#I drew hollows head way too small ooPS

[sevilai]

[ID: Hollow Knight fanart showing Hornet holding a large black marker which she has used to draw a circle on the floor around The Hollow Knight and Little Ghost, both of whom look distraught as they look down at the circle. \End ID]

You know those videos where they draw circles around ants to trap them

#yeah this was funnier in my head #my art #hollow knight #hollow knight thk #hollow knight hornet #hollow knight little ghost #hollow knight ghost #hk hornet #hk ghost #hk the hollow knight #hollow knight meme #I drew hollows head way too small ooPS

[silkenstarlight]

wild cherry sweet

Summary: Bucky and Reader have to dress up for a mission. Bucky likes Reader’s look, maybe a little bit too much.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x agent!reader

Warning/s: smut (18+ only, minors dni); dirty talk, oral (male receiving)

Word count: 1.9k

Find part two here

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Author’s note: i have really been wanting to buy some red lipstick recently so this may or may not have been inspired by that oops

Do not repost! Likes and reblogs are welcome and encouraged :))

“You are breathtaking.”

You turned away from the bathroom mirror, leaning against the counter and meeting Bucky’s gaze with your own. His eyes raked up and down your body, clad in a slinky, silken dress that shone bright beneath the fluorescence and clung to your every curve like liquid. You smirked at his gawking eyes and raised brows, carefully wiping the excess lipstick that bled from the corner of your mouth with your pointer finger. That motion drew his attention upward, his eyes settling on the plump set of your mouth, painted a sultry, deep shade of scarlet.

He huffed a breath and shook his head, trying to form the right words to compliment you, but they seemed to instantly evaporate from his tongue the moment he opened his mouth. Instead, he walked towards you, taking your hands in his and stroking his thumbs against your soft skin, laughing at himself as he gaped like a fish out of water in response to your beauty.

“Well, you don’t look too bad yourself.” You jutted your chin slightly at his suit, a neatly-pressed, all-black ensemble that only seemed to further enhance the icy blue shade of his eyes. 

“Thank you,” he said, voice low and hoarse. He leaned closer, pressing his lips to your ear. “Lipstick’s a good look on you.”

You shuddered, pressing your body closer to his warmth and rocking your hips into his. When he started kissing that sweet spot at the juncture between your jaw and your ear, you couldn’t help but let a breathy moan escape your lips.

This had been your plan all along, of course. You didn’t wear a full face of makeup often, usually foregoing the glamorous, airbrushed look for the bare-skinned practicality of moisturizer and sunscreen. Your job as an agent required you to be on the ball, willing to give up the remainder of your day for the sake of a mission, oftentimes on just a moment’s notice. You couldn’t afford the time and effort of beautification with an occupation that required so much blood, sweat, and tears on the daily. But, tonight was different. Tonight, you and Bucky were preparing for a different kind of mission than either of you were used to.

The GRC was hosting an exclusive gala, invitations to which were only granted to the wealthiest elites in the country. Politicians and A-listers would surely be in attendance, secretly and silently admitting their support of the GRC’s eviction of post-Blip refugees. Such an event was bound to attract some hostility, whether through hush-hush internal transactions between its elite, yet seedy, attendees, or from some outside menace, like the lurking risk of a re-established force of flag smashers. You and Bucky both decided that it would be prudent to attend, just in case you were dealing with fraud or a full-blown terror threat. You both wanted to be ready, to be able to face whatever troubles may arise, from the inside. So, you had to look the part.

You had chosen the dress with the event’s black-tie dress code in mind, of course, but the lipstick was all for him. You had been picking up the bare necessities at the mall, a tube of concealer and a new type of mascara, when the red-gradient display of lipsticks caught your eye. Every shade, ranging from coral to plum, offered a different mask, a slight variant on the character you would be playing the night of the gala. Would you be the coquettish twenty-something, all bright, glossy, and new? Or, would you be the mysterious seductress, daubed in smokey shades of maroon?

After a few moments of careful deliberation, one shade in particular had caught your eye, and your lips twitched into a small grin. You plucked the tube from the shelf. Velvet ribbon red, its label read. A deep, sultry shade, reminiscent of the garnet, wine-soaked tones that were so popular in the ‘40’s. The natural shade to choose, of course, for Bucky Barnes’s companion.

Now, you felt his hands release yours, grasping the fabric at your hips with greedy hands. He continued kissing your neck in a blatant, hungry display of need, lips bowed in a slight, mocking smile when he heard the soft moans that his affection pulled from you. You gripped the edge of the counter tightly with one hand, desperate for purchase, and dragged your other hand up his abdomen, settling your fingers lightly on his chest.

He drew his teeth against your neck and sucked lightly, and you were sure that he was trying to leave a mark, a flagrant signifier to the attendees of the gala you were already late to that you belonged to him, and him only. When he pulled away, examining the petechiae he had branded on your skin, you brought both hands in front of you, tracing them down his front in a flirtatious caress and settling on the buckle of his belt. You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his, taking in his blown pupils as you adeptly released his buckle and unzipped his pants. In a sudden gesture of dominance, you pushed him back to the opposite wall, directing him by the hips. When his back hit the wall, he let out a soft, purring laugh, pleased by your control. He pecked you on the lips, a quick and chaste gesture that contrasted with the unexpectedly sensuous direction the evening was heading into, and you slowly lowered to your knees, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time, pulling his pants down slightly to expose his underwear.

You braced your hands against his quads, running your fingertips up and down his legs in a slow, teasing motion that made his jaw clench. He balled his fists at his sides, not ready to usurp control from you just yet. You simpered, proud of the fact that you had this man coming undone in the palm of your hand, without having even touched his cock yet.

Soon, though, you brought your mouth close enough to his lower half that he could feel the heat of your breath through the thin fabric layer of his underwear. His eyes fluttered closed in anticipation, hips rocking towards your face, and he combed his fingers loosely through your hair, tugging lightly to grant you permission to keep going. It was sweet, the way he was simultaneously so respectful of your boundaries, but so eager to feel your mouth on him. Neither of you cared that it would ruin your makeup, that after this, you would be late for the gala. You both craved a distraction from the nerves that accompanied a mission like this.

You dragged your fingernails along the waistband of his underwear, leaving light scratching marks across his lower abdomen. He moaned softly, a sound that you hoped to sear in your memory forever. And then, you reached inside, pulling his already-erect cock from the tented, taught fabric. The tip glowed an angry red, already leaking pre-cum.

You looked up at him through your lashes and flattened your tongue against his base, dragging it all the way up to his tip. He gripped your hair tighter, the delicious pull of your hair taught in his fist driving you to swirl your tongue around his tip and take him slowly in your mouth.

“Goddamnit,” he muttered as you slowly began to bob your head up and down his length. “Gonna ruin that pretty makeup of yours.”

You pulled back to respond, lips separating from his cock with a satisfying, wet pop! “‘S’alright,” you slurred, palming him roughly with your hand, fingernails dragging against sensitive skin to offer the perfect balance between pleasure and pain. He bucked into your grasp, breath stilling in his throat, and you smiled, sucking the tip of his cock back into your mouth.

You worked him slowly into your mouth, until he hit the back of your throat and only a couple of inches remained outside of your mouth. He noticed this, eagerly watching your progress, and took control, holding your head against him, applying a gentle pressure until you slid down the rest of his length. When your lips pressed against his base, you gagged slightly, inhaling deeply through your nose. You maintained eye contact the whole time, even as your eyes pooled with tears from the strain of looking up.

“What a good fucking girl,” he groaned, rolling his hips against your mouth and smearing your lipstick on his skin in a vulgar imprint of wet, lusty red. You felt a wet, needy warmth accumulating in your core at his acknowledgement, but you kept your hands firmly rooted at his hips, so desperate to please him. “What would people say if they knew you were such a slut for me?” His voice was gruff but lilting and playful, as if he knew that this turned you on as much as it did him.

Finally, he released the pressure, pulling back to let you breathe. After a few seconds, though, you increased your pace, guiding one hand down to his balls and gently massaging them. He closed his eyes again, lost in the tantalizing sensations of your tongue, but he held back, refusing to let the slow and steady pistoning of his hips devolve into the frenzied motion he so desperately desired to adopt in order to finish. Your cheeks hollowed against him, sucking hard, granting him permission to let go.

He understood. Short, shallow movements quickly turned into deeper thrusts, punctuated by quiet moans that rose in pitch as he came closer and closer to coming undone.

“Gonna paint you with my come. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You couldn’t respond verbally, could only stare up at him as his cock breached the entrance to your throat in faltering, uneven motions. That was the final straw. His grip on your hair tightened and he held your head down flush against him, cock pulsing, as his orgasm ripped through him. One final, unabashed and guttural groan escaped his lips as he succumbed to his ecstasy and painted the back of your throat with ropes of come. You mirrored his sound, moaning around him with an enticing vibration.

He held his length inside your mouth for a few seconds, still holding your head against him, not ready to let you retreat just yet. But as his cock grew sensitive, he pulled back with a quiet, overstimulated moan. Your mouth felt empty without him, lipstick smears and strings of spit painting your face in a satisfied, sexed-out portrait of lust. He beamed with pride, hooking his hands under your elbows and pulling you up to your feet before pressing his lips firmly against yours in a gesture of gratitude.

You broke the kiss, cradling his face in your hand. Laughter bubbled in your throat, and, seeing your light-hearted demeanor, he began to chuckle. You stood like that for a minute, laughing in each others’ arms, momentarily uncaring about upcoming missions or smeared makeup.

He took a deep, yet shaky, exhale, and smirked. “Well, we’d better get you cleaned up. Those mascara tracks are pretty telling, and we’re already late.”

You shrugged. “Worth it.”

He brought his hand up to your face, cradling your cheek and wiping the messy smudge of lipstick from the corner of your mouth.

“Oh, absolutely.”

Part two

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes #smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #james bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #the winter soldier fanfic #the winter soldier smut #winter soldier smut #the winter soldier fanfiction #tfatws smut #tfatws fanfiction #bucky barnes one shot #one shot #winter soldier one shot

[lyssahlyssah]

Obey Me! The Present

a/n: not suitable for work

Well, this took a week of my life, but it's ok! It's obviously something I needed to get off my chest (ahem). I hope you enjoy. 🟣🔵⚫

pairing: F!MC x Belphegor, category: (very) not suitable for work, warnings: some angst, virgin sex, penetration, oral sex, teasing, man-eating petunias. description: Belphie give F!MC the present she's always wanted. wordcount: 2.1k

"Is there anything else I can do for you for your birthday? Being your present and all. "

In your room, Belphie stands in front of you with his usual coy smile. Tall and gorgeous, he cocks his head to one side causing hair to fall into his violet eyes. He confidently holds your gaze.  As the gaze lingers, his smile deepens, playfully suggestive.

Today is your birthday and you've spent it on a date with Belphie. Feeling guilty after forgetting to buy you anything, he had cleverly volunteered to be your present, granting you any wishes you wanted.

Excited by his creativity (and the prospect of time with him alone), you had taken full advantage, first visiting the planetarium and then the botanical gardens. You'd laughed together, played around, took naps under a tree with his head in your lap. At the botanical gardens, he'd even rescued you from man-eating petunias after you took a wrong turn, and had shamelessly teased you about it since. Everything was effortless and fun when you were together.

And now, looking at his smiling face, you reflected on how far the two of you'd come. This wasn't Belphie from long ago in the attic; the angry and vengeful demon that once tried to kill you, heart twisted with hate from the loss of his beloved sister. No, he had changed. As time had gone on, he had warmed to the whole world, even to his older brother Lucifer, whom he had once admitted hating to the point of murder. He was now letting people to get close to him again. And especially you. He had opened the door to his heart and was inviting you in.

Because of the complicated history you shared, a special bond grew between you. His aloofness drew your open and loving nature like a moth to a flame, and you clicked like magnets due to your differences. Over any of the other brothers, he made you feel comfortable. Facing him now, you realized you've fallen hard for the infamous sloth demon. It was for those reasons, a response to his question immediately floated to your lips.

"Kiss me", you say, giving him a smile of your own.

"Sure", he agrees, a blush on his cheeks. Your lips meet. It's soft and sweet. Somehow, even though you aren't sure where he found the time between naps to become this way, Belphie is an incredible kisser.

His lips push down on yours with a little more force, then abruptly pull back, leaving you breathless. "Is that all?" he asks. "In that case, I'll give myself to you every day" his eyes crinkle in a smile, ever teasing.

You wet your lips, heart pattering in your chest. You did want more from him...a lot more.  Now or never. you think. You catch his hand and hold it. "Ah...Belphie...actually, what I want instead, is to give m-myself....to you." you stammer a little in getting it out. His eyes widen as he realizes what you're insinuating. Silence.

"MC...you sure? With me?" Belphie stares back at you, no longer joking. He pauses. "Why me? Why not Lucifer...or...or...The Great Mammon?" he says, with a sarcastic flourish.

When he sees your face drop, he immediately apologizes and runs a hand through his thick hair, ruffling it. His voice softens. "I'm sorry...I've been angry for so long, you know? Sometimes it just comes out when I don't mean it to."

He takes your hand again and pulls you to the bed where you sit down together. Color rises in his cheeks. "Really though...I've lied to you, I've manipulated you. Not that long ago...I even tried to kill you. Why am I the one you want for this?" He searches your face for an answer. 

"You're my master, I can't refuse you, and I'd be crazy to anyway, but...why me?" Standing up, he paces a few feet in a circle, then sits down again. You've rarely seen him this worked up; it's obvious he still hasn't totally forgiven himself for hurting you.

"I love you Belphie", the words fall out of your mouth. Your eyes widen. You search your feelings and know it isn't a lie. His eyes are wide too. "Do...do you mean that?" he questions, leaning back.

You nod, "I need you, Belphie. I feel safe with you; I know you'd never hurt me now. And...I know you need me too". You continue, your voice low. "I want you. More than anyone else".

The words visibly shake him. He drops his head, staring into his lap, then slowly brings his head back up and gazes at you. You're taken aback by the open desire you see there. It's as if a mask has fallen off and you're seeing the real him for the first time.

When he speaks, it's slowly, deliberately.

"I want to know you that way, MC...More intimately than anyone ever has." His eyes start to glow a fierce purple. "You're mine, and I want to be your first. I want to give you something to remember me by when you go back to the human world." You swallow hard, your heart starting to race and nod.

He leans forward, takes your face between his hands, and kisses you. And again. Deeply, tongue reaching hungrily into your mouth. You whimper against his lips, full of want.

You give yourself over completely to his touch. His hands are on your face, guiding the movement of your heads. It feels so good, all the strength leaves you, and you fully let him hold you up. Between kisses, he makes small sounds of passion.

"You drive me crazy" he murmurs, looking into your eyes. A thrill runs up your spine. He's here, fully here - with you. No distance. Not a trace of sleepiness. In this moment of closeness, Belphie has completely overcome his sin.

You gasp as his fingers effortlessly snap off the button to your jeans with an audible pop. "Oops", he says, not sounding sorry in the slightest.

He leans you back onto the covers. Continuing to kiss you, he slides his hand into your jeans and caresses your lower stomach, playing with the hollow of your hip bone. Ticklish, you sharply draw in a breath, causing him to smile at you. "Don't be nervous" he says reassuringly. "I'll take care of you".

He sides your pants down, and then completely takes them off. You shiver, all at once feeling vulnerable.

"Mmmm..." He murmurs, looking over your body. "You're so beautiful. I've dreamed about getting to touch you like this". He reverently slides his hands up and down your thighs, your hips, your waist. Goosebumps raise up at his touch.

Holding your gaze, he leans down and pulls your shirt over your head then sits upright and does the same for himself. His hair is even more disheveled afterward and the thought of it being that way because you're in bed together turns you on.

Even though you've napped together endlessly, you've never seen this much of his body, and you sigh with pleasure drinking in the width of his shoulders, his flat stomach. He watches you just as avidly and the small smile returns as he sees the effect he has on you.

Leaning in, Belphie captures your lips once more in a steamy kiss. Running his hands up your shoulders, he cups your cheeks, then traces down your back and unhooks your bra. You respond by thrusting your own hands into his hair and pulling him to you.

He kisses his way down your chest and your stomach, where his lips leave little trails of fire on your skin. You try but can't remember ever feeling more aroused. He playfully nips your belly button as it goes by, and smiles when you jump and protest, eyes glinting.

Belphie stops between your legs, breathing out slowly, and kisses up one of your thighs. At the top he hugs it to his face, cheek pressing into the flesh. Pausing, he looks at you sideways and says, "I've wanted to do this since we met".

Taking his time, he hooks your panties with one finger and pulls them down. Admiring the view, he runs a finger down your core, lightly teasing your clit. You sigh, then jump when he gives a jerk. "You're so fucking wet down here" he utters in awed tones.

Seeing you so excited for him seems to unhinge him a little. Looking at your soaked slit with total attention, he raises his finger to his lips and lightly sucks off your excitement. His eyes flutter close and a low groan of desire escapes him. Leaning in, he buries his face in your folds. His soft tongue pushes roughly against your swollen clit and it's your turn to gasp.

He continues to work on you for a few minutes. The pleasure overwhelms you, but still, you want him deeper. Parts of yourself you aren't familiar with are showing up and demanding to be satisfied. You try to stretch your legs further and wider apart so his tongue can reach every needy part of you. More than happy to help, he greedily tongues your tight hole. "B-Belphie!" Your voice rises as you near your climax. He reaches one hand up and laces your fingers through his. "Go ahead, MC...I've got you, you're safe. I want to taste you when you cum." Soothed, you let yourself go fully, shuddering, waves of euphoria threatening to drown you. "Mmmm..." Belphie says contentedly. You can feel his lips as he captures every last drop on his tongue.

You collapse into the pillows as the pleasure ebbs away, but he doesn't give you time to rest. You feel manicured fingers slide into your slippery hole. At first, it's a gentle in-and-out getting you used to the sensation. You squirm, your flesh still sensitive from his earlier attentions. After a few moments, he picks up the pace and starts pushing into you faster and deeper, turning and curling the digits. Mewling with every thrust, you blush bright red, still a little self-conscious  From his place cradled between your legs, he watches your face possessively. "I love your sounds", he says.

