#wish I could get like. the sound of a song tattooed on me

[octuscle]

Gringo Life

Carlos was breathing heavily. Today, his destiny might be decided. The savings of many years of hard work had been spent on Carlos's trip to the United States today. He was to meet the smuggler in a village not far from the border crossing. Carlos was to come without luggage, without papers. Only with the clothes on his back. Of course, that sounded strange, but Carlos did as he was told. He wore his best clothes. He had gotten himself a new hat. He looked hot. He was an alpha paisa! He would make a career for himself in the land of the gringos.

At the agreed meeting point, a man was standing next to a surprisingly clean new pickup. He looked like something out of a bad college jock comedy. Stars and Stripes tank top over a muscular, tanned torso. The buzz cut hidden under an upturned cap, powerful legs in tight jeans that also accentuated an impressive bulge at the crotch. Feet in dusty biker boots. He spat a bit of chewing tobacco on the street. “Carlos?” he asked. Carlos nodded with a dry mouth. “Good, then let's go.” With the little English he knew, Carlos asked where he should hide in this car. Probably not in the open loading area. The guy laughed and said that Carlos had booked a first-class ticket. You don't hide with this ticket. With this ticket, you drive the car into a better life yourself. He threw the car keys to Carlos and went to the passenger door. “Are you serious?” Carlos asked. He was already much more fluent than a few minutes ago. “You drive, I choose the music. By the way, I'm Zack!” Carlos climbed into the car. He had never sat in such a big and new and expensive car, let alone driven it. “You know how to drive an automatic, bro?” Zack asked. Carlos shook his head. “You'll learn!”

It was hot. Zack had turned off the air conditioning and rolled up the windows. Carlos had no idea which buttons to press to change that. He didn't want to ask Zack. Zack had turned up the music loud and was enthusiastically singing along to songs Carlos didn't know. He was sweating. He ran his hand over his neck. His mullet was soaked in sweat! “Coke?” Zack asked, opening what was obviously a cooled compartment in the center armrest. ‘Holy cow, dude! You're like, a total lifesaver! Thank you, fam!’ Carlos replied. With a heavy Spanish accent. But in fluent English!

“12 kilometers to the border” was written on a sign. Damn metric system, Carlos thought to himself. How many miles was that now? 10? Or more like 20? He drummed on the steering wheel to the beat of Chris Young's ‘Young Love & Saturday Nights.’ The muscles in his forearms twitched, making his tattoos dance. Zack opened the windows. The wind blew up Carlos' cut-off tank top. It felt damn good on his sweaty skin. At the end of the road, the border station appeared. Carlos took a deep breath. He slowed down. He rolled up to the Mexican border guard's hut. Zack handed Carlos two passports, which Carlos passed on. The officer only glanced through the window. He had to stand on tiptoe to see not only Carlos but also Zack in the big car. He stamped both passports and wished them a safe journey. Carlos breathed a sigh of relief. Although he knew that leaving Mexico was the easy part. Now came the entry into the USA. The officer could be a brother of Zack. Muscular, short-cropped hair, a tight, perfectly fitting uniform. He bared two rows of immaculate Hollywood-white teeth. “Welcome back to the USA!” he said as Carlos handed him the two passports. “What was the reason for your stay in Mexico?” “We were there to get wasted and hook up, y'all! Get ready for some wild times!” said Zack. The officer said that was indeed the best thing about Latinos. “Which one of you is Charles?” Silence… Zack nudged Carlos in the side. Carlos jumped and said, “My friends call me Chuck, Officer!” Zack grinned. The border guard looked at Carlos and then at the passport. Then he asked Carlos to take off his hat. Shit, the hat, Carlos thought. Of course, with it he looked like a wetback. He felt for the hat. There was no hat. He took off his trucker cap. His long blond hair fell into his face. He pushed it back. The border guard grinned and said that with short hair, Chuck would look less like a girl. He stamped the two passports and handed them back to Chuck in the car.

“So, what did I tell you?” said Zack. “Easier than stealing candy from a baby.” Chuck replied that he had obviously lost the bet. He wouldn't have believed in his life that the guy wasn't checking the back of the pickup. There were six kegs of the finest smuggled tequila rocking on the truck bed. “Dude,” Zack said. “Didn't you see the way the officer was staring at you? If you had told him you had the tequila on the truck bed, he would have let us through. The main thing is that you smile at him once.” Chuck kneaded the bulge in his torn jeans. Hell yes, the officer had been hot. But the load of his balls was reserved for Zack today. He had lost a bet, so Zack was allowed to suck him off in the repair shop. Chuck could only hope that the border guard was back on duty on the next trip to Mexico.

Chuck and Zack had been best bros since they first got kicked out of college together for drug smuggling. Behind the facade of the auto repair shop, they smuggled various things across the border. In both directions. It was lucrative. And each time they bet on whether they'd get caught or not. The loser had to empty his balls into one of the other's holes. They were rarely caught. For some reason, Chuck spoke fluent gutter Spanish like a construction worker. He didn't know when or where he'd learned it himself. That usually helped with problems at the border. And if that wasn't enough, a blowjob had been enough to get him out. Life was great.

Pics by @ki-kink

[moteldogs]

after three nights in jail I head north from toyahvale switch to 285 in pecos head up to red bluff. my walk's real steady and my eyes are real cold but I feel like I'm all of sixteen years old lost in a travelodge with the television on with the sound down I don't feel so tough. old issues of sunset magazine to read sleep for twelve hours dream about home. btw

[every-aj-needs-an-angel]

Okay this one's been stuck in my head all day but I have absolutely time to write it so please share this vision with me

Try as they might, Steve and Robin couldn't get tickets to Chrissy Cunningham's arena tour, but they could get tickets to a festival she was playing.

The last thing Steve ever wanted to do was go and stand in a muddy field for sixteen hours while they waited for the headline act. But he was pretty sure Robin was in love with her favourite musician, and he wasn't about to deny his best friend a chance at love.

So he helped her make personalised t-shirts because honestly all the other bands in the line-up kinda sounded like they sucked.

His read, "Only Here for Chrissy" on the front and "I'm Steve" on the back and Robin's read "Chrissy, Will You Be My Girlfriend?" on the front and "If Lost, Please Return To Steve" on the back.

And it turned out, as they stood against the barrier in a not so muddy field, on a lovely, warm, but overcast, May day, that even bands that sucked could be fun. Even if it was only because they spent their day with earplugs in, so their eardrums wouldn't combust, bitching about each artist's lack of ability to put notes or an outfit together.

During the lunchtime intermission, the pair made friends with the lesbian couple next to them, Kayla and Jess, who were also eagerly awaiting Chrissy's set and similarly liked to mock those who committed crimes against sound and fashion. Steve was glad to have met them, they were really nice, and he felt better about leaving her to use the bathroom or to fetch food, knowing Robin was in safe hands.

He also felt better about letting her wander off, not that it stopped him from stressing out when she and Kayla had been missing for over fifteen minutes. He spread himself out to keep their places against the railing with his back to the stage, watching the crowd intently. Jess wasn't quite as chatty once they were alone, but she seemed content enough, bobbing along to the band that'd appeared on the stage.

Steve didn't turn back around to face the stage until he spotted the girls heading back towards them, he gave them a wave and turned around to look at the guys who hadn't been attempting to destroy anyone's hearing and was met with the face of the most gorgeous man he'd ever seen. Pretty face, long curly hair tied up in a bun, muscle tee showing off his many tattoos, piercings and chains and glittery Docs; Steve felt himself owl blink and blush.

God's gift to mankind was kneeling centre stage, guitar in hand making the most beautiful sounds Steve had ever heard as his fingers flew over the strings, and it was only when the rest of the band kicked back in that the man looked up, winked directly at Steve, and then jumped back to his feet, spending the rest of the song bouncing around the stage.

Steve only realised his mouth was agape when Robin finally arrived next to him and elbowed him hard in the ribs, giving him the same look she did whenever he was embarrassing in the club. He watched the rest of the Corroded Coffin, according to the backdrop, set in awe. Screaming and clapping along when they wished everyone a great day, throwing picks and drumsticks into the crowd and taking a bow; patting each other on the back as they wandered offstage.

As soon as it was quiet again, Robin wanted to know what the hell was wrong with his face and honestly, he couldn't answer her. He didn't even believe in love, not for himself at least, and he certainly didn't believe in love at first sight. It didn't stop him from spending the next couple of hours watching the faces at the sides of the stage, hoping to catch a glimpse of his new favourite guitarist, though.

As soon as Chrissy hit the stage, Steve got lost, between filming the set and watching Robin trying not to hyperventilate when Chrissy spotted her t-shirt, pointed to her, and giving her a coy little wink, blew her a kiss.

"An old school friend is here with me tonight, and I'd like him to help me out with this next track. Especially for the beauty in the front row, this is Girlfriend!"

The crowd went wild as the beat kicked in, but Steve was still watching Robin because it looked like she'd stopped breathing altogether. That was until she gasped loudly and started smacking Steve in the way she always did whenever she got overly excited; pointing wildly at the stage, and it was only when he looked over he saw Corroded Coffins guitarist bouncing up and down next to Chrissy.

Instead of the black muscle vest and skinny jeans he'd been sporting earlier in the day, he had changed into pale blue board shorts and a baggy white t-shirt that read "Hey Steve!" written in black sharpie with a giant winking smiley face underneath that could only really be seen when he swung his guitar around his back to copy Chrissy's dance moves.

The song ended, and the friends hugged, Chrissy waving him off the stage and calling out, "Eddie Munson everybody!" letting the crowd go wild for her friend before launching into the rest of her set.

By the time Chrissy had actually left the stage, Robin looked exhausted, having screamed and sung and danced herself out. They hung around a bit, said goodbye to Kayla and Jess, wishing them a safe journey home, and they were just taking one last look at the now empty stage when he heard someone yell his name...

[starrystevie]

au where steve is a pop star and eddie is someone who one would assume wouldn't be caught dead at one of his concerts, yet is also slightly obsessed with the steve harrington. if you weren't a fan like he is, you'd see his tattoos and think, "yeah, that checks out." no one looks at a metal head with tattoos and thinks twice. but if you look closer, the bird halfway in a cage on his shin is most definitely a nod to a steve harrington song, just like the bleeding rose on his forearm and the crown behind his ear and the swirling script of lyrics over his heart and the-

eddie's a sound tech, tuning guitars for the concert at the venue where he works when he finds out that steve is the one who's playing that night. he fluffs his hair in the staff bathroom, rolls his sleeves and puffs out his chest, hands steve a microphone at soundcheck and lets their fingers brush. he watches honey brown eyes flick over his arm and learns up close what steve looks like when he blushes and eddie wishes he could get that tattooed, too.

after the show, he gets unexpectedly stopped by a sweaty steve harrington whose grin is so wide and bright, it could have powered the stage lights. fingers wrap around eddie's wrist until his arm is brought up and fingertips tickle over the ink there.

"you have my rose," steve says and it's breathless and hoarse and perfect. "you have my-"

"got it right after 'thorn in your side' was released," eddie says back, and he's breathless, too.

"please tell me you aren't busy tonight." steve is chalk full of charisma and charm and it dances in his eyes, makes him look younger than they both know he is. eddie has half a mind to pinch himself and make sure it's all real. "i don't do this often, or well ever, but you..."

eddie chuckles, "i have your rose, i get it. i umm, i have more? i mean, it's not just the rose, i have the crown from your first album and i have birdie on my shin, and let me tell you, that one hurt like a bitch-"

they don't talk much more after that outside of eddie breaking away from steve's mouth to tell him his name while they're glued together in a very uncoordinated walk to steve's tour bus. he shows steve his other tattoos, the ones he got for him and the ones he got because of him and lets steve trace over them with fingers, kisses, the tip of his tongue.

it's not much, it's just one night. but then the next album comes out and steve sends eddie a signed copy with a bright red circle around the dagger on the front cover with his perfect handwriting next to it.

for the empty spot on your ribs. let me see it when it's done. xo steve

[koisuko]

Could you do one with MK1 Kuai Liang and female reader going skinny dipping together?

Tw: fem reader, mdni, nudity, somewhat established relationship, no use of y/n, only nudity nothing else really

Time and time again, dates with Kuai Liang consisted of more traditional ideas. Walks on the trails of the forest, watching the sunset above the horizon, or having tea in the floral gardens. It was all very sweet, but you desperately craved adventure - something often overlooked by a traditional man such as him. You thought about the idea of a hike, or maybe a horse ride, but even those sounded too bland. Then the idea of skinny dipping came to your mind. It was perfect, you thought, both out of your comfort zone and intimate. You remember seeing hot springs on one of your strolls through the woods, perfect this time of year.

Was it a good idea? Sure, in your mind it was, the problem was getting Kuai on board with it. “Can he even swim?” You muttered, your hands busying themselves with bags of oolong tea. Your plan was to soothe his mood with the hot beverage, then bring up the date one way or another. The worst that could happen is a no, in which there’s always other things to bring up, yet you still felt nervous about his potential reaction.

Right on cue, Kuai glides through the doorway of the temple’s kitchen, his skin glistening with the sweat of training with new students. He makes his way straight to you, gingerly wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and resting his head on your shoulder. With a sigh, he nuzzles his head further into the crook of your neck. “I missed you today, my flame,” he whispered, his voice muffled by his lips on your skin. “Me too, love,” just as he released you, you turned around with the tray of tea, “I thought we could have some tea together.”

The steaming liquid seared your lips, hissing in response and giggling at your mistake. Kuai knows you, maybe too well. He knows when there is something on your mind. You seemed away, your eyes vacant and deep in thought. A hand on yours broke you away from your gaze with the tea cup, “is something troubling you?” Concern was written on his features, with a hint of curiosity in his eyes. It’s now or never, you thought. “I’m fine, I just..” you paused for a moment, contemplating how to word it the best way without completely embarrassing yourself. A blush began forming on your cheeks before you finally spoke, “would you like to um..go swimming tonight at the hot springs?” You may have left out the nude part, but that’s not a big detail..right? “Sounds relaxing, I would love to.”

It was beautiful, the moonlight bouncing off the ripples on the surface of the hot springs. A blanket of condensation settled just over the surrounding area, creating a warm atmosphere to contrast the chill of the night air. Crickets chirped, and distant owls sang their songs, a backdrop to a romantic night. The two of you settled on a nearby rock, overlooking the scene just as you both arrived. Kuai Liang seemed to busy himself with admiring the view of the stars above. With that, you took the opportunity to undress - completely, and slink into the warmth of the water. You tentatively reached out a hand towards him, praying he didn’t see the slight shiver of nervousness in your gesture.

To your surprise, he obliged rather quickly. Within a few minutes, he was beside you, his muscle relaxing under the heat. You had a clear view of his entire body beneath the water. It was a glorious sight, so much so you could see stars already. The droplets trickled down his perfectly sculpted arms, cascading down the contours of his biceps and broad shoulders. The pristine beads seemed to trace the carvings of his scars, and hug the lines of the tattoo you adore. Eventually, your eyes trailed up to meet his deep brown pools already looking at you. His gaze mirrored your own, admiring the way the water cupped your breasts, and watching the droplets with jealousy as they kiss places he wishes his lips were.

Beneath the canvas of stars, the two of you sat in silence for only moments, yet it felt like an eternity, taking in every detail of one another. Before finally, you two inch closer. He placed a gentle hand on your cheek, caressing the soft skin before dipping down to capture your lips in his. Passion in the beauty of nature, the time and place all but forgotten.

[be-with-me-so-happily]

Not Another Time

ONE SHOT

[ or Part 2 of Could We Not ]

<< Request >> "I loved could we not. Can you maybe also write when that guy came running on stage and he maybe pushes reader out of the way or something like that😅" - anon

<< Request >> "Omg PLEASE could you do more parts or ‘could we not’ literally loved it!!!" - @loza--may

Summary: Harry is used to things getting crazy on tour. What he wasn't ready for is how much he misses YN during the Latin American leg of his tour. But at the Rio de Janeiro show, he needs to expect the unexpected.

AN: Highly requested part 2, which I wasn't expecting but am so honored to have written for you all. Sorry it took me FOREVER to write and post this. I hope you like it.

Warnings: Some explicit language, attempted attack by a fan, mild head injury

Not much can shake Harry when it comes to wild moments on tour, throughout his entire career. There once was a fan hiding in a trash bin, dildos thrown at his face, wedding proposals, canceled shows due to illness, and there was even a time when a girl tried to dolphin her way onto the stage, back in the early days. But he still loves it, loves it all. It's titled 'Love On Tour' for a reason.

Now, he's in Latin America. Any and every performance here has such a special place in Harry's heart. He has a 'brasil' tattoo on his thigh, after all. However, the time is a little different.

The horn players have not accompanied the band for these shows. No trombone, no saxophone, and no trumpets. Which means no YN. No sweet but subtle winks onstage, no flirtatious comments backstage, no seeing her bright smile, no hearing her pure laugh, or getting lost in her beautifully deep eyes. No gazing at her lips and wishing so desperately that he could kiss them again.

Unfortunately, their first kiss was their last. Harry hopes that's not forever. But after it happened, he got sick, putting a crimp in his plans to further things with her. When he recovered, their time was taken up by those last few shows in Los Angeles. Then he was off to Mexico. And she wasn't.

Needless to say, her absence is very apparent. To him, at least.

So, like he has done every show since Guadalajara, Harry checks his phone after getting dressed. He wants to make sure he hasn't missed any 'good luck' texts before going on stage, but a disappointed sigh releases as he sees that he has no new messages.

"Alright, H. Ten minutes." The stage assistant announces.

Harry nods, handing his phone over and grabbing his mic pack from the sound tech. The band gathers around for a little pre-show ritual and Harry feels the tug on his heart, wishing there were four more members in their huddle, so there could be one particular member tucked under his arm. But he commits to staying focused on his performance, to put on a good show for the people of Rio de Janeiro.

Despite a few fans fainting in Bogota, things have been relatively smooth so far, and this night should be no different. All he has to do is get out there and get through it.

"Do you know the words to this one Rio?" Harry shouts to the crowd as the band begins to play 'What Makes You Beautiful'.

Despite his efforts, this song always makes him miss YN. The trumpets in the backing track just don't do this song, or any of the songs, as much justice as when she is there, with him, playing live. The other three too, of course, but he has always been able to distinguish her trumpet from the other horns, and he would always dance near her while this song played. Without that, without her, it's just not nearly as exciting.

As he begins the second verse, Harry moves to his left, twisting around to tug on the mic cord that feels as if it's caught on something.

"I don't know why you're being shy…" Harry's eyes shoot up and then around as a security guard strides past him, settling his gaze on a figure charging towards him. "And you turn away when I look into your eyes."

It's like a flash. He is walking, then swiveling around, moving over, and then backing up into another security guard. All within a matter of a few seconds. It takes a moment for him to fully understand what's happening, as multiple crew members grab hold of the man.

Watching him be dragged offstage, Harry moves back to the center mic, still in shock of what happened but still wanting to continue the song.

He glances over to each side of the stage, shaking the disbelief away when he meets the gazes of a few of the band and crew. Each one reciprocates the sentiment, yet seem to keep their caution, as a few of them motion over that way. Harry turns back, just for a quick check, and notices a small group of people gathered in a huddle. He turns back to the crowd. He trusts his team, he knows they are handling whatever it is, and he won't let this one moment take away from the show. It can't stop him. It won't stop him.

As the song ends he takes a quick moment to gather himself and take a breath before turning to the crowd.

"Well that was different…" He states sarcastically, though truthfully. It's probably one of the more accurate ways to describe that moment, especially if he's trying to keep this a 'family show', as he always claims. "Is everybody okay?"

