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shadeysprings · 5 months

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Eyes of the Devil

—Boss!Andy Barber x Assistant!F!Reader

Summary — Happiness blinds you from the horror that looms around the corner.

Warnings — noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, forced oral (m receiving), betrayal, blackmailing, cumshot to the face and implied kidnapping if you squint. Mean!Andy is present.

Word Count — 2.7K

A/N — My first entry for @thebasementspouses The 12 Men of Christmas Writing Challenge. This is also the first time I'm writing for Andy. And honestly it was hard yet fun ^^ Should you expect more Andy from me in the future? Fuck yeah.

Shoutout to my betas by @vellicore and @lunarbuck. But all mistakes are mine alone.

Gif by @barneswilsonrogers

As always, your feedback is highly appreciated and your reblogs would be amazing. And of course, I hope y'all enjoy! ❤️

Once again, you’re burning the midnight oil.

With the holidays fast approaching, Dolores in accounting has you working double time on filing the pending paperwork that needs to be audited before the year ends. Even so, it’s work you don’t mind—you have nowhere to be and no one to see, your cubicle serving as a fortress, your home away from home.

“Aren’t you heading out yet?” You look up from your computer to see Mr. Barber smiling down at you, his coat hanging from his arm where the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up his elbows. He already looks run down from the day’s work, yet he still manages to be chipper.

“Just finishing up on some tasks, Mr. Barber.” You respond with a smile. “I’ll get going as soon as I’m done.”

“Is that the year end report?”

You nod and hold back the sigh that wants to escape. “Dolores doesn’t want to wait until the last minute to finish it so she’s asking for the report 3 weeks in advance.”

“Seems a bit early, don’t you think?” You think he’s talking to you, but his eyes are cast down, his lips twisted in thought. He must have forgotten that he approved her early leave, yet you don’t find it in you to correct him. “Well, you take it easy then. I wouldn’t want you getting too worked up over it.” Your boss says, concern laced in his voice. “Just finish what you can. And if there is anything I can help you with, you just say the word.”

“Don’t worry, Sir. I have everything I need—just have to double check then compile them before sending them off to her.” The assurance you give seems to placate him, and you feel a sense of joy that you see him about to take off.

Not that you don’t enjoy talking to your boss; he’s the only one, aside from the other department heads, you interact with on a daily basis. But he’s still the CEO, and you can’t help but think about his rank and see him as a superior, even in an informal setting.

“Very well. I’ll leave you to it.” He says, the smile once more present on his lips. But before he leaves, he adds, “Oh, before I forget,” Mr. Barber places a festive paper bag on top of your desk, one you failed to notice him holding when he passed by your desk. “Merry Christmas.”

A gift. Something you never expected to receive from your boss.

“Oh, you didn’t have to bother, Sir.” You tell him as you stare at the bag in awe. A plain white box is nestled between the sheets of pink and purple paper when you peek inside.

“It’s really no trouble. Just a little something I picked up from my overseas trip last week.” He explains, the smile on his face seemingly growing wider, more playful, something you’ve never seen on him before. “I hope you like it.”

You return his smile. “I’m sure I would, Sir. Thank you.”

A snow globe. That’s what Mr. Barber gave you.

But it isn’t just any snow globe, no. It is a limited edition collectible of your favorite cartoon character. You don’t even know how he got his hands on one, with it being sold out within minutes of being released, or how he even knew it was your favorite—probably from the small figurines you keep on your desk—but you feel elated just by looking at it.

You examine it with excited hands, curious at the button that sits underneath the base. They never advertised it as something electronic. You press the button, and to your surprise, a soft melody plays as the faux snow within blows on its own, making it even more magical than you thought it to be. A tiny blue light at the chest of the character begins blinking along with the tune, a squeal of glee leaving your lips.

It has you thinking of buying him a really good present, one of equal value to the one he’s given.

With a smile, you stow away the packaging and set the snow globe on the shelf where you keep the rest of your collection. This one, though, has a special place at the center of all the others, the star of the show as it should be.

You stare at your computer in shock.

The image of you naked in bed, one hand on your tit, and the other grasping a toy with the other end buried in your cunt with your face twisted in pleasure. Heat rises to your cheeks, and you immediately close the image, looking around to see if anyone witnessed it as well. But no one resides on this side of the floor aside from you and Mr. Barber.

Panic rises in your throat as you try to think who sent it to you. But most importantly, how they got such a picture of you in the privacy of your own home.

Your computer pings once more, and your stomach turns when you see the same unknown email address pop up from the corner of your screen. You don’t dare open it, too afraid of its contents. Instead, you delete it, even empty out the trash all the same to completely purge it from existence.

Beads of sweat form at your nape, the beating of your heart growing heavier by the second as the fear continues to bloom in your chest. What do they want? Why are they doing this to me? The thoughts swirl in your head, and all you can think about after is going home to hide. But you can’t; they’ve made it known to you that the place that should be the safest no longer is. They only have footage of you in your room, but it isn’t certain that they don’t have eyes in other parts of your apartment.

“Do you have a moment?”

Mr. Barber’s voice startles you, making you sit up straight in your seat and look up at him with wide eyes. The smile on his face dwindles and turns into a curious frown, most likely recognizing the trepidation painted on yours.

“Is something wrong?” He asks, worry laced in his voice. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Uhh—yes, Sir. I just—I think my breakfast isn’t sitting well in my stomach.” You lie, but you’d rather let your boss know that you’re about to shit your pants than telling him the truth.

“Maybe some soda would help? Or I think Angie in HR has some medicine you can take.”

“Don’t worry, sir. I’ll figure it out.” You tell him, forcing a smile to hopefully stop him from prying any further. “Did you need help with something?”

As if remembering what he came to you for, he says, “Ah, yes. I actually do.” Pulling away from your cubicle, he adds, “I made some changes to my itinerary for my business trip—I was hoping to run them by you.” But there’s still apprehension visible around him as he makes his request known. “Do you have time to come to my office? Or do you want to grab some fresh air first?”

You want to say yes, to deal with your anonymous harasser head-on, but deep down, you know you can’t. The fear would only grip you tighter and render you useless for the entire day, and the last thing you want is to show your boss an ounce of incompetence and a chance for him to ask what’s running in your head.

“No.” You respond, already standing from your seat. “I can step out after our discussion.” Grabbing the folder you compiled for his trip and snatching your notepad from your desk, you follow him back to his office.

Work will help you take your mind off of things.

“Lock the door, please.” Mr. Barber instructs, and you do as you’re told. “If you can just take note of the new arrangements I made.” You step over to the side of his desk, taking the sheet of paper he holds out to you.

Yet shock grips you once more when you look down at it, your hands shaking as the sheet he gave you has the image that was sent to you earlier printed on it.

“You—”

“You scream and I’ll send it to the entire office.” Mr. Barber says, his concern from earlier is now gone and replaced with something vile as he looks up at you from where he’s seated. “So be a good girl and kneel.”

You don’t understand what’s happening. How did he get a hold of this picture? Was he sent the same email? Has your harasser already done the unthinkable, and your boss is using it to his advantage? Unless—

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Sweetheart.” From the way he says it, you know it’s a threat, and the one he said earlier circles in your head that you quickly obey, placing the folders in your hands atop his desk and getting down on your knees. You watch him with fear as he rolls his chair closer, trapping you between his thick thighs.

“Sir, what’s g—”

“Did I say you could speak?” Mr. Barber scolds, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger and forcing you to look up at him, his sapphire eyes looking darker than you recall. “You do what I say when I say and that includes talking, am I clear?” His words weigh heavy in the air, and you can do nothing but nod your head in agreement. “Good girl. We don’t want the entire company receiving such a scandalous Christmas present, do we?”

You shake your head, too afraid to speak, knowing he hasn’t permitted you to do so.

A sinister smirk forms on his lips, and you keep your eyes on the button of his white shirt when he releases your face. You swallow thickly in fear, already knowing what comes next, what he would have you do as his hands fumble with the buckle of his belt and the zip of his pants.

He groans low, the sound, although soft, echoing loudly in your ear when he pulls his cock free of its confines. It’s already stiff from what you can see, with precum beading at the tip. You shiver when he places a hand on your shoulder, fingers tapping, caressing the fabric of your chiffon blouse before he wraps them around the back of your neck.

“If you can fuck yourself with that toy, I’m sure you know how to suck a cock.” He utters, his other hand taking his length and tapping the tip gently against your lips. “Think of this as a performance review. You please me well enough, I might just give you a raise.” It’s a challenge, one you know you have no way of winning.

With shaky hands, you take his cock from him and stroke it a few times. Fear envelops you, the small space he’s trapped you in rendering you claustrophobic that you feel the pounding of your chest right at your ears. Slowly, you part your lips and wrap them around the tip, disgust rolling in your stomach as the pad of your tongue presses against the underside of his cock.

But all of a sudden, he pushes your head down, forcing you to take the entirety of his cock. Tears pool in your eyes when he hits the barrier of your throat, choking around him. You try to pull away, doing your best to breathe through your nose while you push a hand against his stomach and the other slapping onto his thigh.

You want to pull away, to spit him out and endure the humiliation of having your colleagues see the vulgar image, but Mr. Barber—no! He deserves no respect! But Andy is being forceful, keeping his hand around your nape and holding you down longer. Until finally, he lets go, and you gasp for air as you pull him away from your mouth, spit dripping while you cough profusely from the roughness he’s bestowed.

“Come on, Sweetheart,” He says between chuckles, taking you by the back of your head this time and pushing you back between his thighs. “We’re just getting started.”

He doesn’t even give you enough time to recover from his assault when he drives his cock back into your mouth, the saliva gathered at your tongue serving as lubricant, one he uses to his advantage as he pilots your head up and down against him.

His groans of pleasure fill the expanse of his office, mixed with your muffled grunts of revulsion and torment. Though you do nothing to fight back, afraid of the consequences you’ll suffer if you do and choose to endure his depravity, to allow him to use you as he so desires.

“Did you like my gift?” He says between shaky breaths. “I knew it was perfect.”

The snow globe! But why?! Why is he doing this to you?!

Shutting your eyes tight, you do your best to shut him out, to think of someone else, someone from your past who’s receiving the lustful deed of your mouth. But the way he says your name, the ways his voice continues to permeate your senses, makes it all too difficult. That it’s only Andy you feel, Andy who controls.

Tears stream down your face when he takes hold of your face with both his hands. Instead of guiding your head the way he wishes, he fucks your mouth with reckless thrusts. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you after I saw you playing with yourself.” He says between grunts. “Couldn’t stop thinking of what else you could do.” Once, twice, several more times, the tip of his cock hits your throat. You stop yourself from gagging, staying strong to please him and deciding to pleasure him, hollowing your cheeks and caressing the veins of his cock with your tongue.

If he finishes soon, your torment will be done as well.

Placing your hands over his, you move to your own volition—much to his surprise when you hear the grunt from his chest and the way he frees you from his hold. You take more of him, all of him, one hand reaching to caress his balls while the other strokes what you no longer fit in your mouth. You even moan for added effect to make him believe that you enjoy what he’s thrust you into and that you share in his pleasure—one you can confirm when you feel him throb between your lips.

But once again, he surprises you, gasping when he pushes you off of him, yet his hand returns to the back of your neck, keeping you in place.

“Open your mouth. Eyes on me.” He commands, and you do as you are told. Sapphires look down on you, even darker than before, and you hang your tongue like a dog while he takes his cock tight in his hand and strokes himself fast. Within seconds, he lets out a garbled grunt, and you close your eyes in horror when hot strings of white shoot out of him and paint your lips as well as your cheeks.

You’re crying once again, confusion swirling in your head. He played you for a fool—infiltrated the safety of your home without even so much as trying, because you let him in. But you fail to understand why. Why he’s treating you this way, why he even thought about treating you like this.

You think he’s done when he leans back in his seat and loosens his hold on himself. But that’s far from it. Andy chuckles, deep and dark, pressing the tip against his come and smears it over your lips, pushing it once more into your mouth.

“Swallow.” Another command. “Suck me clean.”

And you do. The warmth of his seed scalding your throat, and you fight the bile that rises in return.

“I already booked your holiday leave,” Andy says breathily with a sinister grin, his thumb rubbing at the back of your neck.

You look at him with wide, fearful and curious eyes. What? Holiday leave? But you never booked one.

His laughter then fills your ears, seemingly sensing your distress. “It’s the changes to my business trip—you’ll be accompanying me.” He answers, slipping his cock out and taking your chin, rubbing his thumb against your lower lip that’s still sticky with his come. “I need all the time I could get to see if your cunt feels as great as your mouth.”

#andy barber #andy barber x reader #dark!andy barber #dark andy barber #eyes of the devil #tbschristmaschallenge #defending jacob #chris evans characters #shadeysprings fics

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windtowee · 1 month

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Dating Camilo Madrigal headcannons

Tw! Stealing but in a wholesome way,

Gender neutral! Reader

Romantic

A/n: pretty boy fr fr

BROS SUCH A GENTLEMAN

He will do anything to make you happy, even if he ends up looking like a fool in the end

He will rant to everyone who’s willing to listen (Poor Dolores hearing her brother’s simping)

He brings you over to the Casita all the time

If abuelita Alma doesn’t like you then sucks to suck grandma, he’s dating you no matter what (Giving Nancy Mulligan by Ed Sheeran)

He always steals food for you and him to eat later

He always gives you piggyback rides, idk why I just feel like he would be chaotic like that

He’d definitely show up at your house with your favorite flowers

Gets you clothes to match with his color scheme

He’s the type that’ll look at you lovingly when you’re sleeping with drool and bed hair

He’s totally a golden retriever

Shape shifts less around you since he knows that you want the real him, not the people he can be

Absolutely loves PDA and will shower you with kisses if you let him

His love languages are physical affection and food.

Yes, food is an important one.

#disney x reader #encanto x reader #camilo madrigal x reader

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atinylittlepain · 6 months

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Chapter Six

no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

warnings: 18+ heavy angst, references to past injury related to DV

a/n: so we are in for another heavy sitting. as always, my goal is always truth, nothing gratuitous, but honest. my DMs are always open, I'd love to hear what you're thinking about this one.

..........................................

Step into the light poor Lazarus

Don't lie alone behind the window shade

Let me see the mark death made

I dream a highway back to you

I dream a highway - Gillian Welch

.........................................

Where does the thaw begin? It is always gradual. Always give and take. Taking tentative, preening steps out into the sun one day, only to be snapped back into place by a sudden snarl of cold the next. But eventually, that perpetual dull thrum of white starts to melt. The streams in the mountains swirl and slurry up with it, a froth of life that churns down into the rivers that run a faint thread along the highway. Boulders will be moved, small trees uprooted, a whole new season breeding activity. The landscape rearranged, reconfigured until eventually, settling, eventually, green.

The flock is certainly happy for it, proud and relieved bleats, their heads tossed back in the clear, cool morning air. The two newest members of the group are still getting their legs under them, a little uncertain in maneuvering around the remaining slush, quick clipped jumps and jolts to catch up with their mother. And Dove is never far behind these days. Not even Dolores in his mind any more. Dove, Dovey, Dovey-girl whenever they go down to the bar and she’s beating him or John at darts.

Punch and Judy might like her just as much as they like their mother, necking and nuzzling up against her shins like cats, contented sounds whenever she greets them in the morning. Joel tends to hang back, letting her make her rounds, inarguably the favorite of both flock and feather. A gift, bells of laughter and the bright glint of her smile, even when she catches his eyes from across the field, like maybe it could be for him too. And then he remembers that is it for him too, because she always comes back, always comes to him with her eyes squinting into the sun and her smile slanting with the scrunch of her nose.