Pleasure begins to fill your abdomen once again as you near climax, and you involuntarily start to grind against his hand, desperate to increase the tempo. Loving your impatience, he dips his head down and bites you on the inside of your thigh, near your core. Surprised by the unexpected sensation, you're pushed over the edge, launching into oblivion for the second time. This time he can't help himself and covers your mouth in a passionate kiss, jealously swallowing your cries of pleasure.

Thoroughly ravaged, you look up at him through half-lidded eyes. Belphie looks back at you, spellbound by the state you're in. "B...Belphie", you manage to get out. "What, MC?" he softly answers. "I need you inside me", you pleadingly say to his violet eyes. He shudders and pulls back from you.

"Okay", he says, unfastening his pants button. He pulls them down and his length springs out, large, strong, and perfect. Dazzled, your mouth drops open slightly. He smiles confidently at you and crawls back up your body. Once there, he turns your hips so you're lying on your back with your hips to one side, lined up to your exposed slit on his knees. He runs his hands over your ass, squeezing it, testing its softness, before bringing his hands back to grip your hip with both hands. "Tell me if I hurt you", he says with unexpected tenderness and starts to push inside you.

Due to the position of your hips and your overall tightness, his first thrust is shallow, but the friction makes you both groan. Pulling out slowly, drawing out the pleasure, he pushes inside again, going slightly deeper. Your eyes roll back in your head. He feels blissful, way past anything you had imagined.

Using your hip to pull your ass against his lap, he starts to move more quickly. With abandon, you throw your arms against the covers above your head, your face falling to one side and breasts jiggling as the snap of his thrusts push you up and down. Also lost in pleasure, his eyes are closed and low groans rumble from his throat.

It doesn't take long for you to climax again, and then again. Your walls clenching tightly around him, each climax earns you a growl, but Belphie shows no signs of giving you mercy. Finally, even though you wish it could last forever, he thrusts deeply within you and you feel his warmth spread into your abdomen.

Completely spent, you lay together in the candlelight, your head on his chest, legs intertwined. Your core aches sweetly. He holds you close. Happier than you've felt in your entire life, you both start to drop off. As you do, you raise your head to look at him, and you see he's already asleep. Full of affection, your chin on his chest, you breathe, "Thank you for granting my wish". Seconds later, fading into darkness you hear him whisper, "I love you, too".

#obey me swd #obey me reader insert #obey me smut #obey me! #obey me #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #belphie x mc #swd belphie #belphie #swd: obey me #obey me writing #obey me imagines

[baronesscmd]

@anubis-005 has graciously allowed me to continue writing her sinfully delightful Nene’s Inferno Au, so I bring you the next installment. I hope you enjoy, and thank you. And go check out all her artwork; its absolutely amazing and deserves all the love!

AH! DISCLAIMER! CONTAINS SCENES OF SEXUAL INNUENDO/REFERENCES/SITUATIONS!

 He dropped himself to the ground, pulling her flush against him. One hand curled around her arm as the other caught her chin, bringing her gaze directly to the smoldering golden stare that was attempting to burn her alive. 

Nene's face flushed as he leaned in, tongue flicking over the sharp fangs in his mouth as he tipped his head so the heat of his words brushed against her lips. 

"You won't be needing those clothes."

**

“EXCUSE ME?!!”

Nene felt her pulse stutter and pick up double-time as the demon leaned closer, claws pricking at the soft curve of her cheeks as her whole body burned from his implications. She tried to push away, tried to get as much space between her and the demon before her; he wasn’t having it. The hand on her arm slid around her waist, pinning her tight against his chest as he smirked. 

“Oh yes, my sweet little Angel; that uniform just has to go.”

She felt those claws curl into her sash and tug, and before she could even make a sound, before she could try and push herself away; he moved. His hand slid from her waist to cup her bottom and squeeze, and she shrieked as he hauled her up and over his shoulder. 

He spun on his heel, whistling as he headed deeper into the maze as she tried to get loose. Nene beat her fists against his back and kicked her legs, trying to ignore the sharp curve of his shoulder as it pressed into her belly.

Harder to ignore was the hand hooked around her knees, and the thumb that was making tiny circles against her thigh. Worse than that though, was the hand still on her butt. She struggled harder, flushing as he patted the soft curve of her cheeks. 

 "PUT ME DOWN! AND DONT TOUCH ME!"

Nene let out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a scream as the demon chucked, pinching her as he nipped at her hip through the fabric of her dress.

"My my, aren't you a feisty one! You'll be great fun. I can already tell. But you have to behave, my Angel, or your new Master will punish you.

"And while I can guarantee you will not enjoy it, I shall have a delightful time."

She continued to struggle against him until the band around her finger began to burn. She yelped and folded, her chin bouncing into his back as she curled her hands together. 

It hurt, more than anything she had ever experienced. Like something was trying to claw at her soul, to tear her open and lay her bare. She watched through her tears as the demon's tail looped around her wrists, and as suddenly as the pain had come on, it vanished.

"Ah, fun little bit about that Bond, my Angel." 

She stiffened in his grasp as he drew a claw down her thigh before his fingers crept back up to pinch her.

"You cannot disobey me."

Cold stole through Nene's limbs and she went still and silent. The demon laughed, the echo of it reverberating through her own chest in a hollow imitation of joy. The tail squeezed her wrists, and she swallowed back her tears. 

Beneath them, the grassy maze gave way to cobblestones, and she planted her hands against the small of his back as he spun around. 

"Welcome to your new home, Angel."

Nene lifted her head, biting back a gasp at the palace before her; she had not expected something so elegant of a design in Hell. It rose from a tangle of wild roses like a crouching beast, sweeping up into the skyline like nothing she had seen. 

In Heaven, the buildings had been white, and gold and silver-toned. It had felt like walking through a dream, with open shutters and friendly hellos as she passed. This was quite the opposite. 

This was a nightmare of brick, wood, bone, and glass. Shadows hung from the twisted black iron of the balconies like discarded clothes, the stained glass depicting demons in different throes of lust. 

Ivy twisted it's way up the cracks of the black stones, twisting around marble statues carved in obscene positions. She averted her eyes as they passed a set of skeletons, entwined together, forever frozen in the moment of completion. 

And the arch of the grand doorway, before the demon carrying her turned on his heel to march her under it, was carved in stark white bone with the twisted limbs and slack faces of those who had given in to the Sin of Lust.

The inside was as hauntingly beautiful as the exterior, with dark walls and black marble floors. Golden lamps spilled light in fleeting puddles, and Nene saw more than one alcove with the entwined forms of sated bodies. 

He hauled her through the dining hall, whispers rising as the few demons who happened to be awake caught sight of them. Painted mouths disappeared behind razor-tipped nails as she knew they began to gossip, and more than one pair of hungry, hooded eyes raked over her form, leaving her feeling filthy. 

Nene tried to remember the twists and turns he took so she could attempt an escape, but when they passed the same low table with a couple half-concealed beneath it again, she knew he had purposely misled her.

Each path was more confusing than the last, some with high, vaulted ceilings that the light could not illuminate, and others with low curving beams that pulled the shadows close enough to touch. 

And the paintings! Nene could look nowhere and find a patch of wall that was not hung with obscenities. Even what she assumed were flowers, painted in soft brush strokes, resembled a part of her own anatomy that the demon's hand was much too close to.

He took them down a long hallway, the doors at the beginning doing little to conceal the moans and cries of the pleasure-seekers within. She flushed and tried to raise her hands to cover her ears to block out the sounds, but the tail held her fast. 

They turned again, and this hallway was silent but for the echo of his footsteps. His hand stroked from the curve of her waist to the back of her knee before he kicked a door open. 

Nene watched with increasing panic as the heavy wooden doors fell shut behind them, lock sliding into place as her heart sank. She was trapped, completely and utterly. 

She had no time to admire the room, richly decorated in swathes of black and red satin as the demon fisted his hand in the back of her dress and dumped her onto a bed.

It took her a second, as she was consumed by tangled scarlet silk and plush pillows as dark as a raven's wing, that she was not in just any bedroom, tumbled onto a sinfully soft bed. 

Nene was sprawled across the sheets in the bed that belonged to the Lord of Lust, locked in this den of depravity and debauchery. 

She watched with horror as he set a knee to the bed and dragged her closer, pinning her beneath his lithe form as she tried to get away, even though she knew it was useless. His mouth nipped at her throat, tongue sliding up her skin before he sucked a bruise into the tender flesh as he groaned. 

"You taste like innocence and divinity. And I am going to enjoy corrupting you."

He shoved her knees apart and settled against her, and before he could side his hand from her waist to her breast or between her legs, Nene threw her arms against his chest with a cry. 

She wasn't sure who was more surprised as he was tossed back, his black eyes lightening to amber as they both watched the pale gold band form around his tail. She scrambled from beneath him, not getting far before he hooked his hand around her chubby ankle. 

He didn’t draw her back to him, which she found odd, but he seemed more preoccupied with the sharp flicks he made to try and fling the ring off. The swing of it was rather hypnotic, and Nene gasped as his claws bit into her skin as he yanked her down the bed. 

She drew her knees up as he loomed over her, and she watched as his eyes flickered rapidly over her face, as if there was something hidden in her own gaze that would explain what had happened. His mouth split into a wicked smile and he hauled her up, locking one arm around her as she thrashed in his hold as he snapped his fingers. 

Seconds later, three scantily clad demonesses hurried through the door, all wearing the same outfit of a black and white maids uniform, and dipped into deep curtsies. Nene paled as he shoved her forward; the tallest demoness, who had ripped the front of her blouse so that her very generous bust could be seen through the heart shape, caught her by the arm before she could hit the floor. 

“Dress our little Angel in her new uniform; she’ll be joining you in your duties starting today.”

Nene whipped her head around as another of the demoness’ hurried away, the ruffles of her dress barely touching the top of her thighs. He couldn’t really mean to put her in something so revealing, but the sly smile as their eyes met showed that he absolutely did. 

She shrieked as the demons pulled at her uniform, trying to bat their hands away to no avail. The taller one unsnapped the buttons on her collar as the other pulled her sash free, and she could do nothing as the third came back with her arms full of fabric. 

They stripped her quickly and efficiently, though their touch lingered on her skin like a burn. She clung to her thin shift as they tried to pull it off, even as they knocked her off balance to remove her sandals. They couldn’t take her shift, she’d be naked; no one had ever seen her naked. The demoness caught her hands in a bruising grip and bunched the fabric in her free hand.

“Let her keep it.”

They all froze, turning to the Demon Lord reclining on his bed. His grin was as filthy as it was seductive, and Nene tried to draw her hands down to cover herself as his eyes raked over her, his tail flicking lazily against his thigh. She may as well have been completely bare before him with the way his gaze smoldered. 

“Yes, M’Lord.”

She didn’t struggle as they pulled the fabric over her head and harshly tugged her braids free of the collar, didn’t comment as they shoved her into the neat black shoes, muffled a gasp as they tied the bow of her apron with enough force to nearly drive the air from her lungs.

The demons hurried out as he snapped his fingers, one poking back in briefly to drop a mop, broom, and bucket inside the door with a cruel grin before it closed behind her. Nene kept her eyes shut as he crossed the room and curled his hands around her hips. 

There was nothing she could do as he twisted her from side to side and then turned her, trailing his claws across her belly as he pressed his face into her hair. She could feel the curve of his smile against the shell of her ear before he pulled away.

“You might as well look, my little Angel. You’ll be seeing yourself in it for the foreseeable future. Unless you’d like to clean in the nude.”

Nene snapped her eyes open as heat flooded her cheeks, and was surprised to find herself in a uniform that, while still inappropriate, covered much more than she was expecting. The puffed black sleeves left her arms bare, and the dark ruffles of her skirt at least came to her knees. It was actually cute, with the frilled overskirt and pink and white heart over her chest. 

“By the grace of providence we had one in your size.”

She glared at him as he chuckled as he floated behind her, magicing the bucket, mop, and broom into her hands. Providence, as if; more like limitless lechery, she thought as he adjusted her headband. She truly was stuck here, this wasn’t just an elaborate nightmare. 

Nene jumped with a scream as his hand smacked her bottom, cleaning supplies flying as he caught her up in his arms. That damned tail wound around her leg as if it had a mind of its own as he pinned her hands to his chest so he could twirl the ring around her finger. 

“And, my little Angel; a few more things.”

He bent her nearly backward as he slid his knee between her own, the tension in her spine the only thing keeping her from sprawling back over the bed. The ring on her finger seemed to burn with the same intensity as the one tapping against her thigh.

“You will be my personal attendant; you will wake me, bring me meals if I do not dine in the hall. When I do dine in the hall, you shall serve me. Ah ah, I’m not finished,” his finger pressed against her lips to silence her protests, “You will help me bathe, and dress, and cater to any of my whims.”

His hand slid down her back to cup her bottom and bring her hips flush to his. The hard lines of his body settled against the soft curves of her own with a familiarity that made her flush. 

“And I shall allow you to keep your innocence; for now.”

The press of him to the intimate place between her thighs made her whimper and tremble, and he only smirked. 

“Also, you shall address me as “My Lord” or “Master” when you speak to me; is that clear, my Angel?”

Nene dipped her head and mumbled as he shifted against her, his tail tightening around her thigh like a demonic garter. 

“I didn’t hear you, Angel.”

She lifted her head, meeting those blazing eyes with her own as she curled her nails into his chest and watched him wince. 

“Yes, Master.”

He dipped his head, mouth a breath from hers as he pressed their bodies closer together. Heat flooded her at every point they met, and she let her eyes flicker down to his lips worriedly.

“Good girl.”

And then he was gone. 

Nene sank onto the edge of the bed as he swept his hand out and the cleaning supplies disappeared with the spilled water. He pulled open the door of his room and gestured into the hall.

“Come along, unless you wish for me to take you now.”

She shot up from the bed and hurried to the entrance, shuttering as he laid his hand on the small of her back to guide her. 

“You have much to see before you help me tonight, and I don’t tolerate tardiness.”

Nene felt despair sink into her soul as he led her back down those twisting halls. There were more demons now, peeking from doorways and corners as they headed to the servants quarters. Eyes followed her every step, and the whispers hung in the air like a death sentence. 

The Lord of Lust had an Angel for a plaything, and wouldn’t he have fun with her? 

Her master’s hand slid lower as his tail lashed against her with every step, and she bit back her tears. This was her own fault, she had gotten herself into this mess. And she would have to be the one to get herself out. There would be no Divine Intervention to save her; the Angels did not listen to the cries that rose from Hell. 

If Nene wanted to escape, she’d have to do it herself.

And @anubis-005 Thank you SOOO much for this again! It is, as always, an honor and pleasure to work with you!!! <3 :3

#Nene's Inferno Au #anubis-005 #jshk #tbhk #hananene

[anninhiliation]

Warmth

A/N: Oh you guys want me to be nasty in my own lane? Well why yes, yes I will be super duper nasty here because CHRIS started it he always does and it has nothing to do with the fact I'm nasty. Thus far, this is the nastiest but let's see how long it takes me to top it. I also made the ending soft who am I?

Masterlist 

Wordcount 1.9k

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, Ecuadorian dick, a sweaty Chris, a dominate Chris, spanking, choking NSFW gifs. This is super duper nasty.

You came with Chris to his band's dance practice trying to savor every last minute the two of you had together before he had to leave for tour again. You watched as he landed almost every dance move, slowly his skin began to glisten. Every time you saw Chris sweaty, your mind would pull you into your darkest thoughts. You couldn't help but think about how his skin shines like that when the two of you fuck like animals. Droplets of his sweat ran down his jawline as he fisted his hands, opened his legs and thrusted a couple of times. You looked at your sweaty boyfriend perfectly nail the move and heat flooded your core. You shifted on the ground trying to play it cool but you needed him. His hair was plastered to his forehead and his tank top stuck to his abs, driving you crazy. Your mind raced with the dirtiest thoughts as Ali called it for the night. Chris fooled around with the boy for a bit and walked over to you. He picked up his duffle bag that sat next to you, noticing you were in deep thought. 

"¿Cariño estás bien?" Chris asked dropping the bag and lowering himself to the balls of his feet, resting his arms on his lower thighs.

"Y-yea" you stuttered realizing he was right in front of you "I just zoned out for a second." You explained

"Okay bebé let's go home then" He smiled 

As you stood up, Chris threw the strap of the duffle bag over his shoulder and grabbed your hand. 

"Hey...Chris?” You whispered as he looked over to you and stopped walking. Standing on your tippy-toes and placing your free hand on his shoulder you whispered in his ear “I need you to breed me like the bitch I am.”

You lowered yourself back down to your normal height as his soft brown eyes clouded with lust. He dragged you in a quick pace towards the car. 

“I'm going to do more than that,” Chris growled as he opened the back door of the car escorting you in. Chris hovered his body over yours and kissed you lustfully. Your hands wrapped around his wet hair and tugged. He groaned as he lowered himself closer to you pressing his bulge against your pulsating clothed core. You squirmed underneath him, grinding yourself on his hardening bulge. 

“Chris fuck me...please!” You cried out as you pulled his bottom lip and let go of his hair to remove your leggings

“So needy princesa” He groaned as he lowered his sweat pants and boxers.

He aligned his rock hard cock against your slit and ran it through coating himself in your natural lubricant. 

“Aye nena you’re soaked” He hissed as you bucked your hips each time the tip of his penis would hit your sensitive nerve endings.

“Chris” you whimpered bitting your bottom lip “just fuck me” you finished in a huff as you arched your back against the seat.

Chris attacked your jaw and neck with his lips as he rammed himself deep inside you. Instinctively you ran your hands down his bicep as you let out a much-needed moan. It hurt at first, as he gave you no time to adjust but the pain quickly turned over into pleasure. His lips made their way to your sweet spot and marked it. His hands slithered around your body until he reached his destination; your breasts. He massaged both breasts at the same time making you arch your back again. 