The fans laugh and cheer, seeming to answer his question with the same disbelief he feels.

"I'm shooketh… I'm shooketh!" He exclaims, receiving another laugh from the audience. At least they are recovering and feeling good. Now he can recover and feel good too. He twists around, looking from one side of the stage to another, meeting the gaze of a few security guards and crew as he does so. "Thank you, thank you. You saved me!"

That's when he catches it. The glimpse of a familiar face, of YN's face, off to the side of the stage, among the small group he had noticed earlier. However, her expression is not one he's seen before. Well, only once before. It's pained, again, but this time it looks worse, and Harry feels his stomach drop.

He transitions into a quick acknowledgement of his band members, his mind wanting to focus solely on the one who wasn't even scheduled to be there, but as soon as he's done, he takes advantage of what's next.

He uses the band mic to let everyone know he'll be off to the side while the extended introduction to 'Late Night Talking' plays on the screens, and once the lights dim he swiftly makes his way over.

"YN. What's-... what are you-… umm, hi." He fumbles, his thoughts racing with so many questions. He didn't even know she'd be in Brazil, or at the show, let alone on the side of the stage, and now she's standing there in front of him, with an ice pack on her head.

"Hi." She chuckles minimally, hurting Harry's heart with the lack of usual enthusiasm and joy. "I came… to surprise… everyone."

"Well, you did that!" He exclaims, managing as best of a smile as he can. His gaze travels from her eyes, to her lips, and then up to her head, and his expression immediately drops. "What happened?"

"It's nothing." She attempts to play off, much like the last time he saw her injured. "Don't worry about me."

"That's impossible." He retorts. "What happened?"

"The guy… the fan, just… knocked me down… on his way out with security." She shakes her head, scoffing, though Harry feels as if she's directing it towards herself more than anyone else.

"Okay. Umm… go backstage and get checked out." He states, his ears picking up on the music, knowing he'll have to return to center stage in just a few moments. "I'll… I'll see you after, yeah?"

"Harry, I'm fi-"

"Just do it!" He exclaims, immediately wincing as he watches her eyes widen with surprise. He's never talked to her like that, never even raised his voice even remotely in her direction without it being out of excitement or flirtation. But he cares about her, and now he will only worry more seeing her there in pain. "Please."

She nods, opening her mouth with a reply, but seemingly deciding against it.

Harry gives YN a quick kiss on the cheek and hustles back over to his mic stand, shooting his gaze to the side for one last glance of her as she walks out of sight.

It's not as if he's going to stop worrying, but maybe it'll be a little less than it would if she were still there watching him. He knows she'll be taken care of, and he'll see her when it's over. Right now, he needs to get through the rest of it, preferably without any other issues.

"... on a Summer evening, what is happening? An-... you're the end of… we are going to stop the song."

Technical difficulties. During 'Watermelon Sugar'. Of course. As if Harry's mind wasn't already somewhere else. He knows it's an easy fix, hopefully, but it's just another thing added to the existing thoughts already causing chaos in his mind. He's a professional, sure, but everyone has a limit and he just doesn't want to find out where his is.

Get through it. That's all he has to do, just get through the next song, the show, and the night. Just get through it and then get to YN.

'Love of My Life' is next. Thankfully it's a slow song, so he can calm his mind and body down, even just a little, before the break in the set. And at that point he can finally regroup.

It works, for a moment, until he notices that some fans need help, and despite making his team aware, they are still there struggling. He lifts the mic stand up and turns his head back, motioning with his finger, with some intensity, for someone to help them and get them out of there.

He feels himself spiraling, just a bit, and has never looked forward to the end of a song as much as he is tonight.

As Harry waves to the crowd, with a mouthful of water, he impatiently waits to spit it up in the air, thank the crowd, and get the hell off stage.

The crowd continues to applaud and cheer as he says goodbye, turning around and using the last bit of energy he has to run backstage.

He stops among the hustle of the crew, realizing he isn't sure where to go, or where to even start looking for YN. The most likely place is his dressing room, so he swiftly shuffles his way there, doing his best to acknowledge anyone he passes by that congratulates or compliments him. He feels bad, he usually takes time with each person, always grateful for their work and feedback. But not tonight. He only has one person on his mind. One person he wants and needs to see.

He swings the door open and takes a quick scan of the room, finding no one. Not anyone. Not her. He runs his fingers through his now very sweaty hair, inhaling deeper to catch his breath and figure out where to go next, where to look next.

He takes a seat on the couch, elbows resting in his knees, and glances over to the table in front of him to find a note that wasn't there before. He grabs it immediately, blinking the salty moisture out of his eyes as he looks over the words.

"Hey H.

Went back to the hotel.

Hope you had a great

rest of your show!

- YN"

"Fuck." He mumbles, suddenly remembering how he yelled for her to go backstage. Well, he could argue that he only raised his voice, but in that moment, that hectic moment, it didn't matter. He shouldn't have done it at all. And truth be told, it would've made the entire night better if she had stayed. But he yelled, and sent her away. Now all he wants to do is go to her and make it better, make her feel better.

After the fastest shower and outfit change of his life, Harry found Jeff and discovered that his manager helped YN get there, so he knew which hotel room was hers. At least Harry didn't have to spend countless hours searching all of Rio for her.

He stands in front of her door and takes a deep breath, nerves on edge as he knocks, and fully prepared for her to open the door and ask him to leave. Immediately.

"Harry?" He hears, causing his gaze to lift from his shoes to the woman in front of him. She's dressed in cotton shorts and a t-shirt, looking comfortable and yet more beautiful than he's ever seen her. He just wishes she wasn't also holding another ice pack to her temple.

"YN." He breathes out, unable to form any other words as he looks her over, hopefully more subtle than he fears it might be. "Are y-... how… I mean, umm…"

The sweetest sound grabs his attention and he watches her step aside as she lets out a small giggle.

"Come in."

He nods, and without hesitation steps into the room. The sound of the door closing causes him to swivel on his heel, and his eyes stay fixed on YN as she motions him over to the edge of the bed.

"What's up?" She asks, casually, removing the ice pack and placing it down beside her.

"I, umm, wanted to check on you." He answers, not convinced his volume was even loud enough to be heard. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore." She swiftly responds, and he cringes at the lack of emotion with it. Even though it was only one word, he feels as if he knows her well enough to know that's not her normal tone. "Hit my head when the guy knocked me to the ground."

"I'm so sorry, YN. I didn't know you were there tonight, or I would've…" He pauses, looking down to where his nails pick at each other. "I don't know… I could've done… something…"

"No, Harry, I'm sorry." She states, causing his gaze to shoot back up to find hers filled with, what looks like, embarrassment. And maybe even regret. But definitely with insecurity, which is not something he's used to seeing from her. "I shouldn't have come."

"Oh." His heart drops.

"I feel like I may have been in the way. Well, I was for that fan…" She states, the smallest smile lifting the corners of her mouth, despite the roll of her eyes and shake of her head. "But I definitely didn't want to be in yours."

"No! I'm glad you're here!" He replies, without hesitation, and watches as her eyes widen, now allowing him to see the depths at which they usually take him to.

"You are? Because it seemed like…" YN clears her throat, confirming for Harry that she is in fact nervous. Not confident. And it seems to be his fault. "It seemed like you were upset when you saw me."

"No! Not at all." Harry replies, his frustration with himself appearing in the crease between his brows. "I wasn't upset seeing you there, I was upset seeing you hurt. Really upset. I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm sorry."

"It's fine, H. I'm alright."

"I know. I know that. I just… I was worried for the rest of the show, wondering if you were okay. It was torturing me."

"I didn't mean for that to happen. I'm really sorry." She lets out a sigh, and it almost breaks Harry's heart as she drops her gaze and squeezes her eyes shut.

"No, don't-... that's not-..." Harry lets out a low growl in frustration. He doesn't know how to express what he means, and if he even should. But at this point, he doesn't know if he can hold back. "It was torture because all I wanted to do was fix it for you. Like last time."

"Like last time?"

He hears her breath hitch, and his heart races more, feeling each beat thump against his chest. They had shared a kiss the last time she got hurt. They spent the rest of the night together, hanging out and talking until the sun was almost rising. But then nothing. Was that it? Was it just a one time thing, just a momentary thing after an adrenaline-raising show? No, it wasn't. Not for him. And she needs to know.

"I… like you, YN. A lot. And that night… meant a lot to me." He fully turns his body towards her, gaining a fraction of the confidence for himself that he has always seen in her, and since she is now there in Brazil, he won't waste another minute without sharing his heart. "We didn't really get to talk much afterwards, or see each other even, but I just need you to know that… I want to be with you. If… if that's something you want too."

Harry watches as she pulls her lips inward, hoping that the expression he sees underneath is pleasant. Pleasant for him. But he suddenly realizes that if she doesn't feel the same, he doesn't want to lose her. For the band.

"If it's not, no problem. We can move past it." He swallows the lump caught grasping against the walls of his throat. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable, and don't want you to leave the band over it. You're very talented, YN."

"Thank you." She replies, looking over at him with those gorgeous eyes and a tenderness she's never given him before, and despite him offering to move past his feelings, for the sake of his heart, he desperately hopes that she feels the same. He wants her to only look at him like that from now on. "And that night meant a lot to me as well."

"Yeah?" He responds, shifting in his spot at the edge of her bed, with all the giddiness of a lovesick school boy.

"I want to be with you too, H."

His palms fly up to her cheeks, receiving a warmth from them that flows right to his chest. His gaze flickers to her lips, yearning for them, desperate for them.

"Are you going to kiss me or not?" She chuckles, and his heart swells from the self-assurance that she always expresses, that he has fallen for.

He grins, wider than he ever has, but only for a moment. He's not going to wait any longer. He leans closer, and her eyes close, pursing her soft lips to meet his in a gentle kiss.

Her hands run up his arms, applying pressure as they move over his shoulders, and connect behind his neck. She pulls him closer, and his tongue teases her lips before she parts them, each sighing as they deepen the kiss.

His chest tightens, this time out of need for air, so he pulls back, only leaving enough room for a breath, and smiles as he hears her release her own, happy exhale.

"How are you feeling now?" He asks, resting his forehead against hers as one hand strokes over the hair covering her temple.

"Much better. I do need to rest now, though." She whispers. "But, you know, I may have a concussion…"

"That's not funny."

"No, it's not. It's very serious." She pulls away more, hands still behind his head, and his mind fills with worry. Worry and confusion, as he watches her smile reappear through her solemn expression. "I should probably have someone stay with me tonight. To make sure I'm alright, of course."

"Of course." He smirks, feeling his heart burst, following as she scoots up the bed and rests her head on the pillow.

He does the same, laying down to face her, and sees her eyes begin to flutter shut. It's been an exhausting day for the both of them.

"Come here." He whispers, opening his arms for her to settle in, wrapping them around her body, and pulling her to his chest. "You doing okay?"

"More than okay." She utters, drowsiness now coating her words. "Thank you, for fixing things."

"Anytime." He replies, placing a tender kiss on top of her head. "I'll fix things for you anytime."

A silence falls between them, and as he hears her soft breaths leave her even softer lips, Harry hums in contentment, allowing his own body to succumb to the rest it now needs too. He shuts his eyes, and one last thought appears as he feels himself happily drift off to sleep.

Despite all the chaos, this night didn't turn out so bad after all. With YN, it's been the best one yet.

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[marigold-hills]

June 19: found | @wolfstarmicrofic | word count: 483

(Nothing explicit but slightly in the NSFW category so read at your own peril)

PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART • FIRST PART

Remus holds a hand on Sirius’ jaw, fingers splayed and reaching the apex of his throat.

Sirius thinks oh. I found you. It’s nonsense. Moony, his Moony, has been there every step of the way, never once lost. Still: there you are, he thinks as the pad of Remus’ thumb brushes next to lips. A near-miss.

The sun has set and night falls softly around them, bird song giving way to the chirping of crickets. Remus has eyes like an autumn storm and strong hands. His sweater exposes the tops of his collarbones and Sirius wants to touch them, wants to feel the side of his neck where he bit in the library. Realises: it’s the only place his lips had touched.

“Open your mouth,” Remus says, and Sirius does, just like that, like a dog with a favourite trick. Gets a reward of a chocolate placed on his tongue. It’s… gods, he doesn’t know what flavour it is because Remus is looking at him like that, and his hand is there and how can he tell if the sudden weightlessness is from the chocolate or from the way Remus’s fingers guide his mouth closed?

“Did you like it?”

“Yes,” he says with a voice which doesn’t sound like his own, “again. Please.”

Small smile somewhere in the mischief on Remus’ face. “Those impeccable manners of yours. Open.”

Another chocolate, but Remus’ fingers don’t withdraw straight away, and he can feel the roughness of them on his tongue. Sirius is a quill in Remus’ hands, a wand, nothing but an instrument doing his bidding. “Another,” he says, and he doesn’t know himself if he means another chocolate or another piece of Remus on his lips. Both, he thinks.

They should talk. They were meant to. Sirius is supposed to tell him, but how could he now, with this moment so sharp between them? How could he risk a single word that could make his Moony stop? He’s terrified, because no matter what happens this is just a moment in time, just a fraction of their lives, and no matter what Sirius does it will finish. So desperately he wishes to preserve them right here, make this permanent.

Without thought, fuelled by the inevitably of end, he reaches a hand to wrap around Remus’ wrists and pulls it lower, until those fingers are wrapped around his neck. More, he thinks. Always.

It must show, in his eyes or in his movements, because Remus is nothing but earnestness now. His hand is sure, not pressing but there, and the other comes up to run through Sirius’ hair. “I’m here,” he says. “It’s alright.”

Remus tightens his hand, once, delicately, then runs it down Sirius’ sternum to rest where the Great Wolf tattoo is etched into his skin. Smiles like everything is fine and like nothing had changed. “Come on, love. We need to head back.”

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[midnightblues444]

Meanie weanie |

Executive Ran x executive! Reader

Summary: after years of banter you've learnt not to take anything that Ran Haitiani says seriously, but cant help but wonder when the jokes end

Tags: smut with plot, workplace romance,

Sorry for being so inactive guys!! But here's a little thing

The cool evening breeze softly decorates your skin with goosebumps. The balcony you found refuge on is mostly empty, guests spaced out in huddles of conversation while you gingerly sip on a sweet cocktail.

"Mind if I join you there darlin?" the voice is male, annoying, you can tell as he saunters closer. You raise your brows without a word, raising your glass to your lips.

"So, you here with anyone?" He tries to be smooth

"No actually" you mumble, rubbing your slightly cold arms

"Ah so what brings you here then if not a date?"

"Business, its my company's event, so not really here for fun" your sips turn to gulps, you want this conversation to end

"Ah cmon theres room for a little fun right?" He shoots again, with a loopy grin

"Well I was having some fun before you showed up" you give him a look, turning to face him with as much annoyance you can muster. The offence paints his face as he prepares to say something else.

"Ohh ouch, she got you there man" the familiar sound of Ran Haitianis deep voice,of course, as if he just appeared. The man huffs, embarrassed to say anything else, you motion with your hands for him to shoo and glare before he leaves.

Ran turns to you with a pleased look on his face.

"You're so mean miss (name), it's hot"

You take a sip and glare at him over the rim of your glass, Ran Haitiani, your fellow executive who knows no bounds, hes beautiful unfortunately...tall, not too slender, with sleepy lilac eyes, tonight his dress shirt clings by his shoulders and his sleeves are rolled halfway up his forearm, revealing his tattoo.

Hes a flirt, a reputable man whore, you've tried to stay away from romantically. Being cautious not to fuck your colleague even though hes as fuckable as this. Although youve been testing your luck with some flirting, harmless banter, you call it.

"your dance card full?" He grins,

"Yes actually, theres a line of gentlemen waiting for my hand" you sigh giving your voice an exaggerated trill, putting your glass down

He grins wider, taking your hand in his, like a victorian gentleman, "then they'll have to wait longer hmm?"

Dancing with Ran felt like one of those moments where you catch yourself thinking he might genuinely like you. That the flirty banter is laced with hidden feelings hes scared to admit,

Its in the way his eyes never leave your own, his hand on the small of your back guiding you to the music, he doesn't make awkward small talk instead he makes fun of some poor passersbys and you laugh quietly trying to not make it obvious your laughing at a target.

It's nice, until the the songs over and Yuki,a woman from the company's catering service asks to steal him from you, just for a moment of course, forcing you to leave the dancefloor.

Hes not yours, you know that much, but cant ignore the feeling you get in your stomach when you notice his hand placement , finding yourself stomping back to your hotel room. Its moments like these where you hate company trips, wishing you could be in your own bed sulking for as long as you pleased.

You exit the elevator, deciding to take your heels off before continuing on. Sudedenly hearing your name get called from behind you. Ran, once again just appearing. You roll your eyes as he gets closer.

"Why'd you go?" He tries to hide that hes panting

"Did you take the stairs?" You avoid his question

"Elevator was occupied." hes quick "whyd you go?"

"Just felt like it"

He gives you a look, he doesn't buy it

"I mean...I'm pretty tired and Yuki came so I just didnt feel like standing there and if I went back to our table, the rest of the guys would probably tease me about us dancing together- and I really am not in the mood for that and... why are you looking at me like that"

Hes staring at you, no, hes gazing between your eyes and lips. Hes amused, grinning. "Jealousy makes you look super kissable" he smiles

"Stop just saying nonsense" you correct him rolling your eyes

"I never just say anything miss (name)" he steps closer

You huff in disbelief, looking away, when his hand suddenly on your chin turns you to face him "stay still, and ask me to kiss you"

Your breath hitches, you stare at him and then his lips, your heart races. You know hes being serious and this is now a moment of truth.

"Kiss me then Haitaini"

He grins so hard you feel it deep into the kiss, he kisses you tenderly, his fingers tracing your jaw and cheeks. Your hands gently hold his wrists, yet find themselves around his neck as it deepens.

You feel dizzy when you pull away, breathless, eyes opening slowly, "shall we move then" you sigh, with a gentle chuckle he laughs too.

In your room, he can barely stop kissing you, groaning onto your mouth, through the door to the edge of the bed.

You begin unbuttoning his dress shirt, discarding it. You kiss his chest and neck while undoing his belt. He gets out of the pants, and is left in just his black boxers.

You push him so that hes laying back on the matress, watch me, you wordlessly command. turning so he can unzip the dress. You slip the straps off each shoulder and let the thing fall down to your ankles, watching how his bulge grows.

You unclip your bra, and slip out of your panties. Hes jerking himself breathless, as you climb over him. Sitting cutely on his dick, you grind your hips teasingly as he groans, you kiss him boldly now, continuing grinding, you can tell he can barely focus by the way he sighs deeply.

You suck hickies onto his skin, and begin guiding him inside you, finally sinking down completely, you both let out a drawled "fuck". As you begin to bounce, desperate to keep the friction.

He chuckles at your whines, bringing one hand to thumb at your clit roughly and the other to take charge of the pace, thrusting upwards to your spot almost desperately.

He moans your name so sweetly each time you clamp down on him. And you feel your brain go to mush at how deep inside you he reaches, filling you up so good, your moans being paired with the sound of skin slapping.

"You drive me crazy" he says, and he means it, his thrusts get messier as he gives give you more,

"so close" you gasp, before you realise it your coil snaps, you arch at the way he doesn't stop and keeps fucking you through it. He finishes soon after you, groaning out curses, you feel his dick spluttering release and it dripping down your thighs.

Your panting as you come down, slowly, laying on him before feeling him turn you over. Climbing over you with his signature grin

"I'm not done with you sweetheart"

[belovedmusings]

Heaven knows I ain't getting over you.