“They’re getting bigger everyday.” He thinks to himself that he wishes she wouldn’t remind him. Time has a way of getting parceled and pinched out here. Secret time, stolen time, no one paying much attention to time. How long has it been? Counting months in his mind as they make breakfast. He figures nine by the time they sit down. So much time. Time he has been greedy with. Enough of it that she may no longer need to stay. Or may no longer want to. He winces into his mug, small, sharp hurt that he is all too familiar with. Doubt makes him sulk, makes him slump. But then she always does something like she does right now. Touching just to touch. Something curious about it, like she is still unsure if she is allowed to, like this is not something she has had before now. Careful fingers curling around his wrist from across the table, coaxing his palm up to the ceiling so she can press her hand flat against his. He can feel her pulse where the pads of his fingers rest against the soft inside of her wrist, steady, with the occasional stutter.

“Do you want to go tonight?”

“If you do, yes.” Who says what, it doesn’t matter. Call and response goes both ways for them. If you do, then I do, and if I do, then you do.

“We don’t have to stay long.” Always giving her an out. She curls her hand around his.

“You just don’t want to lose at darts again.”

“You always win.”

“Don’t be a poor sport about it, I won’t want to play with you any more.”

“Hey.” That smile is for him, no question.

…

It isn’t often that Joel gets anything in the post. There is a mailbox at the end of the dirt road leading to the house. It has a large dent in its side, and has since he bought the place, near impossible to pry open. The mailman’s frustration with it is clear in how the lid is now hanging off its hinges, some sort of envelope, thick and obvious, sticking out of it as they drive home in the afternoon.

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure, I wasn’t expecting anything.” But he knows exactly what it is when he opens it, the knife he used to slice through the top of the padded envelope clattering onto the dining table when he pulls out a thick stack of documents from inside.

On top is a birth certificate. A hospital in Lincoln, Nebraska, and the first name is Dolores. And he shouldn’t, but she’s still toeing out of her shoes and hanging up her coat, so he quickly thumbs through the rest. A packet, and he recognizes what it is immediately. All those years ago, with Sarah’s mom, he got a packet that looked just like this. Divorce papers.

“Joel?” It startles him, and he knows he’s been caught, quietly setting the stack of papers down on the table, not quite able to meet her gaze.

“Those are for you.” He can’t watch, only catching a glimpse of the way her brow pulls down, a slight frown as she pads around the side of the table to get a better look.

“Oh.” She doesn’t pick them up, just drags her hand across them to fan the papers out on the table. And it’s a posture he hasn’t seen from her in a long time, the way she curls her arm back into herself, everything shutting and shuttering up tight and small. No, he can’t watch, but he can’t walk away either, shifting in his boots, his eyes landing on her only to flit away fast. She’s not moving, and he’s not sure if she’s even breathing, it’s that silent, save for the soft creak of the floorboards with his anxious shuffling.

“Do you have a pen?” It takes him a breath to realize that she’s asking him, and then he sets himself into stuttering motion. His hands feel too big, too shaky as he fumbles through the junk drawer in the kitchen, though something has changed in Dove, her shoulders straightened and smoothed out when she takes the pen he offers her. She hunches over the table, squinting through each page, a quick flurry of signatures that he knows she shouldn’t be dashing down so fast. But there’s no stopping her. Rampage and war path all in one, she huffs when she gets to the end of the packet, pinning the whole stack down with the pen and stepping back from the table like she escaped from something just in time.

“When do you want to leave for the bar?” She asks it light as air, a strange rolling back of her shoulders, her eyes settling somewhere just past him, not quite meeting him. He has to gather himself before he answers, stunned, and a little spooked, if he’s being honest.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“What does that mean?” All edge and ice, his stomach lurches quick and awful at this new thing, this very new, very frightening thing that she seems to be doing.

“Nothing, Dove, it doesn’t mean anything. But we don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“I do want to.”

“Okay.”

Dinner is tight and silent as a fist. Neither of them looking at the other. She pushes the food around her plate, though he’s not sure if any of it actually gets eaten. And he can feel his own frustration mounting, that urge to get just a little big, and a little loud, to tell her no, to put his foot down, to stop whatever this is. But he knows that whatever this is, no matter how mean she makes it look, it is a hurting thing.

So they go to the bar, and he lists at the periphery of the small crowd, making meaningless conversation with Rod about the weather while he keeps the lion’s share of his attention on Dove.

She doesn’t like to drink, not usually. Most of the time, she’ll politely sip down half a beer, promptly handing it to Joel for him to finish. But tonight, she has already lined up three tidily finished bottles on the table next to where she’s playing darts with John, and while everyone else is jovial, enthused and amused by this sudden outgoing shift in her demeanor, all Joel feels is a nervous stutter in his chest.

He watches, quietly and carefully, until he cannot stop himself from stepping in any longer. It’s quick, the way she stumbles back into a table, sending a few bottles rolling over onto the floor before John can hook a steady arm around her shoulders. It’s enough to get Joel moving.

“John, I think it’s time for us to be heading home.”

“John, I think it’s time for us to be heading home.” It’s slurred and stilted, a garish mimicry of his voice that she punctuates with a hiccup and a fragment of a laugh, still slightly swaying from her hold on John’s arm. And when Joel reaches for her, a murmured please, Dove, pain wraps itself around his heart, an awful throb of it, when she jerks her arm away from him, stumbling over her feet and in turn nearly causing John to lose his balance. She is mean like this, he realizes, meanness that he didn’t know she was capable of. A hot scoff and an I’m fine sharp from the back of her throat, steeling herself away from John and holding onto a table to steady her shake. Joel swallows around heat and sickness in his throat watching the broken sigh that curls in her shoulder blades. Not mean, after all, but hurting.

“Yeah, I’d say so. I think Dovey-girl here had a little too much fun tonight.” He knows it’s John’s weak attempt to smooth whatever tension seems to be hissing. Right, fun. Joel tries for what he can of a smile, though it’s more grimace than anything else, quietly coaxing an arm around Dove’s waist, not even sparing John a second glance as he shuffles them out of the bar and into the quick snap of cool night air.

She’s laughing, her head thrown back on her neck, lolled to the side. And it isn’t the laugh he has gotten used to. It’s a bitter thing, an ugly thing, mingling and mixing with that broken rasp of hers. A miracle that he can get her into the car. Usually so tentative with touch, her hands are everywhere, skittering up his chest, tugging in his hair, pulling at his coat, his belt, all while slurring soft iterations of his name. He feels like he’s going to throw up. And maybe it’s a little mean, the way he collects both her wrists in one broad palm and tucks them pointedly in her lap. For a moment she stills, a tremble in her lip that he thinks is threatening tears, but then she tilts her head back in another sharp giggle, distracted enough with her own unraveling that he can shut the passenger-side door and hurry around to his side of the car.

The roads are dark, the mountains the faintest purple shadow in the distance. He rolls all the windows down, hoping that the swift whip of wind might help sober her up. She’s silent in the passenger seat, but he can feel her heavy stare, her cheek dropped down to her shoulder to look at him.

“Joel.” Lilting and long, a little sing-songy call of his name, Jooooel. He doesn’t indulge it with any attention, keeps his eyes focused on the road getting eaten up by headlights in front of them. But she doesn’t abide by that for long. He tries to shake it off at first, jostling his knee like that might make her take her hand away. A quiet don’t, do not, Dove, when her palm starts to skirt higher, curling around his thigh. And it becomes too much so suddenly, so quickly.

“Godfuckingdamnit!”

In a blink, in the time it took for her hand to brush against the in-seam of his jeans, he has driven them off the road and into the soft, new grass on the side of the highway. He has gotten loud, and he has gotten big, shoulders hulking up toward his ears as his eyes flash, frenzied, over to her. And she has gotten small again, pressed back against the passenger-side door, silent and unblinking. He has scared her. But she has scared him as well.

Neither of them say a thing. He allows himself two deep breaths, and then he guides the car back onto the road.

She is still, subdued, and when he finally parks in front of the house, he realizes that she has fallen asleep, her lips parted and her head tilted back. He had hoped that she wouldn’t, but she stirs when he opens the passenger door, an indignant sound in the back of her throat as he unbuckles her seatbelt for her. He moves to take his hand away, but she catches his wrist, a weak hold that he doesn’t resist.

At first, he cannot understand what she’s saying, something mumbled and murmured, her lashes dropped down to her cheeks. She says it once, twice, and it starts to become clearer. You, me, you don’t, me, you don’t want me.

“That’s not true, Dove.” She sighs, running her thumb over his knuckles, her weepy eyes flickering up to his beneath her brow. And it’s terrible, tearing something open inside of him when she tries to lean forward, tries to pull him closer, tries again. Terrible that he has to press a hand to her shoulder to keep her from doing something that she will surely regret. Something he doesn’t know if she would even want, if not for the haze she is in. Maybe the most terrible part of it, actually.

And then that same chorus. You don’t want me, want me, want me, you don’t want me. And he could laugh, and he could cry, because all he has been doing is wanting her, and trying to stop himself from wanting her.

“Not like this.” He says it so quiet, he doesn’t know if she hears it, listing somewhere between consciousness and sleep. If she does, she shows no sign of acknowledging it, just letting out a long string of sighs as he helps her out of the car and into the house.

Her face is tucked into the side of his neck, blowing hot breath against his skin as he makes the awkward stumble up the stairs with her clinging under his arm. He manages to get her shoes off, and her coat, which once was his, but has been hers for a while now. It’s silent, save for her quiet murmurs of protest to any movement, eyes scrunched shut as he coaxes her under the covers. All she offers is one more sigh of his name, like penance or prayer, before she slips back under merciful sleep’s thumb.

Joel doesn’t get into bed with her. He can’t. He knows that he can’t, not right now. So instead, he sits down on the floor with a quiet groan, letting his back rest against the wall across from the bed, his head tipping back, like maybe there might be some sort of answer in the vertical.

There is no answer.

…

The difference between grief and mourning is noun and verb. Grief, the thing, and mourning, what you do with it. Never pretty, never perfect, never graceful, or gracious, any of it.

When Sarah was in middle school she went through a phase of being interested in the paranormal, in death, and what might come after it. Every night, Joel would come home and find her on the couch, watching the same show in which people recounted all their various and supposed hauntings. It had worried him at the time, going to his mother, even to Tommy, asking them if they thought it was strange. It would pass, the advice he received from everyone around him. Being young, it’s natural to wonder if and when the time for all of that to end will come. So when he would come home at night, he would wordlessly join her, somewhere between awake and asleep, half-listening to the television. But now, he remembers something that was said through the thick static of cable. Unfinished business, right, hauntings happen when patterns must be returned to and repeated. Phantom figments playing out all that was left unsaid, undone.

What happened last night had nothing to do with him. He is pretty certain it could have been anyone sitting in the driver’s seat alongside her. All that Dove needed was a willing participant, a captive cast member, to enact a haunting of her own, to close some gap, stitching some snapped thread in her mind. No, nothing to do with him, nothing at all.

At some point, sleep caught him, slumped to the side, a sharp pain in his neck when he wakes up, still seated on the floor. Dove isn’t in bed, a rumple of sheets where she had been laying. He’s too tired for that quick pulse of panic to fan into any real flame, but he does consider it. That maybe this is what leaving looks like.

But no, he stumbles out onto the porch, hurting with how bright it is, no. She is out there with the flock, still in her clothes from last night. He can only see her back with the way she is sitting in the field, spine curled over and into itself.

Shame settles thick and toothsome in his gut, though why he isn’t sure, anxious and awkward in how he comes to stand just in her periphery, letting presence be known, but not needed. She is crying.

“I am so sorry, Joel.” She says it plainly, voice flat and distant. And he isn’t going to say that it’s alright, because they both know that whatever that was, nothing about it was right. Purposeful, but not intended for pain. When cornered, a wounded animal will lash out against anything that moves, innocent or arbiter.

“I know you are, Dove.” When he takes a step closer to her, Avril lets out an indignant bleat from where she is watching a few paces away, part of her flock, a warning that she will do more if she does not like what she sees. Under any other circumstances, Joel would roll his eyes at the animal, ridiculous, but today it keeps him at a distance, sitting down far enough from Dove that he could not reach for her if he tried. And he would like nothing more than to reach for her, to forget what happened last night, to go back to the way things were. A stupid wish, a childish wish, one that cannot be made real.

“I don’t ever want to be like that again.”

“You aren’t like that.” And he means it. That wasn’t her, not the present her. A ghost somewhere inside of her that found its way to the surface, breaking beneath her skin.

“I understand if you want me to leave.”

“I don’t.”

“I was awful to you.” He doesn’t speak at first. Because yes, it was awful. An awful thing that makes him feel sick now even thinking of it. And awful too, that he knows he would forgive her of anything. Already forgiving this.

Punch comes wobbling up to her, taking the laces of her boots in her mouth before snuffling up her leg, nosing under Dove’s palm, intent on affection that she is so willing to give. Maybe they have let these girls get too domestic, a little too comfortable with humans, but he doesn’t care, watching a watery smile try to spread across Dove’s lips as she scratches behind the lamb’s ears.

“How are you feeling?”

“My head hurts, but I deserve it.” No, he thinks, none of this has been deserved. A strange cascade of poison. Cause and terrible effect.

When he reaches for her, Avril abides, plodding away, if not a little indignant. He takes up her hand in his, and though ligament and lines remain limp, she lets him, still not looking at him, but letting him.

“I am so sorry.”

“I know you are.”

…

He takes care of it for her. Seals the packet of paperwork back in the envelope and writes the requisite address on the front, tucks the whole thing in the backseat of the truck. And they move like careful planets, still in orbit, but trying hard not to touch, to linger.

The first thing he does after dropping her off at the diner is go to the post office, though he thinks twice of it. Reopens the envelope in the driver’s seat for the third time now and reads through the whole thing, every condition, every clause. A clean break seems to be the sum of it, nothing glaring to any of it. So he closes the envelope one more time, and posts it back to Nebraska.

It’s a wordless communication, the way she turns in the passenger seat to check for it when he picks her up in the afternoon, settling back when she sees that it is gone. Still smarting, both of them, they move carefully through their usual errands, the grocery and the library, the drugstore for a new bottle of Advil for her.

Her voice has gotten worse over the months, since what happened in November. The word that she uses for it, not what he would call it, worse. Usually the hardest to hear her in the mornings, words cracking into whispers or suddenly stuttering up a pitch. He knows it upsets her, how she will quickly close her mouth mid-thought, lips pressed in a thin line like she couldn’t stand for any more of that sound to come out. He brought up the idea of taking her to see a doctor in Denver once, and she had scoffed, the whites of her eyes showing with their roll because no insurance, and what money she has, set aside for a different problem entirely. She hadn’t let him even begin to say that he would help her cover it.

Today, it is particularly bad. Not in how it sounds, at least not to him, but in how it is clearly painful for her to speak, wincing around the few things she does say, the menial mundane things of errands, clearing her throat in between each response, a hand curled and hovering over the front of her neck, not touching, but sensing something that has seemed to change permanently.

Maybe the alcohol, he thinks, the abrasive slip of it down her throat. Or maybe the fact of loud, the loudest he had ever heard her, those clipped laughs. Maybe a combination of the two. Whatever it is, he can see her frustration mounting with it, until finally, she sits with a terse crease in her brow and her lips kept in a stoic pinch on the drive back home. Betrayed by her own voice, in more ways than one.

The only thing she does say, once the groceries are put away and Joel is preparing to help her make dinner, a rattling rasp, I’ll do it. A wave of her hands, away and behind her, and he won’t argue, worried she might cry if she has to speak any more.

Disappointed that it’s him and not her doing the evening rounds, the sheep are at best tolerant of his care, keeping a dignified distance as he fills their water troughs and checks on the lambs. The chickens are less loyal, and more stupid, he thinks to himself, but even they seem a bit jaded when he is the one that shuts the coop for the night.

The house is warm when he comes back inside, windows spilling syrup into the oncoming night. It smells good, salt and savor, something simmering on the stove. A strange contrast, the inherent life that a kitchen suggests, and the solemn way she is moving around it. Recompense, remorse, heavy things pulling at her shoulders, curling her smaller over pots and pans.