“Tan bella” Chris murmured between the groans.

The car windows began to fog, forming a light sauna in the tight space. In the unusual position, the two of you were in Chris was continuously hit your g-spot. You could feel the wave of ecstasy beginning to form inside you. Your hands found themselves grasping Chris’s hair and your lips were on his neck marking him. 

“Chris cum inside me baby” You motivated feeling his thrusts become uneven. 

“Mami you’re so filthy.” He groaned nipping your jawline

“Just for you mi amor.” You cooed tugging on his sweaty hair.

Your walls were closing in around Chris’s girth, creating a grunt to leave his lips as the increased pressure sent waves of pleasure to him.

“Nena you're close to I feel it.” Chris groaned “release cariño.”

His thumb hit your sore clit and drew figure eights making it unbearable to hold it in any longer. Your head hit the back of the seat eyes seeing pure white, as your thighs convulsed spilling and tightening around Chris. When you came down from your high, Chris hit his spilling his warm liquid deep inside you. He continued to thrust inside you trying to push the cum deeper inside you. 

"So Beautiful" he whispered as he replaced his softening penis with his digits. 

"Papi, why don't you fill me up some more at home?" You asked using your most innocent voice and batting your lashes.

Admiring your boyfriend play with your sensitive cunt, turned you on all over again. He looked up from your dripping cum-filled pussy and into your eyes. 

“Te amo.” He grinned as he pecked your lips and climbed to the driver’s seat. 

Chris hit the gas and sped home. On the drive home, you crawled into the shotgun seat with his cum dripping down your thigh. 

“Oops” You whispered as some of the mixed juices spilled onto the leather seat. 

You collected the concoction with your fingers and hovered it over Chris’s lips. 

“Mi amor would you like to taste?” You asked innocently

He opened his lips as you slowly inserted your finger in his mouth feeling his warm tongue swirl around you. You let out a small moan as he released your finger from his mouth. You were so focused on Chris you did not even realize he parked the car in the garage. He kissed filled with desire and opened his side of the door. 

“Nena get upstairs and be ready for me.” He called out as he walked into the house.

You quickly stumbled out of the car and threw the remainder of your clothes in the hallway. You quietly walked up the stairs feeling more of Chris’s cum drip down your thigh. The more liquid that spilled out of you, the more heat invaded your core. You sat on your calves at the top of the stairs, too weak to move. Chris, soon met you at the foot of the stairs fully naked.

“Cariño why arent you in the room?” He asked as he climbed up the stairs

“Because I want to fuck you right here.” You blurted out smirking

Chris lifted you up and pinned you against the wall. His hand wrapped around your neck and squeezed lightly. A quiet moan left your plump lips at the sudden force. You struggled to even stand as your core pulsated for more of Chris’s touch. His lips hovered over you as he whispered against your warm lips

“You’re a very dirty girl you know that?” 

You giggled a bit as you broke the gap between the two of you. The kiss was filled with hunger and you went to bit his bottom lip but he pulled away. Chris locked eyes with you as he licked the pads of his fingers and ran it through your slit.

You moaned out as two fingers buried themselves inside you. Your walls stretched around his fingers easily as he pumped in and out of you. You whimpered as he pulled out of you and did not reinsert himself in. His juicy white covered fingers hit your bottom lip. 

“Taste” He commanded as his eyes fell to your lips

You slowly opened your mouth and wrapped your lips around his fingers. You put on a show for Chris, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around him. He let out a soft groan as he watched his knuckles disappear into your mouth.  Seductively you pulled his fingers out of your mouth. Chris let go of your throat and wrapped his hand in your hair tugging it. 

“Nena get in the room on the bed now.” He commanded as his soft eyes filled with a dominant lust. 

He let go of your hair and you provocatively swayed your hips into the bedroom. Chris followed closely behind you wrapping his hands around your waist. He pushed you onto the bed but you quickly spun around. 

“Papi I want to fuck you and I don't want to stop until you shoot your cum inside me.” You pouted. 

“Aye, the Princesa wants to be in charge tonight?” Chris teased as he hovered his body over yours.

You nodded as you flipped him over the bed and crawled down to his hardened member. You arched your back and lowered your mouth onto his dick. You licked up his pre-cum and swirled your tongue around the tip. He groaned as he grabbed onto your hair forming a ponytail and tugged. He bucked his hips trying to fit more of him inside your mouth. You obeyed his wordless command and relaxed your jaw. Your mouth sunk deeper down his shaft as your hands found balance on his thighs.

“Nena...fuck” he moaned

You bobbed your head and massaged the excess with your hand. Against your hand, you felt how nicely lubed up Chris was for you and pulled your mouth away. He let out a quiet groan of annoyance, and let go of your hair, wrapping his hand around your throat. 

“I didn't get to cum” He whined 

“No Papi I want your full load inside me.” You argued as you aligned your entrance with his penis.

You moaned out as your walls easily stretched around his large girth.

“Fuck Papi you feel so good inside me.” You whispered biting your bottom lip.

His hand tightened around your neck as you swayed your hips, grinding your swollen nub against his flesh.

“Such a dirty girl” Chris cooed as his free hand roughly landed on your ass. 

You lifted your body up and dropped it down as fast as you could. Chris released his grip from your neck and onto your boobs. He helped lift you up and let gravity drop you back down. The bedroom poured with grunts, moans, groans and the sound of flesh hitting against each other. A knot was forming in your stomach and your walls pulsated around Chris’s member. You lowered your body and kissed his neck. Chris’s dick pulsated against your tightening walls, as your pace was hard to continue to keep. 

“Mi Amor fill me up.” You begged as you held onto his shoulders trying to go faster. 

“Fuck...Y/N…” Chris huffed out with a string of curses and pet names

He released inside you, giving you just what you wanted, sending you to release aswell. You flung your head back and slipped into a euphoric state. Panting, you climbed off of Chris and laid down next to him to sore to move. He chuckled as he dragged you closer to him.

“¿Cansada Mami?” he asked as you tried to catch your breath.

“Riding you always tires me out.” You grinned as you rested your head on his bicep and ran your fingers through his hair. 

He nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck giving you more access to his scalp making you giggle. The two of you stayed in silence, enjoying the presence of eachothers company. Chris drifted off to sleep as your finger gently played with his hair. These were the moments you loved the most when the two of you would devour each other up and it only ends with your boyfriend falling asleep cuddled against you. Admiring his peaceful state, your fingers slowed down as the sandman took you away into your own state of slumber.

#christopher velez #Christopher Bryant Velez Munoz #Cnco #Cnco chris #chris velez #cnco smut #cnco imagine #cnco fic #fanfic #smut #fan fic #velez #christopher velez imagine #Christopher velez smut #chris velez smut #nasty #i said what i said #cnco chris fic #cnco velez

[volganic]

Song of Magic

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3]

"Very good," the dragon crooned with praise as he rewarded the Hylian with a firm squeeze on his shoulders.

The hero was reeling from the onslaught of new information.  How was this possible?  Was it really that obvious?  Who else knew, or had known?  Most importantly, why did it have to be Volga of all people to show him this power he never had known?

Suddenly he felt dizzy and on the verge of emptying his stomach.  It was a complete overload and he was no where near prepared for this rude awakening.  He shuddered to swallow the bile in his throat that built up in his esophagus before turning to look at the taller man in absolute bewilderment.  The captain tentatively brought his hands up to sign, but flinched at the scowl he was given.

"Mind your hands, boy."  Link knew that this was the only warning he was going to get if he wanted to keep his hands attached to his body.  With a wavering and quiet voice, he spoke.

"H.. H-How?  Why?"

Volga shrugged without a care.  “I may not know much...” he trailed off, studying Link’s face.  Truly it was a pity that it had taken nearly twenty-odd years for the divine power within the Hylian to be tapped into and brought to light.  He turned his eyes away from Link’s pitiful expression to look at the moon again as if the clear sky would provide the answer.  "I only know that I would be doing my ancestors -- and even as far as yours maybe -- injustice if I were to leave you to your own devices without guidance.  As I've said, even one of my own kind was a friend of the Hero."

He turned his attention back to the smaller man who stood still with a forlorn expression, but his eyes still held some bit of hope.  "Though you might not understand it, I will always stand by my code of honor that I dare not strike down those who are worthy of being called an equal when they are ill-equipped... You still have yet to reach your full potential.  I would rather not label as 'fate' or 'destiny' that our bloodlines have crossed paths again.." he trailed off again, furrowing his brow.  "It's mere coincidence."

Link mirrored his expression as he crossed his arms.  It was too early to tell whether or not what Volga prattled on about was the truth, and whether his trust could be placed on such a crafty man.

"I will help your cause -- your cause.  For the sake of the hero, not whatever pitiful army you so choose to align yourself with.  Do I make myself clear?"

It's still a lot of strange circumstances coming together at once for the Hylian to process.  He was only sent here to gather more details on a threat that may never come.  Now he was learning that despite all of his accomplishments and rank in the army, it was all coming undone.  His stomach still churned at the thought of everything being all for naught.  He felt defeated... but it also inspired him.  The faint glimmer of determination came flooding back into his cool blue eyes as he nodded in agreement. The Hylian would be a disgrace to his ancestors if he refused, especially if Volga was willing to teach him more than just sharpening his combat skills.

"That's fair, I suppose."

"Then start by picking up after yourself, boy," Volga said gruffly.  "I refuse to pick up your toys that you so carelessly throw on the ground."  Link blinked at the comment, eyes drifting down to where indeed he had left his sword and shield on the rocks.  Oops.  The other knight turned on his heel and made his trek back into the safety of the caves, spear still in hand, soon with Link in tow.

--

Stay out here.  The brash words replayed in Link's head as he rocked on his heels.  For whatever stupid reason, Link was not allowed in this certain part of the Eldin Caves.  Whatever lay behind the heavy doors (and past the two Lizalfos chieftains on guard) must be a well kept secret.  Maybe it was where Volga had kept his treasures?  Dragons were known for their hoarding tendencies, aside from striking fear into those below them on the food chain, right?  He figured it was more than likely an insensitive comment to make.  Was it wrong to ask, or was it worse that he was already devising a plan to sneak in there?  Unadulterated curiosity ate away at his thoughts; it was better than staring at the ceiling while waiting for the dragon knight to reappear.

The Lizalfos sensed his half-assed plan, or his unease with waiting for so long without an escort.  Their intense stares bore into his soul.  The Hylian tried to lighten the tension between them with the tiniest of waves... the drakes did not move. Just about as friendly as their master.  He drew his hand back down to his side in regret.

Volga emerged from the extended tunnel not long after the awkward exchange.  Link visibly relaxed at the sight of him and wiped the sweat off his brow.  It was still boiling inside of the caverns, so to put his entire collection of his hoard in the middle of the volcano was a wise move on the dragon's part. 

The knight grabbed Link by his upper arm and ushered him away from the guarded door, met with very little protest.  Anywhere was better than standing close to two reptiles who looked at him like he was their next meal in the center of the volcano.  The Hylian toddled behind Volga as they made their way through the caverns, approaching even deeper into the crystal blue caves.  It had opened up into more tunnels than the last time Link had been here.  Clearly he was distracted as he nearly bumped straight into Volga who had come to an abrupt stop to relinquish his hold on the Hylian's arm.

"Give me your earrings."

"What?"

"Now."

Volga stared down at the captain with the patience of a saint, waiting for him to do as he had been instructed.  Link returned the star with an incredulous expression.  Even though the blue bands had little worth to him, it was a strange request.  He relented after a small pause and unclasped the jewelry from his ears, dropping the pair of blue rings into Volga's open palm.  The dragon moved his other hand to drop a different pair into Link's smaller hand -- red in color with pointed tips along the underside of its curve.

"These will also protect you from the heat.  You no longer have to wear the Goron tunic here lest your general start to grow suspicious of your drastic wardrobe change."

"I'm not a fan of magic, nor items based around it," he confessed, clasping the fireshield earrings to replace his old piercings.

"Surely you jest, or else your goddesses truly have blindly put their trust in a fool.  What of the Triforce?  Do you deny it by not calling it magic?"

The Hylian rolled his eyes and threw his arms out in frustration -- this was the last place he was going to have his debate on how his stance about anything related to magic.  "I'm not here to argue, I'm here to learn!"

"And you will start by familiarizing  yourself with items that go beyond being 'just this' or 'just that'.  You should develop the skill to adapt to any conflict you find yourself in, with or without magic items."  If Link rolled his eyes again, Volga would've squeezed them out of his skull with his dragon hand.  "I've been more than generous enough to offer you items to shield you from the heat of Death Mountain that you humans are not accustomed to.  I would suggest that you take that into consideration before I rip those piercings off your ears, boy.  This is all for your sake, not mine."

Link bit his lip at the hollow threat and relaxed his posture.  It was Volga's turn to roll his eyes.  He motioned for the Hylian to join him at his side as he ducked behind two of the largest crystal formations, digging into a withered chest that had been hidden in plain sight.  Volga drew two large scrolls from the inside and rolled them out on the cave floor. 

"Tell me, how well-versed are you in sight-reading music?"

#hyrule warriors #volink #fic

[corpse--diem]

Organ’s Out Of The Bag | Morgan & Erin

Summary: Morgan interrupts Erin at work, eats her organs, and learns about the family trade.  When: Week of 5/4 Featuring: @mor-beck-more-problems​

There wasn’t a “How To Operate An Illegal Organ Trafficking Business For Dummies” book to help Erin work out the best system for organizing and storing frozen organs. Shocker. Buying a second industrial cooler would have been as expensive as it was suspicious, which made trial and error the only real option. It was tedious, and there was probably still a better way, but she’d found her groove. Hollowed, block-like shelving units had been attached to the far end of the wall. Other items were stored on top but she could lift the face of each one, almost like a locker, to fill and empty as needed. Only she knew where the latches were and only she could open it. A small feat, sure, but you had to take your wins where you could get them. Maybe she was finally getting the hang of this? That was a thought that should have sat more uncomfortably on her mind or deterred the smirk on her lips. If she had a spare moment at all, it wasn’t for that kind of introspection. 

With her music loud and her focus set, she made quick work of it. Saran Wrap, label, and onto the next. Just another Tuesday. One more load to go and she could break for dinner. A figure filled the doorway when she turned, startling her backwards while some instinctive part of her reached for the knife in her back pocket. “Jesus Christ, Morgan…” she huffed out, freezing before she pulled out the blade. “You scared the shit out of me. What—“ she narrowed her eyes, her panic doubling in that moment. “You’re not allowed down here.”

After the video incident, Morgan hadn’t expected Erin to be someone who was okay with hanging out with her newly dead and only semi-feeling self. But aside from the body horror, Erin thought she was ‘cool’. Maybe Erin lived with death in a way that kept her from feeling it. Maybe it wasn’t a tar pit for her. Maybe it didn’t even pull, but could just...sit its ass down and let her be. Erin had her life pretty together, right?

Morgan traipsed up the entrance of the Nichols’ house since Erin had said she could just come in, but there was no sign of her, or any life going on in the house. So she turned instead to the lower levels where they had passed through for the ritual. She found her bent over a table with...organs. Bags and bags of organs. Morgan stayed put, hand over her stomach, her mouth watering. At least one of those was a heart, and those were thick enough to remind her of meat sometimes. But there was the whole other question of what they were doing here. Morgan didn’t know a lot about mortuary work, but there were too many different kinds laying around near each other for it to have anything to do with her ‘clients’. And if it wasn’t that, than maybe--

Erin turned just as Morgan reached for a bag of brains and a pair of eyeballs. She smiled, bright and sheepish. “Hi…” She drew out the greeting as long as possible. “We had plans. You said I could come and show you more weird zombie things?” Her gaze slid sideways to the table. Stars, it all looked so good. “I knocked, you didn’t answer,” she went onto explain, popping one of the eyeballs in her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “And since I already knew my way around…” She shrugged and swallowed the eyeball, popped the other one into her mouth, doing her damnedest to savor it before she stuffed the whole table into her mouth. “So, anyway, what’s with all the random dead organs on your table?”

Fuck. Erin had completely forgotten about their plans. Not that she wasn’t excited for some extreme body horror and manipulation. Between the lack of sleep, the mimes lurking around every corner, and maintaining her day and night jobs, things were slipping through the cracks. “Sorry,” she shook her head, moving to turn the music off. “I got caught up in--” she started to explain, until she was watching Morgan pop an eyeball into her mouth like she was sampling an appetizer. It wasn’t bad enough that Morgan saw the goods, she had to snack on them too. Five minutes in and she was already out a couple hundred bucks. This was off to a hell of a start. “Stop that!” She ran for the table, collecting the rest of the saran-wrapped organs in her arms. Fuck. Fuck. “I was about to put them away,” she answered, aware that it was more of a nonanswer. “They’re not hors d'oeuvres so can you just--try to refrain?” She huffed, moving to the freezer. Glanced back, unable to feel just a little uncomfortable at the thought of being alone with an apparently snacky zombie. “I thought you just were into brains, anyway?”

Morgan backed away from the table, frowning as she cradled her snacks to her chest. “This is me trying!” She whined, mouth still half full. This wasn’t a good time to wonder if whatever species this had come from actually tasted better than the rabbit eyes she normally had, but the pull in her, the wanting, was so much she closed her eyes to enjoy the last gummy chunks sliding down her throat as she finished it off. “Um, so, funny story? Brains make my world go round, but dead bodies and viscera are like...well I never did even soft drugs when I was alive, but I can’t help myself. I’ve stuck my face straight into a dead baby deer. It’s like true love...in uh, you know, gross...foodie sort of way.” She swallowed the last of the eyeball, feeling embarrassed. Then she remembered that Erin was the one with the zombie buffet on her table. “You never answered my question. What are you doing with the zombie buffet on your table? This doesn’t look all that much like Funeral Director of the Year stuff.” She opened the brain bag and started to munch on that next.