Choso Kamo x You x Suguru Geto

Explicit Themes 18+ (🚫Minors DNI🚫)

Part seven of the 'Two + One' story. Click for story masterlist.

Guitarist! Choso Kamo is your boyfriend, and he finally notices that his bandmate, Suguru may feel some type of way about you. Now, it's up to you to decide whether you want to come clean about your own feelings for Suguru, and your subconscious may just decide for you.

Relevant tags: sexual tension, thoughts of infidelity, characters with questionable morals, Suguru is hot, Suguru has piercings and tattoos amen, Choso is sweet and loyal, slow burn, no "y/n" for immersion, 2nd POV, reader has no defining characteristics, explicit smut, missionary, nipple play (fem receiving)

Recommended songs to listen to while reading: Just Pretend (Bad Omens), Is There Someone Else (The Weekend), Undisclosed Desires (Muse)

A/N: I'm starting to think Bad Omens ghostwrote this fic the way that entire album fits this story perfectly. Also, just for clarification, the italic texts are yours, and the bolded texts are Suguru's! The drama is getting real and it will continue to build. Enjoy ;)

Read on Ao3 if you prefer!

Or read below cut:

Things return to a semblance of normalcy. 

Choso continues to work with Curse Manipulator.

Suguru doesn’t text or call you, despite having gotten your number, and you sort of let it be.

You greet Choso when he comes home, and you’re both happy to see each other.

The two of you even have a better sex life than you’ve ever had now that he’s become bolder with you.

But it feels like you’re walking on thin ice. Microcracks are undulating beneath the weight of your steps, the frigid void of water beneath beginning to seep through. There are no indications. You just feel like something is off.

He isn’t acting like anything is wrong…but it’s almost as if things are too quiet.

This purgatory drags on for about a month until one night, when you’re home alone and you get a text from Suguru.

He noticed.

You pause as soon as you read it. He noticed? What does Suguru mean by that?

What?

I’ve been asking about you more, he asked me what was up.

Then I told him the truth.

Your heart full-on drops into the pit of your stomach.

What did you say?

I said I think you’re attractive.

Was that all?

Well, I also said I have no intention of usurping you. That I respect him and your relationship.

But I wanted to tell you because he’s probably going to bring it up.

So be prepared.

The way he’s talking, it sounds like the two of you have to cover something up. It’s like it’s a late-stage affair rather than just the metaphorical dance-around-the-fire the two of you have been engaging in.

Is it still bad? Yes. Is this text conversation proof of that? Yes, again.

Okay…

Thanks for the heads up.

Also,

I’ve been wanting to text you but I wasn’t sure what to say.

Anything is incriminating, right?

Not necessarily…you could ask me how my day was or…I don’t know, bring up a new movie or song or…

Maybe it just feels that way because of how I feel about you.

And how I know you feel about me.

It’s not innocent.

You have to set the phone down for a minute to gather your bearings. What game is he playing? You haven’t heard from him in a month and now he does this?

Your hand picks your phone back up and you type out a reply.

When you talk like that, of course it’s not.

How can I see what your face looks like right now without you being here?

What do you see?

Your eyes are heavy. There’s a weight in them. You’re probably holding my hand again.

I wish I was.

Good god, you can’t catch a break.

Should you really be flirting with me after you told my boyfriend you were attracted to me?

He just thinks it’s one-sided.

He doesn’t know you feel the same.

So now I have to pretend like it is?

You have a choice to make. Tell him you’re attracted to me or just act surprised.

You mean, lie to him either way?

What other option do you have that won’t end in disaster?

He has a point. You can’t say it’s more than attraction, then he’d catch Suguru in a lie also. He’d realize it goes deeper than how he made it seem. So what?

Be half-honest, or lie completely?

Anyways…how was your day?

The abruptness of the text has you laughing aloud in the silence of your living room. 

It was fine. How was yours?

Just worked. We’re getting close to finalizing the album, then the next steps will come.

What are the next steps?

A music video for the title track, press run, and a tour. It’s going to be our biggest album yet.

As you read it, the gravity of it all hits you. 

Choso is part of a successful band. And it’s on the trajectory to get bigger and bigger. All of the proper groundwork has been laid—they’re local stars, and with a music video and the team Suguru has secured to help with promotion, their music will find new fans all over the place. With that comes touring, traveling all over the country and even the world…it’s huge.

Wow.

I can’t believe this is all happening.

It sounds like a lot, doesn’t it?

Well, yeah. You’re going to be proper rock stars.

Haha

You’ll be along for the ride.

Choso’s going to want you there. And I will too.

You’ll see everything we do.

That sounds fun and intimidating.

It does, right?

But it’s exciting. Choso is exactly what we were missing. With him we’re going to make it.

I feel proud.

You should. 

A question pops into your mind.

Was it always your goal to have fame?

Haha, well, I admit I am a bit of a show-off.

I just think everything happened to put me in this position.

That makes sense. I feel special, getting to know you guys before you get big. I’m your first groupie.

Haha, come on, you’re more than that. So much more.

I know. But I really am a fan. Your music is all I play recently.

Yeah? What song is your favorite?

Strange. You wrote it about your life, right?

I did. It’s sort of an autobiography. I’m surprised that’s your favorite, it’s one of the only songs of ours that’s really personal.

Why are you surprised? I remember when you told me about that stuff. Hearing it in a song was beautiful.

You sound so open and honest when you’re singing.

Oh, I see…

Was I not when I told you?

No, I meant I could feel your emotions because of how you sang it.

It’s breathtaking.

When you compliment me like that, it goes straight to my head.

Coming from you, that means the world.

I’ll make more meaningful songs in the future.

You don’t have to just because it’s what I like.

No, I want to.

I have some things I want to say.

You know, you’ve inspired me a lot.

You groan out loud, laying back on the couch and rubbing at your face in frustration. What are you supposed to do with that? This doesn’t sound like ‘no intentions of usurping’. 

Luckily (or unluckily) the lock in your front door turns, indicating the return of your boyfriend. 

You close out of the messaging app and lock your phone, hoping to ignore that text the rest of the night. With that you pretend to have been watching whatever show is on television as he walks in.

Immediately, his smile is tight as he greets you. “Hey.”

Oh god, here we go.

“Hey, baby,” you reply, giving him a smile as he moves to sit beside you after removing his shoes. He gives you a kiss on the cheek, arms winding around your waist. “How was it today?”

“It was okay,” he begins, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before they flit away. “I had an interesting conversation with Suguru.”

You steel yourself. “Interesting how?”

“Well,” he hesitates, pulling away and resituating himself on the cushion beside you, fiddling with his hands for a moment. “Lately, he’s been asking a lot…about you. At first, I didn’t think much of it. But then Larue randomly said today ‘you should bring her by again, Suguru won’t shut up about her.’ I didn’t realize he spoke about you when I wasn’t around. It got me thinking…why would he be talking about you like that? Then he mentioned you again, how you haven’t been around, and then I decided to just ask him what it was about once the other two guys left.”

You take a breath. “Um, okay…and?”

“And he told me he was attracted to you. Like, straight-up. I mean, he reassured me he wasn’t going to do anything about it, but I…I don’t know. I mean, he’s Suguru. He could probably have whoever he wants. If he went after you…”

Moment of truth. Who will you be? 

“Um…” You begin, heart pounding as you find your words, “well, that’s…”

Choso’s eyes flit back to yours, waiting to hear what you have to say.

“Well, I…thought maybe he did…”

“You did?” Choso asks, “You thought he was interested in you? Since when?”

“I don’t know, I just had a feeling.” Okay, so now you are a liar. Guilt starts fortifying deep in your gut. “I-I mean, I didn’t know for sure.”

“Oh,” Choso frowns, “So…I mean…what do you think about it?”

The correct answer is to tell him there’s no chance in hell. But hell is where you currently are, and you’ve entertained Suguru enough already, so what does that do for anyone?

You sigh heavily. “To…to be honest…I mean, he is an attractive guy, but I would never leave you for him, not in a million years, Chos’.”

Choso’s face is unreadable for a second, and you immediately begin regretting what you just said.

“So…” He breathes out, brows furrowing slightly. “What I’m…hearing is that you two are attracted to each other?”

Back pedal, back pedal, back pedal.

“I meant that he’s just a good-looking guy. You know? And he’s nice, but that doesn’t compare to what you and I have. We have history and intimacy, baby, I would never let him disrupt that.”

Haven’t you already, though? Liar.

“But what if it was different? If you met him first, and then me? If you had the history and intimacy with him? Would you still want me the same?”

Can he see right through you? This has potential to blow up in your face. You need to put this fire out now. 

“It’s not that serious,” you shake your head, taking his hands, “I’m in love with you, Chos’, and there are tons of good-looking guys out there, that doesn’t mean that I like them or want to be with them!”

“So you don’t like Suguru like that? It’s just that you think he’s good-looking?”

“Right.” Wrong.

Choso sucks in a deep breath, reaching up and taking his hair out of their ties to rub at his head. “Well…I…I trust you, obviously, it’s just weird.”

“Y-yeah, that’s understandable.” 

You’re lying to the man you love. This who you are now, isn’t it? A bad person. 

“I don’t need to worry, do I?”

“No,” you say in a rush, “baby, I’m yours, okay? I love you so much. You are the best. And nothing will take me away from you.”

He looks at you for a moment before moving closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and hugging you. “I’m just so afraid you’ll fall out of love with me. You’re my world and it’s unhealthy how much I love you. I’d sooner let you walk all over my heart than leave me.”

Each word twists the dagger he’s lodged in your heart harder and harder. 

All you can say is, “I love you,” like an apology, squeezing him tightly in your arms. 

“I love you,” he replies, tightening his own hold on you, and despite all of the words you exchanged, it doesn’t feel like you’ve reached a resolution at all.

You’ve just dug yourself a deeper hole.

____

“I want to keep going,” Suguru stares up at you, his mouth at the line of your shirt, dangerously near the top of your breast. You’ve seen this before—you two are in your living room all alone. Choso’s at his brother’s house. This is the part where Suguru pulls away and says he won’t go further.

Except, he doesn’t do that. He pulls you onto the couch. You wind up beneath him quickly, and he doesn’t stop. His greedy hands tug your shirt down, exposing you to his eyes, and his pierced lips wrap around a nipple, large palms on your hips, gripping them like you’ll float away if he doesn’t hold you down.

You feel the bead of his tongue piercing on your stiff peak, and can’t stop the gasp of his name.

“Suguru!”

He smiles up at you, that infuriating crooked grin, his hands working expertly to get you naked. His mouth kisses, tastes, and marks any expanse of skin he can touch, and before you know it, you can’t even remember if either of you had been wearing clothes in the first place. All you feel is his hot skin on yours everywhere.

He hovers his face over yours, molten sunset eyes locked with yours.

“I’m gonna kiss you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Don’t care.”

His mouth devours yours as a parched traveler attacks an oasis, and you moan at the taste of his mouth, the warmth of his tongue on yours, and you just let go. Your hands thread into his beautiful black tresses, cupping his face, kissing him with all of the desire in the world. 

Then, he’s inside of you.

It knocks the wind out of you, dislodging the kiss so you can cry out another, “Suguru!”

He groans, and then he’s moving, thrusts coming quick and hard, like an animal mauling its prey, carnal and so so delicious, your hands find his chest, his neck, his abdomen, his arms, his hips—you want to grab onto any and every part of him but nowhere you touch is enough, you want to become one with him. 

He goes harder and you can’t stop saying his name. It’s an incantation, evoking a side of you that you’ve never known, that you’re afraid of, that you vy for.

“Suguru…” it tumbles freely, “Suguru, Suguru!”

He takes you to heights you’ve never been to before, and you feel light as air yet far away like you’re at the bottom of the ocean. He fills your lungs, it’s impossible to breathe when it’s this hot—

Your eyes snap open. A hand is on your shoulder. Eyes are on yours. 

But they don’t belong to Suguru.

You’re in bed with Choso, and your blood suddenly runs cold. 

You were dreaming. 

The resignation in his eyes says it all.

“You…were saying his name in your sleep.”

---

A/N: evil cliffhanger oopsies...hope you enjoyed!! Also, I changed the cover art for the story 'cause it looked a little too cringe. This one is still cringe but tastefully so. Okay, d out!

Please don't copy or repost, but feel free to reblog and share!

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[copperbadge]

Hey Sam, I've been rereading my way through the Shivadh books and I was wondering which G7 is Buck's tattoo? As someone who knows about 5 chords on guitar on a good day I tried to look up a basic G7 and got a whole bunch of different answers from the internet

There are in fact at least nine ways to play G7 on the guitar! The one I always picture Buck having as his tattoo is this one, which I believe is most common:

But honestly if there's another one you like better I am not in the least picky :D I can't play an E on the ukulele without cheating so I have mad props for people who play normal chords in weird ways.

And it's also just...a little bit of an injoke, not just the joke of Buck, who we have just canonically learned is happy to bottom, having a "fingering" tattoo right above his ass. The G7 chord is my favorite chord to play on the ukulele; I like the sound of it, and it pops up in some of my favorite songs, but I also like that it's an inversion of the G Major chord fingering-wise:

The symmetry is just very satisfying to me.

But Buck doesn't play the ukulele -- he absolutely could with very little practice, he's very good on stringed instruments and a uke is much easier to learn than guitar or banjo. And even if I just wanted to say "Well, he plays guitar, he probably plays ukulele" I couldn't really get away with it, because Caleb's ukulele is such an integral part of his story -- it's what he writes his songs on, it's his stim, and it's what he first played Young Prince on for an audience. That needs to be, at least within that story, completely his.

And Buck does love guitars, so I just said guitar chord but secretly meant ukulele. :D

So take heart! You can play G7 on the guitar any way you wish, and if you want to play it on the ukulele you will playing the secret canonical chord. (Sadly probably not the one David played to please the Lord.)

[ataraxiaspainting]

Hier Encore II.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

[Hier Encore I.]

Synopsis: Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, 1995, April 10th. You are a director of public safety. The Phantom Troupe attacks the headquarters and takes you under the guise of a hostage situation. Even when the ransom is paid, you are never returned and assumed to be dead. After thirteen months of captivity, in 1996, on May 9th, you escape and try to learn how to live again somewhere far away from your captor. The payment of freedom comes with a steep cost, one that stains your hands so much that even if you drown them in bleach, the stain will remain there for the rest of your life.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, not SFW implications, misogynistic undertones (not from Chrollo), forced tattooing, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, mentions of starvation, some minor Hunter x Hunter spoilers, violence, Hisoka showing up sorry about that in advance, minor character death, and stalking.

Word Count: 13.7k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

4:00 A.M. by Taeko Onuki

My Girlfriend Is a Witch by October Country

Michelle by Sir Chloe

Sonne by Rammstein

Enemy by Imagine Dragons

Venus Fly Trap by MARINA

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

cult leader by KiNG MALA

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez 

“She looked like a vixen, and that’s what she was; she had all the instincts of a female fox. She was the proverbial predatory female. She had what she wanted, now, and she was content. There was just the getting completely away with it that counted.” – Gil Brewer, Sin for Me

ii. “I would not wish any companion in the world but you.”

You’re happy here.

You’re happy here, picking pumpkins and apples to make decorations and cook into pies. You’re happy here, harvesting sunflowers to put into glass vases around your cottage. You’re happy here, going into the farmer’s market and smelling freshly roasted corn and baked goods.

You’re happy here with Sebaste.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, who is always carrying gifts for you–lovingly ignoring your pleas to better learn how to budget his money–cookies, fried mushrooms, glazed yams, eggplant parmesan… your favorites. His too.

You hope he’s happy here with you too.

He says he does.

*~*~*~*

“Where do you want it? The neck, the leg? Lower, higher?” a voice, still trying to be cordial but exhaustion and annoyance overtook it halfway. 

The faux leather furniture squeaks slightly as it is pushed down a bit by you sitting on it. You try to adjust yourself as you lay on your stomach, the plastic beneath you crinkling. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me is playing from the small radio, the audio slightly too quiet for you to make out what part the song was at, and also because of how loud the tattoo artist was as she asked Chrollo a few questions.

“The lower back.” he touches it with his cold finger, almost making you jump and run out of that parlor. “Somewhere around here.”

You try to close your eyes and imagine you are anywhere else in the world. Even a sketchy bar would be better than this tattoo parlor because at least then you could leave with no pain in your body. 

“Okay.”

“Thirty thousand Jenny, along with a million for keeping silent about this.” You hear a large bag filled with coins being placed on the table. The same bag that made the owner of this place go on his knees and kept repeating that there was no appointment necessary anymore. While the sound of money jingling would make anyone feel happy, it sounds like nails on a chalkboard to you. No one will ever know though, because you keep your mouth shut unless you have to say something sweet. “Feel free to count it if you wish. I will not stop you.”

“Nah. I’ll pass.”

“Alright then. Are you going to use a stencil first to show me what it would look like? I think that would be best.”

You hear a tired sigh. “If that’s what you want. I’ll take it out.”

Your legs want to run. Your heart wants to burst out of your chest. Your eyes want tears to come out in rivers. But you can’t.

You can’t because it’s useless and all of your progress would be ruined.

“Here we are.”

You feel thermal paper going on the spot just above where your butt is. 

“Looks good.” Chrollo hums, pleased. “Behave. I’ll be back soon.”

His voice is soft but still firm. He steps toward you and squeezes your hand lightly, his thumb rubbing circles around it. He hums again. You can only see his shoes from this angle, but you know he is smiling. You want to scream, but you can’t.

You nod, still not talking. You hear a praise leave his lips, but you’re too scared to pay attention. He thanks the tattoo artist and leaves. The door shuts behind him quietly. For a brief moment, you sigh with relief.

The tattoo artist also sighs. There is a nervous chuckle that escapes both of your mouths, the type where both of you know what would happen if either of you were to step out of line. You try to move your neck upwards to look at the posters on the wall. Most are Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell, with a few of Audrey Hepburn. The largest poster is of the 1953 film Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, with Monroe and Russell dancing above the title in revealing magician outfits.

The tattoo artist turns the dial on the radio, putting on I Put A Spell On You instead, which you'd rather listen to. 

The tattoo artist leans in closer and talks to you in a whisper. "I'm so sorry about this. I had to do it."

Your eyes are wide, but you manage to keep your calm. Your fingers are shaking. Chrollo's voice is in your head, telling you to be still or he'll know. You do your best to ignore it as the tattoo needle stabs your back, sending shivers down your spine.

The entire process takes five hours, with you zoning out after about twenty minutes. 

The tattoo artist lets out a heavy sigh and leans back in her chair. "We're done, darling. I hope you're satisfied with your new tattoo."

You're exhausted. Your back feels numb. You have zero interest in looking at your new tattoo. You just want to leave.

Chrollo walks through the door with an even bigger smile on his face. "Ah, she's done, is she? Let me take a look."

He walks closer and sees the spider web tattoo, the number zero being on top of it.

"Beautiful. Your tattoo looks amazing, darling." Chrollo stares deeply into your eyes. "Now, would you mind standing up so I can see you in full?"

His eyes wander around your body. Your heart drops as you stand up.

Chrollo looks from your head to your feet as you stand. With every inch of your body, he smiles more deeply. "You look amazing, my dear. Stunning." He runs his smooth fingers across your skin, tracing the design of your tattoo. "Well, I'm satisfied with your new tattoo." He grabs your hand and pulls you towards the door. "Now, let's head back to the room. Don't you need to sleep? It's been a tiring day."

He stares at your tattoo one last time before reaching out and touching your back, tracing the black spiderweb pattern. You want to cry, but you can’t. You feel both the physical and mental pain silencing you. So, all you do is nod. 