“This looks good, Dove, thank you.” She nods, passing him a full plate, warmth seeping into his palms from the bottom of it. But when they both sit down, he recognizes it immediately, so many steps back. Her hands are in her lap, and he already knows that she’s waiting for him to start. Doing that thing again, and he can do it too. Fork and knife remain untouched, he sits back in his chair, a small challenge. Maybe ten minutes pass like that, the steam from their plates long dissolved into the air, when she finally looks up at him, frustration clear in the pull of her brow.

Something that she learned. Something that was taught to her, just like all the rest of her fear. Back when she first came to stay with him, she was always apologizing, always thanking. And the cooking, and the waiting for him to start before she would even consider her plate. Like punishment, like always being aware of some score, and afraid of what might happen if she does not balance it. And he’s watching her sink back into it, all of it, right now.

“Dove, please.” She blinks at him, a slack frown pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“You should eat, Joel.” She puts every ounce of sound she can behind it, and it still comes out quiet, a quick burst of decibel on eat, like her voice tried to kick up in her chest just enough to end on a good note, though his name comes out the softest of all of it, a whisper that seems to hurt.

“So should you.”

“I will.”

“Now, please.”

“I feel terrible.” And he knows that she isn’t talking about her lingering headache, not even the pain in her throat. He knows that she has probably been exacting perfect retribution on herself in her mind, all day. She looks miserable, because she has made herself miserable with guilt that has festered into shame.

“I forgive you, I do.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“You didn’t mean it.” Her eyes flicker, so small he might have imagined it. But no, something shifts behind her grimace, and he realizes that he might be wrong, that there had been some truth to her want last night. A want that she doesn’t know how to manage, a want that she doesn’t know what to do with. A want like his.

“I don’t know how to, Joel.”

“That’s okay.”

“I don’t think I can stand it.”

“What can’t you stand?”

“For you to not–” She cuts herself off, a sharp breath that threatens tears. But he knows it’s the same thing he’s afraid of that she is speaking to. Want can be so violent, so rash, so wicked and wretched in how big and bold and blustering it can get. But really, it is a child, hoping that someone will hold its hand, hoping, for once, that someone will walk it home, see it through the night.

“It’s the same for me, Dove. I can’t stand it either.”

On her terms, the only way this will ever work, he offers a quiet come here, please, pushes out his chair from the table, and waits for her to respond, to react. And yes, it takes time, but eventually, she does.

“Warm.” Said to herself, maybe not meant to be said at all, her eyes intent on where her palm splays over his chest. He places his hand over hers, keeping it there.

There is no one around for a good few miles, but here is what the coyotes see in the yellow drip of light coming from the kitchen windows. A man, sitting in a chair pushed back from a dining table, and a woman, standing between his legs, her hand on his chest, and his hand on her hand. And they are not smiling, neither of them, and they are not speaking either. They are looking at each other. The man places his other hand on the woman’s waist, and he gives her a small nod, a making sure, making okay. The woman nods too, and she lets her other hand settle along the man’s jaw.

But people are very boring to coyotes, especially broken ones like these, so they do not stick around to see the rest, skittering off with a chorus of yips and clackering sounds, seeking their own small satisfactions.

No, the coyotes do not see when the woman carefully dips her face down, nor do they see the man tilt his chin up in answer. And the coyotes certainly do not see the small, shivering kiss that is over as soon as it starts. Two shadows turning into one, and only the smallest sliver of light between them when they separate again.

The coyotes have much more interesting matters to tend to than such human things. After all, spring has finally come to the mountains.

..............................

taglist: @cassiopeia @eleganthottubfun @anoverwhelmingdin @sscorpiiio @joeldjarin @casa-boiardi @suzmagine @syakhairi @spookyxsam @northernbluess @hier--soir @joelsgreys @wannab-urs @tieronecrush @trulybetty @softlyspector @noisynightmarepoetry @csarab615 @ratoonstown @harriedandharassed @survivingandenduring @lizzie-cakes @beskarandblasters @narxisus

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #the last of us #joel miller fics #joel miller series #joel miller story #joel miller au #joel miller imagine

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empty-cryptid · 4 months

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What if the Madrigals piled into a huge van and went to a mall?

Felix is the driver. He always brings along a bottle of water that Pepa always ends up drinking. He buys himself another one in the mall or begs Julieta for one. He likes to find new music to dance to or sheet music.

Alma sits beside Felix in the passenger seat. It's too hard on her knees to crawl into the back part of the van and she likes to be in a spot where she can see the whole family. She will usually meet an old friend for a meal or coffee, then shop with Julieta and Agustin when they get groceries. Everyone knows to meet them when the groceries are done to help load up the van because Julieta will send out a group text. This is the last thing they get done and they leave the city after.

Pepa sits behind Felix. She always forgets something and it's most often her water bottle, so she takes Felix's. She and Felix like to dance to Agustin's piano music if they see him playing in the mall. Felix will follow her around and carry her bags for her, even though she asks if he's sure he wants to do that. It makes him happy so she lets him. They'll help with the grocery shopping too.

Antonio sits beside Pepa and likes to bring along his stuffed jaguar because he isn't allowed to bring along any of his other animals. He has a system for who he spends time with and chooses a different person/group each time so that he can spend time with everyone. He always wants to visit the toy store and pet store, of course.

Julieta is on Antonio's other side and always brings along a large bag full of food, juice, water, and first aid supplies for the kids (and inevitably her husband).

Luisa sits behind Pepa. The far back seat is too tight for her to fit into and she wants to give the front bench to Antonio so he can sit with his mother. She likes to bring tea along for the ride and points out all of the farm animals in the fields.

Isabela sits beside Luisa. Isabela and Luisa usually end up hanging out together in the mall. They like to try on different clothes, check out the bookstore, and visit the gardening section.

Agustin's behind Julieta and beside Isabela. He almost always slams his finger in the door or hits his head getting into the van. Julieta and Agustin like to find a nice restaurant to have a meal together before they go shopping. Sometimes Agustin will play the mall piano for a little while.

Camilo sits in the far back seat behind Luisa. He's always got a prank or some other scheme planned for mall shenanigans. He usually drags Mirabel and/or Bruno into it. When he isn't planning schemes, he likes to visit the music store and Mirabel drags him to the craft store.

Mirabel sits beside Camilo and likes to bring one of her embroidery projects along for the long car ride. Camilo usually keeps distracting her with his plans so she doesn't get much done. She likes to stock up on her sewing supplies and likes the arts and craft store.

Bruno sits beside Mirabel and always has a huge coffee in his hand. Being outside of Casita is exhausting, never mind being in a huge mall. If he can get away from Camilo's plans, he likes to hang out with Dolores in the book store, music store, craft store, and pet store. He makes sure he's never alone in the mall.

Dolores sits beside Bruno and behind Agustin. It's usually the quietest corner of the van and she likes to watch outside the window as she listens to music through her headphones. If she isn't with Bruno, she likes to hang out with Luisa and Isabela.

#encanto #headcanons #encanto headcanons #modern au #this is currently a wip and may become a fic someday #felix madrigal #alma madrigal #pepa madrigal #antonio madrigal #julieta madrigal #luisa madrigal #isabela madrigal #agustin madrigal #camilo madrigal #mirabel madrigal #bruno madrigal #dolores madrigal

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queenofthedisneyverse · 4 months

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Encanto God au

I got another Alma and Mirabel bonding au!

Ok so, what if the Madrigals were gods? Like:

The story/au goes that Alma fell in love with a human man, Pedro. Her parents, friends, and even strangers told her that it won’t end well but Alma, being the young goddess she was, didn’t listen. The way they met was at the candle festival, Alma loved festivals, so she wasn’t going to pass up a fun time.

So, she disguised herself as a human and went to the festival. Soon meeting the love of her life. They dated, got married, and had three demigod children. Everyone on earth and above the clouds were of course happy for them. But her parents and friends couldn’t fight the feeling of something going wrong.

On the night of the triplets' birth, Alma was in a deep coma like sleep, as any mother would be. While asleep with her three babies next to her, Pedro was outside talking to a “friend”. This “friend” got word of Pedro marrying a goddess and having children with her. His jealousy got the best of him and when Pedro was in his calmest and happiest state…he killed him.

Not long after Alma woke up in a cold sweat and went outside to look for her husband. At the moment, a raid was going on. Houses and stores are up in flames, men with machetes on horses left and right and Pedro…After what seemed like days of weeping and sobbing, she found the man who killed her husband and…dealt with him properly, let's say.

After that incident, the only humans allowed to come near her were Pedro’s parents, high up on Monte Encanto (Mount Encanto, Like Mount Olympus ). Humans can only go to Mount Olympus when they are invited, no other way. On the plus side, it’s incredibly too high for any human to climb.

Alma was quite upset and hates herself for not being vigilant enough to protect her husband, therefore she’s going to protect her children and never let them near humans. In her mind, falling in love with them is the worst thing you can do, on both sides.

Where does Mirabel come in? Give me a sec

Remember how I mentioned Pedro’s parents? Yeah, they wanted his grave to be on earth. They wanted it on earth because they didn’t want to constantly have to have Alma’s permission for them to see their own son’s grave on mount Encanto. So, out of respect of his parents, she lets the grave be on earth and every so often she visits it when she needs time alone or is too stressed out.

Her children sometimes tag along with her on his birthday and leave some flowers or gifts for him to take into the afterlife. You know how the skeletons in Coco would take a magical version of the gift sat on their grave?

Yeah, they believe that’s how he takes the gifts. On one of his birthdays, the triplets and Alma visited his grave with gifts to give him. While doing so, they heard a faint cry. A baby's cry, they looked around to see if there was any baby in the distance. They didn’t see anything. The cry was far but close enough to hear, which is strange, who would leave a baby at a graveyard of all places?

After looking around a bit more, they found a little baby girl in a basket near a tree. She was small, very small, and she looked…new. Like not even a day new, like she was born mere hours ago.

Julieta, being the caring mother she is, picked the baby up and held her close. The little infant was cold, very cold, and from the vibe she was giving Julieta, more than likely sick.

“She’s just a baby, who would do such a thing?!”

Alma stared at the little one and she knew right then and there, she had to care for this child. Unlike her granddaughters, who had been born within the safety of alabaster stone pylons, and in the presence of trained nursemaids draped in maroon and gold silks, this little baby had no such luxury.

Unlike Isabela, whose head was christened in rosewater the minute she was birthed, or Luisa who was immediately coddled in the finest of linens to warm, or Dolores who was put in the finest cradle made of gold and calming scented clouds to lay her head on. Mirabel was in nothing but a withered old basket and wearing…nothing. There was a simple small blanket covering her, nothing more.

And to top it all off, she was born on her late husband's birthday, March 6th. This little girl was a miracle. She would’ve called her a gift from the gods but she just went with a gift from her Pedro.

So, from then on, little Mirabel (or sometimes Miracle) was welcomed into the family as a Madrigal. A mere human yes, but still an amazing little gift that Alma welcomed with open arms.

She was going to teach her everything from literature, mathematics, combat, science, just anything in the little girl's early years to make sure that she was going to be strong, independent, and smart just like her.

“I give you my word neita, you will be outstanding”

Mirabel/Miracle was given to Julieta and Agustin to care for but…it’s more like Alma adopted her herself. She read her stories, gave her gifts, fed her, clothed in the best clothes, etc. To make sure absolutely nothing happened to her little Miracle, Alma made a potion for Mirabel to take everyday to make sure she’s immortal.

The potion was supposed to give her other magical properties but it only gave her immortality, no god magic like her sisters or primos. No super strength, healing, no ability to control weather, ability to make plants, shapeshifting, or hear from far places, nothing.

No matter how many potions Alma made, no magic from her family would stick besides immortality. No matter, she was still special, and will forever be special in Alma’s eyes.

At school (for the god kids, but Mirabel was easily accepted in) Alma made sure she only had the best teachers, if she couldn’t always be the one teaching her then Alma was going to make sure gods who were well qualified were going to.

Mirabel isn’t bullied per say but she isn’t well liked either. To gods, humans aren’t anything but an annoyance or something to play with. So seeing something you were taught to not see as anything but a speck is doing better in class than you…does get annoying. And most of them think she doesn’t deserve to be there

All of the god kids avoid her unless they are paired up with her for an assignment. Other than that, they don’t pay much attention to her, and it’s easier for them because they are much taller in comparison to her. They don’t even have to look down in her direction.

God children ages 1-5 are about half her height at fifteen. So in this au, Antonio is at her shoulders, Camilo is four feet above her, Luisa is two feet above him, Isabela/Dolores are three feet over her, and the adults are a few inches above the two oldest girls.

Alma keeps her height small in case she has to talk to Mirabel, who she knows can’t stand her smallness. Did I mention that Mirabel needs to nearly climb everything in her castle to get to it? If no one in the family is around she really has to climb her way to the kitchen counter just to make a snack.

Oh, and Alma doesn’t look old is this au. From what I’ve read in Greek mythology and seen in Greek statues, none of the gods look or seem to be older than 30 so Alma looks 26 but she’s about the same age she is in canon. Same goes for the triplets, no gray hair or that much wrinkles.

Mirabel does have her own room in this au and all that jazz. I’m not so sure what to do for dynamics but I think I’ll keep things the same? Idk,

I was thinking that maybe Mirabel, Camilo, and Dolores are ok with each other, but leave them in a room alone and it’s just gonna be…awkward and silent. They don’t talk much seeing as they just have stuff to do but they're alright with each other. Antonio and Mira still have that cute little brother and older sister relationship though.

Luisa and Mirabel are cool, Luisa is a little overprotective of her, but it’s not to the point of where it’s annoying. I’m not sure about Isabela and Mirabel’s relationship though. I feel like Isabela is slightly Jealous that Mirabel gets more attention from Alma in regards to gifts, excellent teachers, and knowledge about anything and everything she gives her.

Don’t get me wrong, she loves her and would rip the entire fabric of the universe for her, but Isa just isn’t quite sure what to do with her. Julieta and Agustin are still loving parents and shower her with love and care when they can.

Felix and Pepa love her too and speak to her when they have the time. Bruno does the same and cracks some jokes if she’s ever upset.

The idea that I had is that Mirabel is like Ariel but different. She wants to go to the human world just to feel normal. Her thinking is that she's a person just like the rest of the people in the village she sees.

Nobody is up on some high horse of superiority; the people are just people. No one treats or looks at her like she's some omen you're not supposed to talk to.

On the plus side, they don't ignore her as if she isn't there and it's a rarity for anyone to be above 6'4, she's amazed by the simple fact that her height is average among girls and some boys.

The only problem is that she knows damn well she isn't supposed to be down there. Alma expects everyone, Including Mirabel, that no one is supposed to talk to humans.

"It'll be the worst thing you could do, for both ends"

But Mirabel isn't a goddess, just a human with immortality, so nothing can go wrong right?

That’s all I’ve got for now, if you have any ideas, let me know! Oh, and here's everyone's majors

Alma - Goddess of strength, independence, fertility, and festivity

Julieta - Goddess of peace, healing and fertility

Agustin - God of loyalty, crafting, and perseverance

Isabela - Goddess of flowers, elegance, and beauty

Luisa - Goddess of strength, independence, and loyalty

Pepa - Goddess of war, emotions, and storms

Felix - God of light, happiness, and love

Dolores - Goddess of silence, peace, and hope

Camilo - God of trickery, comedy, and festivity

Antonio - God of animals, happiness, and imagination

Bruno - God of Prophecy, wisdom, and laughter/comedy

#encanto au #alma madrigal #mirabel madrigal #julieta madrigal #agustin madrigal #isabela madrigal #luisa madrigal #pepa madrigal #felix madrigal #dolores madrigal #camilo madrigal #antonio madrigal #bruno madrigal #Encanto God Au #mythology #my asks are open

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miracles-and-butterflies · 2 months

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How did the centre Mirabel react once she realised how much of pigment she had lost?