Erin couldn’t help but stare with vague fascination as she watched Morgan explain herself, chewing on a half eaten eyeball. “I’ll try to remember that next time, then,” she winced a little, watching her money go right down Morgan’s throat. Nothing that could be done about it now, anyway. Flustered a little at the question, realizing Morgan wasn’t about to let up. “Well--I was saving that one for you anyway so, please. Enjoy,” she nodded towards the human brain she was already feasting on. A little sarcastic considering she was helping herself again but more genuine than not. Fuck. This wasn’t at all how she’d anticipated this little visit to go. With a long sigh, she pulled her rubber gloves off. “It’s--complicated,” she said hurriedly, clearing her throat. Had she ever actually straight up told anyone about this? Nic, Marley--hell, even Nell just knew. No explanations had been necessary. “And I’m a damn good funeral director. This doesn’t change that.” Her fingers tapped on the silver table and she eyed her carefully. “If I tell you, this stays between us, right?” Morgan was smart enough to probably figure it out at this point, but the assurance didn’t hurt.

Morgan continued to frown, miffed that she was on the pointy end of the sarcasm stick when she had been asked to come. What was she supposed to do, stay at the door all night and go home sad? But Erin seemed frazzled beyond being interrupted. Morgan’s dig at her above-board job proved that too. Morgan was even beginning to feel bad. She tilted her head, trying to get a better read on Erin. “I’m a zombie, Erin. I know all about awkward secrets to keep.” She started to edge closer, plucking a chunk of brain matter off to chew on. And, holy shit, she had to know how long this one had been left sitting and at what temperature, because it made her taste buds melt like burgers used to--but there were more important things to deal with. Erin had some kind of organ stockpiling problem, and maybe a ‘oops my friend knows I’m into some weird, sketchy looking shit’ problem. “If it helps, it looks like you’re running some kind of under the table organ pantry. So either I’m right, and I just made your job easier for you, or I’m wrong, and you have even more reason to correct me. But...you just saw me eat eyeballs and I used to sell people shiny rocks I transmuted out of garbage. I’m really not gonna judge.”

Erin chewed on the inside of her lip as Morgan spoke. Yep. Of course she figured it out. What the fuck else was a mortician doing with a bunch of unlabeled organs saran wrapped in the embalming room? All signs pointed to shady. This was entirely her fault, which bothered her the most about this whole thing. She fucked up. Forgot their plans. Something had to give, eventually. It was bound to. Juggling businesses, murderous mimes and actively trying to not be a shitty friend was a dangerous game. But she trusted Morgan, as much as that was worth. Had to, considering how calmly she was chewing on Mr. “Mr. Reid’s dearly departed brain, after taking out his eyeballs in less than five minutes flat. “Organ harvesting and trafficking, actually,” she corrected her, taking a deep breath after she said the words out loud. Just rip the bandaid off, right? Felt wrong on her tongue for more reasons than she cared to think about. “It’s--” she shook her head, glancing down at the table again for a moment, then forced herself to stare back up at Morgan. Fingers thrumming against the table again, her nerves alight. “My dad got into it before I took the business over and I got stuck with it because he couldn’t handle it. Please believe me when I say this isn’t something I ever wanted.”

Oh. Oh, this was something serious. Was Morgan still a person who knew how to take on serious things with new people? She was feeling okay today. Sort of float-y in a way that made a distant part of her worried, but she wasn’t tired. Not like she was on other days. But this whole—thing Erin was tearsely explaining wasn’t something looked suddenly less like a dirty secret and more like a two ton brick she’d been hauling for too long. Morgan could at least understand that feeling, even if the rest of the situation confused her. “Shit,” she said. “That explains some of the vague trauma you mentioned. I can’t even imagine…” She stepped closer, more confident now that she wasn’t in trouble, “Can ask if—I mean, is it going well? Are you...going to be okay?”

Relief came with the confession like an exhale. A momentary reprieve to that tension knotting in her chest for months now. The inhale felt just as horrible as it always had. The knot settled back where it knew it belonged in Erin’s chest. Morgan wouldn’t judge. She wouldn’t rat her out. But there was something unsafe about having it out in the open like this. A little bit of control was gone and that almost felt worse than the deed itself. “Good as it can be, I guess? It was a little rocky at first but--I’m getting there.” She tossed on a smile, raising a brow at Morgan. “Don’t worry about it. Just try not to eat my merchandise? Those eyeballs you demolished set me back a couple hundred dollars,” she teased, a chuckle in her voice to hide the very real pain there. Dale was a good scapegoat for that kind of thing anyway--the big oaf was as heavy handed as they came. She leaned against the table, glancing between the brain in her hands and Morgan’s gaze. “Is… that your first human brain?”

“Oh. Oh, shit!” Morgan cried, face dropping with dismay. “I really couldn’t help it. That’s not just like, me being weird. I can probably get Deirdre to reimburse you? I don’t have to mention the eyeballs, or the brain, if you don’t want, but I uh...don’t think she’d mind it either.” It was a little too late with the brain, so Morgan took a sheepish dip back into the bag to pull off another chunk. It was halfway up to her mouth when Erin said the word human. Morgan looked down at the brain again. “Oh,” she said, voice squeaking. “So that’s why it tastes so good.” She continued to stare at the brain. From the size of it, she probably should’ve known it wasn’t just some deer. But holy shit. You’d think there’d be fanfare or at least a good shock of agony over baby’s first lite cannibalism. But it had just been a really yummy brain, no more interesting than another until she’d tasted it. “Uh...yeah. If that’s what this is...yeah.” Was it bad, that it didn’t mean anything to her? That the only thought she’d had was how yummy? Sure, deer and raccoon and cow brain were nice. But this was steak. Or cheesecake. For all that it looked the same, the taste was enough to have let her feel good about something while she’d chewed. Then another question came to her. “Not to be gross, but are these...was this…” she jiggled the bag in her hand. “...One of your clients?”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Erin finally gave a genuine laugh, shaking her head. Was that one of those zombie quirks? Like how amputated body parts turned to goo? “I actually really was saving that brain for you.” She had to admit, she was a little surprised at Morgan’s hesitation. This was a funeral home. No way she could’ve thought animal brains were more readily available than an actual human’s. Didn’t deter her, she noted, when her fingers dipped back into the bag. “Well,” she said, starting to pull off her blue scrubs, raising a brow. “My clients have some organs to spare. Waste not, want not?” She offered with a shrug. It was more difficult than she anticipated to keep her eyes off of Morgan. She looked the same, and if it wasn’t for the brain food she was gobbling down, it would’ve been impossible to see anything different about her. But she was eating a human brain. She knew what happened to some of the parts that left her basement, but this was the first time she’d witnessed it first hand. “Doesn’t bother you, does it?” Another pause as she tried not to overtly stare anymore. “You know, I swear I didn’t invite you over for this but--if that’s something you think you’d want on a regular basis, I can definitely help you out.”

Morgan looked down at the brain. She was still waiting for the horror to set in, but mostly she was worried what Remmy would say, or Deirdre. She’d only given her animal brains so far, not even an offer or a suggestion of anything else. They wouldn’t blame her for an accident, but liking it, enjoying it---Morgan saw herself split and cracked between two lenses. One monstrous, one that simply was. ‘Don’t eat the humans’ was the number one thing she heard from hunter types. It was even a question she remembered asking herself. Do they eat people? Do they hurt people? As if it made them inherently better, safer, if the answer was “right.” But here she was, some poor guy’s insides already in her stomach. And as much as she was troubled, it took effort to maintain. “B-bother?” She asked. Shrugged. “Does it bother you? You seem pretty chill with me eating in front of you, all things considered. I mean, would you really….supply that sort of thing? For me?”

There was some kind of internal struggle going on behind Morgan’s eyes. Was this weird for her too? She’d been snacking on them like Erin was going out of business. “I don’t know, maybe I should be more bothered,” she shrugged, running a hand through her hair. “But I fished them out of the guy, you know?” Maybe it was like how a butcher didn’t have any trouble selling even the most obscure parts of the cow. In this case, she was simply more familiar with the human body. “Doesn’t bother me,” she confirmed, giving her a smile to cement that. “Brains are a little more expensive, just so you know. But yeah. This is what I do. It wouldn’t be a problem at all.”

“You...did all this yourself? And the guy still looked like himself at the end? With the--” Morgan motioned to her skull. “I’m usually in a weird...zombie haze whenever I’m eating out in the wild, so things like being careful don’t really make it into the thought process. But...bones are hard. If you get it really wrong, you get a bunch of gross pointy bits in the food. Worse than eggshells in your fried rice. What do you do to get to the stuff and humpty-dumpty them back together?” But something else snagged her mind more than her curiosity, pulling her back. “You really mean it? About the not weird and the...supply? Just, you know, for sometimes? Really?” She wondered how expensive Erin was talking here.

“The brain’s usually always taken out during an autopsy, along with the rest of the organs.” Erin explained. “They all get tossed into the visceral bag, which then gets tucked into the stomach cavity. Makes my job easier because then all I have to do is take them out and pack them up.” This would make the whole process way slower and harder if she had to go in every time and dissect them herself, she knew that much. Her brows furrowed at the thought of Morgan out there in the woods, running around and crushing animal skulls. “Yeah, I mean it. Can’t have you out there chasing after squirrels or whatever all the time, right?” Wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. She shrugged. “My boss usually likes to charge a higher fee but I don’t mind cutting costs. For friends,” she smiled.

“Oh, wow. That’s...one way to do it.” Morgan realized with unsettling clarity that she had never thought of the mechanics of death before. When she had lost her parents and her friends, she had been too wrapped up in the loss and unfairness of it to remember there was something practical, even mechanical to death. Even in humans, with the rituals and the preservation that kept the flies and maggots at bay, there was something. A process detached from all that they had meant before the last breath went out. It wasn’t bad, or hurtful, it was simply...after. Morgan came out of her thought to look at Erin, steeped her whole life in this strange, thankless care. It was essential, even as it rattled and stung the rest of the world, her clients. She didn’t even have much of a chip on her shoulder about it, she just continued, and found a way to make “after” work for other people too. Well, maybe not “found,” but she was still at it. And now that the shock of discovery had worn off, she didn’t seem that ashamed about it. A rush of endearment filled her and she ran to Erin, brain still jiggling in the bag and pulled her into a crushing hug. “Thank you, Erin,” she said. “You’re a really good friend, you know that?” She lingered there a moment, trying to fix words to how...fine all of this seemed. Not normal, they wouldn’t be hiding in a basement if it was normal, but fine. She pulled away, backing up to hop on the table, taking another handful of brain. “You wouldn’t have heard from somewhere about how human brains taste, would you? I feel weirdly like...playing board games. And listening to the radio. Like there’s a hockey game on? I don’t like hockey, but if you know where to put one on--” She gave a thumbs up and took another bite of brain. “But, also, I’ve lost my foot like twice this week. If you wanted to check out weird things my bones can do still.”

Erin looked up just in time to brace herself for the shorter woman hurling herself at her. “Oh, you’re--,” she huffed out a laugh, genuinely struggling to catch her breath. For a moment it felt like she had just ran into a wall with arms. “You’re welcome,” she finished, briefly wrapping her arms around her. Morgan was a lot of things Erin was still trying to properly grasp, but she was a good one. Chaotic, but good. That much she did know. She held her hand to her chest when Morgan pulled away, laughing despite herself. “I’ve never thought to ask,” she answered honestly, leaning against the same table Morgan was perched on. “How does it taste?” When she started to prattle on more questions, things so specific to the man in the ziploc bag in her hands, she couldn’t help but stop in her tracks. “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly craving a tall, crisp IPA now too?” She asked, glancing back and forth between Morgan and the bag. His widower had carried on about the man’s favorite things to her just that morning before crying into her shoulder. “You don’t mean you’ve literally lost your foot, right?” As soon as she asked the question, she couldn’t help but realize how very wrong she probably was.

Morgan shrugged. “Rich. Like, a good medium-rare burger. Or like, cheesecake? It’s good. Rich. My mouth is literally watering eating it.” She took another bite. “Ew, IPA? No, I mean, I can’t taste anything anymore, but I came from Houston, and our beer culture is way to evolved for an IPA. Are you saying--” She eyed the brain pointedly. “I actually kinda know Mr. What’s-his-name? When I eat him?” She shrugged, a little uncomfortable. Having real, meaningful parts of people in her head wasn’t something she was sure she liked. But stars, whats-his-name tasted good. “Ooh, but actually, I did mean literally.” She kicked off her flats and wiggled her bare toes. “I don’t have anything to break them with, but if you got anything fancy in here, you can knock yourself out. Like--” She pressed them against a chair leg, more and more until they crumbled and bent over in a way toes normally shouldn’t. It was a satisfying sting of pain. She flexed them again and they righted themselves before both their eyes, only a little dislocated, really. She smiled up at Erin, kicking her legs with a little satisfaction. “I mean, when I ran into this scary eye-hands critter, I just lost the whole thing. And with the killer clams. But we’re good as new now!” She looked around the room for wherever Erin kept her music. “I do kinda mean it about hockey though.”

“Mr. Reid drank IPA’s,” Erin corrected, a slow smirk on her lips as she watched her. She didn’t have any particular thoughts about beer. Beer was beer. Some of it was good, some of it was bad, but it all got the job done in the end. She couldn’t help but stare as Morgan seemed to crush her toes, then flexed them back into shape again. “Whoa,” she said in genuine amazement. An idea sparked and she turned, digging into one of the cabinets. “Yeah, over there,” she said, pointing towards a radio across the room. She pulled out one of her biggest, thickest trocars. This wouldn’t hurt her right? Erin smiled, raising a brow. “Hey--can I try something?”

#wickedswriting #chatzy #chatzy: morgan #organ's out of the bag

[panda-noosh]

A Night Spent Dancing {Keith x Reader}

Words: 7k

  Summary: Hope's getting to that age where school events are starting to dot her schedule – including a Father-Daughter dance that she is determined to attend.

  Genre: fluff

  Warning: none

  Notes: masterlist – :):):) kind of a sequel to SONDER oops. 

  ---

    Whenever Keith reached his hand out, it was not Hope's small hand that wrapped around his fingers.

    Keith frowned, the shock of the paper against his palm startling him; at first, he thought Hope had somehow gotten lost. He whirled around, looked down to see the five year old girl still standing by his side, looking up at him with her gapped-toothed grin that Keith loved so dearly.

   His features softened before he looked down at the piece of paper she had just slipped into his hand.

    “What's this?” he asked. It was small, large black letters written against a shock of yellow. “You haven't been expelled, have you? I don't think I'll be able to stand up for you when your Mum finds out.”

  “No!” Hope giggled. “Mrs McAlonan handed them out today. We're going dancing, Keith!”

   Again, Keith found himself frowning. Dancing?

    He looked down at the page in his hand, but was unable to read the words before Hope was grabbing onto his other hand and dragging him through the school car park towards the awaiting pizza delivery van that Keith had taken to pick her up on this fine, Tuesday afternoon.

   Keith stumbled after her, the note forgotten in his hand as Hope went on and on about how her day at school had went; it seemed as if the note wasn't all that important, after all, if Hope could forget about it so soon.

  ---

   Oh, how wrong Keith had been.

   As soon as they arrived home, he set the page down on the counter. It wasn't important to him at the moment; he promised himself he would look at it later, or perhaps you would find it when you got home from work and you would read it and see what the big deal was. In the meantime, Keith didn't want to ponder over school duties; he had been doing that for weeks now.

   Hope had only just recently started an after school baking class in her P1 classroom. This meant that Keith and yourself had been given the extra task of sending in different recipes for her, different ingredients that the teachers requested every other week; don't get Keith wrong, he loved the work. He loved watching Hope's face light up in delight when she would walk through the gates of the school with a Tupperware box full of freshly baked muffins in her hand, loved hearing her proudly say, “Look what I made!”

   But again, it was another task that Keith had never really signed up for, but a task he wouldn't trade in for the world.

    That was how he felt a lot of the time. It came with a strange sense of guilt, as if he shouldn't even be questioning his role in the little family he had somehow managed to get himself tangled up in. He loved Hope with all of his heart, loved you just as much, but sometimes he sat down and wondered just how it had all happened – how he had suddenly become an almost father-figure to a girl of five during one of his pizza delivery shifts.

    “Keith!” Hope exclaimed when the two of them crowded into the living room. “Where's Mummy?”

    She asked this every time they arrived home.

     “She's working,” Keith replied. “And she'll be home in a few hours, so we need to get your homework all done, don't we?”

   Hope's eyes flashed. She folded her arms over her chest, pouted with a look of pure scorn suddenly crossing her features – well, it was clear that that was her intention, though Keith could only see how cute she looked right now. You often did the same expression whenever you weren't getting what you wanted, which only made Keith laugh harder.

   Hope stomped her foot. “Mrs McAlonan gives out too much homework. It makes my brain tired.”

   “Yeah, well, you need to strengthen your brain then, don't you?” To exaggerate his point, Keith gently flicked the little girl on her temple. Hope scrunched her nose up, swung her arms around in her attempts to swat his hands away, but Keith had already turned on his heel and was making his way towards Hope's backpack, which he had left on the chair.

   He dragged out her little yellow folder filled to the brim with the colouring sheets that Mrs McAlonan labelled as 'homework' and set them on the table. Together, the two of them sat down and coloured in the snake that was in the shape of an 'S,' the mysterious slip of yellow paper long since been forgotten.

   ---

   “Uh...Keith?”

   You held the letter in your hands tightly, unsure with how to respond to it.

   The little piece of yellow paper had been deserted on the counter when you had walked in from work. The house, too, seemed deserted, but upon closer inspection, you could hear Hope and Keith playing with the LEGO's up in Hope's room – you had decided to leave them, far too hungry and tired to waste any time not cooking dinner and getting yourself ready for an early night.

   But you had certainly been woken up upon reading the note sent home from Hope's school.

    “Oh, you're home!” Keith exclaimed, walking through the kitchen door. “I've just put Hope to bed. I didn't think you'd be back for another few hours.”