Nothing is worth the risk.

The tattoo artist doesn’t look at either of you because of the intense guilt she feels.

The December weather outside only makes you want to shiver more.

Life is death. Death is a blessing that allows the weak to rest. Death is life. Life is a curse that allows only the strong to reap the rewards.

*~*~*~*

Even after all this time since the incident happened, your lower back still hurts. 

It burns whenever you touch it–like your skin is on fire–but it may be more mental than physical.

There is no scarring, thankfully, and because it is on your lower back, it can easily be hidden. Perhaps that was the point of the placement, for only if you do not have a long shirt or high-waisted pants would anyone see it; and only Chrollo was the only one you were allowed to be nude with, not that you had any choice.

It is the 21st of October, 1998. Sebaste now sleeps in the same bed as you. He talks in his sleep sometimes, about celebrating Halloween with you or his mother. It’s cute, you think. The photo frame beside the bed has a Polaroid photo of you and him, both smiling brightly. It’s a gift from his mother to you in more ways than one. Whenever your paranoia is set off, you hold it in your arms until you have calmed down. 

You loved Robin like you would your mother, and aside from Sebaste, she was the only one you would regularly talk to. She is kind to you, and once gave you hand-carved furniture as a gift when Sebaste first introduced you to her as his girlfriend. On colder days she brings you a pot of her homemade pumpkin soup and chatters away as soon as she sets foot in your home. She was talkative, very talkative, which funnily enough contrasts with Sebastian's introversion.

*~*~*~*

“What will you do to stop people from knowing I am still alive?” 

The question you asked, mere days into your kidnapping, came when you were lying down, restrained. You did not mean to sound aggressive, but you think you did by accident. Your nervousness is making you lose your touch, it seems. 

“If you would like to know, my dear, I shall tell you.” Your captor responds, sitting on a chair beside the bed. 

You want to scream for help. You want to demand him to take the silk binds off of you and run for the hills. But you can’t, because you know it would be useless. You have to wait for the right moment.

“I want to know.”

A book covers the lower part of his face, but his eyes still look down on you from your helpless position. The Brothers Karamazov. How fitting.

“We will request more money for your release.” Even though you cannot see half of his face, you know he is smiling from how pleased his voice sounds. “So much money that the authorities will simply give up on you, money that simply cannot be paid.”

Here you are, with a silk scarf tied around your wrists, not too tight but not too loose, and another binding your legs. He got rid of the handcuffs when he returned with you to a penthouse, wanting in some sense to make sure you were at least partially comfortable. Perhaps the handcuffs were just to ensure the public thought that you were a hostage taken for ransom. 

“Four million, sixteen million, perhaps twenty million for just a cut of your hair, maybe fifty million for a photo of you in your presumed last moments.” There is a pause, with you finally being able to hear your rapid heartbeat hidden behind a mask of calmness. “They will give up on you eventually, and the world will continue to go on as it always has.”

You silently wish that you could turn your hearing off like a light. There is such depravity, devotion, and greediness in his tone. 

“Maybe they won’t.” Your eyes keep moving around the room to avoid his intense stare from above. “Maybe they’ll know whatever body you plant is fake. Maybe they’ll locate me. Maybe they’ll… they’ll pay everything off.”

“That does not seem plausible, my sweet.”

You are holding back a sea of tears.

“Even though you think so, there is quite a small chance that will happen. That chance will only dwindle as the price increases, I am afraid. Money is far more important to governments than human lives in all cases. You know that, don’t you?” Chrollo says, his voice slightly teasing, turning a page of his book. “Perhaps it is for the best that they think you are dead though, angel, with all of the… dealings you have done when you thought no one was watching. You are quite resourceful. It’s something we have in common, you know.” 

You know that you’ll only make this situation worse if you try to fight back anymore.

You just look up at the ceiling and count the tiles, waiting for the moment he unties you.

One, two, three, four, five, six…

*~*~*~*

You liked gardening before your capture, and still do. As a hobby, you grow plants that are suitable for the fall setting. You cook with them when they have matured enough, or give them to Robin if you have too much of them. You especially like yams because they can be cooked into both sweet and savory dishes. A duplex trait you love.

It keeps your mind off of Chrollo.

You got yourself a new watering can recently. It can hold more water for your plants and it is prettier than your old one. It is a metal one, the spout rose freshly cleaned from rust by your gloved hands scrubbing for what felt like a millennium. It was worth it. The water compartment has purple lilies and white jasmine flowers on its bottom half. There are also a few butterflies, bees, and praying mantises among them. It’s cute and comforting to you.

This new life is also just as cute and comforting to you. You feel a sense of stability now that you aren’t forced to go from place to place by your captor or in fear of being caught by him. There is a sweetness and simplicity to it all. You get better sleep now that you share a bed with someone you love rather than someone you hate with all your being. You wear sweaters and sweatpants instead of those revealing shirts and short skirts, being free to dress warmly for once. Even when you were given tights as a reward for good behavior, they always were not nearly enough to make you stop shivering. Whenever you go to a clothing store in the town you avoid the section with clothes that are meant to show off collarbones or thighs. You’d rather die than wear them, even in the scorching heat of the summer months, bearing the rolls of sweat that appear on your face and your back.

*~*~*~*

The clothes are too tight. It’s hard to walk like this.

Everything itches. 

You would love nothing more than to take your clothes off right here.

One of your hands goes to the upper part of your back while the other goes near your spine, your arms almost hugging you from how odd their placements are. As much as you fidget, you cannot seem to get that one spot, until you feel someone else scratch it gently.

“Here?”

You sigh, relieved as Jean’s nails move up and down, subduing your discomfort. 

“The bodice is almost strangling me, and they gave me ballet slippers twice my size.” You groan as you sweep your bangs to the side so you can see what is in front of you. You start walking with Jean away from the stage and into the darkness of the hallway where the dressing rooms are.

“Don’t you think you can buy a new pair?” A well-meaning question, but their tone doesn’t stop you from dryly laughing.

“I’m not the one who had the lead role.” You walk to the door with the number four on it, twisting the handle and pushing it backward. “This is just a sideshow, anyway. As soon as I get that promotion, I’m getting out of here and moving to a different Yorknew district. One with a name that does not claim to be a saint.” Upon entering the dressing room, you raise your arms towards the ceiling and emit a low, discontented sound. “Hilland or Kingstown, hopefully. Those have the highest crime rates, after all.”

“Saintshore isn’t that bad.” Jean leans on the door and begins to take off their shoes, their quality much higher than yours. Your eyes go back between your vanity and theirs, both of which have bouquets piled on top of each other, along with other gifts. “The audience loves you, you know.”

“Then why was I the deuteragonist yet again?” Your hands shift through your mound, separating the flowers from everything else. Some chocolates, makeup, perfume, confessional love letters… nothing to pay much attention to, as usual. Frustration overtakes you, but you don’t let it show. 

“I mean it. Everyone loves you. You rival my popularity most of the time.”

Another dry laugh from you. “Then my dog days should be over by now.”

“Perhaps they will soon.” You don’t need to look in the mirror to know that Jean is smiling, trying to comfort you as they always do. “I think you’ll be okay. You have plenty of potential and you are admired by many here, from the patrons to the staff.”

“If those people loved me as much as they say they do, then I wouldn’t be in this dress and instead be living in a penthouse, living a life of luxury without working a single hour.”

“Maybe that will happen someday. You never know.” A hug from behind. “Maybe you’ll be swept off your feet tomorrow by some charming, tall stranger. Like those meet cutes from those movies you like watching.”

“If only, Jean. If only.”

*~*~*~*

Robin took you to the library today because you had mentioned that the few books you had were getting boring. She told you that she had never taken for an answer when you said you didn’t want to bother her. She then grabbed your hand and pulled you all the way here, repeating that you were never an inconvenience to her and that she loved you. She accompanied you to the horror section, remembering your fondness for the genre as you had mentioned a few days ago. That and Halloween were just around the corner.

You were glad to have someone to talk to while Sebaste was busy working in his office, at least.

Robin was chattering away, talking about random stuff that she remembered or events that happened when she was younger. A few weeks ago, she went on a tangent about the history of execution methods and how it related to racial segregation, and if you were being honest it was interesting to listen to. You learn a lot from Robin this way, even things like carving you learn more from her words and less from her movements. 

As much as her interests are varied and odd, you cannot deny that Robin is very knowledgeable. Whenever Robin is present, it's as if you're engaged in a conversation with an old buddy or a younger sibling passionately discussing their interests, even though Robin is significantly older than you. If it wasn’t for the fact that there are many small sections of white hair amongst her ginger locks and her wrinkles, a stranger would probably have assumed that she is your little sister.

You love her and trust her.

“What about this one?” Robin asks, holding out a book with the title We Have Always Lived In The Castle on its monochrome front. 

If you recall correctly, it’s a Shirley Jackson work. Someone recommended it to you a long time ago, you think. You can’t remember who exactly, though. It was not Chrollo as he was not the most interested in horror to begin with. All that was on his bookshelves were books relating to philosophy or something else in that vein.

At present, the library houses a mere handful of people. The librarian, the village teacher with two visibly tired children. A girl about your age with bright purple hair and a black leather jacket with tiny spikes on its cuffs and a white skull on the back of it. A man who looked a bit older than you was reading a book with his other hand on his chin looking zoned out in a way. 

*~*~*~*

There is a pleased, wanting moan coming from behind you on the bed. 

“We’re finally alone, baby…” 

Don Dario lays on his bed, large enough to be used by at least five people. The frame is made of agarwood, and the headboard is crested with what you assume is pure gold, considering how rich the Don is. The pillows are encased with wine red and medallion yellow silk. So are the curtains of the canopy. The blanket is doused in similar shades, but slightly darker than you think. If you choose to lie down, you could see the painted inside of the marquee, but you don’t want to. You do not want to sleep with this slimeball. So you simply sit at the corner hoping the Don would just give up and let you go.

“Don’t be shy, baby.” His knees are stabbing into the mattress and he is quickly unbuckling the belt of his crimson velvet robe, moaning and chuckling with excitement. “Come on, pussycat. Come to Daddy.” Even though you refuse to face him, you can envision how he is licking his lips as you hear his mantle being thrown to the floor. “No need to keep playing hard to get. Nobody’s here aside from you and me. I know you want me, darling.” 

Click, click, click.

He crawls on all fours to your backside and then to your right side, still cooing and cawing. You finally look at his eyes, and you see the direction they are facing; downwards. After a slight scoff from you, though, he looks upwards towards your face. “You’re so cute, you know. I feel like I will never get tired of looking at you.”

Click, click, click.

“You like me too, don’t you?” There is a smirk on his face, making his double chin even larger and making you in turn narrow your eyes. “You must, at least a little bit, right? Everyone wants a piece of me. But I don’t mind if such a pretty girl like you wants to get a bit more than you were told that you would get. You will, if you promise to come back, that is. For another round.”

There is a whisper of a glare in your eyes, and when Don Dario notices this he simply laughs haughtily. 

“Now, now, sweetie.” He puts a hand on your shoulder. “I always keep my word. You just have to do your part and everything will be fine.”

“I never said I would do this, you forced me to be here.”

The grip tightens and you wince. “When I saw you on that stage, I knew I had to have you. I was feeling generous. I still am.” His voice is now cold and demanding, the opposite of how it was just a few seconds ago. “I’ll pay off your debts and have a word with your boss, I promise, if you do as you are told.”

“Asshole.”

Click, click, click.

There is a murmur of fondness from Don Dario’s mouth, but you don’t care enough to make out what he said. 

“You know no sane woman would sleep with you willingly, and so you order your lackeys to grab one by the hair and drag her to your room. Quite pathetic, wouldn’t you say?”

Don Dario rolls onto his back and cackles like he is being tickled. “This kitten is trying to use her claws to fight a lion! How adorable.” You want to throw up.

Click, click, click.

A flash.

“What was that?” You ask, irate. 

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Your neck turns to see him start to unbutton his shirt, the golden letters and medals of the many necklaces around his neck smashing against one another. “Just a few mementos, and also to make sure you don’t say anything… crummy.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Call me whatever you like, but one way or another you’ll do what I want.” There is a sudden grab of your hair as you are forced to lay on the mattress roughly. The touch of the velvet beneath you, despite being soft, also feels like molasses on your skin and makes you feel slow and heavy. “Let us not wait a second longer, my bride for today. Be good for me and maybe I’ll even send more money your way in the future.”

You want to cry out for help, but his henchmen are right outside his bedroom door in case you try to run. It would be useless. You wouldn’t be let go and all that would result from it is you being pushed and shoved back into Don Dario’s arms eventually. He would find you if you ran. 

You decide not to fight anymore. You’re exhausted and there would be no point in the long run. You nod and the genuine smile that appears on Don Dario’s face is a terrifying sight to you. At least you would get that promotion and the money to pay off your debts, even if it hurts to walk in the morning.

“Give daddy some sugar, baby.”

Every hair on your body stands on end as you nod.

You are nothing now but a Mignonne who is forced to be swept off her feet.

“Lay all your love on me.”

*~*~*~*

The newspaper today had an odd headline, to say the least. Especially because this town is so far away from the Saintshore district of Yorknew. It would take forever to get to it, not that you would ever want to return to that place that should be categorized as a nuclear dump if anything. The food was greasy. There was always a whiff of smoke, either from the smokers or the many, many cars, and rusty needles on the ground below you if you set foot outside. Not that there would be a point in going for a walk as Saintshore was practically unwalkable except for a few suburban areas and a small portion of the poorly taken care of parks. 

Mobster Don Dario Niccolo Found Beheaded In Alleyway was not a title you had ever thought would be read or even seen by you or anyone for that matter, but it makes sense. Dario was not short of enemies who would do anything to kill him or at the very least sabotage his business affairs with other criminals. He always had the limelight on him, whether his deeds were good or bad. That gave him the nickname of the uncrowned king of Saintshore. You don’t feel bad for his family or his ‘friends’ in the slightest. That is one person who is part of your unwanted past gone, after all, and someone will be there to get the blood-soaked inheritance and probably continue the Niccolo legacy to take more money.

You’re happy to be far away from that district and from the Phantom Troupe, almost enough to get you on your knees and worship the stars above you. 

*~*~*~*

His movements are always silent, never betraying his presence with the sound of footsteps. You never hear them coming.

He does it on purpose, you think, to keep you on edge and to catch you in any act of escaping he suspects you will do.

He’s right if he does expect you will try something, though.

His earrings glimmer in the moonlight, hypnotizing you with their beauty. His eyes glimmer too, his irises reminding you of the pitch-black sky that is above you two and this picnic blanket. His teeth remind you of pearls sold in unpurchasable jewelry shops. At least you feel hypnotized, because you do nothing as he takes your hand, not even flinching. Like the devil, Chrollo is beautiful. But the beauty is only hiding what lurks beneath the surface; a monster.

“Open wide, dearest.” The chocolate-covered strawberry leans closer, pale fingertips holding onto its dark green leaves. “This is romantic, is it not?”

Maybe you can blur out his words for a bit longer to again remove the bitter taste in your mouth. Then only the sweetness of the scenery in front of you would remain, hypnotizing you yet again.

*~*~*~*

When you step out of your house’s door, it is like you are instantly transported back to four years ago; the last time you celebrated Halloween.

All the houses on every block have decorations of some kind, whether going all out with animatronics supposed to resemble monsters like the popular Bays’ house or a measly jack-o-lantern standing out amongst a poorly taken care of front yard like the lone Mr. Hyde’s house. Perhaps the weeds only increased the scariness for the children and were done on purpose. Ah, weeds. How horrifying. All of the houses also have candy to give out to the trick-or-treaters, from Ms. Alson’s house down the street to the unpopular Blissetts’, your neighbors. In Ms. Alson’s case, she is giving out handmade gift bags to everyone who passes by, even adults. However, the Blissetts only put out a smaller-than-life basket of candy corn with a ‘take one’ sign next to it. Terrifying.

“Trick or treat. Give me something good to eat!” The kids chanted, running around in circles as they all wore costumes.

*~*~*~*

As you ponder the origins of this situation, you diligently search for any missteps on your part. Chrollo, in his typical fashion, remains silent about the expression on your face as your mind races. He always waits for you to speak first, yet you are certain he is aware of your thoughts. Together on the balcony, he feigns interest in his book, his sunglasses serving as a disguise to conceal the gaze fixated upon you. What could you have possibly done to cause such a high-ranking criminal to be romantically interested in you? Did you meet somewhere before? Did he see you from afar and become obsessed with you that way?

“You look rather nice with only my shirt on.” A hand is placed on your bare thigh, squeezing the meaty flesh gently.

“When did you first start liking me?” Your vocal tone emerges with a softer and huskier quality than initially intended. You discreetly clear your throat, contemplating whether a repetition of your words is necessary. Chrollo's gaze is fixated upon you, yet you avoid meeting his eyes, instead directing your attention towards the captivating spectacle of the sunset. The hues of yellow seamlessly blend into orange, which seamlessly blends into red, the colors melding together without complete separation. He affectionately applies more pressure to your thigh, emitting a gentle hum. This shirt serves two purposes: to allure him, ultimately facilitating your escape, and to maintain a facade of modesty, despite it being the most conservative garment available in the hotel room. Your loathing for him burns fiercely within, yet you must never allow it to manifest outwardly.

When you fixate on the sunset, you wonder to yourself if you perhaps can distract yourself from the sensation of his hand caressing your thigh.

Placing his book on the table near the outdoor couch, he leans in your direction and gently draws you onto his lap. You make no resistance, acknowledging the potential advantage this holds for your scheme. After all, even if you tried, he wouldn't allow you to escape.

“I mean if you don’t mind. If you don’t want to tell me, I won’t get mad.” You lean in, Chrollo’s hair slightly tickling your nostrils. “It’s your choice.”

“You’re right in that aspect. It is my choice.” He hums and you can picture his eyes behind his sunglasses shifting upwards in reminiscence. The arm around you pulls you in closer so that your nose is right next to his neck. “But I’ll tell you if that is what you want. I was in Saintshore and saw you dancing in a ballet.”

“Which one?” You mumble, not even surprised that he knew your side job before you were promoted. You can smell his cologne; musk, sandalwood, rum, and vanilla. He always sprays just a bit too much, not enough to make you cough but enough for you to smell it whenever he is close. Not that you would ever tell him that, as that would ruin your plan and he is self-aware enough to know what he is doing. 

“Swan Lake. You played an excellent Odile, beloved.” His hand brushes your arm while the other dances on your thigh still. The queen of the black swans.

“That’s it?” You ask, and Chrollo responds by having his hand over upward from your thigh to your bangs, brushing them to the side. 

“You were just so graceful. You still are just as beautiful, you know.” He kisses your forehead and you try your hardest to not flinch. As you gaze at the sunset, you make a conscious effort to divert your attention from the affectionate tone in his voice. He passionately shares his journey of falling in love with you, while his hand gently rests beneath your shirt, and you sense something hard beneath you. It’s best not to think about it too much, you tell yourself.

*~*~*~*

Two years, five months, twenty-two days, twenty-three hours, and five minutes.

That is the duration of time that had passed since your triumphant escape, about half the duration accounting for the time it took for you to reach a considerably distant location from the place where you were held prisoner.

Tickets to films, musical adaptations, ballets, stage adaptations, and operas. Piles upon piles of novels, fashionable clothes, and delicious food that were more expensive than anything you had ever bought before your capture. Everything was given to you in the blink of an eye, all aside from freedom. 