Mirabel swore she was dreaming when she passed by the mirror. They had only been in the new house for a handful of hours and she was still getting use to the modern layout. If she hadn’t walked into the bathroom, needing to clean her hands from some of Isabela’s pollen, she would have assumed it was some creepy portrait hanging on the wall. A painting of a ghost or something if she were to guess, from the pale and almost lifeless-looking figure staring back at her.

But, said portrait moved with her. Eyes widening and blinking as it shifted back from the sink, watery coloured liquid cascading between white fingers. As she breathed heavily, her reflection did too.

What the actual hell?

She knew that she lost pigment in her hands. She remembers them slowly losing their colour and warmth, disappearing in odd splotches. The room in the centre was quite dark so she was never fully aware of the extent - it would have helped if she had a mirror and her vision (at a distance) wasn’t so blurry - but she knew it was more than just her hands. She never realised it was quite this bad though. She can barely recognise herself. Her hair looks like it has been completely bleached. God, even her eyebrows and lashes… there’s a few spots of her actual skin colour still visible across her body, if that is any mercy.

The eyes are what threw her the most - they weren’t even the same. She had never heard of eyes being two different colours before. One eye, her left (the mirror’s right), was the same amber eyes of a doe that have been in her head since she was born. The other eye wasn’t remotely brown at all. No colour at all. There was more colour in the pollen coming off her hands than her whole body.

This couldn’t be real… this had to be a dream. Of course it was. Any second now she would wake up back in the centre from whatever torture she was being subjected to that day. Why would she ever think any of this could be real? Why would she ever get a gift? Why would they make it out of the centre in one piece? Why would things ever be good for them?!

That’s when Isabela sauntered in, completely covered in pollen and not being careful with what she was staining as she pushed the door open.

“Yeah, so, apparently Dolores was right and the adults are in fact not happy to have me redecorate the sitting room,” Isabela was saying, chuckling to herself. “Which is their loss. I think I improved the living room; plants give us oxygen to live, so it makes sense… you okay, sis? I don’t think you’ve blinked since I walked in?”

“This isn’t real,” Mirabel mumbled.

“What isn’t?”

“This… you… I’m not here…”

“You definitely are.” To prove the point, Isabela leaned over and lightly pinched her arm. Mirabel felt her knees give it out as she winced in pain. It wasn’t that sore; it was just what it meant. “Um… you okay?”

Mirabel didn’t answer. She couldn’t bring herself to get a word out. She just sobbed, staring at herself in horror. Her hands, her arms, her legs, the ends of her hair. She could almost make out the little holes of where the injections had been forced into her.

Isabela quickly washed the majority of the pollen off her arms and face, before crouching down on the floor beside Mirabel. Mirabel didn’t say anything and barely looked her way. She gently picked up her sister’s hands and dried them off with a towel, which finally made Mirabel look up at her.

“I’m sorry,” she says first. She doesn’t actually know what to say, but she knows she should say something. She knows she would want someone to talk to her if she was in Mirabel’s tiny shoes. “I know you might not feel like yourself, right now… or maybe ever. And you can change your hair or dress or name or whatever you want to make yourself feel better, and we’ll all support you with it because we’re your family. We’re not gonna leave you or throw you out or anything. Point is, you are still my little sister and I love you.”

Mirabel didn’t do anything for a moment, eventually she settled on throwing her arms around her sister and just crying into Isabela’s shoulder.

Isabela returned the hug, petting her hair gently. She wouldn’t usually, but just in case, Mirabel was worried that people would be freaked out and uncomfortable with the change of skin and hair. It was best just to prove she wasn’t.

“Besides,” she added, half-joking. “You aren’t getting out of dealing with my chaos that easy.”

#encanto #ask me anything #encanto centre au #my writing #mirabel madrigal #isabela madrigal

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sirenjose · 3 months

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Analysis of White Sand Street Asylum - Part 1

Includes Full Character Analyses for: Freddy, Kreacher, Emma, Emily, Leo, Robbie and Dolores, Kurt, Ada and Emil, and Alice.

I have been forced to split this into 3 parts due to the length and number of images I've used for this. To prevent tumblr from forcing me to make this any more than 3 parts, I have cut back on the original number of images (mostly I just cut out the images of the deductions). Apologies in advance, but I hope this is still ok either way. If anything doesn't make sense, let me know.

Anyways, please enjoy~!

Robbie and Dolores were born to a “wealthy family” according to the post from Robbie’s release (https://twitter.com/IdentityVJP/status/1120251010042040320).

Their parents loved them based on Dolores’ recollection in Robbie’s 3rd letter, where they would “always give each of us a goodnight kiss before they tucked us in. And you would kiss on my cheek to wake me up in the morning”. Dolores also described their parents as “kind”, and implied their life was happy back then.

Unfortunately, this didn’t last forever. We don’t know what happened, but the White siblings lost everything, their home and their parents, in one night.

Robbie doesn’t understand what happened, though Dolores seems to, yet she is unable to explain the truth to Robbie, likely due to his young age. Dolores cares about Robbie more than anything else, who she sees as her “Precious Treasure”, but she is also hard on herself as a result and sees her inability to tell him what happened to their parents as a “failure” on her part.

As they lost both parents in 1 night, I doubt the cause of their deaths was natural. Maybe it was murder? That could match with Dolores being unable to explain that sort of concept to someone young like Robbie.

Though the fact they lost their house and seemingly all their possession and money, I wonder if there was a fire. Unless they only lost their house and possessions due to their parents’ deaths, but it could be seen as odd that their parents didn’t leave anything behind for them after their deaths or a will or anything. If they lost it all in a fire, that could be an explanation. (Though next question I wonder is if the fire was caused on purpose or accidental. Though an accidental fire could fit well enough on its own as it would provide an explanation for their parents not dying due to natural causes, dying at the same time, and how they could lose everything to become penniless orphans by the end).

After losing their parents, they are placed in White Sand Street Orphanage. This orphanage is run by Kreacher Pierson (who refers to the orphanage as “Sweet Home” or “Home, sweet home”).

Kreacher is someone who (based on his 1st letter and deduction summaries) grew up on the streets as an orphan, all on his own, from a young age. He was someone who was never “treated with sincerity and kindness”, especially not by the upper class, who were only ever disgusted by “rats” such as him. So Kreacher grew up without ever knowing love. Only hatred and disdain, causing him to learn that the only way he’d be able to survive was by relying on himself. It was a dog-eat-dog world that revolved around having enough money. He grew up learning that everyone was only ever out for themself. This is how he developed his hatred for the rich, and he decided, if they weren’t going to share any of their coins with a penniless orphan like himself, then he’d just have to take it for himself. It’s not like they needed it anyways. He saw plenty of people swimming in luxury that he’d never have. They could afford to share some with him, right?

This was how Kreacher became a thief. As a way to survive.

As we learn in his beta backstory: “Kreacher grew up in this cruel and realistic world, he followed the leader of thieves and endured various difficulties, training for a way to make a living”. He developed his skills in theft, all while becoming exceptionally “street-smart” with exceptional “survival instincts”.

No one would just give him their coin, even if he were to ask, and barely any if he begged. So, he learned to rely on deception as his only “way of survival”. No, what he was doing wasn’t good, but it was his only way at the time to keep himself from “dying from starvation or sickness on the streets”. And as he had to rely on this from quite a young age, it became the only life he knew.

Kreacher was managing to get by, though he had been caught and arrested for theft in the past.

Not wanting to go back to prison, Kreacher decides to change his methods. After earning people’s trust by making himself seem to be a “philanthropist”, he specifically adopts disabled orphans. He planned to use the kids’ disabilities “to gain sympathy” in order to profit even more than he’d been able to before via begging and stealing alone, while at the same time using the money to provide shelter and sustenance to the kids he’d adopted.

But Kreacher was a realistic person. He was someone who just did whatever he had to do in order to survive. As a result, he could be tough with the kids, and was implied to sometimes hit some kids that didn’t make enough money. This was likely the only way Kreacher knew how to ensure the kids did better next time. He knew the world was a cruel place, something they wouldn’t be able to survive unless they toughened up. He needed to develop their survival instincts as well as teach them how to be street smart. (Maybe Kreacher is the reason the kid in Robbie’s 2nd letter knew how to pry open a locked window with a knife. Maybe Kreacher taught them other skills like that.) Though at the same time, his actions were also due to a lack of any experience with love or kindness. He’s never had an easy life. He’s likely treating them that way because that’s how he was always treated and how he’s always had to live, and as a result, he doesn’t really know how to be gentle. As we’ve said, he’s had to learn to prioritize himself above everyone to survive. He’s never had to care for someone else, and so he doesn’t know how to do so with the kids. Even if did have concern for the kids, he likely wouldn’t even understand what those feelings were. What he does understand is survival and money, and he sees Dolores as a chance to make a ”fortune” due to her disability.

Robbie’s deduction 2 describes Dolores as “a girl who lost an arm”. Losing an arm is different than being born without one, so I wonder if Dolores lost it during whatever incident killed their parents?

There are instances where burn victims can require amputation if the damage goes deep enough, if the injury becomes infected, or if the limb was crushed in some examples.

(It is possible she was simply born that way. I just find the term “lost” odd if so.)

In the photo of Kreacher with the orphan kids, we can (most likely) identify Dolores, as she is the sole girl with a missing right arm. Since Dolores came with Robbie, it’d make sense for 1 of the children in the photo with her to be Robbie. We know Robbie is younger than Dolores, so a good guess would be either the kid with the missing ear next to her or the small child sitting on the ground. It’s hard to tell with this 2nd kid, but it looks like he has both hands but is missing at least 1 leg?

Robbie (looking at his default appearance) seems to only be missing his head, while all his limbs look intact. Considering when Robbie came back, his head was still missing, I imagine his default should be accurate to showing how his body was before his death. Otherwise, if coming back did supposedly restore any missing limbs he had previously, why not also restore his head somehow (rather than leave him headless)?

In which case, my best guess is that Robbie is the kid with the missing ear. The height would also match better with Robbie’s default compared to the smaller child.

(And if Robbie was only missing an ear, that would also fit with how we don’t see anything wrong with Robbie as we wouldn’t notice a missing ear with his whole head missing.)

Also, this kid with the missing ear is standing right next to Dolores. I know this same kid isn’t directly next to her in the other photo we have of Kreacher with the orphanage kids, but he is directly opposite her, on the other side of Kreacher and Father Duke, so it’s at least close.

This kid also looks similar, even though not the exact same (the kid has both ears), as the kid on the Milk Carton accessory that came from the charity event that Robbie’s Wail skin came from.

(Nothing says this kid is definitely Robbie, I’m just suggesting every potential theory/option.)

While at White Sand Street Orphanage, Robbie and Dolores are given no choice but to work. This is in part because Kreacher, even though he is the owner, is only a poor street orphan himself.

As Dolores was missing an arm, she was made to beg because that would make it “easier to pull on the heartstrings”.

Robbie though, despite being “such a crybaby” had “nothing wrong” with him. This does make me wonder if Robbie didn’t actually have any disabilities or missing limbs or anything, and could’ve been similar to the boy in the photo on the milk carton. If he didn’t have any issues like that, it could explain the comment about Dolores being able to pull on heartstrings but not Robbie. Unless the comment was just saying there basically wasn’t enough wrong with Robbie, not enough to make him as sad of a case as Dolores, and thus he could’ve still had an issue like a missing ear?

Robbie wasn’t assigned to beg. Instead he was tasked to “work in the yard”, where “gardening became his new hobby”.

In the Christmas Nocturne event, Robbie implies he chopped down trees for firewood, using an axe that was “even bigger than Robbie”. His backstory says Dolores helped Robbie get used to his tasks in the yard. I wonder if the axe was originally hers, or if it was just an axe that Robbie was given but Dolores taught him how to use. Though Robbie’s 4th letter does describe it as “her axe”, it may have only been described that way1 as she kept and used it after Robbie’s death.

If Robbie was too young to understand what happened to his parents, I question how good he really was chopping down an entire tree. It’s possible he just chopped branches off, or maybe only chopped down small enough trees. Or they already had small enough logs and Robbie just chopped it up into firewood.

Whatever the case, Dolores always told Robbie that he did a good job, which made Robbie happy. And as we know from Robbie’s 1st deduction, Dolores basically says that Robbie’s happiness “is the suffering I longed for”. She did anything she could to make Robbie happy, her “adorable brother”.

Life at the orphanage continued until the Church decided it wanted to be involved (likely due to the desire to also profit if not for the value of the kids for their experiments). Kreacher cooperated, likely in part because they pressured him but also in part probably because they offered some kind of benefit or financial compensation if he agreed.

This continues for a time, with the church partnering with him to hold events to raise money for the kids and the orphanage. The one he often works with from the church is Father Duke.

Eventually the church decides they wanted more and had Kreacher send over kids that were “diagnosed with mental illnesses” to their “mental institution” for “comprehensive treatment”. The reasoning stated in the letter they sent to Kreacher for why they did this was “Based on the need for cooperation with the government”. Whether or not the kids actually had any mental illness didn’t matter, the church got what they wanted.

“Letter to Mr. Kreacher Pierson:

Based on the need for cooperation with the government, the orphans who have been diagnosed as mentally handicapped should be sent to the Catholic Church’s Office of Ministries for unified care. For the well-being of the children, please be sure to send them to the abandoned church at 673 White Sand Street before May 5 to confirm their mental status.

Father Duke”

Despite several deductions using the term “mental institution” before we know the church created White Sand Street Asylum, it is likely this wasn’t actually a “mental institution” back then. The beta letter to Kreacher states the kids should be sent “to the catholic church’s Office of Ministries for unified care”, with the location being “the abandoned church at 673 White Sand Street”. Another of Kreacher’s later deductions uses the term “church clinic”, and this is likely the more appropriate description.

One of the children in the care of the church’s clinic that partnered with Kreacher’s orphanage was Emma. Back then, she was still using her original name: Lisa Beck.

Leo Beck, the owner of a small textile factory, and Martha Remington (aka Martha Beck) married on March 14th, 1874 in Devonshire and gave birth to Lisa on December 21st, 1876.

Freddy is a lawyer and financial advisor specializing in “non-performing assets disposal, mergers, and acquisitions” that Leo became business partners with. Due to working with Leo, Freddy encounters Martha, who he falls in love with. Leo, still unaware of Freddy’s feelings for Martha, invites Freddy to Lisa’s 1st birthday because of their partnership that eventually becomes friendship. Once Lisa is older, she mentions Leo invited Freddy over more than once, with Freddy “always bringing flowers”.

Freddy, being part of the middle-class, was likely born into a not too badly off family, though not a rich one. Likely enough to live at least semi-comfortably compared to the lower classes. That’s likely why he was able to pay to attend school to become a lawyer. Despite this, none of his family are ever mentioned, which makes me wonder if they were a bit distant, potentially focusing on themselves or their own work rather than caring or showing much meaningful love to Freddy. In any case, Freddy still had high hopes. His social status and education had given him confidence, and he had high hopes for his future, with his goal always being to earn money and wealth (he was a “gold digger”). He might’ve thought things would be easy since his deduction 4 says “People tend to trust hard-workers. You need to seem hard working, at least”.

Despite his friendship with Leo, Freddy had fallen hard for Martha, who he saw as completely perfect and someone he couldn’t live without.

We know he wrote love letters to her frequently, including one in 1878 that shows just how head over heels he was for her. His desire to be with her despite the fact she was already with Leo was already very strong back then.

“Martha:

You said that you fear I can’t give you the sort of love you hope for? My beloved lady, I swear on Gowd’s name that my love for you has no reservations.

My love for you burns so brightly that day and night, I am unable to sleep. When I think about your family, my heart suffers from the flames of envy. When will you be able to reciprocate my feelings?