   You simply nodded, not taking your eyes off of the letter.

   Keith made his way over to you, fiddling with a block of LEGO as he did so. “What's wrong?”

   “Have you read this yet?” you asked.

   Keith frowned, glanced over your shoulder. “No. Hope gave it to me when she came out of the gates, but I didn't think much of it. Why? What does it say?”

   You didn't reply, but instead thrust the note into his hands. He grabbed at it, you watching as his eyes traced over the massive, bold letters that seemed to be the usual for anything sent home from the P1 classroom, as if the teachers thought you had the same reading ability as the children you were sending off to them every morning.

   You could see the realisation dawning on his face. His eyes darted side-to-side a little bit quicker, his grip on his LEGO tightening, his frown morphing into something closer to a scowl than anything else. Even his face was growing that little bit paler, and it took everything in you not to reach out and press the back of your hand to his forehead, just to make sure he wasn't suddenly getting chills.

    He looked up slowly once he was finished reading.

   “A father-daughter dance?” he choked out. “For five year olds? I thought that was a high school thing!”

    “So did I!” you exclaimed, your panic refusing to cease. “Do you think she knows?”

   Keith set the LEGO and the note down on the table before running his hands through his black hair. “I don't – I don't know. She didn't say anything to me whenever we got home – I don't think her teachers have spoken about it too much yet.”

   You hollowed out your cheeks. It wasn't something to be panicked over – Hope would understand. Maybe she wouldn't even want to go. Maybe she would find it stupid, just like you had always done back when you were her age. Your mother often described how she thought you were strange because you hated things like that – you never went to discos, never saw the point in dressing up for a school event. It was a day off for you, and that was all there was to it.

   But even as the thought crossed your mind, you felt guilty about it.

   Hope should have the same opportunities as every other kid her age, and surely she wasn't the only little girl in her class to lack a father?

   There was a strange sense of guilt crowding itself in your stomach as you stood there, looking down at the note that had been placed down on the counter. It was as if you were somehow at fault for the fact that Hope would not be able to go to the father-daughter dance with her father, as if you could have somehow changed the way things happened, as if you maybe should have tried a little bit harder to make him stay.

   The thought was banished whenever Keith's hand was gently laid on your elbow, drawing you back to the present; you didn't love Hope's father. He had left you with a baby, had not once tried to make contact with her or you during that time – you didn't need him. You had Keith, and you had never been happier.

    “We'll talk to her about it,” said Keith. You didn't need to tell him what was on your mind. He just knew.

   He drew his arms around your shoulders and tugged you into him, his chin pressing into the top of your head.

   “You're an amazing mother,” he whispered.

   You nuzzled closer into his neck, holding him tighter, silently thanking whoever was listening for the blessing given to you that was Keith Kogane.

   ---

   You decided to bring the subject of the father-daughter dance up to Hope during breakfast the very next day.

    You had made a particularly special breakfast this morning, consisting of pancakes and bacon that Hope was devouring happily, her eyes cast over to the living room where the television was still playing the latest episode of Paw Patrol. You and Keith sat in front of her, watching her closely, waiting for the right moment to speak up and say what you needed to.

   Keith shot you a desperate glance. Time was dwindling. You would soon have to be off to work, and Hope would soon be clambering into the back of Keith's car to head off for school – if you wanted to talk to her about it, you needed to do it now.

   You inhaled deeply, leaned across the table and placed a light hand on your daughters head. She whirled around at the contact, giving you a bacon-filled grin that made you chuckle despite yourself.

   “You've gotta keep your mouth closed when you're eating,” you reminded her, cupping her chin and shutting her mouth yourself.

   Hope chewed exaggeratedly, looking as if she were fighting to keep her lips on her face.

   You chuckled. “Okay, I need to talk to you about something, baby girl. Do you promise you're gonna listen and you're gonna take it seriously?”

   Hope paused, swallowed. “Yes. I promise, Mummy.”

    “Has your teacher spoken to you about the father-daughter dance that your school is organising?”

   Hope frowned. Her eyebrows wrinkled, a crease forming between them, her green eyes that she had acquired from her father narrowing in exaggerated confusion. “I don't know what that is.”

    You hollowed out your cheeks, grip tightening on the edge of the table. Keith reached towards you, placed his hand on your knee as he listened to what was going on.

    “It's like a disco,” you replied. “Only it's a special kind of disco – it has a theme, you see.”

  “Theme? Like a costume party?”

   “Not exactly. The theme of this party is daddy and daughters – little girls take their daddy's to their school and they have a dance together.”

   Hope nodded slowly. You could see the cogs turning behind her eyes as she gripped on to what you were saying, tried to make sense of it all.

   “Oh, right,” was all she could manage. She shrugged loosely then, turned back in her seat and took a chunk out of a pancake.

   You blinked. Keith's grip tightened on your knee – she had lost all interest again, and you weren't entirely sure you had the will-power to restart the entire explanation.

   How were you going to explain to her what this all meant without shattering her heart into a million little pieces? How were you going to let her know that she wouldn't be able to attend with her father, that she would perhaps be the odd one out if she did decide to attend this dance?

   You turned to Keith for help, though you knew it was pointless. Keith loved Hope with every fibre of his being, and he never made that fact hidden, but it was no secret that he knew where his boundaries were. He knew where his opinion was welcomed, knew where it wasn't, and as much as you wanted him to step in and help you right now, this was your job to explain.

   You sighed and turned back to your daughter, grabbing her arm to get her attention. She looked round at you, smiled again before realising her mistake and abruptly snapping her filled mouth shut.

   “Do you want to go to the dance, sweetie?” you asked.

    Hope nodded. “I am going, Mummy. Mrs McAlonan said it would be fun. She said I can wear a pretty dress if I wanted to.”

    “You can. You will,” you said, voice wavering. “But the thing is. . . I'll be going with you instead.”

   Hope frowned. “No. You're not my Daddy. You're my Mummy.”

     Here it was. The moment you had been dreading was finally impending towards you, and you had no choice but to take it in stride.

    Reaching over, you gently squeezed her fingers. “You're Daddy might not be able to attend, sweetie.”

    Hope was silent for a moment after that, staring at you with those big green eyes that had you faltering. The guilt was eating you alive. From the moment her real father had left, you knew it wouldn't be long until you would be forced to sit her down and tell her the reason behind why she didn't have somebody she could call Dad – but it was a lot more difficult than you had originally thought.

    She swallowed her pancakes before answering. “Why not?”

   “Well, he's not here right now.”

    Her eyes narrowed even further, if such a thing were possible. At first glance, she truly looked as if she had her eyes closed, though you could see that she still had them set firmly on you.

    “He's right there, Mummy.”

    And then it all clicked into place.

    Keith's grip on your knee grew impossibly tighter, to the point where you were shaking your leg in an attempt to get him off of you. He flinched his hand away, pulling it into his chest but his eyes not once left the little girl in front of him – the unbothered little girl who had all but called him her father.

    It was surreal only for a moment. You and Keith sharing shocked glances whilst Hope idly chewed away at a slice of bacon, turning her attention back to the TV playing behind her. Your heart was thundering in your chest with a kind of happiness you had no idea that such words would ever bring to you – not once had you thought that Hope would ever see Keith as a father-figure, because you had been so used to being the only figure in her life. Call you selfish, but you had grown used to that title, and had never once thought you would have to share it with someone else.

   But the shock wore off once the common sense settled in. Of course she would see Keith as a father-figure – he was the one man who had taken care of her in her short five years of living. He took her to school every morning, picked her up every afternoon. He cooked her dinner whenever you were unable to, took her to bed and read her bed time stories. He made you happy. She saw him kiss you on the cheek, saw him make you laugh, saw him make you smile – of course she would see him as a father-figure, because that was all she had been taught a father-figure was.

    A person that took care of her, and a person that made Mummy happy.

    The subject was dropped after that. Neither you nor Keith knew how to respond, so you merely let it simmer for the time being – it would be something you could discuss later on, perhaps whenever Hope wasn't in the room.

   You kissed Keith goodbye, gave Hope the biggest of hugs before the two were marching out of the front door for the school run. Before Keith closed the door, he turned to you and gave you a desperate look, eyes popped wide and face still pale. You simply smiled at him before nudging the door closed with your hip, finally letting your giddy smile erupt upon your features now that you were alone.

   ---

   “I didn't know what to say,” Keith hissed, following you around the kitchen. He had a tray of burnt garlic bread in his hand, was eating away at it as you busied yourself with cleaning up the counters of your and Keith's shared workplace. Whilst he was a delivery driver, you had been given the job of washing up after hours.

     “It was adorable,” you replied. “She loves you so much.”

  “And I love her,” he said immediately. “But it's just a shock to the system, isn't it?”

    “I don't know why you were surprised – you're the only man who's actually been around her.”

    “I haven't been around that long.”

   You raised a brow. “Nearly a year, Keith. Her little brain adapts to that kind of thing very fast.”

    Keith pouted, popping another bit of garlic bread into his mouth. He had stopped following you now and was merely leaning against the door frame, waiting for you to finish up your work so the two of you could leave and go home.

    “It didn't bother you, did it?” you asked.

   Keith's head shot up, violet eyes widening. “Bother me? Why would it have bothered me?”

   “Well...” You shrugged. “You're just not exactly the type of person who handles any kind of affection very well. I just thought maybe it made you a bit uncomfortable.”

    “It didn't,” Keith replied immediately. “As I said, it was just a shock. But if she wants to see me as a father figure, then I'd be honoured.”

   You flushed despite yourself. Hearing him speak like this, hearing somebody care for Hope in the way you had cared for her over the course of her entire life made you feel a little lighter, made you feel as if you hadn't completely failed as a parent – because that was the attitude you had placed upon yourself during your five years of motherhood – the father of your child had up and left, and you had immediately blamed yourself for it, because why would he have left due to Hope? Why would anyone look at the precious little girl that they called their daughter and leave?

   It didn't make sense, which was why all the blame was immediately tossed to you.

    “I think that's very nice of you,” you said after fighting to get your smile under control. “Are you going to the dance with her?”

  Keith faltered. “Y/N....”

  “You have to now,” you chuckled, whirling around and flicking a bit of water at him. He scowled at you. “She's all excited for it! Just imagine – her standing on your toes in her pretty dress, dancing to some stupid Kidz Bop song-”

   “We'll be listening to Frank Sinatra and that is all.”

  “Aw, Keith, it'll be so precious!” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, suddenly growing very excited at the prospect you were proposing.

   Keith wrapped his arms around your waist and sighed. “I'm an awful dancer.”

   “So is Hope. She's only five.”

   “We'll look ridiculous.”

  “You'll look adorable.” You pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, pulled away grinning. “And as an added bonus, it will make Hope so happy. So what do you say?”

   Keith looked down at you, observing your face. You were grinning from ear-to-ear, unable to hide the excited buzz that was coming along with the image of Keith and your little girl walking into the school, hand-in-hand for their first father-daughter dance.

  He sighed then, nuzzled his nose in the crook of your neck in defeat. “Of course I'll go with her.”

   ---

    As much as Keith had taken to complaining about the dance, he couldn't help but acknowledge the excitement he felt when he stepped downstairs on the night itself.

   He had yet to see Hope. After dinner, you had immediately dragged her upstairs to get ready, telling Keith that he could not – under any circumstances – peak into Hope's room to get a glimpse of what she looked like. It was a surprise.

   Keith didn't see the point, but didn't question it. The smile on Hope's face was enough to have him following every stupid tradition that people had come up with for these things, if only because she was having fun with it.

    He looked at himself in the mirror, tugging on the lapels of his black blazer. It was a little loose on him, the sleeves hanging over his hands a little bit. It had once belonged to his friend Shiro, who had always been at least two sizes bigger than Keith, but the man had nothing fancier to put on. He knew Hope wouldn't mind, and the only person he was trying to impress was her.

   And you, he supposed, smiling to his reflection. He could already tell you were going to get emotional whenever you saw him and Hope together – the past few weeks leading up to the dance, any time it was mentioned, Keith saw you grow stiff, try to hide a smile, dab at your eyes every now and then as the realisation of what was going on finally dawned on you. Though Keith had never felt the same way, he knew it must have been such a pleasant thing for you to witness your daughter finally opening up to someone, finally seeing someone as a father-figure after so long of living without one.

    Keith was too busy pondering on what your reaction might be to his suit – maybe he'd get a kiss, a promise of other things for later on? - that he failed to notice you and Hope clambering downstairs together.

   It wasn't until Hope gasped and said, “He's there, Mummy! The surprise is gonna be ruined!” that he span on his heel to look at you both.

   Hope had hastily hidden herself behind your legs. You gripped her hand, looking down at Keith with an expression that told him he would most definitely be getting other things later on in the night, but that wasn't what he was concentrating on.

   Despite Hope trying her absolute hardest to hide herself from Keith's view, it wasn't working, and he could see her perfectly well. He could see the navy blue dress she had on, little pink flowers dotting around it. A white ribbon was wrapped around her middle, tied in a knot that caused the skirt of the dress to billow out around her, reminding Keith – much to his own embarrassment – of a princess.

    “Oh, Hope,” he gushed, feeling his cheeks heat up. “You look so pretty!”

   The little girl flushed, burying her head into your coat.

   Keith grinned and stepped forward, grandly offering his hand. Hope hesitated for a moment, before her face was breaking out in a smile and she was launching herself forward, refusing Keith's hand and instead leaping into his arms entirely.

    Keith caught her and span around, laughing whenever she wound her hands in the hair at the back of his head, nuzzling her head into his neck.

    “Are you ready to go?” he asked, setting her down. She grabbed for his hand immediately, nodding.

   “Wait, wait, wait!” you exclaimed, suddenly snapping out of the daze that Keith's suit had put you in. You stampeded down the stairs, snatched the camera off of the table and motioned for the two of them to stand close together. Keith narrowed his eyes.

   “You want pictures, too?”

  “Stop being a spoil sport,” you hissed. “Now smile!”

  Still holding Hope's hand, Keith put a large grin on his face that wasn't entirely false. It felt natural now, because there was a real and true feeling of utter happiness coursing through his body that he couldn't quite explain. He had never felt so . . . honoured before.

    You snapped the picture, smiled down at it before taking another one. And another one. And another one, until Keith had to eventually rip the camera from your fingers and set it back on the table in fear of being late.

   “I'm sorry,” you sniffled. You were no longer hiding your tears. Keith hollowed out his cheeks, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you into a hug that saw you nuzzling your head in his neck, gripping at his shirt tightly. “I'm such a wimp.”

  “We're gonna be late, Mummy! Dry your eyes!” Hope exclaimed.

   Keith chuckled, pressed a kiss to your lips before he was letting go and reaching for Hope's hand once again. Hope took it excitedly, started dragging Keith towards the door – Keith only took one last look at you, saw you waving and exclaiming your farewells, before the door was closing behind him and he was thrown into the world of proper fatherhood.

    ----

   Although Keith had grown quite attached to Hope over time, his opinion of children in general had yet to shift.

   Sure, Hope had opened him up to a whole new world of possibilities. He at least knew how to take care of a child if the need arose, but it didn't mean he was any more comfortable around them than he once had been before meeting Hope. He felt that familiar nervousness rise in his chest as he stepped through the double doors of the hall, looking around for any sign of alcohol.

   But, of course, that stress reliever wasn't present during a father-daughter dance aimed at five year olds.

   And it was very obvious it was for five year olds. Bar the teachers and the parents themselves, the entire room was filled with young girls in frilly little dresses, their hair done up in curls that had Hope frowning as she plucked at her own hair, which you had left down. Keith had forgotten to thank you for that fact – though curls were nice, Hope's hair would never be able to withstand such a thing. Her hair was incredibly thick, and the curls wouldn't last much longer than an hour before they were going frizzy and wild. Plus, Keith always liked Hope's hair when it was down – she looked nice.

    He got this point across by gently placing a hand on her head as the two of them entered. She looked up at him and gave him a small smile, before slipping her hand in his and dragging him out onto the dance floor.

    A number of teachers were glancing over at him almost as soon as he and Hope had entered – they didn't know who he was. He was the man who picked Hope up from school every day, the man who dropped her off, but they knew full well that Keith wasn't her father. They looked absolutely nothing alike, and Keith had only started dropping her off during the middle of her first year – they must have known the truth somehow, surely.

   But Keith found himself not caring. If they wanted to stare, they could. Tonight, his main goal and his main focus was on making sure Hope had a good time, making sure she didn't feel any different just because Keith wasn't her real father.

    “This is my schools dinner hall,” Hope said, throwing her arm out to show off the room they were standing in.

   Keith looked around at the purple decorations hanging on the walls, nodding with his lower lip protruded. “Very nice. Do you think they're serving food?”

   “I see a chocolate fountain!” she exclaimed. “Can we bring Mummy some marshmallows? She loves marshmallows.”

   Keith and Hope started towards the chocolate fountain, Hope still holding his hand.

   “I don't think that would be very clean. The marshmallows might get dirty if you keep them in your pocket.”

   Hope frowned. “But we can't go home and not bring Mummy anything.”

   “I agree. We'll bring her a . . . a gift card or something.”

  Hope shook her head stubbornly, and before Keith could do anything about it, she had dug her hand into the bowl of marshmallows and was already stuffing her handful into the pockets of her navy dress. Keith hollowed out his cheeks, hearing the teacher at the side of him intake a sharp breath, but he ignored her completely and instead decided to join Hope in gathering – perhaps stealing – the food from the table.

   The two of them giggled as they filled their pockets with marshmallows. Their fingers were sticky by the end of it, and Hope only laughed harder whenever she placed her hands in her mouth to suck the residue off of her fingers. Keith scowled, grabbing at a napkin and placing it on her head.

   “Don't be messy,” he ordered. Hope only laughed harder, shaking her head furiously to get the napkin off of her. Keith chuckled, grabbed her soaked hands and pulled her back onto the dance floor.