Memorabilia like heart-shaped sunglasses, flared sundresses, lingerie made with lace and silk, violas, violins, cellos, croissants, cream puffs, macaroons, rings, necklaces, chokers, thigh highs, garter belts, short skirts, sheer tights, and hotpants were all given to you without you even asking. You only wore them and played them and ate them when it would help you with your escape plan, which you guessed was all the time. You became the archetype known as the temptress, a symbol of lust and desirability. Unethical, a Queen Bee, mysterious, wanting, and seductive. But you also had to become Chrollo’s sweetheart at the same time. A princess from a fairytale, a coquette, gentle, sweet, and alluring. 

*~*~*~*

The bedroom is suffocating to you. It was too clean, too pristine, the walls having all furniture mounted on it tidy with not a speck of dust or dirt. There is a low hum of the air conditioner that is above hung paintings that were both stolen and bought legally. A pendulum clock above the bed with its hand swinging from side to side with a constant tick-tocking sound. The blanket restraining your wrists was tied to the headboard, the half that was all things considered a piece of your part of the bed. He doesn’t restrain your legs anymore, a reward you suppose for good behavior, for not trying to kick him whenever he touches you or at the very least within your range. Similarly, he doesn’t gag you anymore for not screaming and crying and demanding to be let go.

He sometimes feeds you and sometimes lets you feed yourself. He brings you whatever you want to eat whenever you want to eat. Pastries, cheese, bread, pasta, all of it you have access to, all you have to do is ask for it. If you don’t request anything, the meal will be something nutritious and balanced, like steamed rice and broccoli with tofu and miso soup. One time you refused to eat, clamping your mouth shut like a toddler as he gently tried to guide a metal spoon to your lips. 

You tired your neck out that way and gave in about an hour later, though the food was ice cold by then.

You don’t refuse to eat anymore. You don’t do a lot of things you want to do anymore. You are scheduled as to when you can and cannot walk within the penthouse like you are his dog. The only room you have privacy in is the bathroom, when the silk restraints come off and you can walk around freely, as small as the room is. Though it is windowless, and there would be nowhere to hide if Chrollo ever decided to open the lockless bathroom door. 

If you are good, he lets you watch movies or shows on the television, he’ll read to you, one time he even gave you some of your old things from your apartment, putting them on the table beside you. If you are bad… On days that you are bad, he ignores you, aside from when you ask to go to the bathroom, he describes the brutalness of the murders he has committed in great detail as you squirm, or he will tickle you for an hour straight until your face is red with tears and you can hardly breathe.

“I’m willing to wait.” 

He repeats this every time you try to tear the blanket off of your wrists and ankles, every time after you cry and scream your lungs out, every time you refuse to look at him and at yourself in a desperate attempt to control at least one thing; your imagination. He wants you to break and leave only your vulnerable, core self. You could never resist the pull of rebellion forever, your thread of patience always eventually snapping and forcing yourself to tie it back together. You could never resist what lays dormant in the deepest crevices of your heart; a chained-up beast. 

“With time, all pain fades.”

*~*~*~*

Maybe he is right in that aspect. As much as you want to deny it, with every passing month you were held captive, what Chrollo does then surprised you less and less. You sort of became comfortably numb to it all, only focusing on escape and not how much he touched you everywhere and told you sweet nothings both in and out of bed.

*~*~*~*

“The bathroom is well stocked with all sorts of soaps and shampoos and creams, as well as any other necessities you will need for this.” Chrollo says as he presses one of the mirrors above the sink, the mirror opening and revealing more products than are at the rim of the bathtub already. As always, his voice is calm. 

You have never heard him angry before, or sad before, and you don’t want to. You don’t know what he would do if you pushed him to that point. That is why when Chrollo had told you that he wanted you to bathe him as a reward for you being so good these past few weeks, you agreed. You had just graduated from being restrained from the bed to being able to walk around the penthouse freely, and you don’t want that taken away from you, especially so soon.

“And I expect you to do a good job.” He adds, bringing your focus back on him and not on the restraints he had tucked away in his closet a few days ago. “There might be other rewards for you if you do so.”

“I know.” You mutter and pull the handle above the bathtub. Water starts to flow and warm up. You want to ask him if those rewards would be for you or him, but you can’t bring yourself to. Rewards from Chrollo are always a gamble, ranging from making bread to him bringing you a spider lily plant home to gifting you clothes that showed off your collarbone to you sitting on his lap as he read. 

“Good girl,” Chrollo says, watching as the tub begins to fill with water and he closes the mirror with a soft click. “And if you’re a very good girl,” He pauses for a moment as the edges of his lips bend into a smirk from what you can see in the foggy mirror. “Who knows what kind of reward I might just give you.” He turns to you, his face still covered by a sly smile. “That is, of course, if you’re a very good girl.”

As much as you try to stop it, your eyebrows furrow slightly at his statement, unsure of what to think. All he does is chuckle.

“Why don’t I make this as fun for you as possible?” In his hands are narrow glass vials, each a different color. From the grainy appearance you can see from each bottle, you can safely assume that they are bath salts. You are right as Chrollo puts them each on the area around the sink one by one. “After all, you’re going to be taking a bath with me.” He pauses for a moment, allowing his words to hang in the air. “I hope you’re excited, darling.” He leans in close and presses a kiss on your forehead. “You’re going to enjoy this very, very much, I promise.”

“I know.” You mutter again as you step forward toward the sink, and Chrollo steps back a bit for you to see the options of bath salts. As you expected, there is a wide variety of scents. Floral aromas such as lavender, rose, cherry blossom, and vanilla. There is also a selection of sweet scents, like strawberry and apple, while at the same time, there are some muskier, darker scents, like cinnamon and sandalwood.

You have no say in your hell. You don’t want a say in your hell.

You pick up the narrow periwinkle flask labeled as lavender with shaking hands. As the warm water in the tub fills your bathroom with the sweet smell of lavender, you hear Chrollo speak up from behind you. 

“Good choice, love.” He says, his voice filled with anticipation as he speaks. “Now then, I think it is about time for you to give me that bath.”

You hate how you automatically nod, and how Chorollo coos as he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

*~*~*~*

You still have trouble having baths in the village bathhouse because of him. You have trouble doing a lot of things you had no problem doing before. You sometimes wake up and because of Sebaste’s dark hair and white skin, you mistake him for Chrollo for a few moments of drowsiness and almost cry and scream. When you are brushing your hair, you style it the way you like it but almost consider putting it in a style Chrollo likes, just in case you see him that day out of pure chance and bad luck. Whenever you see a book that used to be on Chrollo’s shelves, you almost buy it or borrow it so you can burn it later.

*~*~*~*

“What are you looking for, dollface? Treasure? Get rich quick schemes, history?” a voice, still trying to be cordial but curiosity and wandering eyes overtook it halfway. 

The faux leather furniture squeaks slightly as it is pushed down a bit by you sitting on it. You try to adjust yourself as you sit down on your butt, crossing your legs. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me is playing from the small radio, the audio is slightly too quiet for you to make out what part the song is at, and also because of how loud the construction is outside.

“You are a Hunter, aren’t you?” You lean in slightly and make direct eye contact with him, putting on a slight smile. “I would like to know more about a certain Spider if you catch what I am saying.”

You hate how the man looks at you, confusion clear on his face. You knew it would be risky coming here, but you have no other options.

“Why them?”

You place a large bag filled with coins on the table. “The thirty thousand Jenny fee to talk to you, along with a million for keeping silent about this.” You now see the man’s eyes glitter with greed as he smirks. Some people were just too easy. This feels like child’s play compared to Chrollo with the lengths you would have to go to manipulate him. “Feel free to count it if you wish. I will not stop you.”

“Nah. I want to get straight to business if you don’t mind.”

“Alright then. What do you know about them? Tell me everything.”

The man leans back and looks at the cracked ceiling. “Just be warned, pretty little lady, if they come after you it’s not my fault. You’re asking for trouble.”

You’re annoyed at him keep calling you pet names. You want to slap him. You want to say you would rather not be here at all. But you can’t.

You can’t because it’s useless and all of your progress would be ruined.

“Just one sec.”

He takes another drag of his cigar and exhales, the smoke erupting from his nose onto your face and almost making you loudly cough.

“I’ll tell you.” He smiles, the cigar still wedged between his two golden teeth. “You young ones are so dumb. You aren’t even a Hunter, dollface.”

His grimy voice is like nails on a chalkboard to you. He takes the cigar out of his mouth and his finger taps on it, making some of the burnt parts fall onto the ashtray. He hums again. You just want your information so you can go. You don’t want to do small talk, especially with this prick.

You nod, still not talking. His grin widens at that. He raises one of his hands and a man in a suit and sunglasses comes out of the shadows and hands him a folder, leaving straight afterward without making a sound. So you have unwanted company.

You almost let out a sigh then. The man whistles a tune unfamiliar to you as he looks through the file. He then throws it in an uncaring way towards your side of the table, the folder letting out a slight thump as the paper makes contact with the wood. He whistles a bit more and puts one of his legs over the other. He sighs and your disdain for him only increases by then.

He leans toward and taps on the document inside, some of his cigar ashes staining it.

He grabs the bottle of liqueur beside him and pours some into his shot glass, his many golden rings shining underneath the dimmed lights. "Here is all the information we have on them. It is troublesome how little we know about them."

Your eyes are full of annoyance, but you manage to keep your calm. You lean forward and read through the paper in front of you. You have to do this. You have to do this to make sure that your freedom is everlasting.

To read the entire page took only a few minutes at most, the man being truthful in the fact that no Hunter knows them very well despite the Phantom Troupe being much more than infamous.

The man lets out a heavy sigh and leans back in his chair. "Sorry, miss. We know hardly more than you do, but I’ll try to tell you anything else we found out recently."

You want to let out a sigh again. The paper is littered with stains and leaves residue on your fingertips. This is necessary, you tell yourself. Though you just want to leave.

The man clears his throat to get your attention and holds up one of his fingers. "According to my resources, the Spider has recently lost a leg. They quickly gained another to replace it, unfortunately."

It indeed should not be surprising considering how many enemies the Phantom Troupe has, but it is a bit to you.

"We don’t know which one. That’s the most we know of the situation." He stares deeply into your eyes. "I don’t have any other information to give you, I’m afraid."

His eyes wander around your body. Your heart drops slightly as he grabs the folder and closes it.

You don’t stand up, instead briefly gazing at the liqueur bottle. The man smiles more deeply then, and you feel like you are about to throw up. "You know, you’re very pretty, miss. Just beautiful." His hand moves toward you in one brief motion, to which you respond by leaning away, "I don’t bite, no need to be scared." You stand up. "Now, now, dollface. We should talk a bit more, don’t you think? Maybe I can even drive you back to your place later, or mine."

You scrunch your nose in disgust and begin to walk out of the room. He does not physically stop you, but he mumbles insults under his breath. Slut, whore, the more unoriginal ones. You just ignore them and leave.

That guy was an asshole, but at least you got something out of it.

You wonder which Spider has died.

You hope that it was Chrollo, but that would be near impossible.

Chrollo is hardly known about, after all. There was hardly any information about him anywhere; from the news to the people you question and bribe. You don’t know anything about him either, despite being previously a captive of his. Perhaps even Chrollo does not know much about himself, or at least that is what you theorize.

To entirely free oneself from his clutches, one would need to strike a pact with the devil.

*~*~*~*

Sometimes you think you are an escaped ballerina from her music box. You were always in the same position and only did what you were told.

All you have were the walls of the orchestrina and Chrollo. Without him with you in those many penthouses and hotel rooms, you had no one and could speak to no one. Even when you had escaped by shattering your silk-clad, bleeding feet, some small scattered porcelain pieces of you are left behind for him to find.

If you ever told Sebaste the truth, it would all be for nothing, wouldn’t it?

You would be back to being on the run, trying to pick up whatever ceramic drops from you to avoid leaving a path of breadcrumbs that would lead him directly to you. Just one mistake is all it takes, and it would all be over in a flash. You would try to fix it as quickly as you can, but it wouldn’t be enough, because one day his grabbing hands will grab the soles of your feet, and there you will stay forevermore, attached back onto them, never being able to leave his palms.

A few breaths would kick the door down. The windows would rattle. Weeds would sprout in your garden. You would smell cigarette smoke because the palm of your hand would be back to being used as his ashtray. Everything would burn to the ground. 

You don’t want that. God, you do not want that. More than anything in this world.

*~*~*~*

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and you don’t think they are here to kill you.

There is someone in your home, and although you don’t think they are here to kill you, they do not come with the best of intentions either, though.

You think they are in love with you. Love may not be the best to describe it, you think, maybe obsessed or infatuated instead.

Whoever breaks into your home regularly leaves you gifts; flowers, cards, clothes, and other things they know you like. They must have been stalking you for quite a while before doing this because hardly anyone you know knows what your favorite instrument or candle scent is.

Sometimes they go on rants in the letters they send to you once or twice a week. Sometimes they bring you trinkets, usually hairpins or porcelain figurines. One morning you woke to find a bag of coffee grounds, your favorite brand but also quite an expensive one. When you used them that very morning, they praised you greatly with a long note the next day. However, when you refused to eat the slice of strawberry shortcake that was put on your kitchen table and threw it away in your bin, there was no note whatsoever.

You don’t think they cared, or at least didn’t want to let you know they cared. The amount of gifts put in your apartment only increased every time you ignored the last present. They kept getting more and more expensive, too. Whoever is in your home is either filthy rich or does not know how to budget their money well. 

Sometimes you hear the lightest of breaths when your back is turned and you are sitting on the sofa, watching a comforting movie. They are fast and good at hiding because whenever you try to catch them in the act there is nothing behind you. 

Every time you try to tell someone, they say to just install more security, more locks, cameras, and invest in self-defense lessons and tasers and alarms. You have tried that, and nothing works, the gifts and trinkets keep coming.

No one believes you and your stalker knows it. Every time you try to report it and get shut down, there is a mocking chuckle from behind you when you come back home.

You aren’t alone, you’re with them, but you wish you were because then you would at least be able to rest. You wish you were alone in the dark.

…

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and you think they want you.

There is someone in your home, and you know you don’t want them.

…

You’re tired. You don’t know how to express it.

It’s nearly midnight and you just want to take out your resentment on something. You just want to be alright. You lock your apartment door behind you and walk from the entrance to your small sitting area. You sit on the couch, ignoring the large box on the table beside it. Instead, you grab the basket of VHS tapes on the floor, shuffling through them with both your hands.

Billy Madison. Perfect. You take it out.

Your fingers tap against the front of the tape, your other hand scratches the back of your head and rubs the back of your neck, and your feet shake.

Your stalker must have turned your lamp on when you were out working, maybe for you to see the gift, because you know you didn’t. You don’t care to address the box or them right now, as you are used to it by now.

You snap the VHS tape in half with both of your hands.

All this world does is hurt you, so who can blame you for wanting to hurt it back?

It was a shitty movie anyway. A horribly written plot. Horribly written characters. You were never really a fan of comedies, especially those with a spoiled rich kid as the protagonist. You were going to throw it out even if you didn’t break the tape. You want to demote that assistant who gave you that as a joke.

But that would be petty, and it was a joke. You just wish he got you Gone with the Wind or The Princess Bride or Romeo and Juliet or something like that instead. You could go for a romance movie right about now, especially one with a forehead kiss. You love forehead kisses.

You throw the smashed VHS tape in the garbage.

You could swear that you heard a chuckle as you did so.

…

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and they put a gift beside your bed as you sleep.

There is someone in your home, and they put an unused VHS tape with the title ‘Romeo and Juliet' on your bedside table before you could wake up.

There is someone in your home, and they give you a forehead kiss before slithering off again into the dark.

You know they won’t stay there for long, but you foolishly hope that they will.

Dark goldenrod, rich black, gray, baby powder, blood red.

*~*~*~*

There is someone in your home. You are sure of it.

The placement of everything is slightly off.

The perfume bottles and makeup products in your bedroom are slightly tilted, and your figurines are placed in places where you know you didn't put them, like finding your cat music box on your vanity when it is always by your bedside table, and your bed is slightly unmade. You feel a gaze whenever you are at home and when you are just about to fall asleep, you hear the soft clicking of a camera. You hear the floorboards creak, too loud to be your dog’s. You know Sebaste would never do those things because he is in his office all day working, even when you are in bed already.

Your kitchen is dirtier than usual. There are always some fallen, dried leaves on the floor even when neither you nor Sebaste had gone outside that day. Some of your food is missing, like the leftover pancakes you planned on eating. Sebaste claims to have not eaten them, and you know he is telling the truth. 

It is not just your paranoia. There is someone in your home, watching you.

That same person is most likely watching you outside your home too. You feel a gaze wherever you are.

Whenever you go to the library to read something, you always feel someone looking at you whenever you are paying attention to the books, turning their gaze away the moment you look around. Whenever you pick up takeout from the local saloon, you feel someone staring at you in the corner, blending in with the rest of the dancing, friendly villagers. Whenever you are at the farmer’s market, you feel a gawker behind you, hiding behind one of the stalls, one filled to the brim with boxes and boxes of produce. Whenever you turn your head as you are walking to your cottage, you hear quickening footsteps, running farther and farther away. Whenever you are in the town’s museum, you can sense someone near you in the same exhibit, pretending to pay attention to the artifacts and not you.

Their eyes feel intense like you are made of gold. Something sellable at an auction or something to be stuffed into a penthouse and never see the light of day again. Within your blood flows aureate brilliance to them. You are something to be used, to be fed to the wolves.

You found a few muddy footprints in the bathroom coming from the window above it a few days ago. They are too big and too misshapen to be your dog’s, and they don’t look like the footprints that Sebastian's sneakers leave behind. You clean it up with a mop and some spray. As much as you want to be, you cannot say you are exactly afraid, but a few tiers below that.

You are cautious, sure. You make sure your doors and windows are locked before going to sleep now as well as double checking them in the middle of the night. You cannot say you are afraid, though. You are plotting to catch them in the act, and you don’t think someone afraid would confront their stalker.

You keep doing your usual routine. Wake up, boil water for coffee, wash your face and brush your teeth, make coffee and breakfast, and eat said breakfast. You prefer this life to the one you ran away from by a landslide, still, even though your stalker is somewhat ruining it. Chrollo would treat you like a glorified dog.

Sit, stay, and roll over.

Good girl.

Here is a treat.

You think Sebaste is the only one keeping you from snapping and hunting down your gawker with a bow and ax. Ironically, he still doesn’t know about them. But that’s alright with you. You prefer it.

His routine mirrors yours. He makes coffee for you some days. He eats with you. He walks the dog with you. Then he goes to his office to work.

This is a life you are happy with. You aren’t going to let your stalker ruin that for you.

You are not going to tell Sebaste either. It is much better if you handle this problem on your own. Solving problems on your own is what you are used to, after all. Sebaste could be in danger if you tell him. You’re in danger, and you don’t want him to share your fate more than he already is.

Sebaste is the one person in this world you can trust wholeheartedly. You want to protect him, and you would give up everything if it meant he would be happy and safe. So, you buy a taser, some pepper spray, and a pullable alarm, and learn how to hold your keys in just the right way so you could be able to use them as weapons in case your confrontation with your stalker goes sour.

You have planned what to do with your stalker if things do go as you intended. An abandoned shed, a chair, zip ties, and some… equipment if they do not tell you everything they know right away. 

*~*~*~*

Once upon a time, there was a princess who had a terrible curse placed upon her by a witch when she was an infant. Everything she touched would die in but a few moments. One day, she got tired of living alone on the outskirts of her kingdom, banished when she was near adulthood, and set out into the woods to search for someone to be her first-ever friend. 

However, what she discovered was a malevolent man exuding an overwhelming aura of greed. 