Loving you

Freddy Riley

1878”

This love doesn’t go away. His desire only burned brighter over time. Especially as Martha likely did return some of it, and if Freddy did grow up without being shown much love, he likely latched onto it like a starving man to food. This could be backed up by how Freddy in his diaries says “What do people do for love? Fresh flowers, love letters, vows, marriage. I made fun of it all in the past. Until I met you, Martha. After which, all of my principles, all my dignity, completely vanished.” This seems to imply Freddy looked down on and didn’t believe in the concept of “love”, which likely has several implications about his own family and how he grew up.

It makes me wonder if Freddy’s initial disregard towards love was because of his parents. Maybe his parents had a falling out, maybe they didn’t truly love each other, or maybe even 1 of them cheated on the other, which could explain why Freddy would mock even concepts like “vows” and marriage. Maybe his parents even divorced.

In any case, any of these sort of ideas would explain why Freddy’s parents are non-existent in his backstory as well as why he felt the way he did about love initially, not to mention if his parents weren’t happy with each other, or if they did cheat or at least didn’t have a happy marriage, that could imply Freddy wasn’t shown much love, and thus why when he did finally encounter someone he loved, why he might fall so far for that person.

Freddy was blinded by love as well as jealousy over Leo, someone he saw as beneath him due to Freddy’s feelings of “class superiority” (according to Freddy’s 3rd letter). Yet despite this, Leo had a more successful and happier life than Freddy, which leads to him developing deep resentment towards Leo and eventually to begin planning a way to have Martha all to himself.

I wonder if it’s possible the reason why Freddy might see what he’s doing as ok could have been because of his own parents, as in if they really did break their marriage vows or even cheat on each other despite their marriage. Maybe that could be partially why Freddy didn’t care as much that Martha was already married.

We know Freddy continued to woo Martha, before eventually proposing to her. This happened some time before Lisa had even turned 8 or 9 years old. We know Freddy didn’t force Martha, only tried to win her over. Martha obviously was tempted, which leads to her and Leo arguing more and more. Lisa said that her mother told Leo that his “clothes were always dirty”, while Freddy was always a clean looking “young gentleman with a suit and shiny hair”. Leo was the owner of a small factory, while Freddy was a financial advisor (and potentially of a higher class based on Freddy’s 3rd letter mentioning his feelings of class superiority). Considering Freddy saw himself as part of a “superior” class, I wonder if him being part of a higher class was partially why Martha was temped (why else call Leo “dirty”, especially when she’d been living with him for some time and knew why he was “always dirty”).

Leo doesn’t comment though. He knew just as well as Martha that this wasn’t something he could help since he had to work at his textile factory. It never bothered him though. All that mattered was taking care of his family. So he let Martha criticize him without saying any such harsh words back at her.

According to the Christmas event, Emma didn’t really understand who Freddy was, referring to him as “that man” that she “didn’t like”, as well as “an uncle who wore glasses” that her mother took her with one time to see a play. Freddy was likely the one to take Martha to see the play as part of him trying to be with Martha. Emma said she “didn’t really get it and I wasn’t in the mood anyway”, with her main concern that she wishes Leo had been there with her.

Considering Leo’s failure to attend, it is possible he knew Martha was spending more and more time with Freddy. Leo was a trusting man, so I don’t think he even allowed the thought that Freddy was doing this to win Martha over from him. He didn’t like it, but I don’t think he could ever tell her no. Even though they were arguing at this time, I believe he still wanted her to be happy, and hoped with some time apart after their argument, things would get better.

Some time before the proposal, Freddy (as a financial advisor partnered with Leo) suggests to Leo that he invest in Minerva Arms Factory. Martha was concerned and asked for Freddy to be honest regarding whether this was a “good investment plan”, to which Freddy responds by saying “if the investor had sufficient experience and capital, this would bring him immense wealth”. Martha initially trusts him (though still believes it would be better Leo didn’t invest in the arms factory).

It's at this point that Martha leaves Leo and Lisa. It is also described as a “secret departure” with the description “Leave before they notice and maybe then you can avoid heartbreak”. Before leaving, the last word she says to Lisa is “sorry” (she likely saw her mother before she could completely sneak away, probably when Leo was working before he could return). This to me, combined with her actions, shows us that Martha didn’t love Lisa nearly as much as Leo did (or rather that there were other things she loved more).

She does leave a letter for Leo, informing him of what she was doing even though “I know I'm about to do something really bad”.

In her goodbye letter to Leo, she says “For the sake of Lisa, however, please consider carefully the investment we debated” and tells him she hopes “you will make a wise decision”. If they “debated” this topic before, and Martha is saying to consider it carefully for Lisa’s sake, I wonder if that was part of the reason why Leo and Martha were “quarreling”. Maybe Leo was arguing that he believed he should invest in the factory while Martha tried to argue against it, and their arguing over it was part of the reason Martha decided to say yes to Freddy.

Near the end of her letter, she tells Leo “Take care of Lisa, and find a more suitable woman for yourself” (find a “more suitable woman for yourself” makes me wonder as to the meaning of these words. Considering Freddy sees himself as of a “superior” class, maybe she means “suitable” as in someone of a more appropriate class for Leo, while she wanted to be with the higher class. Or maybe she’s saying suitable because, just like how she’s doing something bad, she wants him to find a woman who is more faithful than she is). Then, just like with Lisa, she tells him “I’m really sorry” (I wonder how sorry she really is because, if she truly meant those words, would she still have left them?).

Even more symbolic is how she closes the letter with “Martha Remington” instead of “Martha Beck”.

In any case, Martha is gone, leaving Leo and Lisa to fend for themselves.

Based on how Martha describes Leo as someone who “wasn’t smart” and “didn’t have any investment experience, not to mention capital”, I wonder if Leo was someone who grew up without a formal education like Freddy had. Leo may have been more of a self-made man, someone who might’ve come from a poorer, simpler background but managed to make a living due to his personal characteristics and hard work. He wasn’t a rich man, only the owner of a small textile factory, but he was happy and made the most of it.

We know from Emma during the Christmas Nocturne (2020) event that Leo was good with his hands, as we learn he used fabric from his textile factory to make her dolls (including 1 of Emma herself). He’d made 2 “bodyguards” for her doll, but Emma says she was never able to see them (likely the 2 dolls Leo uses in game, and Emma likely didn’t see them because that may have been when she was sent to the orphanage or when Leo died).

We can see from Leo’s accessories that he’s made her other toys as well (including a slingshot and a hot air balloon model). The descriptions for these accessories tell us that Leo loved Emma. She was his world, and he’d do anything for her.

The Christmas event informs us of the same thing. Emma tells us that she’d always get 2 presents from him on Christmas. 1 was her birthday present, on December 21st, and another was a Christmas present, but he’d hide her birthday present until Christmas, and put both of them under the tree for her.

For the last Christmas Emma had with her father, he told her “this little tree of yours will be filled with so many presents next year that I won’t be able to see your little face”, which shows how much he wanted to do for her (if he’d been able).

We don’t know how long Leo and Lisa lived on their own, but we do know Leo did end up buying the Arms factory, and it was some time after doing so he learned that the factory had an over “4-figure debt”. Even Martha in her letter to Freddy says, despite how “Leo wasn’t smart”, she states “Yet even the dumbest person knows not to spend money to take on extra debts”, which tells us Freddy, who knew about the factory’s debt, purposefully hid this fact from Leo. This is evident as Freddy, in his deduction “Covert Jealousy” mentioning how he cut Leo out of the picture of him with Martha and Lisa, states “He should disappear from here or not appear before my eyes again”, while the very next deduction about the Factory and its debt is titled “False Affection”, with the description including “Lend a helping hand for greater profit, not brotherhood.”

We know Leo did what he could despite the debts, as Emma during the Christmas event says he sometimes came back with a “semi-finished gun made in his factory”. Emma didn’t like the guns, instead preferring the dolls Leo used to make, which he likely stopped doing once he’d incurred the debt from the factory (I wonder if he had to sell the textile factory to try to help pay off the debt for the arms factory).

Lisa seems to have occasionally gone with him to the arms factory, potentially because he couldn’t leave her at home by herself or because he had to work extra long in an attempt to pay off the debt.

This debt puts an incredible strain on Leo, which causes him to begin to change from the person Lisa originally remembered him as. He starts drinking (to forget the pain and sorrows of reality) as well as selling items from their home (to help pay off the debt. He also might’ve “destroyed” items that used to belong to Martha in drunken fits of rage). Lisa describes her emotions at that time as “I don't know what has happened, but this feeling is awful”.

Unfortunately, Leo is no longer capable of caring for Lisa due to the fact he is drowning in debt, especially now that he’s begun spending some of their money on drink. As a result, he’s forced to send her to an orphanage while she’s around 8 years old.

We know Leo married Martha in “Devonshire”, meaning that’s also where they likely lived. Freddy’s business was also in Devonshire, with the specific stress being “583 White Sand Street, Devonshire”.

This means Leo and Freddy lived close by (and I imagine Leo’s textile factory wasn’t too far away either). It also means that they lived on the same street as Kreacher’s orphanage, which was “13 White Sand Street”. Kreacher’s advertisement says this is the “first orphanage on White Sand Street”, and if he was the first and thus only one on the street, it’d make sense that Emma wouldn’t have much choice but to be sent to his.

Sometime after Lisa was sent to the orphanage, Leo sets the Arms Factory on fire. Based on the fact that Leo’s 3rd letter takes place on December 21, 1897 and the fact it says Leo has been experimented on for 10 years, with the experiments on Leo likely starting right after the factory fire, the fire itself had to have started on December 21, 1887, on Emma’s 11th birthday.

According to a letter he sent to Lisa before this (Leo’s 2nd Letter), we know Leo intended to have Lisa receive the insurance money from the factory fire, as she is listed as the “beneficiary of compensation”. He basically explains in the letter his desperation to find “another way to make money”, as nothing he’s been able to do as been enough to settle the debts. Though as we never hear about Emma receiving this money, it’s possible there was an issue (such as she wasn’t of age yet).

Despite what he’s about to do, we can see once again that Leo is doing everything for her. He still worries about Lisa being fed enough and being kept warm. He also reassured Lisa so she didn’t think that she was “unwanted”, and informed her that her mother leaving had nothing to do with Lisa herself. He ends by warning her “not to trust people too easily. Live for yourself. You won’t get lucky by being nice. It took Father too long to learn this lesson”. This seems to show Leo has realized that Freddy tricked him, as well as show Leo changing further to no longer be the kind, trusting person he once was. Considering he calls himself a “useless Father”, this tells us how Leo feels about himself regarding his inability to sufficiently care for his daughter, as well as proves what his primary concern has always been.

Despite the fire, Leo survives but hides while he recuperates, making everyone think he’s dead. Due to the fact one of the walls says “I will find you” as well as based on Leo’s deduction summary stating he “brewed his own revenge plan”, we know Leo’s focus right now is to get revenge on Freddy.

At some point before he can do so, he was taken to Sacred Heart Hospital and used as an experiment. These experiments included memory erasure, forcing him to forget so Leo would stop getting “uncontrollably excited” on Emma’s birthday to ensure the “daily experiments” went more “easily”. Leo’s 3rd letter states that the experiments went on for 10 years. Whether Orpheus was the one to take Leo or not, we know Leo was definitely used by Orpheus during Emma’s game to punish those who broke the rules, as well as used as the hunter for Emma’s game. And considering some “mysterious man learned that ‘Cinder’ is alive and where he can be found”, someone that has been “writing more frequently these days”, a someone that is male based on “his probing”, it is more likely Orpheus is this other person that found out Leo was alive and likely blackmails the one who does currently have Leo to have him handed over (to Orpheus and the manor). Which just leaves the question of who is the author of Leo’s 3rd letter and the one who’s been experimenting on him for 10 years, which I’ll get into shortly.

Next: Asylum Analysis Part 2

(End: Asylum Analysis Part 3)

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takhesis · 6 months

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Corpse Bride!AU

Eighteen-year-old Mirabel Madrigal is preparing for her wedding to Mariano Guzman - a marriage not so much of love as of convenience: the magic of the Madrigal family can fade at any moment, and a new generation of gifts is needed. While rehearsing her speech, (“with this candle I... will burn my abuela and our magical home”), she places a ring on a twisted branch and is transported to the afterlife, where she finds herself betrothed to a mysterious “dead groom.” She doesn’t know who he is and is desperately eager to enter the world of the living. At this time, a certain evil la bruja takes the form of Mirabel in order to enter the Madrigal family and take possession of their miracle. No one realizes about the substitution, with the exception of Antonio, who immediately understands that this is not Cousin Mirabel. The same thing is told to him by the animals who saw that Mirabel - the real Mirabel - was suddenly carried away to the kingdom of the dead.

In the Kingdom of the Dead, meanwhile, Mirabel learns the story of the “dead groom” - and realizes that this is her tío Bruno, who disappeared 13 years ago. That same witch already wanted to get the family miracle, she convinced Bruno to get married secretly and poisoned him immediately after the wedding - but Casita did not open the door for her and the witch had to retreat for a while. Mirabel and Bruno recognize each other. She sees what kind of person he was: romantic, with an open soul and a kind heart, and she is filled with empathy and compassion. She realizes that she is starting to fall in love with him. Bruno, noticing this, gives her the ring and helps her return to the world of the living - and they end up just at the engagement of the false Mirabel and Mariano. Bruno interrupts the ceremony by telling the truth - his sisters and Abuela are shocked. The false Mirabel sheds her disguise and tries to attack Abuela to take away the candle, but Bruno rushes to intercept her and defends his mother. The witch, laughing, declares that she will not retreat anyway, because the dead cannot harm the living - and then the rats, under the leadership of Antonio, add rat poison to the wine. The witch drinks it and falls dead. Bruno wishes happiness to Mirabel and Mariano, preparing to finally leave for the world of the dead, but Mirabel stops him by putting a ring on her finger and pronouncing a wedding vow - from the bottom of her heart and with sincere love (a small insert from Beetlejuice - marriage with the living returns the dead man to the world of the living) . Mariano marries Dolores, Abuela does not object to the marriage of Mirabel and Bruno - after all, she missed her son so much, and everyone celebrates two weddings concluded out of love, instead of one out of a sense of duty.

a small plotbunny that we came up with this evening))

#mirabel x bruno #bruno x mirabel #brumira #madrigalcest #corpse bride #я просто оставлю это здесь #plot bunny

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kaybreezy3000 · 3 months

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The Devil Within

A Five Hargreeve / Reader insert

Five Hargreeves has not lived an easy life and no matter where he ends up, things never seem to get much better for him.

Stuck inside a body that's his but not, Five is having a hard time moving on, but sometimes all it takes to totally flip a person's view of things is one very special dark and mysterious night.

-note: female OC will remain unnamed and mostly non-descript to give this one a sort of reader insert-ish vibe.

Warnings and extra tags: sexually explicit content, mind games, a little bit of Klaus and Dolores in this one, dubious consent, violent behavior, rough sexual behavior, Dominance and Submission, dirty talking Five, daddy kink, biting, blood, mild body dysmorphia, public sex, Five has many lovey issues but he's still our sweet boy so hang tight-he's going to pull you through all sorts of emotions with this smutty story😏

(23,127 words 4 chapters total)

(Chapter 1 and 2 post)

Chapter One: Bad Boy; Good Man

It was October thirty-first. Just twenty-nine days after Five Hargreeves had the pleasure of turning what he’d estimated was the equivalent of the age of eighteen. He was stomping down a dark alleyway, hands jammed in his pockets, shoulders hunched, with his eyes staring blankly at the wet cement in front of him.

Like normal, Five wasn’t in a good mood, though there was no denying that he was doing much better than during the first October when he’d turned eighteen.

That time, he’d been thin as a rail and freezing his ass off in an early apocalyptic winter. Huddling in his improvised shelter, he had tried to get as much comfort as he could by way of cuddling up to Dolores, but her painted plastic skin was as cold and unyielding as the air around him.