    The song had shifted to Dynamite by Taio Cruz – Keith could barely hold back his laughter at the song choice, but found himself slowly rocking back and forth to the beat with Hope dancing in front of him – her moves were a lot more desperate than his own. She waved her hands in the air, shook her hips back and forth. Her eyes were closed, her hair swaying behind her head beautifully, a focused expression on her face – she wasn't even smiling. It was as if she had been sucked into her own world, as if everybody else – Keith included – had melted away and the only thing existing was her and the music.

   Keith could have watched her doing this for hours. The absolute peace on her face, the joy she was showing even though she was doing very little – it made him happy, happy in a way he hadn't felt in a long, long time. In fact, now that he thought about it, he had only truly started to smile in this way whenever he had met you and Hope. His life had definitely changed, and he had acknowledged that, but it was only now as he watched this little girl dance in front of him, that he realised in just what way his life had been flipped.

   He wouldn't take it back for a second. He wouldn't change a single thing.

   Overcome with sudden emotion, Keith found himself reaching out and grabbing a hold of Hope's tiny hands. Her eyes popped open, green irises meeting Keith's bright violet ones. She started smiling whenever Keith lifted her up by her hands and plopped her onto the toes of his shoes.

    “The song is fast, Keith!” she exclaimed. “Go fast, go fast!”

   And Keith did just that, purely because she asked him to, just to see the smile on her face. He stomped his feet up and down dramatically, humming along obnoxiously to the song. After the first few verses, Hope tried to join in, despite not knowing the words, and soon, the two of them were stomping around the dance floor, singing the incorrect lyrics of the song at the top of their lungs.

   And it was perfect. Everything about the moment was utterly perfect. Keith felt lighter than air.

   The night drew on later than Keith had originally anticipated. Though he was most definitely not complaining, he would be a liar to claim he wasn't slightly surprised that the night had gone on past ten o'clock. The parents had long since slumped down at the refreshment table, a number of fathers talking amongst themselves as their daughters played around the dance floor.

   Keith glanced at the crowd of five year old girls beckoning for Hope to come over and join them; Hope was ignoring them, instead losing herself in the game of Guess Who she had started playing with Keith in the corner.

   “Hope,” Keith mumbled.

   She looked up. “Yes?”

    “Do you not wanna go and play with your friends?” he asked, nodding towards the crowd of girls who all waved shyly at Keith. He waved back before turning his attention on Hope again. “They look like they want you to play with them.”   Hope swivelled around, caught sight of her friends and waved back at them. She then raised her voice, pointed at Keith and said, “I'm playing Guess Who with Keith! I can't!”

   Keith flushed bright red. The fathers watched the scene unfold from the sidelines, and Keith suddenly felt as if he should go and join them, somehow introduce himself. He had spent the entire night with Hope, and though he didn't regret a single moment of it, he definitely did feel like he should at least spend some time making himself out to be a trustworthy adult, and introducing himself was the way to do that.

   He leaned over and placed a hand on Hope's arm, flattening the sleeve of her dress. Carelessly, without even looking up, Hope grabbed onto his fingers and started idly messing with them, all while keeping her gaze firm on the characters in front of her.

   “Hope,” Keith repeated. “I think you should at least go and say hi to them. You won't see them till Monday.”

   “I'll see them on Monday,” Hope insisted.

   “And you'll see me tomorrow.”

   Hope nodded. “When you make Mummy and me breakfast, right?”

   Keith chuckled. “Yes, when I make you both breakfast. But because you're seeing me tomorrow, that means it won't be a bad thing for you to leave for a little while to go and spend time with your friends.”

   Hope frowned, looking up at Keith. She was still playing idly with Keith's fingers, seeming utterly unaware of her actions. “But I want to stay with you.”

   “Hope!” a little girl exclaimed from the far side of the room. “Come play a game of tag with us!”

   Hope frowned even deeper, as if confused by the request. Keith slid a little closer to her, bunched his arm around her shoulder and said, “Go have fun, okay? I'll be right over there with the other Dad's if you need me.”

   Hope nodded then. She let go of Keith's hand and scattered off to her friends, and Keith watched her for just a second longer before realising what he actually needed to do – he was still a grown man, sitting in the corner of a school dinner hall in front of an empty game of Guess Who.

   Definitely not the kind of impression he wanted to make.

   With ease, he stood up from the floor, straightened out his oversized blazer and made his way over to the refreshments table. He immediately felt intimidated, as if the air had somehow gotten warmer around him. The men all looked at him as he approached, some smiling whilst some were simply looking him up and down, inspecting his every feature. He had the sudden urge to slip his blazer off; perhaps then he wouldn't look so much like a fourteen year old high school kid whose blazer hadn't been tailored properly.

   He couldn't worry about that now, though. He shook the self-conscious thoughts out of his head and took a seat beside one of the men he knew as Frank, Ebony's father.

   Frank wasted absolutely no time in starting conversation.

   “So you're the man who's been seen around with Y/N L/N lately.”

   That certainly startled Keith out of his previous mindset of how he looked.

   His head snapped around, mouth opening to reply, but he was cut off before he could say anything.

   “You know, I can respect a man like you. Somebody who takes on the role of father. You're good with her, as well,” said Frank, nodding towards Hope. “My little girl thinks the world of Hope, you know. Always talking about how she helps out during the art lessons. She was raised right, she was.”

   Keith was shocked. Was this really what parents spoke about? Did they really just compliment each other so casually all of the time?

   Keith swallowed thickly and pretended as if he wasn't becoming increasingly flustered with each passing compliment. “Well, Y/N's a brilliant mother.”

   “Yeah. She's nice,” said Frank. “How did you two meet?”

   “I – uh – I delivered pizza to her house one day,” Keith replied, before cringing as he recalled the memory. You had just stumbled up from bed and found Keith in your kitchen with your daughter in his hands – an odd beginning to what would eventually be a very loving relationship, but Keith wouldn't change it for the world.

   “Oh, yeah! You got her the job down at Voltrons Pizza Parlour, didn't you?”

  Keith raised a brow. “How did you know?”

  “I went in there to pick up my order and she was there – told me all about it. She thinks the world of you, you know.”

   Keith flushed. “I think the world of her. And Hope.”

   Frank smiled. The expression looked a little bit odd on his face, his stubbled chin protruding a tiny bit. Keith looked away from his amused expression, finding himself regretting his decision to join the group of dads more and more.

    “Hope looks like she's gotten attached to you,” Frank continued. “You two looked like peas in a pod whenever you were dancing – more like best friends than father and daughter.”

   “Well we are,” Keith replied. “Best friends, I mean.”

   “And I'm glad to hear it. It's about time that little girl had someone in her life who she trusts.”

   Keith raised a brow, glancing at Frank. The man had said such a thing so casually, his arm draped over the back of Keith's chair as he continued to look over his daughter to make sure she stayed safe.

   “What do you mean?” Keith asked.

   Frank looked at him, startled. “Well, the only person I've ever seen her actually get close to is her mother. Even with the other kids, she's a bit . . . shy. Look.”

   Keith did. He looked over at Hope, watching as she awkwardly stood on the sidelines with her hands bunched in the front of her dress, waiting for one of her friends to come over and catch her during their game of tag. Nobody was paying her much attention, though every now and then a little girl would yell, “You have to run, Hope!” to which Hope would hastily jog a few steps before stopping again, taking up her previously awkward stance.

   Keith's heart quivered a little bit in his chest; she looked so much like you right now, that shy smile on her face that was a clear indication she did not want to be there. Keith had seen that expression on you so many times before, knew whenever you made that face that it was time to leave.

    He stood up without entirely having a reason why. He just felt bad for her. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms, keep her safe, get her away from the crowd that was clearly making her little heart anxious. Without saying goodbye to any of the fathers, Keith made his way over to Hope, grinning from ear to ear as soon as she looked up and caught his eye.

    She scattered as soon as she spotted him, kicking herself away from the wall and darting into his arms. Keith grunted when her small frame clashed against his, but he was quick in lifting her up and spinning her around, pressing her tight against his chest. She buried her head in his neck, her hands finding their usual place in his hair.

   “I'm tired, Keith,” she said, making sure to say his name after her sentence, just like she always did. “Let's go home. Me and you. Nobody else is invited.” She looked up then, glancing down at Keith with wide eyes. “Except Mummy. Mummy can come if she wants to.”

  Keith grinned. He had enjoyed himself tonight, but the sound of spending the night in with his two girls sounded a lot more appealing.

  ---

   And that's exactly what you did.

    The three of you huddled together on the sofa, Hope pressed between you and Keith with her finger stuck in her mouth, the movie playing on the TV. You made your way through a box of pizza, Hope taking nibbles out of your slice every now and then as she insisted she wasn't hungry – she was only peckish, meaning she wouldn't eat her own full slice, but instead insisted on stealing yours.

   It was nearing the end of the film whenever Hope suddenly piped up, springing up from the sofa with wide eyes. “Mummy, I forgot!”

   You whirled around. “Forgot what?”

   Hope then reached into her pocket and pulled out a clump of melted marshmallows, dropping them into your hand before you had a chance to protest.

   Keith burst out laughing at the sight of it, pulling a similar clump of marshmallows out of his own pockets. “Oh yeah! I forgot about those as well.”

   Hope grinned from ear to ear as you stared down at the sweets in your hand.

    “We got you a present!”

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[aoimitsu]

“You” and “Me”

Series: Natsume Yuujinchou @natsumeweek

Characters: Matoba, Natori, Natsume

Rating: General 

Cross posted on Ao3

~

Day 5:

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Natsume left school with his friends following close beside him.

Nishimura rambled on about a food stall he had happened upon on a whim of taking a different route one day. He swore it had never been there before. And after trying the taiyaki that he claimed “melted in your mouth,” he wanted his friends to experience it too.

Everyone seemed up to it. Natsume agreed, but felt rather contented in simply listening to the conversation around him. Even still, it was Taki who noticed the man in the distance first. Maybe because she held Nyanko in her arms who also grew wary of the figure.

Her sudden stop to stare drew the group’s attention, and they all looked to see what had caught her eye.

Natsume frowned when he saw who it was.

“Hmm? Does anyone know that man? Why’s he staring over here like that?” Nishimura took a subtle step in front of Taki and Natsume who had been standing side by side.

“Ah, I’ll go see what he wants.” Natsume made to step in the direction and found both Kitamoto and Tanuma holding him back.

“Do you know him?” Kitamoto asked, his gaze still lingering on the man.

“...Yes, I do. I guess we were supposed to meet, and I forgot.”

A few brief seconds passed before Kitamoto released his hold. Tanuma didn’t.

“We can wait until you’re finished then.” Nishimura’s voice was as guarded as his stance, now more shifted in front of Natsume.

“It’s okay. You can go ahead. I’ll be fine.” He tried to reassure his friends, but all they did was trade glances, undecided on what to do.

Nyanko squirmed in Taki’s grasp, and she passed him off to Natsume.

“We’ll see you tomorrow then, Natsume.” She nudged Tanuma slightly not to draw the other’s attention to the action. Tanuma sighed.

“You’ll be okay on your own, Natsume? We can wait if you want.”

Natsume smiled at his friend, and shook his head. “I’m fine.” He reassured, and Tanuma finally let him go.

“Then, we’ll see you.”

Natsume nodded as his friends all reluctantly left. Sparing glances behind them from time to time until they were out of view.

Natsume turned back to the man and his smile dropped to a frown immediately. He made his way over to the suit wearing exorcist all the same.

“You shouldn’t have come to my school, Matoba-san.”

“If I tried to send a formal invite, I’m certain you wouldn’t simply drop by. ”

“Are you surprised?”

Matoba waved his hand in the air as if physically waving away the issue. “I wanted to see you, Natsume. Is that wrong?”

“Why?”

Matoba laughed a hollow laugh. “Is this how you treat Shuuichi as well? Or is he special ?”

Natsume remained silent.

“Why don’t we go somewhere and talk?”

Natsume quickly came up with an excuse to why he couldn’t. “I have to get home.”

“It won’t take long. We should talk now. It would save me the trip of showing up to your house, or at your school again. Though, your guardians and friends all seem like lovely people. Do you think they would mind?”

Natsume grit his teeth, and tightened his arms, squeezing his cat bodyguard more firmly into his chest. Nyanko didn’t make a sound. His eyes only narrowed at the exorcist before them.

In the end, Natsume ended up following Matoba to a small tea shop, and the two were shown to a secluded table. A tea shop worker appeared soon after and placed teacups of steaming liquid in front of them.

“Why don’t we get straight into it?” Natsume remained silent. “It’s dangerous to wander around without someone to look out for you. It would be a shame if something were to happen.”

“Are you threatening me, Matoba-san?”

“I’m only concerned about your future. It would be a shame to have your talents go to waste. And, you have to do something after graduation after all.”

“I have no interest in becoming an Exorcist. Or working for the Matoba clan.”

“I wonder if you would change your mind if the invitation came from Shuuichi.”

“Why do you keep bringing Natori-san into this?”

Matoba tilted his head, running the tip of his finger around the rim of his mug. “Well, he is an exorcist after all.”

“Yes, but Natori-san wouldn’t ask me to join, or threaten me to do so.”

“Oh~ You seem to trust him well enough. Maybe his tactics are quite efficient after all.”

Natsume was a bit taken aback.

Nyanko heckled in Natsume’s grip. “Why don’t you stop wasting time and go. You’ve already asked what you wanted, unless there’s something more.”  His words caught both of their attention.

“What a temperamental kitty.” Matoba spoke mockingly, and Nyanko all but hissed. “But he’s right after all. I am quite a busy man, but I’ll make time for you, Natsume. Call me if you change your mind.”

He got up from the table. Nyanko’s gaze trailed after him until he was out the door. Natsume didn’t look up from the table.

When Natsume and Nyanko left the tea shop, Natsume was quiet- lost in thought. Nyanko had almost fallen asleep before the boy had finally spoken.

“Do you think he’s right, Sensei? About Natori-san.”

The very thought of it made his heart clench. A sick feeling washed over him.

“It’s hard to tell what that shady Exorcist is always thinking.” Natsume frowned, and his gaze drifted further away. “You trusted him enough to tell him about the Book of Friends. I hope you don’t go blabbering about my property to just any old character.”

“I-” A heavy sigh escaped Natsume as he went around and around on Matoba’s words. He knew that Natori had indeed asked him to be an exorcist before. But that usually felt like another lifetime ago. Before they truly got to know one another. Before they got so close. Natori was special to him, and he didn’t want to lose that. Not only could they both share the same scenery- because people like Matoba could too- but Natori had become different because they shared a bond. To Natsume, he was now as irreplaceable in his life as his friends- both humans and yokai, and the Fujiwaras.

“I don’t know what to think.” The only thing he could think about was Matoba insinuating that Natori was only getting close to him to use him.

“Just ask him. You humans make everything so complicated. Oww. Brat!”

Natsume huffed after hitting Nyanko over the head. What would Nyanko know anyway? Were the words now circulating in his head.

“Natsume!”

The boy nearly jumped out of his skin as he heard his name called. When he turned, he saw Natori jogging toward him. A small smile on his face.

Natsume tensed, wanting to run. Wanting to avoid whatever he feared would come next, because the only thing he could think about was Did Natori also track him down to find him the way Matoba did? Did he seek him out because he wanted something?

“Natori-san.” Natsume greeted, holding Nyanko even tighter. The cat looked between the two of them, his gaze observant.

“I didn’t expect to see you today.” Was that actually true?  “Did you just come from school?”

He nodded. “I was heading home.”

“Hmm, well that’s good. Don’t get into trouble and make your family worry.” Natori reached out to rest his hand on Natsume’s hair. The boy flinched at the action, his foot moving back involuntarily to get out of the way. He stopped himself at the last moment, but Natori seemed to notice.

“Is something wrong, Natsume?” He eyed Nyanko, and spoke teasingly. “Did the pig-cat do something?”

“Don’t bring me into this, you shady human!” Nyanko fussed, shaking his stumpy limbs in any direction he could. Natori laughed at the sight.

“...What are you doing here, Natori-san?”

The exorcist-actor’s laugh trickled to a stop. “Oh, I had a shoot today. But I’m happy I ran into you.”

“Really?” Natsume wanted to believe it.

Before anyone could say much else, another voice rang out in the distance. “Natori! There you are! We need you back on set.” A man in a barret, a towel around his neck, stopped short when he found his target and promptly keeled over to catch his breath.

“Oops. Seems they’ve found me. I guess I have to- huh? What’s wrong, Natsume? Do you not feel well?” Natori quickly switched to concern when he saw the look on Natsume’s face. So many emotions seemed to well into the boy that he didn’t know what to do with them. He felt like he would burst. His lips trembled as he looked as if he’d been struck.

“N-Natori-san! Please stop running away from your work and causing others trouble.”

His reprimand was the only way he felt like he could contain himself over all the feelings of relief, and guilt, and sadness, and- and everything else.

The older man chuckled again. “Alright. Because Natsume-kun asked so seriously, I’ll do my best.” A small genuine smile lingered on Natori’s face. When he reached to touch Natsume’s hair once more, the boy didn’t retreat.

Natori soon left as it looked like the person who had come to find him would drag him back to their set willing or not.

“Sensei.” Nyanko looked up at him, as Natsume stood and watched the two disappear.

“I want to trust him.”

#exorcists #natsume yuujinchou #natsume takashi #natori shuuichi #matoba seiji #natsumeweek #character analysis #mild angst #day 5 #identity

[dear-mrs-otome]

Trick or treat! with Saizo~

Heyo Nonny - funny story, I meant to write you a drabble.

Oops.

The keys clutched in your hand jangled softly, much like your nerves. You’d woven them to stick out between your fingers, the way you’d seen on a TV show or the internet once, as if they’d afford you some sort of protection - but a part of you knew it was more talisman than anything else. This cramped alley stank of scummy water and sour deeds, and if things in the dark here wanted to hurt you badly enough there was no way a few bits of flimsy metal were going to stop them.