She hated him. She hated him with all her being, from how he looked to how he spoke to how he treated her; everything he did she disliked. 

So, a few days after meeting him in the forest behind her cottage, the princess asked him to touch her face. He did, gently caressing her cheek with his palm and fingers. As his hand made contact with her delicate visage, the princess gently shut her eyes and silently counted to five. But when the princess opened her eyes, she was horrified by the sight in front of her. 

The stranger was still there, alive.

…

The unexpected visitor revealed himself as King Death, who is in relentless pursuit of a bride who embodies purity and possesses a power comparable to his own. 

"To discover an angel as calm and radiant as the morning doves and dew is an immense stroke of fortune." 

Uttering these words, he ensnared her with a gaze as binding as a wedding vow, his eyes devoid of light and depth, unlike anything the princess had witnessed in her secluded little forest. Without delay, he then accomplished his task with an air of satisfaction.

…

Princess Blossom bemoans her unfortunate circumstance, trapped in a desolate garden devoid of life and sunshine. “Do you have not an ounce of mercy for me or anyone?" 

Across from her, King Death relishes in the corpse beneath his feet, a lifeless dove's remains, its once pristine white feathers now drenched in crimson, reminiscent of cherry wine. “If you think a bird is beautiful, just wait until you find it dead, dearly beloved by life itself until its last breath.”

…

In the palm of King Death rests a delicate flower in bloom. In a casket adorned with white wisterias lies his cherished bride, eternally his. "A blossom as lovely as you, my rose, should not wither away so easily." Her eyes exude a captivating beauty, a reflection of innocence mingled with fear. "What troubles you, causing such tremors? It cannot be the chill in the air." Though she trembles with fear, he hungrily consumes her terror as the flowers around her wilt.

…

“The nearer you are, the more I break! Have you always been this cruel to us mortals?” Princess Blossom bangs on the wood above her, the coffin sealed shut and buried six feet underneath the beautiful grass, stars, and flowers. She hears someone coming to dig her out, but that hope is replaced with fear as soon as she realizes the sound is coming from beneath her. This is King Death’s reply to her question; to take her to the underworld where only his eyes will see his radiant queen forevermore.

*~*~*~*

It’s necessary, you tell yourself. If there was any other path you could follow, you would have taken it. At least, you think you would have.

Your stalker follows you everywhere. You know it, they know it, but Sebaste doesn’t know it. They probably have seen you in the abandoned shed preparing everything, and either are preparing themselves for confrontation or not taking you seriously. 

You hope, for their sake, that they are doing the former. You hope, for their sake, that they will simply tell you all they know without you even bringing them to the shed. You hope, for their sake, that they will simply do that. But you know it won’t be that easy. Either this person is obsessed with you or was paid to follow you.

If your stalker indeed fits into the latter category, they are certainly in for an unpleasant surprise. You won’t let them get away. You won’t let them do anything other than cry, say what they know, and beg for mercy. Eventually, they will have no voice box to scream with, and only blood will come out of their mouth instead of any sound. 

You will make sure of it.

You made a vow with yourself to make sure of it.

You have no choice other than to be cruel. You know that, and you hope your follower knows it too. It would be far less trouble for either of you that way.

You have to protect yourself and Sebaste, no matter the cost. You love him too much to lose him. He is in the house and you are outside, defending him. You will do anything to make sure he is alright.

So, you wait. You wait for hours.

There is someone outside your home. 

You are sure of it.

You are going to confront them here and now.

You aren’t afraid. You are merely cautious. You don’t want Sebaste to hear any struggling or cries.

Through the window, you smell warm, fresh coffee being brewed in the French press. Sebaste has always had a bad habit of drinking coffee late at night. But it’s alright, he most likely has to work a bit more anyway.

You wait until your thoughts go numb with a lack of sleep. You slap yourself in the face, hard, to keep yourself awake.

*~*~*~*

If one were to compare, this penthouse resembles a work of art in a museum.

It is untouched by dirt and if the small flames of the candles on the table where the television is placed didn’t move from side to side, you would forget anything aside from you and Chrollo could move. Everything shares the same color palette, and there are no warm hues aside from the roses on the vanity in the bedroom and modest fires. Rose ebony, gunmetal, reseda green, silver, periwinkle. Black. Black, black, black, like one day someone decided to cover the counters, walls, and chairs in soot or charcoal. 

It is like whoever designed this had won a lifetime supply of ink paint and decided to use it in different concentrations. Rich on the desks and the vanity, but lighter in some areas like the walls, showing designs of olive roses. The farthest you can go here is to the balcony or lean on the door of the entrance like you could pass through it like a portal if you wished hard enough. You cannot jump from the porch, if you remember correctly the room number is 20008. You are twenty floors off the ground, and you know that you cannot survive a plunge from that high up. 

You feel like a canary in a hanging birdcage. 

You can only tweet and look pretty. You cannot leave unless your captor is there with you every step of the way. You are only allowed to do what you are told to do and not what you want to do.

This is an impeccable, foolproof, ideal enclosure for any imprisoner.

All is flawlessly pristine, to the point of nausea for anyone trapped inside.

You can only chitter and peep like the baby bird you are forced to be. You can only be cradled within suffocatingly loving arms. Chrollo is like your shadow, following you to every part of this place, treating you like a porcelain doll or a pet. You don’t dare act outside of the role you were given because then you know your detainer won’t be pleased with you and your chances of escape will be even lower than they already are.

“Dearest?”

There is that sickeningly sweet voice again, from beside you. He does not know how to shut up, not that you would bother telling him such. You are here, in his domain and his clothes and eating his food. You have no say here, and he knows it.

“Yes?”

You try your best to replicate the tone of a doting, little lover. You don’t fiddle with the skirt of the short dress you were given. According to your kidnapper, your solitary pair of jeans and single hoodie has ‘vanished under enigmatic circumstances’ and thus gave you this attire as compensation. Asshole.

You are waltzing whether you like it or not.

It is how you act that chooses whether you are pulled with puppet strings or not, though.

“You look beautiful.” His tone is so sincere that it almost induces a nauseating urge to vomit directly onto him. “So beautiful.”

You feel like a statue only brought here to be gawked at. He is always touching you in some way, most of the time it is your thighs that are held captive by being caressed with hands akin to velvet. You let him because what else can you do? You would want nothing more than to push him away and run out the door but you simply cannot. You are trapped here, and using Chrollo with honeyed words and passionate kisses is your only key out. You cannot stay in this consolidated coop any longer or you will break.

If you falter, you will never get out of here.

If he catches you in the act of escaping, you will never be free. The silk restraints will be replaced with shackles. A mile of running only means an inch of a chance of escaping. You don’t want to die here. You don’t want to die with rotting, choking hands around your neck.

As you expected, Chrollo’s hand squeezes your inner thigh. “Thank you, Chrollo.”

From the look in his eyes, you can tell he wants so much more than just those words.

*~*~*~*

Footsteps. Calm, poised ones. There is no sound of stray branches snapping or dead leaves crunching. Footsteps of one who knows what you plan to do. 

You do not recognize him. His eyes are as bright as gold yet as hungry as a wolf’s, unblinking. If he was a word, it would be dangerous, in bold, yellow, large, lit letters.

His hair is as pink as bubblegum. His nails are quite long, pointed, and painted black. He has a teal star on one of his cheeks and a yellow teardrop on the other. With his mere presence, he towers over you in height and strength and everything else possible. He is as odd-looking as a clown, you note to yourself. 

“I had heard the Spider had lost and gained a leg.” You say as the grip on your knife gets much stronger than before. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Correct, my dear.”

“Which one did you replace?”

“Fourth.”

“So Omokage then.”

“I think. Can’t recall right now.”

You scoff at that. “Can’t recall, huh?” The stranger’s grin stays on like a sticker of a smile that was placed on his face where his actual one would be.

“It doesn’t matter who died, I defeated them and that is all that matters. There is no use in remembering the name of a rotting corpse.” 

“I would thank you, but you have the same mission as he probably did.”

“Whether you like me or not does not matter either, I am here either way.” One, two steps closer. “I am here either way and there is nothing you can do about it, my dear.”

“I never liked Omokage, anyway. He always treated Luna so poorly.”

“Who?”

“The captive that was forced to be his doll of some sort. Though I assume she is dead by now, right?”

The man shrugs his shoulders and laughs. “Probably.”

“Was wherever you all buried her marked if somebody even buried her at all?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I do remember something about a body being put in a dug-out hole by Machi.”

At least she was given that, you guess. “How did she look?”

“There was hardly a body to bury if I remember correctly. It looked like someone took a skeleton and put leather over it.” Another amused chuckle.

“So she starved to death then. Slow and painful and probably chained up. He always restrained and gagged her before he left, after all.”

The man yawns, disinterested. He is not even paying attention, is he? 

“If you ever find out where her grave is, please put a jasmine flower on it for me. Jasmines were her favorite.”

“If I remember. Why are you asking so much about her anyway?”

*~*~*~*

Luna is kind to you, so kind. Despite being taken by such a monster that treats her so horribly, she still manages to smile whenever she talks to you, albeit how rare those times were. You remember one time she wore a turtleneck, the only one she was allowed to wear according to Chrollo, to cover the bruises on her neck, arms, and collarbone. Another time she wore a surgical mask, though because of how bright the teal color was it did the opposite of what Luna wanted it to do; not attract more attention to her face. Omokage only let her wear it because he thought it would “humble her”, whatever that fucking meant. Luna never hit him or at the very least tried not to, even when he broke two of her fingers in front of you. It was a punishment for asking for five more minutes to chat with you. 

“It will all be okay.” It is a repeated saying of hers.

“I know it will.” She would always answer that when you asked how she knew that things would get better. She repeats the saying and her answer both to you and to herself when the times get tougher than they usually are for her. She looked out for you and tried to make your situation better by telling Chrollo how good you were to her. Omokage only ignored and glared at you when you tried to do the same for her. You hate Omokage. You do, with all your being. You hated him more than you did all the other Troupe members.

You hated Omokage more than Chrollo even, which is quite the accomplishment if you say so yourself.

Chrollo thinks it is funny. At least you think he does. Maybe that is why you see Luna more than you do the other “Webs”, as you captives are named.

“It’s okay if he hurts me, I won’t hit him back. Violence is not the answer, it only creates more.” She grinned as she said that, one of her front teeth missing. “He’ll die one day and then I will be free.” It is clear to you that if she continues to think that way, she will break. “You’ll be there to tell Number Zero to free me, right? Then I can go home.” 

She is always such an optimist. It’s a trait you wish you had. You almost wish you could trade places with her because at least Chrollo does not treat you as his punching bag, though you suppose being his plaything isn’t much better. 

“I’ll do the same for you if Number Zero dies. At least then one of us would be free, either way, the ball rolls.” Her light is fading, you can tell by how she looks at you, how her blue eyes don’t shine as much as they used to. “I’ll do anything to make sure he listens.” She is going to break soon. You want so badly to stop it. You want to save her. But you can’t. “I mean it. I’ll do anything if it means you’ll be free.” 

You know she means it, and it brings you so much more pain than if she didn’t. She unintentionally twists her knife further into your heart

“It will all be okay. I want you all to be happy. You all deserve it.” You want to tell her that she does, more than you do. She deserves a good life, a normal life. “We are friends, aren’t we?” You can’t bear to tell her the truth of what will happen if either Omokage or Chrollo dies. “Friends look out for each other.” 

She placed a kiss on your forehead then, before Omokage could stop her. She was dragged back by him pulling on her long sable hair as she cried out in pain. He called her a whore and pulled her out of the room. Neither she nor Omokage came back to the room that day. 

*~*~*~*

“She was so sweet. She didn’t deserve to die like that at all.”

“I am Hisoka, by the way.” He bows, the smirk still being plastered on his face without faltering.

You take a few steps back as he approaches further, trying to remain some distance apart from him. “Stay back.” Hisoka hums and merely comes closer.

“If the description I was given and what you know checks out, you must be [First]. At least, I hope that’s who you are, for your sake.” He smiles and he moves forward. “You have certainly been going on a few little adventures, haven’t you?” 

“...Yes.” He stares down at you. You know that to him; you are a mere rubber toy to twist until your head pops off. 

His gaze shifts to your house, behind you. “You certainly are resourceful; I’ll give you that. The life you have built for yourself was made from nothing. Quite admirable.”

“Do you mean that?” You ask, your voice both cold and inquiring as to why one of the members of the Phantom Troupe is here, in front of you and your house. But you already knew the answer.

“I do.” His voice seems somewhat truthful, but you can tell he wants more.

“Why are you here, Number Four?”

“Now, now. No need to be so aggressive.” He puts his hands up in a mockery of surrendering as he goes back to looking down on you. With the dying trees and debris behind him, he sticks out like a sore thumb. “I have a favor to ask of you. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The way he looks at you, a look of one that is about to skin a poor, defenseless doe.

“What kind?”

“Simple. Tell me all you know about the boss.”

“What would I get in exchange for telling you such information?”

“I will not tell the other Troupe members of your location.”

“Is that a threat, Number Four?”

“Oh, no, it is not a threat. It is a potential promise if you don’t listen. While you are at it, you can also tell me about yourself. I believe we haven’t had an actual conversation before if the boss told me the truth that you have been on the run from him for more than two years.”

“Don’t be greedy, Number Four.”

“Oh, no.” Hisoka grins with a proud smile. “I believe you are the one being greedy, my dear.”

“...you’re not the first person to tell me that.”

“You ran away from a life of luxury and comfort. Surely you feel at least somewhat foolish for doing such a thing?”

“Perhaps.”

“The boss is quite displeased with you, though I assume you know that by now. He has been searching high and low all over for you.”

“I’m quite aware, Number Four. We both know I don’t intend to go back.”

He nods and hums. “I know. That is why if you still want to play house with your precious boy toy, you’ll do what I say.” 

You scoff and look to the side. “He is not… just a plaything. He is different.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He looks off to the woods. “Plus, I believe there is a rat in your midst. I am sure you have noticed. If you tell me what you know, I’ll trap him for you.”

“You mean you’re not…” Your posture slightly relaxes, but soon firms up once again when you realize that you have two people following you now; Hisoka and your mysterious stalker.

“No. I’m not. So, will you accept my offer, darling?”

“Why does such information matter to you?”

Hisoka shakes his head, still smiling. “That doesn’t concern you, my dear. Now, tell me what you know if you don’t want the rest of the Troupe being here in a matter of mere hours.”

You’re happy here.

You’re happy here, being independent once again. You’re happy here, having stability and not fearing a sudden, gruesome death where you die alone with no one but your captor. You’re happy here, being able to find some humanity within yourself.

You’re happy here with Sebaste.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, who is in the house, blissfully unaware of the laurel crown placed on your head, its thorns digging deep into your skull and dying the tips of it crimson red. He doesn’t know of the invisible scars that mark your body, a gift from the very pits of hell’s flames.

He will remain in that place, never knowing of anything you have buried underground.

He will stay, no matter the cost you will have to pay.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, and you’re not going to let anyone take it away from you.

“Do we have a deal?”

The moment your lips part, the words that escape your mouth are the ones Hisoka longs to hear.

[astrronomemes]

FOR MY ABSENT LOVER : STARTERS

a collection of quotes, phrases, and sayings, from various novels / songs / poems / prose, for muses in a long-distance relationship.

“I am afraid I will love you forever, and we will never be in the same room again.”

“You’re worth every mile between us.”

“If I forget her face, then I know there will be nothing left of me.”

“We were always going to say goodbye, weren’t we?”

“In a parallel universe, or another world, or a different life, we sit across from each other at the kitchen table and go over the grocery list.”

“I am jealous of your tattoos, and how long they will stay with you after I go.”

“I went to sleep last night so I could see you.”

“Your absence has gone through me like a thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.”

“I miss the sound of your voice.”

“I get so lonely for you that I feel sick.”

“I must admit, I miss you terribly. The world is too quiet without you nearby.”

“I feel like shit when you’re not here.”

“Hell is loving you in my sleep, and waking up alone.”

“Some nights, I lay in bed, and imagine what I’d be doing if you were here with me.”

“I will be seeing you soon, and it will be better than anything else.”

“Just in case you ever foolishly forget: I am never not thinking of you.”

“What time is it where you are?”

“I miss you more than anything.”

“I’m back at home, and you feel so far.”

“Trying to figure out the time zone is making me crazy.”

“It’s driving me mad. I miss you so bad.”

“I keep your picture in my car.”

“I want to share your horizon, and see the same sun rising.”

“Turn the hour-hand back to when you were holding me.”

“All I want is to be where you are.”

“I exist in two places: here, and where you are.”

“I think of you at two in the morning when I can’t sleep, and I wish you were there to hold me.”

“I’ll make up for all the years I was supposed to be kissing you.”

“There still might be a place for us somewhere.”

“Come back. Even as a shadow. Even as a dream.”

“Next time I see you, we are going to kiss for a very long time.”

“I need you so much closer.”

“At least we’re under the same sky.”

“I’m on my way home to you.”

“Baby, take your medicine, and promise me you’re eating.”

[my-wild-imagination1996]

Life is Crazy part I

A/N: This is not proofread and I am not perfect. There will be spelling and grammatical errors. I have not written smut in over 6 years, I’m sorry if it’s terrible. 

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION BASED ON THE AMAZING HUGH JACKMAN AND MY CRAZY IMAGINATION

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, alcohol, oral sex (f & m receiving), song referenced in the story is Bed Chem by Sabrina Carpenter, swearing, cum in mouth, mentions of anxiety

PART ONE: YOUR BIG BREAK

Being an independent artist had its perks. Most people still didn’t know who you were so you could usually keep a low profile. You were well known enough to make millions but not known enough for paparazzi to give a fuck about. You were thankful given your anxiety, but you always wished you could reach more people with your music, and occasionally you’d wish that you could be more of a star than you were but you figured if it was meant to happen, then it would. You were sitting in your mini studio that you had set up in the spare room of your Los Angeles suburb home. You were waiting for inspiration to hit you while you played random notes on the keyboard. Your watch started to vibrate to notify you of a call coming through from your manager. You stopped messing with the keyboard to grab your phone and answer the call.

“Hello?” You answered.

“Hey y/n, you’re never gonna fucking believe this but I just had a casting agent reach out to me saying that they want you to audition for a movie.” Your agent stated not continuing to give you more detail.

“What movie is it even for?” You asked, thinking it was weird since you have tons of tattoos and usually movies don’t want that.

“Well, you see, that’s the fucking weird part. Um, it’s for a marvel movie. They only want you to audition so it’s not like a guaranteed thing that you’d get the role.” They told you. 

“Any more information than that?” You asked, trying to understand why you’d be asked to audition for something like this.

“Kevin Fiege wasn’t so open to speaking on the role just that it was for a female anti-hero type deal. Said that their casting director thinks you fit the look of the character perfectly.” 

“Okay. Text me the details and let them know I’m game.” I said thinking that there was no harm in auditioning.

A week had passed since the audition and neither you or your management had heard anything regarding being cast so you honestly didn’t think you got the part which was no surprise to you because of your tattoos. You were having a severe case of writer's block when it came to your music. You were playing Last of Us when your watch started vibrating with an unknown saved number. You hesitantly answered.

“Hello?” 

“Hi, is this y/n?” The man on the line asked.

“This is her?” You responded.

“Great! This is Nathan, I am the assistant to Sarah Finn. She was the casting director of the marvel film that you just auditioned for?” He explained making your eyes go wide with shock.

“Oh great! How can I help you?” You asked, mentally kicking yourself for your word choice.