All Five had wanted was to feel something good to help him through his pain, but he couldn’t even have that when faced with the grim reality around him, so he did the next best thing.

He let go and lost his mind, so he didn’t have to be alone.

Almost right away when he’d found he couldn’t get back to his family, Five had found Dolores and he’d made her his companion. He started having two-sided conversations with her to keep himself from going insane, but it wasn’t until that sad night of his eighteenth birthday that Five started to feel Dolores’s warmth for the first time, and he did after that for the next fifty-three years.

He did what he had to. He survived so he could get back.

He was sure that if he did, he could fix everything.

Turned out, he did make it home to his family but not until almost a lifetime later, and fixing things isn’t exactly what Five would call what he did. Fucking it up royal was a better way of summing up what he and his siblings did, both in their own original timeline, then again in the past when they were in Dallas, and then when they were trapped in a hell of their own making in the Sparrow’s timeline.

Now, in a new world made by Reginald, dumped with almost nothing and with no powers to help them, Five was feeling just about as desperate as he was when he was that lost little thirteen-year-old boy, alone in a burning world of death and ashes. Here he was stripped of all scars and even the tattoo he’d had since he was a child. Everything was normal; it was fixed.

But mentally he was far from fixed.

Having to move in with Klaus since he wasn’t old enough to rent on his own was Five’s best option considering he had no others, but it was a huge slap in the face for the fifty-eight-year-old, once infamous temporal assassin.

As much as Five was happy that they were alive and the world didn’t seem to be on the verge of falling apart, sometimes this new existence felt like just another punishment for all his many wrongs and this night was just another bad one that he'd rather not be having.

It was lightly misting out. As he walked along in the dark, Five’s chocolate-colored strands of hair were beading up with tiny drops of moisture.

It was damp and cold and well past ten on Halloween night, so of course that’s the night Five was forced out of his own apartment unless he wanted to continue to listen to his brother’s latest boy toy loudly moaning and groaning to the rhythm of Klaus’s headboard banging into the wall that divided their bedrooms.

As Five trudged along, dead set on finding the closest bar to drown his sorrows in, he unexpectedly heard what he thought was someone crying for help.

He looked down the alley to his right just in time to see a huge man dressed like a gorilla raising his hand at a cowering female that he’d backed up against the wall of the building.

Five watched as he dropped his furry black mask on the ground and pressed himself against the girl, crushing her with his body as he violently groped her. She closed her eyes, her mouth opening wide in a silent scream as she waited for the blow from the hand he'd raised, but luckily for her, the crack of knuckle to bone wasn’t attached to any sort of pain involving her.

When she opened her eyes, it was to a young stranger in a dark suit, standing between her and the man, his head turned to one side, forced there by the creep’s large fist.

“Get out of here!” Five yelled at her, his face turned downwards as he held a hand to it.

Then like a scene from a movie, he slowly righted his head, his green eyes flashing with anger.

“Is that all you got? Used to hitting little girls?” he seethed.

The man looked totally pissed that Five had just gotten in his way. He puffed up and retaliated by tackling him. With a good seventy pounds on the teen, he hit him like a freight train. The girl scrambled out of the way as they barreled toward her.

Five grunted as his back slammed into the building.

The guy’s fist came flying at Five’s face at about one hundred miles per hour. At the last second, he ducked, and the dipshit’s fist crashed into the brick. “Fuck!” Spit erupted from his mouth just as blood erupted from his knuckles.

While he shook his hand out, Five spun from his grasp, grabbing the man’s free arm, hitching it high behind his back. The man launched his head backward, hitting Five on the top of the head but not as hard as he would have liked being Five was shorter than him.

Releasing the girl’s attacker, Five staggered back, his eyes unfocused but still managing to see a blunt object laying a few yards away.

Sprinting for it, Five picked up the pipe, swinging it upwards just as the guy was about to throttle him from behind.

The ring of metal to skull stopped the girl’s assailant dead in his tracks.

The big creep crumbled to the wet pavement.

With his blood boiling and his body filled with adrenaline fueled rage, Five turned and started to stalk away, moving right past her, still clutching the pipe in his shaking hand.

He didn’t say a word, and the girl just stood there as if in shock wth her glittery halo crooked in her hair and the white feathers of her angel costume fluttering in the slight breeze that was moving between the buildings.

She reached out and grabbed Five’s arm, but he kept going and because of that her hand slipped down the sleeve of his suit jacket until her fingers brushed across his palm.

Five was not at all expecting her to touch him, and he was not ready for it when she latched on to him, not letting go.

Wound up like he could explode, Five spun around, verbally lashing out on her. “I’d think you’d have run off by now." The girl said nothing, so he yelled at her. "Go. Home!”

Still, she said nothing.

Her eyes seared into him.

She had the strangest look on her face; one Five couldn’t interpret and didn’t get the chance to because suddenly he was filled with extreme disorientation.

All at once, it was as if he was looking back at himself in a mirror but doing so while standing just as he was in that dimly lit alleyway.

As if that wasn’t weird enough, the man looking back at him was the real him.

Five was old again.

His face was dull looking and tired, with soft wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and his hair was short and white, only peppered with dark shadows of what remained of his traumatic youth.

Five could even see his usual gray suit of choice and his favorite hat perched on top of his head, all paired perfectly with his neatly trimmed mustache bending with confusion as he tried to form the right words to express what he was feeling, but there was nothing that could explain it.

His mouth opened and closed a few times, looking like he was AJ Carmichael in his plastic baggie, gasping for air that was quickly running out.

"I... I-"

His stammering wasn't going to cut it, and he needed to get out of there, so Five yanked his hand back, the feel of his skin as cold as ice.

A few seconds later, stepping back onto the sidewalk on to the much brighter street, Five’s hand came up, rubbing his face, his trembling fingers lingering on his smooth upper lip.

He looked back the other way and saw the young girl dressed as an angel had disappeared. It was as if she took flight on her silly nylon coated wings, and poof, she was gone.

Weirder yet, the guy he’d just nailed on the head with the pipe was gone too.

A dizzying sensation ran through him. The damage caused by the gorilla man had left Five’s left eye starting to swell.

He needed ice and he needed to get out of there, but Five was stuck like he’d stepped in glue. He touched his fingers to the side of his face, grimacing when they brushed across the swollen socket.

Looking at the smudge of blood on his fingers that had gotten there from his split lip, Five’s mind spun. He couldn’t figure out what had just happened. Then, a rush of chilly air blowing out of the ominously dark alley swirled a tornado of leaves across the fresh spray of blood on his new dress shoes and the sight of that reminded him this wasn’t the best place to linger.

He’d just bashed a man’s skull in. That man was nowhere in sight, meaning Five hadn’t killed him, but still, he needed to go.

A couple dressed as ghosts passed by, the woman looking at Five worriedly and that helped snap him out of his bizarre state of confusion. Chalking up his moment of insanity back there to his concussed brain, Five took off again, grumbling to himself. “God, I fucking hate Halloween.”

A few blocks away and several minutes later, Five walked into a bar. Fortunately for him, since he was already sporting a nasty bruise around his left eye, most of the areas inside of the establishment were darker than it was outside. It was so dark that if not for the flicker of medieval-looking lanterns hanging about and all the strobing lights pulsing to the beat of the music, it would be nearly impossible to navigate his way through the crowd.

The place was packed with people in costumes, all crammed on the dance floor and areas around it. A couple of girls with hardly anything on were grinding on each other in raised cages, looking like some kind of goth version of beach barbies. Five gave them a dismissive glance as he made his way to the back.

This was not his idea of a good time, and it was not his preferred method of getting drunk but going home meant he’d have to deal with Klaus, so this was the next best option.

Away from the more aggressive chaos, Five sat down on a barstool that had just been vacated. Here he could see the action but not necessarily be an active part in it, and better yet, this is where the drinks were.

Even before intervening to help the girl in the alley, Five needed something hard and strong to take the edge off, but since getting hit in the face by that girl's attacker, the urge to purge his woes had increased ten-fold.

“What the fuck was I thinking,” he said under his breath.

He asked it but the reality was, Five knew very well what he’d been thinking.

He had questionable ethics. Sure… But he also had a long history of being used and abused by others. When it came to defending people that were at a disadvantage and being taken down a bad road because of it, when Five saw that happening to that young girl, it reminded him of himself, and he had to step in to stop it.

It’s not like he hadn’t hurt people before, but not like that guy looked like he was going to hurt that girl. Five had killed plenty of women for no reason other than he was ordered to by his superiors at The Commission, but he had no choice. To Five, what it looked like that guy was trying to do once he knocked that girl out was truly sick.

Five knew he was one of the bad guys, but he was better than that. At least that’s what he always tried to tell himself when it came to his propensity to overlook his many transgressions.

Just as Five’s mind was wandering back to his weird outer body experience in the alley, another young girl who shouldn’t be out on a night like this, sauntered past him, dressed as a naughty nurse.

The idea of asking her to bandage him up had Five pulling a smirk but instead of calling her over and trying to hit on her, he pulled his eyes off the tight uniform that was hardly covering her ass, he heavily sighed, then he stuffed a hand in his pant pocket and turned back to the bar.

On Halloween night, all women, young and old, got to play their slutty card with zero judgment and the men that were out got to enjoy the free show. The problem with that for Five was, he hardly felt he could do more than take advantage of the look but don't touch policy.

Even though they’d been in Reginald’s new world for over a year and upon arrival Five had been so thoughtfully given a slightly older looking body, he still looked at best the age of sixteen, hence his fuzzy math on figuring his current physical age somewhere around eighteen. When it came to pursuing relationships of the sexual kind that weren’t with inanimate objects, he was mentally closer to sixty, so add all that together and that made him the youngest old dirty perv out there, and even for him, that was a hard pill to swallow.

It’s not like he hadn’t tried to hit on women before while looking younger than this, but that never resulted in anything, and Five knew it wouldn’t. He was only doing it because he enjoyed getting a rise out of them.

Hooking up was obviously one benefit of these kinds of places and nights like this when the tramps and vamps were abundant. If Five could get past his troublesome age hangups, he was physically legal now and he would definitely not be opposed to some meaningless sex that a one-night stand would provide him, but tonight, all he wanted to do was escape Klaus and escape life by way of good old-fashioned intoxication.

Eyes on the lit-up shelves of liquor behind the bar, Five called out his order to the man in front of him who had been giving him the side eye since he’d sat down. “Give me a shot of Jack and keep them coming.”

The bartender gave him a look. “Seriously?”

“I’m not joking," he curtly responded, then added, "You can really do me a favor and put it on ice if you really want to make it special. Then make the next one poured straight."

The tall man with black eyeliner and a mesh shirt that was draped in chains eyed Five up and down a few times, but despite his lack of ID and his beaten-up appearance, clearly the hundred-dollar bill he'd just laid down and his pricy looking tailored suit were enough to satisfy him that he was close enough to legal drinking age to be there.

“Don’t bleed all over my bar or puke on my floor, little man,” he warned before pouring Five his drink and his next shot, then setting them down in front of him.

Just as Five had drained his ice filled cup and placed the cool glass against his aching eye socket, he felt something skate across the top of his head and then a pair of hands travel up his back.

Reactively jerking his shoulders as his hand moved up to inspect his hair, Five turned to see a very pretty blonde smiling at him as she stood next to Klaus.

Five’s grumpy looking pout turned downright sour.

“Great,” he groaned. “And here I thought you were staying home tonight.”

Holding what looked like their kitchen broom topped with tin foil to make it look like a shepherd’s hook, Klaus’s glittery blue painted lips spread from ear to ear. “Yeah, well… I changed my mind. It's Halloween and staying home on Halloween is for losers.”

Klaus’s smile faltered the longer he looked at his younger-looking brother.

“Did you get in a fight?”

Five’s fingers continued to feel around on his head, finally poking at the pointed horns Klaus had slipped into his ruffled mane. “Yes, I got in a fight and to answer your next question, I won. And to end this lovely conversation, you can take these back,” he said, starting to pull the devil headband off.

Klaus sprung forward, pushing the shimmering black horns back into place. “I can’t let you be the only one here who is not in costume,” he argued.

Swatting Klaus’s hand away, Five knocked back his next shot then dryly retorted, “I am in costume. I am a retired homicidal maniac.”

“I know you are, Fivey, and that is why you make the perfect little devil boy.”

That comment about his age and small stature only made Five feel even less friendly. Putting on an overly sweet smile, making himself look even more the part of the fiend who was dressed to kill in his fancy new psycho suit, he sniggered then said. “I left tonight to get away from you and your boyfriend, so do me a favor and please leave me alone. I am trying to get shit faced in this fine establishment just like the responsible adult I am, and I don’t give two shits about Halloween, and I never have.”

Klaus frowned. “Hey, man. Jake is not my boyfriend, he’s my fuck friend and he had to go to work, so I got bored,” he corrected.

“Whatever.”

“Not whatever…” Klaus defended. “Maybe I wouldn’t need to have people over all the time if you hung out with me more. It gets lonely there with you hiding out in your room, reading your nerdy stuff or playing hanky-panky, hide your wanky with Dolores.”

Five lowered his chin, glowering at his brother. “I only moved in with you because I had too. Since I am legally an adult now, I think our cohabitation arrangement has ceased to serve any valid purpose other than giving you someone to annoy.”

Five perked up, his eyes widening as his head dropped to the side.

“Oh, and what I do in my bedroom is my business,” he hissed, “-and furthermore, by the sounds I heard coming from your bedroom, you are hardly lonely, so don’t give me that let’s go find the next big ball of string shit.”

After chewing Klaus out, Five finally took in the full glory of what his brother was wearing. Totally blown away by the sight of it, his head cocked to the side even more, and he scrunched his face at him.

“Klaus, what the hell are you supposed to be?”

Loving that Five seemed to forget that he was still wearing the devil’s horns he’d adorned him with, Klaus further distracted him by playfully bonking his shoulder with his shepherd’s hook.

Again, Five swatted him off, which was entirely Klaus’s intention to begin with, then totally disregarding Five’s increasing state of twitchy itchiness, he proudly twirled around in his frilly blue dress and even added little curtsy to top it off.

“I am Little Bo Peep. Isn’t it obvious?” he explained, his tone clear that his pretty ensemble should require no explanation.

Five’s bewildered expression melted back into his customary dry smirk. “Uh-huh…” he muttered just before he threw back his next round of Jack.

Even though Five had hardly bat an eye at Klaus’s friend, as he tried to turn back around to dismiss them, she proceeded to snake up to him, sliding a finger through one of his belt loops.

Five took one look down at her hand at his hip, then he narrowed his eyes at her. “Excuse me, Miss? Not sure you are aware, but you are invading my personal space.”

Not seeing the problem, the woman, dressed in a skintight catsuit, erupted in a bubble of laughter as she gave Five’s dress pants a little tug.

“You are right, he is cute,” she said to Klaus before leaning closer to Five with the sting of alcohol on her breath hitting him so strongly it made his eyes burn enough that he had to blink the fumes away.

Despite how drunk she was and how aggravated he was getting, Five couldn’t help that his eyes flicked down to the mounds of her huge breasts spilling out of her velvety top. Momentarily unable to think of anything other than burying his face in her dirty pillows, his tongue slowly ran over his teeth and his mind went all sorts of naughty places.

With the hand he still had in his pocket nudging his dick into a position that would be less embarrassing for him if he inadvertently let his eyes linger any longer, Five looked back up again, his disinterest still evident in the hard line of his mouth as he posed the question, “Am I supposed to be happy that you think I am cute?”

Only after hearing that did Klaus’s friend look a little hurt, but that didn’t mean she removed her fingers from his pants or that she moved her body away from Five’s backside.

“Klaus told me you might like a little company…” she dangled.

“Did he?” Five mumbled, flagging the bartender for another.

As he set down Five's next shot, Five turned and requested a bottle of water as well.

About this time, seeing as Klaus was misinterpreting his slick plan to get Five laid as a done deal, the older looking Hargreeves started back peddling himself out into the crowd, easily disappearing in the lights and bodies moving to the electronic music thrumming through the bar.

