stock. The bastard who stood in the face of bloody tradition and sought another path. The reckless fool who defies century of tradition. On the other, the viscount who has nothing but love for his country. A noble man and a man of righteous faith, for whom there is no sacrifice too great if it means bringing Ishgard to the dawn of a new day. Aymeric, you are as much an enigma to your nation as I am. If they forget the Warrior of Light is a living, breathing person with blood in her veins, then so it is true for the Lord Commander. You are an ideal to them, at once a traditionalist to be trusted and a maverick to be praised. A visionary.”

She takes a breath and forges ahead. “But the problem with ideals is that they are just that. Ideals. The work ahead of you will be longer and more gruelling than fighting any dragon. My duty is done the moment my enemy is felled, but yours is just beginning. There will come a time when your people will see you not as the ideal they believe, but the man you are. And, in my experience, there are not many who like to see their fantasies broken.”   

His gaze passes over her, blue eyes piercing and stern. For a moment, she wonders whether she has upset him, but then his expression breaks into a blinding smile. “Eloquently put,” he says, running a thumb across the stem of his glass. “Are you certain you are not fit for public speaking?”

She rolls her eyes. “Fuck, no.”

He snorts with laughter, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“I think I only had one of those in me for tonight,” she continues. “Best let Alphinaud write my speeches from now on.”

“I suspect he would jump elatedly at the chance.”

“Though—and I mean this quite seriously, Aymeric—please don’t ask me to make a speech. I’ll stand impressively in the back with impressive armour and an impressive weapon to make the right impressive impression, but I can’t promise anything more than that.”

His expression falls.

She cocks her head, brows drawn together in confusion, tongue pressed against the back of her teeth. Did she come off too strongly? He’s accustomed to her sense of humour by now, surely, but from the look on his face he seems almost… upset. “I’m sorry,” she says. “If I’ve made a fool of myself and put my foot in my mouth—”

“You did not,” he interrupts. “If truth be told, you simply reminded me of Estinien. I’m certain he has told me as much the same, more than once.”

A strange discomfort twists in her gut, a raw sense of loss. Not for her own friendship with the wayward dragoon—she is certain she will see him again someday, and if anything she understands all too keenly his desire to vanish into thin air after the torment he has suffered—but rather for Aymeric’s. He lost something greater than she did the day Estinien left. A decade of unconditional love and comradeship abandoned, and here he is, but a few days later, spending an evening with her rather than searching for his dearest friend.

“I suspect he has rubbed off on me,” she says carefully.

He laughs. “And I fear the disasters we must need circumvent if he had remained. I trust you both dearly, but together? Ishgard would never be the same.”

She snorts, grinning at his gently teasing tone, the knot in her gut relaxing.

Aymeric clears his throat. “But enough talk,” he says keenly. “Our dinner awaits and Marcel would be well and truly disappointed should our food grow cold.”

“We wouldn’t want to disappoint Marcel.”

“No. We would not.”

He catches her eye. Something passes between them—a shared moment, a private joke, something just for the two of them. It makes her feel light, buoyant with joy. Heart thrumming with happiness, she reaches for her glass, gripping the stem in unpracticed hands. Too used to Gibrillont’s flasks and tankards. With the right pressure and speed, she could snap the delicate crystal in two.

Maybe that’s why there’s three glasses at each setting… Gods, you really won’t let that one go, will you? Just ask him.

“A toast, perhaps?” she says, raising her glass.

He smiles and raises his own. “A fine idea,” he replies. “To friendship?”

“To friendship.”

[shut-up-its-funny]

Ahem, excuse me let me juuuust put this here. Slides over some remrom fluff (with an implied side note of loceit) In reference to this post. @pleasedonthurtcjstar @stemroses I made this more a human au cause I can't think of how they would drive in the mindscape?

AO3

Wordcount: 573

The gift exchange was over, everyone seemed mostly happy with their gifts, even if it started off rocky with some.

And even with everyone winding down from the excitement (and bitch slap) Janus was still a little... inebriated.

Remus slings one of Janus' arms around his shoulders "alright time to head out, me and my air fryer have some plans ~"

Janus gives Remus a look that says 'you're joking right' as he says "well that's not happening, I am not letting you drive my car after the last time."

"Oh pisshhhhah!" Remus flaps his hand about dismissively "I'm not that bad."

"Actually Remus" Logan pipes up "it may be wise to stay the night, Janus is right you are... not exactly the most careful behind the wheel."

Remus looks towards Logan then back to his best friend hanging off of him.

And then promptly lets go of him making Janus stumble "well alright he's your problem now Loogie. I'm gonna go bother my brother."