“Well, we actually wanted to see if you’d be willing to come in again for another audition. We’d actually like to give you more detail about the character and see if you match what we’re exactly looking for regarding this character. If we like it, we’ll be having you do a chemistry test with the character's love interest. How does that sound?” He asked with a friendly tone.

“Absolutely. I’d love to come in again. I just need to know when and where.” You responded excitedly. Nathan proceeded to tell you the audition was in two days here in Los Angeles. They needed you there by 10 AM.

You woke up to the sound of your alarm blasting at seven in the morning letting you know to get ready for the audition. You opt to wear a t-shirt and jean shorts with sandals to the second audition. You straightened your hair and applied light make-up since it’s your normal go to look. You weren’t even sure who the love interest was. You loved the MCU and were honored they thought of you, but you were worried about getting your hopes up and what this meant for your music career. You entered the building and were immediately greeted by the receptionist who told you to take a seat and they’d take you back when they were ready. 

“Hi! I’m Nathan. We spoke on a bit about the role on the phone and what todays gonna accomplish.” The man introduced himself as soon as you sat down, making you stand up again to greet and shake his hand.

“Alright so follow me, we’re gonna be going into this room down the hall. No pressure but we do have Kevin there to see if he likes you or not for the role. Now the role is the character Amethyst Santiago AKA Amethyst. Her powers are much like Agatha or even Scarlet Witch. She’s the most powerful one in the Marvel Universe. She has an intense relationship with the like of one Mr. Wolverine.” Nathan said, making you nervous cause if Hugh Jackman was here you were going to lose your shit since you loved the wolverine movies but also he’s hot as fuck so how could you not be excited.

“Now, if you’ll remember, on the phone, I did mention that if we like what we see, we will be doing a chemistry test between you and Hugh.” You instantly fangirled internally but you felt your hands become slightly clammy because of your nerves. 

“Yes, I remember. Let’s do this.” You said as you entered the room where there was a table filled with people, some you recognized from the last audition and some you didn’t. They handed you a script and advised you how to read the role. You did exactly as they asked and stopped when they said ‘end scene’. Then Kevin spoke. 

“I’m gonna be honest with you, y/n. I like your look for the character and I love how you’re portraying the character. I think it’s time we brought Hugh our to see if you guys can make this vision become reality, but Hugh’s a pro so I gotta say that I think you’ve got this.” He stated.

That’s when you heard the door open and then you saw him walk in and greet everyone kindly, before finally greeting you extending his hand.

“I’m Hugh, your scene partner.” He said flashing you a smile that made you get butterflies instantly. 

“Hi Hugh. My y/n is name.” You responded confidently until you realized what you said. “I mean my name is y/n.” Making Hugh laugh. The executives gave you both a minute to review before getting into the scene. It was quite dramatic and ended with him inches away from your lips before they called the scene.

“Great. Thank you, Hugh. Y/n, we’ve got some things to discuss but you’ll have a response from us either way by end of day. 

“Thank you so much for the opportunity.” You said before heading out of the room and to the bathroom.

As you were walking out of the building towards your car, you were staring down at your phone while walking when you felt someone tap your shoulder. You looked over your shoulder and saw no one other than Hugh.

“Sorry to bother you, but you’re going to get the role so I thought that maybe I should give you my number so that we could get to know each other for the roles.” He said.

“I don’t see why not.” You said opening up the dial pad on your phone to call him so you’d both have each other’s number. You figured he was only doing it for the role considering you were barely in your late twenties and he was in his mid fifties. You made the assumption he probably didn’t see you like that even if you saw him that way.

“I’ll see you around y/n.” He said before walking back into the building.

A few weeks had passed since your encounter with Hugh. You had actually come to meet lots of the stars of your youth. You ended up meeting Ryan Reynolds who you learned was going to be starring as Deadpool in the film. You ended up in a text chain with Ryan and Hugh which you were fine with but they usually just told stupid jokes. Filming was supposed to start in about a month. As a sort of celebration of sorts, Ryan invited you to his house for a barbeque/pool party that he was hosting with Hugh and other various castmates. You brought a beach bag that had your swimsuit but you were currently wearing a floral sundress with sandals. You pulled up to his house in awe of the mansion. As soon as you walked up the driveway, you heard the door open to be immediately greeted by a smiling Blake.

“Welcome to our home. If you end up drinking or anything, we have spare rooms you can sleep in.” She said in a friendly tone. 

“Um, thanks. I have a quick question. I have a THC cart and I would like to smoke it outside if that’s okay.” You asked.

“That’s totally fine. No smoking in the house but the backyard is totally fine. Hugh smokes one too so it’s all good.” She said shutting and locking the door behind you. 

You followed Blake to the back where the music and people were. You observed your surroundings. Nervous because you didn’t really know anyone but Hugh and Ryan. 

“Y/n!” Ryan shouted. “Come get a drink and some food!” 

You smiled shyly and found your way over to him, wondering where Hugh was. Maybe your crush on Hugh was slightly inappropriate given the age difference but you were well over eighteen. 

“Where’s Hugh?” You asked while you grabbed a paper plate and built your plate.

“I think he went to get more liquor from the basement.” Ryan responded while you went to sit at one of the tables they had in their backyard. 

You kept scanning the entrance to the backyard, waiting for Hugh to appear. Honestly, you’d socialized more with Hugh in person during this whole process than anyone else. You felt comfortable around Hugh. You finally saw him walking from the house carrying bottles of liquor. You weren’t much of a drinker and it worried you how much alcohol was around cause you were a lightweight.

Hugh noticed you sitting at the chair eating your food at a table alone so he decided to join you while everyone was doing their own things.

  “Hey there. Hopefully I'm not interrupting your peace.” He said, food and his drink in his hand.

“Hey. Thank you for coming over here. I feel kind of out of place honestly. Ryan is great but I just, I don't know, feel overwhelmed, I guess. I don’t have many close friends and I haven't been to a party this large since I was like twenty so it's definitely nerve wracking.” You over-explained.

“Listen to me. I've been in this industry for ages. I can show you the ropes. Help you navigate this a bit.” He said, trying to reassure you. 

You took a sip of the smirnoff ice that you grabbed. Surveying your surroundings, listening to Hugh ramble about whatever crossed his mind. You took the time to really look at him. The way light reaches his eyes while he smiles. The kindness evident in his eyes. You couldn’t help but be in awe of his beauty, but you didn’t want to come off creepy so you kept your staring to a minimum.

After a few drinks and a few hours, the sun was starting to set and they turned on their backyard lights and then Ryan said it’s time to really party. You looked at Hugh to figure out what he meant, but Hugh just gave you a smile. You shrugged it off, finishing off your drink feeling a bit tipsy, making you more sociable.

“Y/n!” You hear Ryan drunkenly yell.

“I’m over here.” You said standing up causing at least 20 or 30 people who may or may not be drunk looking at you. It made you nervous cause these were mostly famous faces and you were use to being in front of fans. 

“Heard you’re quite the singer.” Ryan slurred.

“Oh no, I am not.” You responded not wanting to really sing in front of everyone.

“I’m a fan of your music so you’ve got to sing something for us.” Blake said really throwing you under the bus. 

Contrary to popular belief being a singer of sorts, you had stage fright and most nights on stage you were either drunk or stoned. You walk over to where Ryan and Blake were stationed because that’s where the liquor was. You poured two shots of tequila. Downing them both. 

“What am I supposed to sing?” You said feeling the liquid courage kicking in.

“Ooooh, you should do something new.” Blake said with a drunken slur. 

You pulled out your phone cause you usually kept samples of beats you were using for projects on there. You hooked your phone up to the bluetooth speaker. You played one you had titled ‘Bed Chem’. You had written only a few days ago when you were fantasizing about Hugh. It wasn’t finished but you’d figure singing what you had wouldn’t hurt. The familiar butterflies of performing in your stomach. You took a deep breath and started singing.

“And what are the odds? You send me a text

And now the next thing I know, I'm like

Manifest that you're oversized

I digress, got me scrollin' like

Out of breath, got me going like, ooh

Who's the cute guy with the white jacket and the accent? Like (Ooh)

Maybe it's all in my head

But I bet we'd have really good bed chem

How you pick me up, pull 'em down, turn me 'round, oh, it just makes sense

How you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things, that's bed chem

How you're looking at me, yeah, I know what that means, and I'm obsessed

Are you free next week? I'd bet we'd have really good

Come right on me, I mean camaraderie

Said you're not in my time zone, but you wanna be

Where art thou? Why not uponeth me?

See it in my mind, let's fulfill the prophecy (Ooh)”

“And that’s all I got so far for this one.” You said, officially a little drunk. Everyone erupts out into applause, making you flash a smile.

“Who did you write it about?” Blake asked you, making your eyes go wide.

“Um, no one. Just a guy I met a few weeks ago.” You responded.

You glanced at Hugh, who was watching you intensely. You walked over to him and took a seat beside him. 

“So what did you think?” You asked nervously while fidgeting with your hands on the table.

“I think whoever you wrote that about is about to be a very lucky man.” He said while moving his hands to caress yours, staring right at you. Letting you know that, somehow, he knew it was about him. You felt your whole body light up the second his skin touched yours. 

You felt heat flush your cheeks and you felt yourself starting to respond to his touch and you had no idea how this man is affecting you so greatly. You moved closer to him placing your hand on his thigh while whispering that you think that you both should head out.

“I just have to say bye to some people and then we can go.” He whispered back.

As he walked away from the table, you became anxious. A million things running through your head but you put your brain together enough to go say goodnight to Ryan and Blake, thanking them for their hospitality. After saying your goodbyes, you made your way to your car when you felt a hand sneak around your waist.

“We most definitely are not driving anywhere.” Hugh said sternly. “You are in no condition to drive and neither am I. I live in this neighborhood. We’re a five minute walk.” He said pulling you in the direction of his home. 

The walk was mostly silent. As you pulled up to his large home, he pulled out his keys and unlocked the door letting you in first.

As you both entered the living room, the dim lighting and the soft glow of the lamp created an intimate atmosphere. You kicked off your sandals, your eyes locking with Hugh's, both knowing exactly where this night was headed. You had been getting together weekly for the last couple months and your chemistry was undeniable. 

Hugh pushed you onto the couch, his strong hands grasping your hips. You landed softly on the cushions, your hair spilling around your shoulders, and a mischievous smile playing on your lips. He loomed over you, his muscular frame casting a shadow on your body, and you felt a tingle of anticipation run down your spine.

"You look so damn sexy right now," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. His hands travel up your thighs, pushing your dress higher, revealing your skin. Your breath quickened as you felt his calloused fingers brush against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You were soaked already, your pussy throbbing in anticipation of what was to come.

"I don’t think I can wait much longer." he growled, his eyes darkened with lust. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. Your tongues danced, tasting the remnants of the liquor consumed earlier in the evening, but the flavors only added to the raw passion of the moment. Hugh's kiss was demanding, possessive, and it sent shivers through your body.

Breaking the kiss, Hugh trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking and biting gently, leaving a trail of wet marks on your delicate skin. You arched your back, offering yourself to him, your hands threading through his dark brown hair, pulling him closer. You wanted to feel his mouth everywhere, to experience the pleasure he could give you.

He worshiped your body with his lips and tongue, kissing and sucking on all of your sensitive spots. His hands cupped your breasts, kneading them gently through the fabric of your dress. You moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders, urging him on. 

"Please, Hugh," you whispered, your voice hoarse with need. "I want more."

Hugh chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin. 

"More, huh? I think we can make that happen." He sat up, his eyes gleaming with mischief. With swift movements, he quite literally ripped your dress open, the fabric ripping easily, exposing your lace bra and the swell of your breasts. You gasped and moaned, a mix of surprise and pleasure rushing through you.

"You like that, don't you, baby girl?" he purred, his fingers teasing the lace covering your nipples. "You love seeing me take control over you, don’t you?" You nodded, your eyes half-closed, your body on fire. You loved the way Hugh was taking charge.

Hugh unhooked your bra, revealing your full, heavy breasts. He bent down, taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking and teasing it with his tongue. You cried out, your back arching off the couch as pleasure spiked through you. His hands roamed your body, squeezing and caressing your curves, driving you wild.

"You're so beautiful, y/n," he murmured between kisses. "So responsive. I love watching you fall apart for me." His words only fueled your desire further, causing you to buck your hips, seeking more contact.

Hugh's hands found the waistband of your panties and slowly slid them down your thighs, his touch deliberate and teasing. You lifted your hips, helping him remove the last barrier between the both of you. You were completely exposed now, your pussy dripping with your arousal. Hugh's eyes darkened even more as he took in the sight of your wetness dripping onto his couch. If you weren’t so turned on you would’ve been slightly embarrassed of what you were doing to his couch.

He positioned himself between your thighs, his hard cock straining against his jeans. You reached for the belt on his jeans, wanting to touch and stroke him, but he caught your hands, pinning them above your head. "Not yet, sweet girl. I want to drive you crazy first."

With that, he lowered his head down your body, trailing kisses along the way until his head was aligned with your core, he pressed kisses along your thighs. He blew gently against your clit, making you shiver. Teasingly close to your pussy but never quite touching it. You squirmed, your body taut with anticipation. 

"Please, Hugh, I need you," you begged.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally granted your wish. His tongue flicked out, tasting your sweetness, and then he dove in, lapping at your juices, his tongue swirling around your clit. You cried out, your hips bucking against his face. He held your thighs firmly, keeping you in place as he devoured your pussy, his tongue fucking you relentlessly.

"You gonna cum for me, y/n?," he growled against your pussy, his words felt vibrations against you. As though it snuck up on you, your orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing over you as you cried out his name. Your body trembled and shook,your juices flowing freely as Hugh continued to lick and suck through your climax. You had never had anyone work you so expertly on the first try.

As your tremors subsided, Hugh lifted his head, his hazel eyes glittering with satisfaction. 

"You're so fucking beautiful when you cum," he said, his voice rough. You let out a light laugh while out of breath.

But Hugh wasn't done with you yet. He stood up, quickly shedding his clothes, revealing his hard, thick cock. Your eyes widened at the sight of him, your pussy clenching with renewed desire. He was older, but his body was a work of art—muscular and sculpted.

"Now it's my turn to taste you," you said as he sat on the couch and you got yourself off the couch moving to your knees so that you were facing his cock. You took it in your hands feeling the weight and girth. You leaned forward, your eyes locking with his hazel ones as you took the head of his cock into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the tip, tasting the salty pre-cum, and then you take him deeper, inch by inch, until you feel him at the back of your making you slightly gag until he pulls you back by your hair all while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

You sucked and bobbed your head, your lips sliding up and down his shaft, your hands pumping the base in sync with your mouth. Hugh's breath grew ragged, his hips thrusting slightly. You looked up at him, loving the sight of his pleasure, you increased your pace, wanting to give him the same mind blowing pleasure he had given you.

“Holy fuck, y/n, if you keep going like that I’m gonna cum in that pretty mouth of yours." he groaned, his hands tightening in your hair. His words only spur you on and encourage you to suck harder, your mouth slick around him, Hugh's hips bucked as he exploded in the back of your throat with a loud groan. You swallowed, your eyes had never left his but you had tears running down your flush cheeks from taking him so deep. Your eyes never left him as you sucked him dry.

As you had both caught your breath, Hugh pulled you up, kissing you deeply. "That was fucking incredible," he whispered against your lips. You smiled, feeling a sense of pride and satisfaction. This night had not gone as you expected it to and you were nervous about what this meant. Now coming to the realization of what trouble this could bring as he was basically your coworker now.

[asteroidzzzn]

stargirl | part 4

pairing: leadsinger!ellie x bassist!reader

warnings: cursing, smoking, drinking, eventual sexual themes, ellies still closed off, reader is ridiculously delulu for a while, kinda angst im so sorry

songs in this chapter: do i wanna know - arctic monkeys

word count: 2.1k

a/n: i put my whole asterussy into this. also changed the pairing thing bc reader made a bit of a career change

summary: now that you're officially a the fireflies bassist, you're going on tour, where trouble will be looking for you.

it all arrived sooner than you thought it would. sooner than you were prepared for. you were told you were given twenty five to thirty minutes to get up on stage, sing some songs, and leave. you had good songs prepared, and you would practice all night in the hotel room before you performed.

seemed simple enough, right?

it was only a stadium nearly sold out by ten thousand people, maybe even more. and worst of all, you would have to sing. you had wished there was a contract you signed after joining the band, saying there was no way in hell you would sing in front of an audience, let alone a song you wrote.

but your mouth failed you when ellie asked you to be the one to sing the duet with her. yes was the only answer you could manage. for some reason, you felt a bit more at ease when you noticed the flash of a smile on her face your words caused.

you were getting used to ellie. you knew nothing about her past, but to be fair, she knew nothing about yours. it was surface level for the most part, except for...

you couldn't stop thinking about the journal. her songs. the trust she must have had in you. the lyrics. it made your head spin when you lingered on the memory. her masked grins, the blush hidden under her freckled cheeks, the way she sounded when she laughed gently, and how you had thought about bottling it up and selfishly keeping it just to yourself.

the way you had learned so much in that one night, yet so little. there were embarrassing instances where you would upset ellie by doing something so ordinary, such as complimenting her tattoo, and asking who did it. dina would pull you aside, muttering that "it's not about you, she's just having a bad day."

she never brought up the night when you shared your songs with each other. by the next morning, it was back to the tolerating sort of distance that was safe enough and never changing.

she treated you like a coworker.

༊*·˚

you were in the car, headphones in your ears playing a calming melody while you were half asleep. jesse rested with one hand on the wheel as dina curled up in the passenger seat, trying to get some sleep as well. ellie tapped a rhythm on her thighs and whistled a soft tune.

you yawned quietly and shifted around, pulling your blanket higher up to your neck. you made sure to keep distance between you and ellie. back in june, you found out the hard way that ellie didn't quite appreciate physical touch as much as the average person.

she mumbled something you didn't understand with your headphones in. apparently, the blanket had shifted off her lap when you tugged it towards yourself on the other side of the car.

her hand ghosted over your neck, leading up to your ear, sending harsh chills down your spine. your gaze shot to hers when she pulled one of the buds out of your year, and leaned closer to your face to whisper.

"don't steal the blanket, it's freezing."

you scoffed and paused your music. "is that really what you woke me up to say?"

"well, yeah. do you want me to die of hypothermia?"

"you'll live. and i'm not stealing it, because it's mine," you said, turning your head away to face the car door.

"oh, that's my bad. i thought it was your little sisters or something. cause, y'know," she said under her breath, but you caught it.

"i'll have you know, people of any age can own a disney blanket."

"whatever you say, princess."

your eyes widened against the blanket. you attempted to level your voice.

"saying shit like that will have you dying of hypothermia," you teased back over your shoulder.

"wait, no, actually. i'm really cold," she huffed out air in amusement, and promptly shivered.

you let out a heavy sigh. "okay, fine," you adjusted to sit in the middle seat, avoiding looking at her entirely as your thighs pressed together, but she didn't seem phased.

your head fell back against the headrest. you watched the stars fly by through the sunroof until sleep found you once more.

about an hour later, the car hit a bump. immediately after, jesse hissed, throwing a hushed, "sorry, guys!" towards the backseat.

your heads flew forward. you winced at the harsh awakening and glanced to your right. ellie had twisted to have her torso leaning on yours, as her head rested on your shoulder.

your breath hitched. she woke up quickly and pressed her hands on the seat to sit up, distancing herself from you.

you opened your mouth. an apology, maybe? your mouth closed. your gaze remained on ellie's. her expression was unreadable, but you could tell she was exhausted.

her voice was smaller than you had ever heard it when she finally spoke up.

"...just...for..."

you barely registered her breaths as words. her touch was light. she settled back into the position with her head on your shoulder.

you didn't dare say a word.