This was a stupid idea. Every last shred of self-preservation, every instinct that had clung stubbornly to your brainstem as humanity crawled out of the sea, was screaming as much at the top of its lungs. This was the worst part of town, at the worst hour of the night. The only sounds besides your own unsteady breathing and the slow drip of a leaky pipe was the muffled pulse of music from a nearby strip club and the distant wail of sirens, never ending. Like banshees portending doom. There was a snowdrift of used condoms piled up against the rusted-out dumpster huddled in the shadows, and you shivered and drew your coat tighter.

You weren’t going to chicken out now. The image of the mayor’s leering face straightened your drooping shoulders, lifted your head. This was where the mysterious message, the reply to your desperate plea sent out into the wilds of the dark web, had told you to be. This was where you were going to stop being a victim.

That bravado lasted all of three seconds.

A piece of the gloom seemed to just break off, and you couldn’t stifle your yelp of fear as it drew closer. A man, tall and lithe and swathed head to toe in gray that had blended with the murkiness around you. He had the hood of his jacket drawn up, and the only thing you could make out in the deep shadow it cast on his face was a vague sense of eyes, fixed on you.

“Stay back,” you warned in an unsteady voice, your jingling fist tightening at your side. He didn’t so much as slow his approach - clearly unimpressed, if the faint chuckle was any indication.

“Iga!” The strange codeword that had been sent along with your instructions leapt to mind, and upon hearing it the man came to a halt, his head tilting curiously. Idly. Like a snake testing the air, your brain supplied unhelpfully. He drew a few steps closer, and you could finally trace his features. Eyes flashed oddly as they flickered over you - copper, like pennies one moment. Rust, like dried blood the next. They lingered on your face uncomfortably, until you squirmed beneath his stare.

“Are you…him?” You rallied the courage to ask, finally. “I’m -”

He cut you off with one upraised hand, his gaze narrowing to knifeblades. “No names. Those are the rules.” He studied you a moment longer. “Besides, I already know who you are,” he added, sounding almost bemused.

Shrugging away his enigmatic comment, you press on. “Then you know why I’m here. What I want.”

Despite being closer, he was somehow still hard to see. The rasp of gravel on pavement beneath his heel was the only indication you had that he was moving at first, and even that was intermittent. He took to circling you slowly, hands clasped behind his back, and you found yourself turning to try and keep him in sight. “I know,” he allowed at last. “They all want the same thing.” Abruptly he stopped, and by the time you had blinked in surprise he was simply in front of you, so close you could see the oddly pale eyelashes that fringed his eerie gaze. “But you don’t.”

You fought the urge to quail as his quiet murmur washed over your cheek. “Yes, I do. I want him gone, I want him…taken care of. I want him to never bother my family or our business ever again.”

“You want me to kill the mayor. Or at least you think you do.” It wasn’t a question. Merely a pair of statements, delivered as plainly as an observation on the weather. Nice day. Might rain tomorrow. Want me to murder a man? “And I want you to say it.”

Opening your mouth, you tried to force the words out, but they faltered on your tongue as if they were leaden. He leaned even closer, until his eyes filled your vision with red. Red like viscera. Red like roses.

“You can’t, can you?” He drew back and smiled, and it was a ghastly thing. Fine-boned yet hollow, a mask atop a mask atop a mask. You wondered just how many layers this man went down. “Death is easy, little lady. Living with it is harder.” The laugh that accompanied his words chimed, cold and hard and grimly musical, like a rain of spent bullet casings.

“What does it matter what I say? I have money. I have a problem. You have answers, right?” you bluffed.

He hummed, putting his hand on his chin, playfully macabre. The adder’s grin still lingering about the corners of his mouth. “Maybe not the ones you want to hear. But maybe they’re the ones you need to.” Reaching out he plucked the dog-eared envelope from your pocket and thumbed through the stack of bills inside before stuffing them back and shoving the entire bundle in your direction. “Doesn’t matter though. It’s not enough.”

Crestfallen, you refused to take it back. There were weeks, months, years of scraping in that envelope. Taking every last bit you could spare from the tip jar on your counter, skimming every hint of profit off your monthly true-up. You’d eaten leftover dango until you were sick of it, so that your little brother would never have to look over his shoulder again. “Please. It’s…that’s all…” You were embarrassed by how pathetic your voice sounded, and you swallowed the rest of your sentence.

For long moments neither of you moved, until he pushed his hood back with a sharp, angry motion. The puddles of light from the nearest streetlamp were too far away to do you any real good in this sliver of space between buildings, not as far away as he stood now, but something about him now struck you as familiar. The pale abstract of his unruly hair perhaps, or the quiet assurance of his posture. You felt more than saw his hard stare, weighing you down like a hand on your shoulder, before he crammed your envelope inside his jacket and heaved a sigh.

Then he was simply there again, your hand in his, no chance of reaction. He pulled the keys from between your nerveless fingers, oddly gentle, and held them up in his own fist the way you had, where you could see. “This won’t do you a bit of good, little lady. You can only punch, and even if you land a hit you’re going to tear up your own hand this way.” Still moving with that unsettling softness he opened your hand, placing the keys carefully in it again so that they stuck out the top and bottom of your fist as he closed your fingers around them, his own hot where they lingered against your skin. As if giving you a gift. “Stick to this, and slash.”

And before you could respond he was gone, taking your money and your hopes and a good portion of the very air along with him.

“Stay tuned for our special segment as we take a closer look at the sweeping sting at City Hall that lead to arrests of the mayor and multiple aides, now indicted on a litany of charges. This and more coming up after our break!”

The news announcer’s cheery voice, coming from the small TV mounted on the far wall of the cafe, just carried over the clatter of pans and dishes and your own cheerful singing. It had been one week since the mayor had been taken into custody. One week since you’d been able to breathe properly again. One week since you’d been able to let Yahiko out of your sight.

It had been, by far, the single greatest week of your life.

“Yo, Sis!” Yahiko called over his shoulder, summoning you to the front of the cafe. Most of the lights had been turned down for the night but a few still shone down on where he worked, counting the till. A trick of the sallow shadows shaved baby fat off his face, making him seem far older than his young teenage years. “I could use a hand.”

You dried your dish-wrinkled hands off on a nearby towel and made your way to his side, frowning down at the neat piles of money he’d lined up on the counter. “What’s wrong?”

He sighed, pushing a hand through his already-tousled hair. “There’s too much money here.” His expression thinned out, and he turned wide eyes on you. “Like..a lotta too much.”

You laughed, but even you could hear the edge of discomfort in your voice. “Maybe you just counted wrong.”

He waved an angry hand at the day’s take, clearly insulted by your insinuation. “Alright, you try then Miss Smartypants. I’m not stupid.”

“I never meant…” But all you had to speak to was his sullen back as he walked away, and you sighed, making a note to apologize later.

The cash even looked wrong, stacks reaching far too high for the slow Tuesday evening you’d had. A strange, lopsided feeling settled slowly in your stomach as you counted them out as well - once, twice. Three times. The numbers never changing their outrageous tune, no matter how careful you were about writing them down on a piece of paper as you went, just to be sure.

A figure, made up of loops and whorls and too many extra zeroes, staring you boldly in the face. A sum you were all too familiar with.

Your fingers shook as you turned on the small monitor connected to the handful of cheap cameras set up around the cafe, knowing before the screen sparked to life exactly what you’d see. Snow, static, and blackness. The entire days recording somehow lost. And before you could talk yourself out of it you’d fumbled for the bottle of brandy you sometimes used in the tiramisu and had splashed a healthy measure into a nearby measuring glass, knocking it back straight.

Through watering eyes you gathered the day’s money and receipts into a deposit bag, shoving it into the safe. As if not seeing it would make it go away, make the scrambled sensible again. Since when had red become blue, up become down? Hitmen become heroes?

Putting the scattered parts of the till drawer back together, your hand caught on a small white square stuffed into the tray beneath it. A business card, and when you flipped it over the white flash of it reflecting in the sidewalk window seemed almost, for a moment, like a pale shock of hair slipping past.

The DojoMartial Arts and Self-Defense

Kirigakure-kyoshi - Proprietor

The ‘self-defense’ had been underlined along with the address, and when you turned the card over there were five simple words written on the back, in jagged script, that put the first hint of a smile on your face. Had your fingers flexing around the memory of cool keys and a warm touch, and the feeling of an unbalanced world slowly leveling back out.

This will be my payment.

#slbp #slbp saizo #modern au #haaaaa what is drabble #haaaaa what is tense #sorry if i made a hot mess of the ninja boy he's new to me #anonymous #my writing

[voltron-voltron-voltron]

It Hurts Like Hell

//Heyo peeps. This is my first attempt at writing a Klance one-shot type of thing. Im sure this isnt a totally original plot and that it's been done before, but I hope you all like it. The song to accompany this is Hurts Like Hell-Fleurie, so maybe give it a listen as you read! Hope this isn't too terrible, and also, I don't mind if you repost, but please give credit! Also, didn't proofread because I wrote this right before bed. Oops. Thanks, enjoy!//

Today was the day.

Keith had known that it was coming. In fact, he had spent the last few days cooped up in his room, trying to prepare himself for what was to come. The silence was all that had filled the air, then, and he had felt quite numb. In fact, he still did. It didn't hurt, really. Not yet. However, he had lost enough in the past to realize that it would only take some time for the weight of reality to set in. He only hoped he could keep pushing away the consequences of his own failure.

Now, he was standing in front of the mirror, taking in his own appearance. It was something he had never really taken the time to do, in the past, but it almost felt like today was the one time for him to at least attempt to care. This was one of the rare times he wasn't wearing his armor, or even his usual clothing. Keith wore a suit, a real suit. Frankly, he had no idea how Shiro or Allura or whoever had managed to find him one, but he didn't have it in him to question it. The jacket was a little too big for his slim frame, which had only seemed to become smaller in the last few days. He still wore it, though. He owed everyone that much. Lifting his gaze from the clothing he wore, Keith looked over his own features in the mirror, but he barely recognized to boy staring back at him. His dark eyes seemed so horribly empty and blank, and a bit bloodshot. However, it was the dark black smudges under his eyes that truly gave away the fact that he hadn't slept the fast few nights. His whole face seemed gaunt and worn, his eyes sunken in slightly, and his features hollow. Overall, Keith was a disaster, but he didn't have it in himself to do much about it. Instead, he stepped away from his reflection, taking brisk strides towards the door, letting his legs carry him out to the hall.

Lance could always walk quicker than him, with his stupid long legs.

Sighing, he stepped into the control room, only to find everyone else there. As soon as he slipped through the doorway, his ears picked up the sound of Pidge's sobs. She was locked in a tight embrace with Hunk, her face hidden in his chest as she cried her eyes out. Hunk was doing his best to comfort her, rubbing her back soothingly, but his usually warm and friendly eyes were glassy with unshed tears. His lips were trembling as he gently shushed Pidge, as if he was trying hard not to burst out crying himself. Keith, for a brief moment, wished he could comfort them. This was his fault, after all. His ignorance brought them all to this, but he was never good with people, and had no clue what to do or say as he looked at them.

Lance would have known how to cheer them up.

Silently, Keith turned to look at Shiro and Allura, who stood side by side at one end of the room. Both were dressed nicely, as they all were, but their usual attitudes had practically disappeared. Shiro had one arm around Allura, conversing with her in a low voice, so that the others couldn't hear. He seemed numb to the whole thing too, but in a different way than Keith. Instead of feeling distant from it all, he seemed to be at a loss. It was like he didn't know what to even do with himself, at this point. Allura's expression revealed a similar emotion. Although she had been the main person to plan everything out for today, she looked like she wished there was more to do, more for her to engage herself in. It was evident that she didn't feel like she had done enough.

Lance would have been able to go up to the two and say some ridiculous joke to bring their smiles back.

Coran was currently piloting the castle. His focus was devoted to landing on the small planet below them, but he was obviously hurting and distraught. Once the castle landed, though, he turned and gave all of them a bleary, weak smile.

"It's time." He said simply, his normally chipper voice trying to sound even remotely normal, but failing completely. His words drew the attention of everyone, and they all began to head towards the exit, Keith letting himself walk near the back of the group. No other words were exchanged between the group as they made their way outside, finding others waiting for them there. The funeral was to be a small one, and only certain allies of the Paladins had been asked to come. However, creatures all over the galaxy had heard word of the disaster, and they too, were mourning.

Keith thought the worst part was that there wasn't even a body left to bury. They all gathered around a handmade shrine, donating gifts of tribute. Some were simple, like flowers or small tokens of appreciation, but others had a much deeper meaning. The whole thing seemed to pass by in a blur, to Keith. He recognized Shiro making a speech, talking about Lance and the great things he did. In fact, all of the Paladins, including Coran and Allura, said something about Lance. Everyone except Keith.

He had his reasons though. One was simply because he had nothing to say. No words could encompass how great Lance was. In fact, even that was an understatement in Keith's mind. Secondly, he knew no pretty words could reverse his mistake. He trained, and trained, and trained, but even then, he wasn't able to save him. He wasn't able to do anything, and now this had happened. No pretty words or memorial shrines could fix it.

Because Lance was dead, and it was Keith's fault.

Nothing could fix it, now.

#volteon legendary defender #lance #keith kogane #klance #voltron au #oneshot

[diamondsaregold]

‘The Time It Took to Fall’ - A Maxwell/MC Fanfic

#ChoicesCreates Round 16

Prompt: “Don’t ask me to say I don’t love you.”

Rating: T

Pairings: Maxwell/MC, Drake/MC

Summary: When he sees the way that she glows around Drake, Maxwell can’t help but regret the chances he missed. [A different, melancholy take on Drake’s birthday party scene, from Maxwell’s POV.]

Background Info: Well, I took a complete detour from my initial plans for a comedic take on Maxwell’s unrequited* (lol) feelings for an MC that’s in love with Drake. This fic could not be further from comedic. So...oops?😂 I’ll still try to write the other piece. In the meantime, dim the lights and cue the angst!

Title taken from “Cherry” by Luna Shadows. 

Here, Maxwell was supposed to be in his element.

Up ahead, a group of girls giggled in his direction. To his left, Hana and Liam sat with him at their small bar table, chatting amiably with each other. A hoard of guys stood amid flashing lights in the center of the dance floor, awkwardly busting out moves and laughing at each attempt.

He barely noticed any of them.

Usually, he’d be the life of the party. Making his friends laugh with his antics, or wooing the ladies and commanding the audience with the dance moves that no one (not even Bertrand, six years ago) could compare to.

Except tonight, all he could think about were the sway of her hips and the chime of infectious laughter, all colors of the vivid, smiling girl he couldn’t get his mind off of.

And, the stinging fact that it wasn’t him that she was with tonight.

Watching her move closer and closer to the man in the denim shirt, in their own corner of the dance floor—untouched by the rest of the world and his own watchful, longing gaze—Maxwell couldn’t help but notice, darkly, that this scene was all too familiar.

“There’s no one I’d rather be dancing with right now,” she murmured. For past few minutes, she had been grazing her hands across his chest, standing closer to him for heartbeats longer than the waltz dictated, until his hands were sweating from the proximity.

Her eyes were clear and bright, and he knew she was unaware of the not-so-innocent rush that surged through him at her touch and her words, when he was overwhelmed with the urge to pull her flush against her.

He, on the other hand, was painfully aware of all the ways that she made him weak in the knees: when she shined a soft smile in his direction, or stepped out of the dressing room in a skin-tight gown, or when she sweetly called him “Max” during their late-night meetings (when all the castle was asleep except for them, and finally, he felt free to drown in her dark brown gaze. But only for those nights.). It was these moments that sent cracks rippling through his composure, tempted him to throw his resolve to the wind.

So many times had he imagined giving in to burning desire. What it would feel like to press a kiss to the curve of her neck and run his hands along the lace of her bodice, until it was all strewn on the floor. To revel in the feeling of her breath mingling with his and the sound of her soft gasps. To become undone as her heat pulsed through his veins, and to feel nothing, nothing, but her.

But here, in the ballroom, he was still Lord Beaumont—a man who kept careful watch of the piercing gaze of the nobles lurking about, and cowered under the glare from Bertrand he knew awaited him later that night.  And Lord Beaumont could not succumb to temptation for even one tender moment.

Maxwell willed himself to look away from her soft lips and the curl of her hair, the one that was practically calling to him to brush it gently away. Stiffly, he straightened his posture and held her at a distance.

It was such a rigid response, and so unlike him, that he had to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from apologizing (or confessing something more, something worse), when he saw her bottom lip begin to tremble. No matter how much it killed her, she needed to know that this could never work.

No matter how much it killed him.

“You should always be thinking of Liam,” he stated firmly, coldly. He winced at the hurt flashing through her eyes, but kept his face as blank as possible.

Too soon, he pulled away to another partner. And another. And another. As he swayed with the new ladies, each becoming more and more faceless than the last, he ignored the pounding ache in his chest. He was doing the right thing, it was for the best, and there was no going back.

That night, he didn’t see her again.

From across the opposite corner of the bar, Maxwell watched. He ignored the twinge in his stomach when Drake casually slung a shoulder around her shoulders. Pretended that his eyes didn’t linger on her lithe frame as the pair strolled over to the bar together.

“More champagne?” the bartender asked, wryly. After the fourth glass, he already knew the answer. Slowly, Maxwell sipped the clear, bubbling liquid. He barely registered the burn in his throat.

It was almost unbearable. As he watched Drake scoot his barstool closer and closer to hers—as if she was blind to his advances, as if she was stupid—and “accidentally” grazing his knees against her, he clenched his glass. Disdain, and something headier, heated like jealousy, simmered in his stomach. When she playfully punched Drake in the shoulder and he laughed, loud, Maxwell slammed his glass down, hard.

The bartender glared at him, and Hana and Liam jumped up, startled. “Sorry,” Maxwell muttered, wiping up the spilled liquid.

He should have been bothered by the fact that he didn’t feel apologetic at all. Truth was, he had been feeling further and further from himself with every passing week, every new lie. Tonight had simply added kindling to the growing flame—another instance of denying himself of what he truly wanted.