Logan moves to help Janus steady himself as Remus walks towards the stairs.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do~" he snickers with wiggling fingers.

"That, does not narrow much down" Janus remarks with a smile.

Remus starts up the stairs, noticing Janus holding out his wine towards Logan as they go to sit on the couch.

Up in the hallway he makes his way to Roman's door, ever as decorated in shiny things and stars, with ornate swirling letters letting you know it is in fact Roman's room.

Without knocking he enters his twins private chambers with a swing and loud bang from the door.

Roman looks up from his vanity, staring at Remus through the mirror "I thought you had a date with your air fryer."

"You ain't getting rid of me that easily bro, besides you haven't even given me a gift yet~"

Roman snickers turning around to actually face Remus; "you haven't given me one either" he says crossing his arms.

Remus' smile gets positively jovial as he shoves the door closed with a foot saying "you didn't give any indication you wanted one."

Roman puts a hand to his chest in mock offense "why, I thought you knew me better than that!" - his hand goes to lay dramatically on his forehead - "my own twin, doesn't even love me."

Remus strides towards his other half in a partial skip, when he's right in front of him he flicks his nose "you can put whatever else you want in my mouth but I draw the line at words" Remus says.

At the flick Roman gasps out a squeak looking up at Remus with a pout.

"Yes yes" Remus boops him this time "we all know you're cute."

Roman puffs up at the complement "well of course I am, I suppose that that's a good enough gift, I shudder to think of anything else you'd give me" he makes a disgusted face thinking back to Mr. Fuzzy.

"I'm a great gift giver" Remus says matter of factly.

"I do have to concede that you actully put thought into your gifts" Roman looks down "I must admit though, I don't have a gift for you."

Remus shrugs "ah neither do I."

They stare at each other for a second.

"Well then" Roman pipes up "would a kiss suffice?"

Remus' toothy grin is all Roman needs to stand up and close the small space between them.

[babybatscreationsv2]

Ghostface ch1

Marvel | Starker

The only thing Peter likes about Halloween is the candy, but when his bully, Tony, starts to tease him he's ready to prove his courage. Even if that means tolerating it as Tony follows him around in a scary mask. It's not like he could really hurt him, right?

Rating: Explicit

Another amazing prompt by H <3

Warnings and tags below

Warnings/tags: underage(but they're both teens), highschool au, Halloween, fear kink, crying, stalking, ghostface mask, romnoncon, knife play, teasing/bullying, humiliation

"What did you get?" Peter asked as they walked back down the steps to the sidewalk. He dug through his pumpkin shaped basket with one hand. It was only half full thanks to the number of neighbors who were shooing teenagers away this year.

"Milkyway, what did you get?" Ned answered, just as absorbed in his candy bucket.

"Kit-Kat. You wanna swap?"

"For a Kit-Kat?" Ned scoffed. "Parker, you're out of your mind."

Peter looked up from his bucket. His disappointed sigh caught in his throat as he laid eyes on a black figure standing at the corner. A long white face turned towards him and he stumbled. His body wanted to freeze, but he knew better than to show fear on Halloween.

"Pete?" Ned looked up, then at his friend. "Come on, let's cross here." He led the way, cutting between the cars slowly rolling along, carrying the little kids who can't walk as far.

On the other side of the street, Peter took a breath. "I don't get why anyone likes scary stuff."

Ned shrugged. "Some of it's cool."

"They could at least wait until the little kids go home. They're gonna make somebody cry." Ned glanced at him and Peter rolled his eyes. "I'm not that scared."

"Just let me know when you're ready to go home. I don't mind leaving early."

"I'm fine, Ned. Seriously."

They carried on up the street, stopping at a few houses. Eventually the street grew dark as people turned out their porch lights signaling a lack of candy. The crowd thinned along with it as people went home or tried other neighborhoods.

"Should we head out?" Ned asked.

"My basket's not even full," Peter complained. The sound of a shuffling step behind him made his hair stand on end. He looked back and there was the guy in the white mask. Peter swallowed and quickly faced forward. It was just a mask. Nothing to be afraid of.

"Let's cut over a few streets and see if we can find something," Peter suggested. Ned followed his lead. They turned to the left and carried on. Lights in the distance gave them hope as they marched along. It was only when Peter let his guard down that something jumped out from the shadows between houses.

Peter screamed. He held onto his basket but the jolt sent some of the candy flying out. Ned reached a hand out for him, but Peter stood frozen as the man in the mask looked at him. Then the asshole broke out in laughter, doubling over.

He took the mask off and looked at him, grinning.

"Tony, what the fuck!" Ned protested. "That's not cool, man."