༊*·˚

you checked into the hotel at four in the morning, the next day. you were barely conscious of what you were doing, where you were going. dina handled the logistics, as she was the only one who had gotten enough sleep to be functioning at the early hour.

you trudged into the room. it was beautiful and spacious. two large beds were lined up on the left wall, a sliding glass door that led to a balcony with chairs and plants, a coffee table, a television, two closets, and a bathroom, with a shower and a bathtub.

while hauling your belongings onto the first bed you saw, dina explained that she and jesse would leave the door between the neighboring rooms unlocked in case you or ellie needed anything.

if it weren't four in the morning, you would have come up with a quick excuse to switch rooms. to not be stuck with ellie for a week straight, sleeping just a few feet apart.

unfortunatly for you, you nodded and let her slip away. the door clicked shut.

sheets rustling behind you and crickets chirping were the only two noises to be heard. you saw ellie had slung her suitcase on the bed and begun unpacking her clothing to fold them into her bedside drawer.

if it weren't four in the morning, you would have made a quip at her, something along the lines of, "you don't look like someone that folds their clothes so neatly."

there were a lot of things you would have done differently if it weren't four in the morning.

you stole a glance at her, that lasted a moment too long. she caught your eyes, and stared back. you said nothing. a silent agreement, that the events of this night, as well, would be left to be forgotten. never mentioned again. a secret. your secret.

it was a sudden, uncharacteristically timid habit you and ellie found yourselves doing.

glimpses hidden. the pointless acts of kindness, because one of you happened to remember a small detail. just by chance. nervous hands stilled by another pair. and there was nothing more. it meant nothing, you would tell yourself. there were just two hands searching for warmth, finding each other under tables, out of view.

there weren't jokes between the two of you. teases that could be interpreted in a way that meant things were real.

maybe this was just an act of convenience. maybe she did this with anderson, too. maybe you weren't all that special, or all that different.

but you couldn't deny the way she made you feel. so special, and so noticed.

on friday night, the four of you were huddled on the floor.

"you good, man?" jesse nudged you with his bottle, and took a swig. he passed it back to you.

you nodded with your eyes screwed shut due to the taste of the alcohol. you swallowed.

"i'm nervous. i haven't sung in so long, and i've never been in front of an audience this big. i'm terrified, actually," you said, your head beginning to buzz. your hand raised for you to take a large sip, but ellie caught your arm.

"hey, easy up on that. can't be hungover on stage."

"don't act like you care that much," you said, a pent-up hint of rage in your voice. you were angry at her. you were angry at her for being able to be so kind sometimes, yet so distant and strange, and everything else without a single explanation. but you needed to stop. before the alcohol urged you to say things that were meant to be unsaid. ellie's tongue poked her cheek as her eyebrows furrowed.

she ignored your comment. "we should practice the bridge of do i wanna know."

"i just need to get some sleep," you mumbled, pushing against the floor to stand up, but she dragged you right back down by your shirt. her tone became stern.

"we're practising. i won't let you get up there and embarrass me tomorrow. you said you were ready for this, so act like it," she emphasized her words with points directly at your chest.

"fine," you spat, digging into the pile of sheets scattered around for the song. ellie plugged in her guitar, and flipped a few switches.

"what are you doing?"

"i said we're practicing, so i'm making sure the guitar actually makes noise. for the song. songs kind of need music, if you didn't know. fuck else would i be doing, smartass? you always this insufferable when you're drunk?"

"i'm not drunk." you had to bite back a meaner response. in your peripheral, dina and jesse shared confused looks.

dina patted jesse's leg. "hey, we're pretty tired, and i think we've done enough preparing for tonight. see you guys in the morning," she gestured for jesse to stand up as well, who said a quick goodbye.

and shut the door.

"ready?" ellie glanced at you through her eyebrows.

you nodded, and she tapped her guitar, muttering five, six, seven, eight.

she was nearly whispering the lyrics. you inaudibly cleared your throat, and began to sing. you echoed along in a breathy, light tone when the song called for it, although most of the song flowed as a conversation between you and ellie.

it ended as quickly as it started, with one final strum, followed by silence. ellie set the guitar on the floor, and set her hands in the now empty space in her lap. her mouth opened hesitantly.

"that wasn't bad—"

"i'm heading to bed—"

the two of you spoke simultaneously. you stood up in a rush. you stared at her for a moment, then turned into the bathroom. you cleaned up and changed into your pyjamas.

you stared at the ceiling. your eyes found ellie, who was settling into bed herself. her body was turned away from you.

"...i'm sorry," you whispered.

ellie's head turned over her shoulder.

"why?"

"for being a bitch."

she snickered at that, and shifted so you both lay on your sides, facing each other from opposite sides of the room. she remained quiet, which urged you to go on.

"i'm terrified, ellie. i shouldn't have taken my fear out on you. you're right. i did say i was ready for this. but it's still...difficult. i don't want to disappoint you guys," you whispered as low as possible, with a sliver of a tremble in your voice.

her gaze softened. a minute passed. your ears rang from the silence. since you didn't have anything more to tell her, and she seemed to have no response, you flipped to face the dark wall, and shut your eyes. a tear slipped through your eyelashes. you made no attempt to rub it from your cheek. or the rest of the tears that began dropping, for that matter.

"goodnight," you said.

the opposite bed creaked. the wood under your own creaked. you felt her body beside you. she wouldn't touch you, she only laid there. maybe she waited for you to say it was okay. you moved to rest on your back, with your face near hers.

your eyes fell on each feature on her face. studying her. searching for something.

"goodnight," she whispered, inching dangerously closer to you.

you held your breath. you felt her own on your nose.

"tell me to leave, and i will."

"no," you shook your head weakly.

you grabbed her hand and flipped to face away from her. you placed her arm around your waist, and settled into her hold. her face nestled into your neck.

you took a deep breath, and fell asleep.

in the morning, you woke up not beside ellie, but an imprint on the mattress.

a/n: bleeeeh :p xD ☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆ i promise this does have a happy ending it will get there eventually i just needed some angst 🙏

taglist: @ximtiredx @gold-dustwomxn @elliesinterlude

also ill just tag some people that have commented on any of the earlier parts, so comment if u guys wanna be on the permanent taglist! :3

tags: @cassharass @lunarpretty @emluvselandabs @inf3ct3dd

[jude-duarte-wannabe]

meet the character; phoebe windsor

story; billion dollar baby pairing; phoebe windsor x lewis hamilton story form; smau and written

pinterest board spotify career playlist

currently playing; secret love song by little mix "i'm living for that day, someday, can I hold you in the street? why can't I kiss you on the dancefloor? i wish that we could be like that, why can't we it be like that? cause i'm yours, i'm yours"

faceclaim; madison beer

“call me back you chicken fried fuck” PHOEBE WINDSOR born a taurus, the oldest child of cameron and josie windsor, she can often be found writing songs, getting a new tattoo, playing guitar, singing, cuddling her dog, sketching and kicking her brothers ass at video games.

<3 lewis hamilton & phoebe windsor; opposites attract, long distance, dog parents, grumpy meets sunshine and artist meets athlete

she is a singer - songwriter that goes by the stage name cigarettes and sage and runs her own bourbon company called the chamomile company

her albums are; one; welcome to underland [finding her musical sound and meeting her ex] two; death to the jabberwockey [break-up album] three; out of the rabbit hole [finding herself and meeting lewis] four; welcome to wonderland [all about lewis, their relationship and their daughter]

next in queue; london boy by taylor swift "but something happened, i heard him laughing, i saw the dimples first and then i heard the accent, they say home is where the heart is but that's not where mine lives, you know i love a london boy"

[mar3ggiata]

professional help, c12. No shoes.

simon riley x original character.

trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, mentions of rape, trauma, sexual themes, swearing, use of alcohol and drugs.

song to listen to when reading this: Ancora, Ancora, Ancora, Mina.

abstract: every time I look back at this chapter I smile a little. just a little. it's cause I'm Jude, Simon would never say he smiled. I think it was a turning point for us, you know? Something switched at some point. try not to get too worked up reading this cause i know for a fact he was thinking some indecent thoughts, aye… enjoy.

He looked at her move around the room, getting in position to dance. She looked like a wolf hunting for a bunny. He was the bunny. He looked at her legs, in pink tights. Her defined muscles were flexing visibly at each movement. On her feet, shiny satin pointe shoes. She had a black leotard on, he could see her ribs when she arched her back to crack it. She had a skirt, black as well and short, didn't do a good job at hiding the top part of her legs. He looked at the gentle curve of her hips. He could see multiple tattoos on her arms. A dagger on her left forearm, what looked like an old car doodle on the other arm. She had a lavender flower tattoo on the skin between her breasts. There was a drawing of a house on fire, it looked like it was on fire. A tarot card. Death.

She was looking at herself in the mirror, she stomped her foot on the ground a few times. Those shoes sounded heavy. She raised herself on pointe, wiggling her feet together. She looked like she was trying to remember the steps. Her arms draw figures in the air, she looked like a sorceress. She kept changing directions, switching positions. He wished he could snap pictures of her every time she fixed her head straight, or moved her leg, or arched her back. She had a concentrated expression, her mouth slightly open. She put her weight on her right leg and raised herself on pointe, turning on one foot. Two turns, he counted. She looked lost in thought again, she had her back to him. Her leotard left her back exposed, the fabric low on her behind. She had a beautiful spine tattoo, which he was terribly impressed from. It was a flower, the stem extender on her spine. It opened with big petals near her shoulder blades and at the base of her neck. From that position, she swung one of her legs up, her muscles flexing. She held up her leg for a few seconds, then proceeded to connect her toe to her knee cap. He could have stayed frozen in that position looking at her for days. He imagined himself waking towards her, caging her waist with his hands, feeling the fabric that covered her legs, feeling her bare back with his fingertips. He imagined himself dancing with her and effortlessly lifting her up, her arms around his neck, her chest against his own.

He wanted to feel the pearly sweat on her forehead, the hair that fell from her bun on her neck, ear her quick laboured breaths. He could have sworn she was floating, her feet never really touching the ground. Her arms drew beautiful circles in the air. He let his eyes wonder and take in all of her, like she was going to vanish like a fever dream. From the tip of her pointy nails, her shoulders, the curve of her ass, her thighs and those pointe shoes. Her eyes were fixated on her reflection, in a deep state of focus. He waited until she looked like she was done, she was breathing heavily from a few jumps she had repeated until she got them perfect like she wanted. He watched her dip one hand in the space between her breasts to fix her leotard which was sticking with sweat, that was when he decided he could not watch her anymore. He timidly took a step forward and knocked on the door frame.

She jumped and turned towards him, startled. When she realised it was him, she covered her mouth with her perfect little hand, fuck Jude what are you doing to me? '*Maronn, m'e fatt fa' o giall…'* she said. He could't understand what she said, but he thought she meant 'you scared the living shit out of me.' 'Sorry?' he replied, still standing by the door. She shook her head. How long has he been watching? She felt incredibly exposed. That stupid skirt didn't cover anything, she felt like she wanted to rip his eyes out for seeing her in that state. She was covered in sweat, she probably stank, her bun was falling apart cause she took out all the pins that were piercing her scalp. 'I'm serious, you can't do that to people, I thought I was going to piss myself.' It made him smile, she was so unserious, yet her expression was still of pure shock. He threw his hands in the air in an apologetic way. He took a step in the room, but she raised an hand.

'No shoes', she instructed. He rolled his eyes but complied. 'What are you doing here?' She was sitting down next to her bag, untying her laces. He stepped close to her in his socks, looking down at where she was sitting. 'I wanted to know how it went with that girl…' he said. She looked up before removing her point shoe. He wanted to know? So he took a car at seven in the evening, and drove all the way to her ballet school, he even remembered where it was located, just to ask about updates on the bullying situation. He still had a mask on. So he always covered his face, why? 'Oh… all good, I solved it.' I heard, he thought. She removed her toe pads, hissing in pain. He crunched down, looking at her foot. Her toe was bleeding, there was redness all over her skin, blue veins popping out. The shape of the shoe was imprinted on her skin from wearing it for a long time. It wasn't an amazing sight, he had to admit. 'What's that?' he asked pointing at the blue second skin patches she had on her foot. She had secured them with scotch tape. 'Second skin… for blisters' she answered. She threw away the dirty patches along with the tape and took a look at her bleeding toe. She fished a bandaid out of her bag and continued with her other foot, which was as terrifying as the first one. He had his scars and she had hers then. Signs of the battlefield. It made him wonder how her face never showed discomfort, while she was dancing.

'Doesn't it hurt? The shoe', he asked. She gave him a little smile. She wasn't wearing as much make up as usual, her lashes looked natural, arched upwards, her skin was glistening with sweat, now that he was closer he could see her freckles better, one on the side of her nose, one on her cheek. She handed him a pointe shoe. 'Feel how hard it is' she said, then proceeded to take the other one and tap it on the ground. 'I stand on this for hours, barefoot'. He squished the shoe between his fingers, feeling the hard tip. Impressive. Was it wood inside? Or cement? 'Why are you really here?' She stood up, and so did he. She was tiny without her precious high boots. Standing barefoot in front of him, barely dressed, he decided she was 5'2''. I could crush you with a finger, he thought. He could wrap his hand around her torso, circling her whole waist. She was frowning, looking up at him like a deer caught in headlights. She wasn't scared, she just stood in between him and the mirror. One step foreword, I would crush and you'd be trapped. 'I told you, I wanted to know how yesterday's situation ended.' It wasn't a total lie. It made him feel awkward, seeing her embarrassed and he wanted to believe her apologies were sincere. He was annoyed yesterday, he had to admit. He knew she couldn't leave Gemma alone out there, it was just inconvenient timing. He didn't want to be in that situation, he made a mistake entering that car to begin with. His feet had dragged him to one of the cars, he drove all the way to the school, he saw it open, lights on. He saw bodies moving on the first floor, he saw young girls in ballet attire. He saw her through the windows. He looked at her walking in between them, her judging eyes. He couldn't pick up on what she was saying but he was sure her words cut like knifes. The way her lips moved, her expression dark. He imagined her loving control, loving the idea of being in charge and telling her students what they had to do. And when they failed. She looked at him, she was studying him. 'You don't look like the type to gossip', she rested both her hands on her hips. 'You don't know the first thing about me… Alba.'

There he said it. I know you now. Her expression quickly shifted, her eyes wide in shock. He could smell her fear. What the fuck, how? She felt compromised. She felt like he was entering her safe space uninvited. She felt violated. I have to pack my things and leave again. 'How…' she spoke, but a voice called for her from the changing rooms. It was another teacher, jazz class. 'Alba I'm done here, I'll see you Friday!' She quickly shouted back that she was on her way out, her eyes still fixated on his, trying to depict why he knew her fake name. He was amused. 'I heard Gemma say it on her way out', he explained. She looked like she was about to panic. Either punch him, run away or stab him in the neck with a hair pin. She still didn't feel at ease, even though the explanation made sense. It's not the real one, he thought he figured it out, he doesn't know it's fake. It's fine, let him believe he found it, it's fake. She tried to change the subject. 'Did you eat yet?'

'What?'

'I wanna go eat.'

'...what?'

A tiny pause. 'Burger?'

Now, did it take long to convince him to go eat with her? No. Was he still debating while driving her to the nearest burger place he could think of? Yes. Of course. He made the same mistake twice, which was being in a confined space with her. So close he could feel her breath, see the hair on her arms. This wasn't his life at all. He could't remember the last time he went out to a restaurant with a girl, he rarely went out with his teammates, let alone someone else. What even was she to him, a coworker? He would normally be at the base, doing some paperwork, studying the next mission. He would normally be caged in his office, or his room with a book and a cigarette. That was his normal. It wasn't normal to think about her, to visit her office, to want to talk to her. The fact is, he really wasn't thinking when he was with her. He wan't pondering his decisions, he wasn't considering implications, he just did what he wanted. He didn't feel like he needed to be ready to fight, and that would most definitely get him killed sooner or later. And he wanted to know her, cause she seemed so full of shit all the time, it had to be an act. He thought she was a time bomb. She created such a halo of mystery around her, he needed to know. She didn't belong there, she was there for a specific reason, why?

They sat down at a table for two, far from the entrance, which he was grateful for. He didn't like going out in public. He had a grey balaclava on, plain grey no print. He kept the hood of his shirt on his head and sat with his shoulders to the restaurant. She had changed, before going out. She went into the changing rooms, quickly refreshed herself in the toilet. Thank God she had deodorant with her. She stripped of her leotard and tights, her outfit wasn't really going to be elegant. She put on sweats and an oversized jumper, she had running shoes on. She tried to fix her hair, ended up letting them fall on her shoulders. She looked at the menu, or better pretended to look at the menu. She was looking at him. It didn't sound right at all, he was lying to her. He was there for a specific reason. She kept thinking at him in the truck, trying to remember which way the dance school was. Did you look it up online? Did you remember from last night, did you think about last night? They stayed silent until they came to take their order. He ordered a burger with bacon and onions, she went with a cheeseburger with hot sauce. When the waitress left they were alone again, looking at each other with serious faces without saying a word. It felt like they were studying each other. They were Trojans and Achaeans. Alba was a female version of Achilles, son of Thetis and Peleus. The hero of grief and sorrow. The hero of rage. The rage that made him famous, the same rage that killed him. Simon was Hector. Son of Priam, king of Troy. The proctor of the city. The first of the soldiers, the greatest. Loved by his people, ready to serve them. Alba had read and translated a good portion of the Iliad at school. Spoiler alert, Achilles kills Hector in a horrifying way and drags his naked body around Troy.

'Why are you looking at me like that?' he was the first to speak. She scoffed. Sorry Simon, I was thinking about tying your leg to my chariot and dragging you around naked. 'Because I think you're full of shit.' She replied. He tilted his head downwards.

'You're the one that's hiding her identity.'

'Says the guy with the face mask.'

'Well, I know your name now.'

'Oh scary, I can start crying if you want.'

They looked at each other for a few more seconds in silence. I could do this all day, that's what he thought. 'If you came here just to tell me to stop with the Al-Jareena stuff I got the message.' He stopped her, 'I know, it's fine', he said. She closed her mouth. You wanna talk Simon, talk. He looked like he was finding the right words, he looked like he was struggling. She understood. He wanted to let her know he wasn't mad for forcing him into her car. He looked for her, drove 30 minutes to see her and tell her. 'Okay…' she said, her voice soft 'Thanks.' She took a sip of water from her glass. He was tense in his chair. She thought this wasn't really his comfort zone, he didn't strike her as the social type. With them, only 4 tables were full. It was a Thursday, not much fun going on in the city. She was glad, she looked like she had just ran a marathon and fished her clothes from a trashcan. Typical Thursday outfit.

'Alba', he said. She felt a shiver travel down her spine. She had almost forgot. Her name. She crossed her arms agains her chest and sighed, sitting back in her chair, waiting for him to speak.

'Tell me about The Pilgrimage.'

notes: I LOVE THEM

notes: 'Maronn, m'e fatt fa' o giall…' Naples dialect for: 'My god you made me piss myself', to use when you're scared.

notes: Trojans and Achaeans (Greeks) fought the Trojan war in the Iliad (Homer). Alba is definitely a greek mythology fan. as you might have gathered she is, in fact, Italian. in the Italian school system, there is a particular set of studies that revolve around Greek and Latin mythology, literature, history and translations. she went to that school and to this day dreams about the last conversation between Hector and his wife Andromache which is, trust me, an heart wrenching goodbye from the husband. expect more mythology Easter eggs ehehe.

noted: alba's back tattoo is a thistle flower

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