Cat lady wiggled her butt, swishing her tail behind her provocatively. “What do you say, want to have some fun? I am really good company…”

“I am going to have to say no. I am all good on company, thank you,” Five returned, then picked up his next shot, flipping it back down the hatch as he shifted his weight forward on the bar stool to try to dislodge her hand from his waist.

Undeterred and obviously too drunk to read her own name let alone pick up on what Five was laying down, she squeezed in next to him, her thighs rubbing up on the side of his leg as her other hand fell in his lap, tickling down between his legs.

“I want you,” she purred.

“I am flattered but I am not interested, but lucky you, that guy over there probably is,” Five noted, tipping the shot glass dangling from his finger at the guy behind her that her cat tail endowed butt was ramming into.

“Awwww, but Klaus said you don’t get out much.” She tried to bat her eyes, but it came off more like she was having a stroke rather than sexy. “He told me this kind of thing is exactly what you need to work through all your demons.”

She rolled her body against Five.

Five straightened his back as he cleared his throat. “Darling, no amount of sex is going to exercise my demons and as much as I’d like to fuck you so hard that you won't be able to see straight for weeks, I have a meeting in the morning,” he effortlessly lied, trying to give her a gentler brush off.

To that, her face lit up excitedly. “It doesn’t have to take long. Klaus told me you are a virgin, so I am sure it won’t. If you want, I can suck you off in the ladies’ room, and later back at your place I can help relieve you of that other little virgin problem,” she dangled, her fingers getting even more frisky.

“As tempting as that sounds…” Five gently peeled her fingers from his pants. “Here,” he said, putting the bottle of water in her hands. “Drink this and go dance. I’ll catch up with you another night.”

“Are you sure?”

As warm and buzzed as Five was starting to feel thanks to the whiskey burning him from the inside out, his old voice of reason wouldn’t be deterred.

This girl did not know who he really was or what he was capable of, and even considering her offer the tiny amount he was, was making him think it was time to go about ten minutes ago.

She was pretty. Young. Probably twenty-five or maybe a little older, she was lost perhaps, and insecure and very drunk. Five might be a fucked-up prick, but he wasn’t such an asshole that he going to shit on the kid’s feelings because he wasn’t into this. After all, maybe if it wasn’t Halloween, and maybe if she wasn’t doing this because of Klaus putting her up to it, and if she was someone older but not too old that it made it even weirder, Five would have said yes. Looking so young and lacking when it came to social graces, Five knew that he should be grateful for someone willing to look past all that. But…

“I am sure,” he calmly repeated, again ordering her to drink the water as he authoritatively pointed a finger towards the dance floor.

The girl looked smitten by his bossy behavior, but finally getting that Five meant business and not the business she was hoping for, she said, “Thank you. And...just so you know, I still think you are cute.”

Then the kitty danced away on unsteady legs that Five was having a twinge of regret not having wrapped around him as he tried his best to fuck her pussy through the metal wall of one the bar's bathroom stalls.

Even though she was very inebriated and probably only did what she did because of his brother, the girl’s minority opinion of him had a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Holy shit did that girl have daddy issues,” he breathily mused.

Shaking his head and thinking about how much fun it would have been to be her ‘daddy’ for the night, Five paid his tab, then slipped past the dance floor, looking for signs of Klaus, but not seeing him.

He wondered where he’d ended up; whose bed he’d be landing in tonight, but really it didn’t matter so long as he didn’t bring back his conquest to their place because that would mean Five would have to sleep with ear plugs in and a pillow over his head all night.

As Five was midway to the door, he felt someone watching him. He stopped, cautiously surveying his surroundings.

He didn't see any threats but one of the dancers caught his eye. She was a hot little number. Slightly shorter than him, with soft looking hair and a white feathery skirt that covered her ass and not much more.

Despite her attire, she was dancing alone and appeared perfectly content that way. Five couldn't see her face but her body language said it all. She was dancing for herself and no one else, and that made it damn sexy.

When she finally turned to face him, Five stopped breathing, his fists clenching at his sides as the flashing lights lit up her sparkly halo.

She was the angel girl from the alley, and she was dancing with her eyes closed and a blissful smile on her angelic looking face.

It made no sense after what had almost happened to her that she’d be there.

In his periphery Five could see that two sleazy looking coyotes were circling her, trying to figure out how to slip in for the kill. As pissed as he was that she clearly hadn’t listened to him and gone home, he still wasn’t about to let them get to her before he took another bite out of her first.

He bolted through the crowd and slipped into the tiny empty space between her and one of the approaching stalkers, placing one hand on her shoulder.

Her eyes flashed open and for a second and they seemed to glimmer with unnatural light, but Five quickly waved it off, assuming it was the glare from one of the laser lights flipping around.

“You’d think with what happened to you earlier, you’d prefer hanging out somewhere a little less dangerous? Like at home since it’s past your bedtime.”

“I could say the same to you,” she said, her smile as sassy as his words.

Five bit down his ire and gave her an overly sweet smile of his own. “You know that you have a couple of new predators stalking you,” he told her, indicating the two men sulking at the edge of the dance floor.

She turned to look at them. “And you thought you’d rush to protect me, again?”

She rolled her body with the music, their proximity so close that she was forcing Five to mimic the movement of her hips to keep from stumbling like an uncoordinated idiot.

“Something like that," he quickly shot back, "or maybe I thought the look of my beat-up face might remind you that you are luring in all the sickos again."

One of her eyebrows lifted just a little. “I am sorry about your face but are you trying to imply that you’re less of a predator?” Her hand brushed across Five’s chest as her eyes slowly ran over him. “Because… You look like the devil to me.”

Five’s hand moved from her shoulder to the small of her back, pulling her close. “Angel," he deeply growled, "I am one hundred percent a predator, but trust me, unlike with them, you’ll like it when I eat you.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes and shaking her head at him.

The gesture might have been dismissive, but her body language was anything but. She closed the minuscule distance between them, keeping her body pressed against Five’s as she took control of the dance they were doing, guiding him with a suggestive sway of her hips and her hands gliding across his shoulder blades.

Five did not like to dance and only did so when he was shit faced wasted, but he was buzzed and she moved like liquid silk, luring his body to forget it had bones.

As strange as it was, Five would have been content to stay there with her, just dancing and flirt fighting the rest of the night, but then the song shifted to a more bass laden sounding tune, and noting Five’s discomfort, the girl took his hand and led him from the dance floor.

Her cool hand felt so good wrapping around his hot fingers, that alone was enough to make him follow but then she said, “Come on, handsome. You saved me, so I think that means I should at least buy you a drink.”

Five had known many compelling women but this little seductress leading him along had a very different kind allure about her and only part of that was in how she was so boldly handling him. Sure, Five had swagger, and probably a dictionary full of as many slights as he did pick up lines if he chose to deploy them, but there was something about the way this girl looked at him that made him feel sexier than he’d ever felt.

In a matter of minutes, Five had forgotten why he’d felt the need to confront her or protect her from the other men in the bar. Her face spoke of youthful innocence but everything else about her said differently and Five wanted to take care of her as much as he wanted to do very bad things to her.

Five knew something wasn’t right about that, but he couldn’t wrap his head around it.

Just like in the alley, he felt outside himself, only this time not necessarily in a bad way.

Chapter Two: The Devil's Advocate

After receiving their drinks, the girl took a sip, then gave Five a kittenish look that made his heart beat a little faster than it already was.

Though the girl was getting to him, Five did his best to feign indifference as he smiled back. “What happened to your wings,” he questioned as he looked at her shimmery white outfit while trying not to linger too inappropriately long on the tempting curves of her body.

“I parted ways with them because they were itchy,” she said with a pretty but sad sounding laugh. “Like you, I am more of a fallen angel type, so I fear the illusion I was trying to play off wasn't working that well anyway.”

Silence filled the space between them and Five looked down at the pink drink in his hand, his dark eyelashes fanning over his alcohol flushed cheeks.

“That bruising you’ve got going on really brings out your eyes,” she teased, reaching up to adjust Five's hair so everyone would be able to better see his two pointy devil horns.

Again, he'd totally forgotten that he was wearing the horns and since the girl seemed to be enjoying them, Five decided to leave them on as he huffed a little self-depreciating laugh of his own, then he sipped his matching fruity cocktail and said, “That's great. Just what I was hoping for when I threw my face in front of that gorilla's fat fist.”

Being the perfect flirt she'd been since Five spotted her on the dance floor, the girl giggled at his grouchy response.

Not sure what to think of this young stranger’s forward behavior with him, Five gave her a sidelong glance.

She sat on her barstool, swirling the ice around in her glass with the glowing straw. Since it was even more crowded than when he had been over there before, Five didn’t sit, but leaned on the bar as he cautiously watched her. Thanks to the booze flowing through him, he felt at ease, but yet not at all, and that contradiction was making it hard for him to let his guard down enough to fully enjoy the girl's surprisingly not horrible company.

“If that hurts too much, I might be able to help,” she offered, clearly referring to his busted eye socket and swollen lip.

Five gave her a hard look. “And how would you help?”

“I’d take you somewhere private and I’d find a way to make you feel better. I owe you and I always pay my debts.”

Five frowned. “Am I missing something or are you looking to get yourself into trouble again?”

“You aren’t missing anything.” She flashed her teeth, her smile so innocent looking that again it was impossible to ignore that she was way too young for him to be checking out in the way he was.

Forcing his eyes off the barely legal eye candy next to him, Five pulled up his cuff to check his watch, noting it was after midnight.

“Like I said before. I would have thought you’d have gone home or called the police to report that guy, not continued with your evening like nothing happened," he challenged as he hesitantly glanced back up then even more firmly added, "Please don't take this the wrong way, but coming into places like this where losers lurk around every corner isn't a very bright idea."

“What if I said that those kinds of losers were exactly what I was looking for before I found myself and even better catch?”

“I’d say you are fucked up,” Five replied, trying to laugh off her weird rebuttal, but as her hand came up and lingered near the knot of his tie, he stopped laughing and apprehensively asked, “What are you doing?”

“I am helping you.”

“I don’t need help,” Five sharply retorted, his smile beginning to melt away as a hard line drew between his eyes. He set his drink down, readying himself to scold her like an angry parent does a teenager. “I don’t understand why you are at a bar. There is no way you are twenty-one."

As he should have guessed, based on his own appearance, the girl looked very amused by him trying to put her in her place and that only irritated him even more.

“We have quite a bit in common and one of those things is me being older than I look," she said, simpering back at him. "Also like you, if I want something, I have my ways of getting it." She began to softly run her fingers up the back of Five’s suit coat, then to the back of his neck with tender strokes, teasing the ends of his hair.

The sensation felt so foreign yet so comforting that Five reactively shut his eyes for a moment before quickly opening them again, only now they were filled with alerted suspicion, not the droopy look of contentment he had just so easily given himself over to.

“I don’t think you should be touching me like that,” he cautioned.

The girl looked unconvinced as she leaned into his ear, her cool breath adding to the tickling feel of her fingers splaying through the back of his hair as her nails delicately scratched his scalp in a way that made him want to drool it felt so damn wrong but good. Both feelings mixed, overwhelming Five as wonderful shivers shot up and down his spine.

Unable to fight it, he shut his eyes again. He wanted nothing more than to lose himself to this.

“Oh, I think touching you like this is exactly what you need,” she shushed as she watched him helplessly falling apart. “On top of that, I am not used to such interesting gentlemen like yourself stepping in to right the wrongs of this world for me. Meeting you was a refreshing encounter, and you make me wonder if this thing we have could be more than..."

As she pushed back away from him, Five opened his heavy eyes. The girl's smile was borderline silly as she rolled her eyes around as if thinking really hard about what she was about to say but then she baffled him even more when didn't say a word. Further messing with him, she looked at him again, then plucked the cherry from her glass and began twirling it between her luscious looking red lips.

It was more than clear to Five that she was toying with him but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t eagerly eating it up as he hungrily watched her every move and melted more and more with every sweet touch, she so willingly gave him.

“Wondering if we could what?” he anxiously asked when he lifted his gaze from her mouth to meet her mesmerizing eyes again.

She said nothing, and his own eyes glazed over with raw desire and something much darker and harder to quench.

Five’s hand suddenly clamped down onto her leg, midway between her knee and her hip.

Holding his breath, he looked down. He couldn’t believe he’d put his hand on her like that, but it was there, and it was in a very intimate spot.

“It’s okay. I want you to touch me,” she soothed.

Five’s mind filled with all sorts of other things he’d like to be doing to her and touching her only there was just the tip of that iceberg of things he craved.

Heart racing, his gaze rose to her mouth again, lingering on her teeth that were studding into her lower lip.

Five moved in closer, his hand slowly inching higher.

As the girl parted her legs for him, for the third time that night, Five felt as if he was having an outer body experience.

As if her doing that wasn’t temptation enough, a voice in his mind was telling him not to stop, and it was doing it so loudly it was all he could hear.

His hand slid upwards, reaching the top of the girl’s thigh, high up under her skirt where her hip joint met her leg.

Five brought his body closer still, clearing any space left between them as her knees pressed to the insides of his legs, but remained pointed towards the bar, hiding what he was doing to her.

“Number Five, I know what you want to do,” she sweetly sang, almost so quietly and hypnotically that he thought he might have imagined it.

Five hardly thought it was possible that this little vixen next to him had any clue of the things he wanted to do to her but then she proved him wrong.

“You want to make me come, right here while I am sitting on this bar stool,” she said, calling him out without an ounce of doubt.

“Fuck,” Five coarsely muttered.

His fingers as if having a mind of their own brushed across the cool wetness that was soiling her panties. Five's body ached with yearning that was only worse from the feel of that, but his mind suddenly and very painfully kicked back in as if he was just hit upside the head.

As the lights from the dance floor scattered a rainbow across his face, he felt lightheaded and that had him frantically starting to question what was happening to him.

Five jerked back, but he didn't remove his hand and that was because he felt he couldn't; almost like something was mentally blocking his nervous system from doing what his brain was ordering it to do.

He was trapped.

Unfazed by his state of confusing, the girl reached down as her hand gently explored the smooth cotton that was covering his taut torso. She kept smiling as her fingers walked downward and then below the waistband of his dress pants. Five fought to think clearly, and pull away again, but her grip tightened around the top of the black wool fabric and she said, “Come on, lady killer. I am ready for you…”

“You said my name... But I didn’t tell you my name,” Five whispered as he started to panic.

The girl’s eyes were locked on Five’s slightly parted lips, and they flickered with that same eerie light he’d seen in them on the dance floor, only this time, he was sure it wasn’t the pulsing lights making them look so otherworldly.

Running her fingers along the sharp angle of Five’s jaw, she only enchanted him further with what she said next.

“Five, I know who you are, and I think you are beautiful. Because of that, I am going to give you something you can’t seem to find on your own, and just so you know, I’d want to give it to you even if you were still outwardly that sad but sweet looking old man you have living inside your head. You are special, and your real age has nothing to do with it.”

“What are you?” Five asked, now sure that the woman next to him wasn’t at all the angel she appeared to be.

Again, she flashed him her pretty smile but this time Five noticed her somewhat elongated incisors looked very sharp.

Five was stunned; his mind felt foggy, but the fear building in him kept trying to push through the haze.

“You don’t have to be scared of me,” she hushed him with her index finger softly tracing the line of his mouth, stopping before it graced the painful looking split on his lower lip.

Five was frozen in place as the girl’s icy looking eyes darkened and she said, “Like you, I may be a predator, but I assure that you’ll like how I bite.”

The girls’ legs nudged his, wordlessly inviting Five to proceed where he’d left off.

As if drawn to her like they were surrounded by opposite magnetic fields, Five reactively positioned his body even more so in such a way that casual observers would never know what he was doing.

With his hand still up the girl’s skirt, Five’s thumb hesitantly rubbed over her sex.