Tony only had eyes for Peter and his beet red face. "You should have seen yourself, Peter. You're not afraid of this thing are you?" He held up the mask.

"You jumped out at me, asshole."

"So you're not scared then?" He smirked.

"No! I'm not a baby." Peter glared back at him.

Tony's grin was cruel. "Well then, let's fill up your little basket. I know a spot." He turned away, not giving him the chance to argue, though Ned tried anyway.

"Uh, we were actually about to pack it in for the night," Ned said.

"Just come on." Peter nudged him as they followed behind. Tony turned and winked at him before slipping the mask back on.

They passed a couple of streets, headed to where the houses were bigger and the decorations more ornate. Peter watched with dread as the house that haunted his nightmares came into view.

He'd seen it from the back of May's car several times. It always made him shudder. Fog machines cloaked the yard, but the shine of green lights cut through to light a path up to the door. The property was fenced in, hiding most of the decorations, but Peter could see things moving just over the top of it. A couple of kids still lingered in the area and he could hear screaming coming from the other side of the fence.

"They've got full sized bars if you can make it to the porch. That's if you can," Tony teased.

"Of course I can," Peter said, but it didn't sound convincing.

"All by yourself?" Tony tipped his head at Ned.

"Come on, man," Ned huffed. "This is fucked up."

Tony shrugged. "It's just some stupid plastic decorations. It's not like he's gonna get hurt."

"Yeah..." Peter said.

"Perfect. I'll meet you there." Tony took off through the gate without another word.

"Peter don't." Ned grabbed his arm before he could follow. "Let's just go home."

"No way. I can do this. Besides, Tony bullies me enough at school. I'm not giving him another excuse."

"I hate to be that guy, but when he hears you scream, and I mean this in the nicest way possible, like a little bitch, he's gonna have an excuse."

"Oh screw you." Peter pushed past him and passed through the gate.

Inside were some hanging plastic skeletons. Their legs swayed in the breeze. Speakers played a soundtrack of rattling chains, creaking floors, and an occasional distance scream. It made even the stupid little skeletons seem a lot scarier than they should.

He passed the skeletons and rounded the corner. At the end of this row was a grim reaper with glowing red eyes and a wide grin. He stopped and stared for a moment, finding his courage, but he screamed jumping out of his skin as something grabbed him from behind. He whirled around, backing toward the grim reaper, to see Tony in his stupid mask.

"Stop doing that!"

Tony didn't say anything. He just cocked his head to the side and stood there, staring.

"Are you coming or what?" Peter asked. Tony still didn't answer. Behind him, the grim reaper began to laugh. He turned back around, startled, but when he looked back for Tony he was gone.

Peter rolled his eyes and carried on, though he walked as far from the grim reaper as he could. He could feel Tony watching him somewhere outside the maze. The panicked urge to find him distracted him from the decorations until he finally made it to the porch. He expected Tony to come out and taunt him for being a baby about a stupid Halloween maze, but he just let him get his candy bar from a lady dressed like a witch before heading back into the maze.

Peter took a deep breath. At least going back couldn't be as scary. Or that's what he thought until he was grabbed again. This time a hand grabbed his neck and something touched his stomach. He looked down and felt his body go cold at the sight of a large kitchen knife against his body.

"Tony?" he whimpered. This was too far. It didn't feel like a game anymore.

The hand around his neck squeezed while the knife against his stomach slid slowly down to his waist, over the band of his pants, and down his thigh. Through the thin fabric of his costume, he could feel the edge of the blade as if the material weren't even there.

"Please," he whimpered. Tony grunted, pulling him backward against his chest. Out of the corner of his eye could see that awful mask looming.

"Scared, Petey? Afraid I might hurt you?" He dug the tip of the knife into the seam of his costume. There was the tiniest bit of pain, but he was so scared he wanted to scream.

"Please don't hurt me, please."

"Tell me. Admit it."

"Yes- I'm scared! Tony please, I'm scared! Let me go!"

The confession only made him tremble harder and the tears fell from his eyes. Tony let go of his neck and ripped the mask off his face, but he grabbed him again before he could even think to move. Peter shuddered as his tongue touched the skin of his shoulder and ran all the way up to his chin. He ran the knife back up, the tip running over his crotch, finding his tummy and slipping under his shirt.

"Please don't hurt me!" He pleaded. The knife dug in just a hair. "Please- please stop!"

Tony laughed darkly in his ear. "It's only Halloween, Peter. Don't be so dramatic." He took the knife away and let go of his throat. Then he shoved him forward into the grass.

Peter half crawled, half ran, until he was back on his feet. He ran back through the maze, all of those glowing eyes adding to his nausea until he was back out on the street.