In the end, he should’ve saw it coming.

It all happened in slow motion. She leaned in close to Drake and said something, teasingly, before laughing softly to herself.

Unblinkingly, Drake stared. His eyes darted down to her dress, before hovering about on her face. Something passed over him, a flicker of doubt, then desire—a look that Maxwell saw mirrored in his own face, three weeks ago in her arms. He knew then that he was too late.

Drake gently caught her by the wrist and kissed her, long and slow.

It was as if cold water had seeped through his veins and into his stomach, mixing with the roaring burn of the champagne. He was on fire and frozen all at once, but still, he could not rip his eyes away from the intertwined pair.

She pulled away—Maxwell heard his breath come back in a rasp, heard hers too—before he saw her running her tongue over her bottom lip, Drake’s cheeks darkening. Then she leaned in and pressed her lips to his again.

As Drake gripped her chin with his hand and the two drew closer to each other, the champagne sloshed over the glass and onto Maxwell’s shaking hand.

Next to him, Liam and Hana smiled.  “Well, I’ll never,” muttered Liam with a grin. “I’m happy for him. And for her.”

“I was wondering why they both seemed so excited for this!” Hana said, laughing.

“And I thought I’d be the first to get a girlfriend in this whole mess!”

“Me too!”

They returned to their previous conversation as if nothing had happened—as if what had just transpired meant absolutely nothing. As if they were utterly blind to their friend sitting silently next to them, cold hands burning underneath the table with regret and agony.

Maxwell noticed, bitterly, that Hana and Liam didn’t check for his reaction. As if it wasn’t enough for him to be torn out of his place, his running (he noted with a grim laugh, at how it all fit together so very well, between these terribly twisted parallel lines) in his feelings for her, he was also literally the man on the side.

Well, he had it coming. He supposed that he had become a much more skilled liar in the past few months—so skilled, in fact, that he had learned how to pretend around his best friends. After endless nights of whispering lies to himself, concocting a million tales of how he would run away and be happy without her, he had convinced himself it was all for the best.

But as he watched her rest her head on her shoulder (with both their backs to him), as a swell of bitterness rose in his throat, Maxwell knew that he was still no master of deception.

Why didn’t he say yes?

He downed his drink, and strode across the floor to the group of giggling girls.

No, he wasn’t thinking about the glint of her soft hair under the sunlight of the beach, the gentle dance of her pulling him closer, and him pushing her away. He wasn’t remembering how he waited for her to return to him every time. He wasn’t drowning in the emptiness that was swallowing him whole now, the realization that she we could finally leave him for good.

And what would she come back to? The thought was so ludicrous that he almost doubled over in laughter (or tears, he couldn’t tell).

When the title of Lord Beaumont crumbled down, he was nothing more than a nameless liar. Someone who too fragile, too uncertain to ever be worthy of her.

It was for the best.

“Hey ladies.” For a moment, he was tempted to return to his corner of the bar, to drink himself into oblivion and drown in the memory of her eyes. Bright with hope and filled with images of him.

Instead, he pushed it aside and extended a hand to the nameless blonde in the center, ignoring the hollowness in his chest as he put on his best, practiced grin.

“Make room, make room! Let me show you some of these moves.”

#choicescreates #maxwell x mc #maxwell #the royal romance #trr #maxwell beaumont #playchoices #choices stories you play #choices #my writing #my fics #drake x mc #drake #writing #fanfiction #fanfic #choices fanfiction #choices fanfic

[yans-selfshipstand]

Experiment

It first was just gonna be a little thing... Until it turned into two pages.... Oops. Pretty much a small background of what Nyxa’s power is, in story form. If anyone bothers to read this, enjoy~

Clanking of metal hit the porcelain tiling, a grunt echoing the room as a body collided into the floor. The person didn’t move from the floor from her tossed position.

“I’m not impressed, Vexen.” A voice said, clearly not amused at the event that had just occurred. The angry scientist whirled around to the rose haired man, a scowl on his features as his emeralds glared daggers at him.

“It was only a test run! The equations are still a work in progress!” The man, Vexen screeched at his indifferent comrade. Their newly recruited member began to push herself up from the ground silently, no expression on her features. As she continued to stand up, her mint hair bounced with her movement as she patted down her dark cloak that she had recently been given.

“Either way, it’s still a failure… And what’s worse, that ‘template’ is now broken.” A smug voice added, aggravating the blonde man even further. As the three debated about what had just happened, the silent girl remained where she was, making no sound in response to what they were talking about. She didn’t even volunteer to be a part of this experiment, due to being thrown into it as soon as she was recruited by Xemnas himself.

“Whatever! I’ll just make a new one! Bah, she’s no use anymore…” Twitch. Her hand balled into a fist briefly before loosening back to its relaxed position. She wasn’t going to be disposed so easily, especially when she had just appeared into this world. Thankfully, she didn’t need to voice her concerns.

“Now, now, your experiment wasn’t a complete failure, Vexen. She can do things that no other keyblade master can do. That might prove useful.” A tall, fire-maned man came into her view as he approached the scientist. Craning his head down to the shattered pieces of the weapon on the floor, and back to the scientist. “It may not be just like the power of the keyblade, but still could be a good asset to the organization!” He added as he gestured over to the mint haired woman, turning back to her with an amused twinkle in his emeralds along with a smirk. “Go on. Show him.”

With that, her hand fanned out facing the floor, the shattered pieces of the counterfeit keyblade began to rise from the white tile. She easily put together the broken pieces of the keyblade into a makeshift shield, making a couple swift swings with it. The wind then carried the pieces away from each other and began to form a concise, poised formation along each side of her. With quick, sharp motions of her hands, one by one they fired off like a bullet.

The scientist ducked quickly as one sped past his head to embed itself into the wall behind the trio, only getting back up once the flurry of attacks was over. “Watch it!” He shouted with a scowl, but the ocean-eyed woman didn’t care of his whining. The sharp metal then drew themselves back from the wall, returning to their owner as they began to piece themselves back together into its original form. With hard, cracked edges on the weapon, it was still a functioning and hard-hitting weapon, just like a real one. Between the cracks, a bright green glowed from it as if it was imbued with magic. Power was bleeding out of the broken weapon. Marluxia softly hummed,

“Hm… Interesting… Perhaps that may prove useful, even if the keyblade doesn’t function properly.” He simply said before turning away to leave. “I’d like to see how she would do in a real mission.” The rose haired man added before leaving the room. The emerald glow dimmed, and faded away as the keyblade disappeared in a shadowy light from her hand. Vexen shook his head at him before heading off on his own as well.

“I have to fix this stupid wall now…” He grumbled under his breath, until it was just left with the Flurry of Dancing Flames, and the recruit in the room. The said organization member shrugged at her with a small, smug smile.

“Hey, it could have been worse. To both situations.” He simply said before approaching the quiet recruit. “Hm, you don’t talk much, do you?” He asked the mint haired woman that still stood in the same spot she had been since she got up from the floor. A red brow quirked as his amused smile remained on his lips, almost as if it was a small attempt of getting her to make some kind of emotion. Proving fruitless to his weak-willed attempt, her fellow organization member gave up on trying.

“Anyway… I’m Axel. Got it memorized?” The flame-haired man said as he lightly tapped his temple, putting up his smug manner again. Her ocean-eyes continued to stare at his jade irises after he had introduced himself, remaining silent. Now this was getting awkward for Axel. Thankfully, he finally got at least a word from the silent woman at the point where he was going to give up on trying to be nice to her.

“My name is Nyxa. For a person without a heart, you have a lot of emotion.” She mused in a soft voice. Axel scoffed at her observation, crossing his arms and shrugging.

“Nah.” The Flurry of Dancing Flames replied with a shake of his head. “It’s just a figment of what my somebody had felt.” He added, but that didn’t seem to register for the young woman, as she didn’t feel those figments of emotion from her hollow memories she had just yet.

“… I see.” Nyxa replied, quickly shutting down the flow of the conversation. An awkward silence settled between the two again, and the jade-eyed man had enough of it. This was boring. Shrugging again, he simply walked past the recruit, about to leave the room. “Where are you going?” The mint haired woman asked, turning around as well to face him.

“Somewhere, I guess? I’m bored.” Axel replied, uninterested in the current situation and wanted something to do at least. “Why? Are you scared of being alone?” He continued as he turned back around to see her expression; if she even reacted at all. The red-maned organization member did get what he was looking for this time. A corner of her lip was curved up in a small smirk, a quiet scoff leaving her lips.

“No. I’m bored too.” Nyxa’s ocean-eyes twinkled slightly, her lips forming into smug smile. Axel blinked at her, a little surprised that she could show emotion after all. However, his shock quickly left his eyes as he smirked in return, turning back around to continue walking.

“Let’s go somewhere then, before you’re shoved into your first mission and can’t have fun.” He offered, not bothering to wait for the young woman to catch up to him. The mint-haired woman softly scoffed again, and quickly caught up to her tall comrade. That was when the first figment of emotion from her hollow memory came to her. The sense of belong.

#probably ooc as FUCK #i just finished ReCoM today #so like i tried to remember how they acted #i think it's a flop but *shrug* #my writing #self insert #self indulgent #self ship

[mintypothos]

@alexangery this is your fault entirely

also, I wish I was funnier than I am but OH WELL HERE’S A THING

Everyone has an alternate form. Some undefined mixture of a person's personality, experiences, and interests that filters through one's grasp of symbology and metaphor, manifesting as a physical shape they shift into. It was old, powerful magic.

It was also something you absolutely should not attempt until you were of age.

“I'm gonna do it. No one can stop me.” Alex said, for probably the fifth time.

“We're 16,” Aaron tried to object. “Seriously, you have to wait. No one has ever done it at less than 18. Not a single person. There has to be a reason.”

Alex scoffed. “Yeah, the reason is that everyone's following some arbitrary rule.”

“Well,” Hercules propped an elbow on the table, leaning into the conversation. Maybe he would have some cautious, helpful advice? “If we're being realistic, is there a chance that anyone who has done the Shapeshift ritual before they were 18 may have been silenced somehow?”

Alex snapped his fingers, “Exactly!”

John raised a hand, grinning wildly, “Besides, age isn't really real! Why should magic care how many times you've been around the sun?”

“Becoming an adult is a gradual process, different for individuals.” Lafayette mused, tapping fingernails against the table. “Humans only put a hard dividing line on adulthood because we need defined limits.”

Alex nodded again, smirking at Aaron. “So there you have it. I'm gonna do it.”

“Come on, there has to be a reason it's not done,” Aaron tried to reason. Their arguments made sense, but, “If it was really nothing, there would have been some hint. The world's too interconnected, and you can't have been anywhere near the only person to come to the same conclusion. But there's nothing. It's suspicious!”

“The only thing suspicious is your insistence on rule following, Burr.” John joked, leaning over to receive an immediate high-five from Alex.

Alex turned from John to Aaron, face twisting into a sneer. “Come on, are you going to snitch on us?”

Aaron gritted his teeth. “No, of course not.” It wasn't the first time he'd been accused of that, not by a long shot. “I just think that something could really go wrong if you go through with this.”

“And I think, if something actually were to happen, it would be my fault, and my decision- not yours.”

That was fair enough. Aaron sighed. “Fine. Do what you want.” He slipped off the stool. “I can see when I'm not wanted.”

“Waitwaitwait!” Alex almost threw himself over, grabbing Aaron's sleeve. “You're gonna help me, right?”

He was half off the stool, stretched around John and hand pulling so hard on Aaron's sleeve in order to stay upright that it was close to tearing. Aaron was forced to pause. “Why should I? And why do you want me to?”

Alex sighed. “Because you're the best at setting up those fiddly ritual magics. And I know you've watched at least a hundred Shapeshift rituals because you're an asshole prodigy.”

“You really know how to flatter a guy.”

“So you'll do it?”

Aaron rolled his eyes. “Fine.” As if he really had a choice.

The others cheered like they had won some great victory rather than just having previously proved themselves to be outrageously stubborn.

“Let's get this show on the road, then?” Lafayette suggested, stretching their arms above their head and sliding out of their seat.

Hercules was next, slamming an empty mug down harder than necessary. “No time like he present to commit sacrilege!”

“Damn straight,” John quipped, raising a brow as Aaron crossed his arms. Alex thumped Aaron on the back, looped an arm through John's arms, and strode out the door behind them.

“I can't believe this,” Aaron muttered, following them out.

The Shapeshift ritual was simple. It had some complicated bits, but it was simple. It took longer for them to find a secluded spot than it did for Aaron to set up the magic circle.

“Is this really it?” Lafayette furrowed their brows at the symbols Aaron drew in the dirt. The marks were glowing faintly and obviously magic, but they were still lines drawn in the dirt.

Aaron hummed. “Yeah. It's got to be well spaced and in the right order, with the right symbols pointing towards the right stars, but it doesn't need materials or offerings or anything. The one used in official capacity is only fancy because it can be.”

Hercules hovered a hand over one of the lines. Light strained between fingers. He poked the dirt line, but it remained unchanged rather than being disrupted. “I guess you really are a prodigy.”

Aaron didn't know what to say to that. So instead, he turned to Alex. “Okay. So are you really doing this?”

“Yes, of course!” Alex's fists were clenched and his lips were tight. His eyes flashed with false bravado. “What do I do?”

This was a terrible idea. But Aaron had learned long ago that there was no point in trying to save Alex from himself. Not when it came to his damnable curiosity. “Just stand in there and reach for your magical core. Then day the spell. And if you're lucky, nothing will happen.”

Somehow, his words accomplished something. Alex's shoulders relaxed as he rolled his eyes. “Calm down Aaron, what's the worst that could happen?”

With those words, he stepped into the circle, back straight and head held high. The light sparkled, accepting the intrusion. As Alex muttered the spell, they flickered as they should.

Maybe Alex was right, maybe Aaron was just being too cautious, like everyone always teased him. Maybe Alex would be just fine, and he'd have an awesome animal shift years earlier than everyone else. Maybe-

Alex disappeared in a thick cloud of smoke. It was supposed to be a fine mist. Aaron started forward- as did the others- but no one could enter an active magic circle like this. The smoke slowly cleared, spiraling into the sky. Aaron held his breath.

There was nothing left in the circle. “Alex!” John was the first to scream, running forward the second the circle lost power. None of them were far behind. Hot red panic blinded Aaron. He'd just killed his best friend. He'd just killed Alex all because he bent to peer pressure-

Alex popped back into existence, bowling over Hercules, who was on all fours, searching the dirt as if Alex had simply shrunk.

John immediately punched Alex in the shoulder. Aaron barely resisted the urge himself. “Oh my god you idiot asshole! Don't scare us like that!”

“What happened? What's your form?” Lafayette grabbed Alex's hand, desperate to make sure he stayed. Hercules managed to right himself, pulling Alex into a hug from behind.

Alex blinked, a dazed look on his face. “I may... have met Magic? Or a small manifestation of?” Slowly, his gaze drifted to Aaron. “By the way, you may have been right. Magic said so.”

John giggled, half amused, half hysterical. Aaron just felt colder. “What did it do to you?”

The thing was, it was no secret that magic could manifest as intelligent beings. It was an energy made up of a connecting network of the mental energies of every human being on the planet, after all. Of course it could think, there was just no need, usually. If there was a need, you could bet on trouble.

“Said something about beliefs of humans making reality, and how the lack of a significance in nature for an age of majority does not translate to a lack of significance in magic. Which is shaped from human consciousness, so oops, I guess.” Alex blinked again, as if coming to his senses, then looked pointedly away. “Anyways, so I can't get my real shift until I'm 18 like everyone else.”

“Oh. So nothing happened and you're good?” John clapped Alex's shoulder.

“Not too bad for meeting Magic,” Hercules agreed.

That's not what Alex said though. Lafayette and Aaron locked eyes of mutual understanding. Lafayette pulled Alex's hand just a little closer. “Wait. What's your not 'real' shift, then?”

“Um, nothing!” Alex laughed. “It doesn't matter! I just need to not shift until the actual birthday ceremony, and I'll get my animal form and everything will be fine! Definitely no need to talk any more about this or try shifting at all ever!” He finished his babbling with more laughter, hollow and fake.

“Alex.” Aaron said. Alex stopped. “Please. We need to know. I need to, anyways. I need to see what the consequences of this are.”

Alex paled. “Um, really, no! Like I said, it's all my own fault, right? It's no big deal!”

“Please. You can just say it, you don't need to show.” Aaron pleaded, the words feeling awkward. But he needed to see this through- had to, after honestly believing he had killed Alex outright.

Alex huffed, cheeks reddening. “No, I can't really explain it. I'll show you. Just don't laugh.” He screwed his eyes shut, concentrating. Then, after a moment, he disappeared. Aaron's heart seized again. But no- that wasn't right! Something had fallen to the ground in place of Alex, something they hadn't seen before because it was so small, and the circle filled with smoke.

Hercules leaned in to pick it up, but Aaron was quicker. “A fountain pen?”

That's what it was. A pen. It was fancy, decorated with beautiful silver accents and razor-sharp. But it was still a pen. Everyone shoved their heads in at once, vying for a better look.

“Is that Alex?” John wondered, drifting a finger over the smooth metal.

“It can't be,” Lafayette argued. “No one is an object! It's an animal shift, always.”

Aaron shook his head. “Yes, but no one does the ritual early, either.”

In a split second, Alexander was infront of them again. Rather than holding the pen, Aaron found his hand holding Alex's. Quickly, he released it, hoping he didn't look as awkward as he felt.

“So, that's the punishment.” Alex confirmed.

“You turn into a pen?” Aaron asked.

“Yep.”

“Oh my God.”

“Well,” John slung an arm over Alex's shoulder. “At least you're mightier than a sword now.”

“Shut up!” Alex scowled. “No pen related puns or jokes! I'm calling it now!”

Hercules smirked. “Don't worry, I'm sure you can write your way out of it.”

Alex screamed.

#THIS WAS FUNNIER IN CONCEPT THAN IN WRITING #BUT YOU KNOW #fic