Five said nothing as he softly touched her, his fingers gliding under the silky fabric as his eyes remained locked to hers.

If the bartender came by them, he’d know exactly what was happening but Five couldn't bring himself to care about that or anything other than her.

The way she was touching him and the things she kept saying to him were all making the crotch of his pants so sinfully tight. That alone was making it hard to think straight but Five knew something was wrong, only he couldn’t bring himself to stop, not when wrong felt so fucking right and his brain kept shorting out.

Driven by unimaginable longing, Five came closer, his lips a mere inch from tasting her. “You may think you know me, but I assure you, you are meddling in things you don't understand,” he darkly warned, then he started to rub harder alongside the small nub of flesh between her legs.

The more his thumb circled her clit, the harder it seemed it was for her to resist rolling her hips against his touch and that empowered Five even more.

He felt like he was coming back to himself, but it was too late. He wasn't going anywhere.

“Beg me to fuck you,” he hotly whispered in her ear, giving her exactly what she wanted but denying himself nothing.

“Please. Plea-”

Not satisfied, Five upped his pace.

“Fff-uck- Fff-”

To his delight, she couldn’t finish her breathy hum of 'f' words. The girl dropped her head to Five’s shoulder, her lips brushing past the side of his cheek on the way there.

He tucked his chin against her temple as if in a lover's embrace.

The feeling of her body being so chilly compared to his enflamed skin instantly reminded Five of how it felt when he was fucking Dolores. That thought and the girl’s immediate obedience that matched that of his beloved, were making his dick so hard it felt like it might rip out of his pants.

Aware of his growing problem, the girl started slowly palming the bulging fabric between his legs.

Five’s head rolled back on his shoulders and a low groan came crawling out of his throat that fortunately was drowned out by the heavy rumble of the bass pulsating through the bar.

“What if someone comes by?” he hissed through his teeth as he tried to focus more on what his fingers were doing than on how good his dick felt in her hand.

“If they know, that just makes this all the hotter,” she breathed against his neck.

Hell yes, it did.

The thought of some stranger catching him fingering her and her not caring was driving Five’s mind crazy and that made waves of heat surge straight to his loins.

She wanted him to fuck her and Five wanted to do that more than ever. A deep tightening in his stomach was filling him with visions of dumping his load all over her, just like he liked to do with Dolores when he was in the mood to really shock her.

That wasn’t happening but he was still fucking this girl and just as Five was wishing his hand had more room to move, the girl’s legs drifted further apart.

To that, Five swiftly slid another finger under her panties and straight into her with no warning, causing them both to moan from the venereal tightness of the sensation. Reveling in the feeling of being inside of a real woman’s body for the first time ever, Five’s thumb continued to rub the girl’s clit, and her wet skin directly against his own was making him want to rip the rest of her clothes off and spread her wide as he could so he could bury his face where his fingers were.

Five’s body was blocking his finger pumping in and out of the girl, but when he caught sight of the bartender, who had a slightly different view than the rest of the bar, he returned Five's look of dismayed lechery with a curious looking smile, making it look like he knew exactly what was going on but didn’t seem inclined to interrupt the young devil angel combo that were actively getting off in front of his bar.

“You are such a bad boy, Five,” she whispered as her cool breath tickled his ear and her compliments continued. “You so fucking hot, I wanted you the moment I saw you.” She nipped at his ear, her teeth grazing the shell. “Fuck, I want to taste you,” she prettily growled, and to that, she did taste him, letting her tongue move up his neck before she softly kissed the slight protrusion of his Adam's apple.

As she continued to rub her hand over the fabric covering Five’s confined cock, he wanted to return her compliments but the only thing that would come out of his mouth if he opened it was going to be a moan, so he bit the side of his cheek instead and kept at it, fucking the girl with his fingers thrusting in and out of her slicked hole.

“Oh yes, Ah-Ffff !” she cried.

Her agitated sounds of delight continued as she pulled at the top of Five’s pants, dragging his hips in so his erection came up against the side of her knee.

Not even questioning it, Five automatically started moving himself against her, humping her with an unforgiving pace. To him, it felt almost exactly like he'd done it some many times with Dolores, and because of that, Five couldn’t help but let his tortured mind slip back to that comforting place of unconditional love that he always had with her.

Now he was safe. That quiet voice in the back of his mind screaming at him that something was wrong went silent.

In his mind, as he pressed himself against the girl, he created the image of Dolores. He could even feel the sensation of his hand holding the familiar shape of Dolores’s rigid fingers. It felt so real that Five could even hear her telling him that she loved him, and not thinking, he whispered it right back.

Dolores’s hand tightened around his, her lips softly kissing his neck again.

Five gasped. The world felt like it was slanting on its axis and he was about to fall off, and that startled him right out of his fantasy.

The seductress held him tight, not letting him move away. “It’s okay, Five. You can pretend I am her. I don’t mind."

Five’s eyes went wider and then even wider when her fingers abandoned his, then brushed through a gap between his shirt buttons, searching through the slits until she found his navel.

She tickled her fingers around under his clothes, pushing them down the very fine line of hair trailing downwards. He all out spasmed when she found the tip of his cock where he'd tucked it to keep it hidden but was now overhanging his belt because he'd gotten so hard.

The little angel’s finger swirled around the surge of wetness that had formed at his tip, while her other hand squeezed his where he had it digging into her thigh.

All at once, Five's mind was filled with more reassurances and words of love, only now they were not in the voice of Dolores.

With those sharp white teeth pinning her plump lower lip, the girl collected the fluid, then brought it back up to her mouth, licking it as she gazed back at Five in the most sinful way.

To add to Five’s shock, the girl reached back down and started rubbing her thumb up and down the underside of his cockhead, causing him to go weak in the knees.

Five’s mouth burst open, and his words flew out of him. “Oh my god! I know you are inside my head, but I don’t fucking care. I want to be inside you so fucking bad. I want to destroy you. I could fuck you through that wall right fucking now!”

“Ah-hah… That again,” she giggled. “Twice in a matter of an hour you've had that fun idea. You seem to love the idea of fucking people through walls, don't you, Five." This time her taunting was followed by a provocative nip at Five’s lower lip, her teeth scraping over the tender tear in his pink flesh.

Five felt like he was dying. His heart felt like it might leap right out of his chest.

When the wicked cherub seducing him pulled back, letting his lip go, Five let out a small, whimpered plea. “Please kiss me.”

Five watched the girl’s red lips happily spread as she leaned back in, slowly letting her mouth mold to his.

Five didn’t know what he was doing, but he’d kissed Dolores millions of times, so he thought about that, but let the girl take the lead for him because this was so much more than that.

The girl was being so soft with him, not at all mimicking the pace of his fingers viciously pumping inside her. Her skin on his was pure ecstasy but when she prodded his lips to part, it was all new territory. The gentle lashes of her tongue teasing his had Five feeling desperate and he immediately pushed for more.

Hand on the back of her neck, Five drove his mouth harder into hers, letting out a soft sound like his soul was breaking.

He felt consumed by the taste of her, and the rhythm of his hand slowed almost to a stop, but only for a second before he picked it back up again and then everything picked up speed.

If the music wasn’t so loud, Five was sure that the sound of the girl’s wanton moans and the sound of his fingers squelching inside her would be heard by everyone around them. As it was, there was no hiding the small thrust of his hips as he fucked her leg like the horny devil he was.

Their kiss had turned deep and wild, and the fresh cut on his lip was throbbing but it felt almost as good as her finger that was still playing with the bloom of his cock.

When she broke their kiss, feverishly panting, her lips traveled across Five’s neck, softly kissing below his ear with icy hot breaths.

He couldn’t take it anymore. She felt like Dolores, or better yet, like he wanted to believe Dolores felt.

He yanked the girl’s head back, forcing her mouth to drop open.

Now he saw that her teeth weren’t just sharper than normal, now her canines were dangerously elongated.

He hadn’t imagined it the first time he'd seen it. Five wanted to say so many things, but he didn’t and couldn't. He eyed her blood red lips for only a second before he crushed them with his own again.

Five had never kissed anyone before this. He had never had the nerve to. He had never trusted anyone enough to let himself go in this way. He had no reason to trust this girl and she was clearly not all she appeared, but after a lifetime alone, he was finally getting the chance to have this and for some reason all his worries felt like they didn’t matter anymore.

Five had believed himself damaged beyond repair and that no one would want him if they knew who he really was, and if they did, it would be for all the wrong reasons, but when this girl saw him from the inside, she still had said he was beautiful…

She started to gasp for air again, her lips moving against the side of Five's mouth. Knowing he had her right where he wanted, and not wanting to let up, Five covered the skin under her ear with wet kisses and daring little bites.

“Oh, Fi-vvve,” she keened, her hips pushing against his hand each time he pumped his fingers into her.

Wanting to make her cry out his name again, Five curved his fingers up, dragging them in and out.

A flood of unintelligible words spilled from the girl’s mouth as her fingernails scratched the skin on the back of his neck.

“OH! FFFfff-uuuck!” she cried.

Not wanting to draw even more attention than they already had even though he was loving this, Five immediately covered the girl’s mouth again with his, smothering her cries as he slid his tongue in, tasting her like he was starving.

The girl’s body started to tremble around Five’s fingers, the feel of it impossible for him not to notice.

She was trying to return Five’s ferocious kiss but was failing and he was in heaven just listening to the beautiful sound of her fighting him.

When Five felt that the pulsing flutter of her body around his fingers had eased to almost nothing again, it was as if the lights got turned back on and the music turned way down.

Suddenly feeling like a spotlight had been thrown on him and like he’d been drugged and was coming down from the high, Five slowed his hips to a stop.

Despite his bizarrely uncharacteristic level of blind trust unraveling by the second, Five was still careful to keep a steadying hand on the girl and keep her covered as he withdrew his hand.

She met his confused gaze, looking totally blown away as her fingers that had been clinging onto his tie instead came to the nap of his neck, softly stroking his hair again.

“What did you do to me?” The question came out of Five sounding both scared and so full of anger that the girl looked taken aback by it.

“Only what you had wanted,” she defended.

“I didn’t ask to be fucked with. Get out of my head!” he shakily snarled back.

Her voice came out so unwavering entrancing that it hit him physically. "I am not going to hurt you, Five. It’s okay. Come back to me. I promise it’s going to be okay if you do.”

Blinking slowly, Five shook his head, trying to wake himself up. In less than a few seconds, even though he intended to, he couldn't let the girl go.

“That’s it, Five,” she soothed as he started to look back at her in awe, rather than filled with venomous hostility.

She smiled with relief as Five hand started to lovingly stroke the inside of her thigh.

“You are so gorgeous unreal and I just... I have been wanting to do that for a very long time,” he quietly admitted while forming the most boyishly charming grin that it made the girl trapping him in her arms look at a loss for a moment.

“You’ve been wanting to finger me...for a very long time? But we just met?” she teased, followed by a laugh, that made the dimple in Five’s cheek grow even deeper.

“I wanted to know what it felt like to kiss someone who could kiss me back,” he coolly corrected.

“So, I was wrong," she dangled as she smoothed out the length of his shiny tie, her eyes purposefully getting wider the second her hand fleetingly passed over Five's cock again. "You weren’t thinking about getting your hands up my skirt so we could have a moment of shared public debauchery?”

Five lifted his hand to his mouth and nonchalantly tasted his fingers. “Mmm…” he hummed as he tilted his head to the side and his other hand naughtily grazed over the wet fabric between her legs. “I wanted to do that too,” he admitted with an air of playful confidence coming back to him.

Totally taken by the angel's spell again and feeling like he didn't have a care in the world, Five subtly rolled his hard length against her leg to the beat of the music.

“I think there’s more you want to do,” she said, giggling at him.

“What is your name?” Five suddenly asked, his hopeful eyes filled with emotion much deeper than his lust.

“It won’t matter after this,” she whispered just before her lips were on his.

Before he could even consider why it wouldn't matter, like before, her kiss tasted like a fruity paradise and Five wanted to drown in it. It was all teeth and tongue and madness, but then all at once, a metallic taste filled his mouth. He tried to pull back, but he couldn’t. The unpleasant flavor grew stronger, and the girl kissed him harder, her teeth locking down on his bottom lip as he moaned out of the sheer intensity of blinding pleasure hitting him and in pure terror and for what he didn’t even know any more.

Her kiss was consuming him, it was too much, but then the bloody iron like flavor abated and Five was suddenly swallowing something much colder and almost bittersweet tasting.

It tasted like nothing he'd ever known but he hungrily tried to get more. He kissed the girl back even harder than he already was. Five’s heart hammered in his chest and his body sizzled with heat so strong that he thought he might spontaneously combust.

Then it stopped.

He was standing there at the bar; the music so loud it was deafening. The girl was holding both his hands in hers as a curious smile graced her stained lips.

Five blinked a few times.

What the hell was going on?

He felt…

Actually, he wasn’t actually sure what he was feeling, other than he felt better than he ever had, and all he wanted was to kiss her like that again.

~~~~~~

A few moments later, Five had stripped off his suit jacket and was tossing it on a purple lounge couch in a private room that the girl was able to acquire with a mere nod of her head towards the bartender.

After scanning the small room, he turned to the girl, his eyes running up and down as she approached him.

Coming at him hard, her hands landed on Five’s chest, pushing him backwards until he was cornered with the back of his legs against the couch.

“What are you waiting for?" she taunted. "I thought you wanted to fuck me through a wall, and I am pretty sure that I see one right here that should do the trick." She slowly moved her gaze to the busy looking wallpaper to their right as if he didn't know what wall she was talking about.

With a devious smile spreading, Five goaded the girl right back. “Angel, before the night is over, I will be killing that tight little pussy of yours by nailing it through a wall or just railing the fuck out of it any damn place I see fit.” Five shamelessly palmed the crotch of his pants as he added, “But first, this devil wants to use his demon dick to have a different kind of fun with you.”

The girl looked honestly shocked for the first time by something Five had said to her and that made him very happy.

He quickly undid the metal fastening of his belt, and then undid his pants.

She was speechless.

As she already had felt, Five was not small, but now his tight black boxer briefs were leaving very little to imagination. He looked utterly adorable standing there with his pants down and his slim fit dress shirt untucked but doing nothing to cover how much he wanted her.

With a steady hand pressing down on the girl’s shoulder, Five encouraged the girl to sink to her knees.

He confidently stood above her, the only tell that he wasn’t as sure of himself as he looked was the slight tremble of anticipation running through his body as he took her halo, throwing it back behind her.

Sliding a hand down, Five pushed his underwear down, freeing his stiff cock.

The girl let out a little whimper.

Feeling pretty damn proud, Five grabbed a wad of her hair, then sharply pulled her head, pushing the girl closer to his body.

“My turn, angel,” he tauntingly sang with misleadingly boyish play in his voice.

She licked her lips then opened her mouth around him, her tongue leisurely tracing up the veins covering his engorged shaft.

After only one pass, the girl stopped to gauge Five’s reaction.

The moment he locked eyes with the girl, she wrapped her lips around him again and Five was quick to push her down without warning, forcing her to gag around him as she struggled and gasped for air.

Smirking, Five let her sit that way, letting her adjust as he let out an unavoidable low groan over that sinful act of cruelty. His fingers played with the girl’s silky hair, petting her even if it was a degrading form of encouragement. Doing as he pleased, Five refused to adjust the pressure he was putting on the back of her throat, but for some reason, it felt okay to being doing this, just like she said it would.

With a small nod of approval from him for her quick submission, Five reached down, requesting the girl give him her hands. She did, then he proceeded to place them palm down on his thighs. Taking her hair again, Five allowed the girl to move freely, bobbing her head up and down, mostly working his tip with her tongue.

Her eyes fluttered and her nails gently dug into Five’s slouched pants as he started to rock her head back and forth over him again, making his dick disappear in her wet mouth. Holding her the way he was, with her head titled back, her throat open and lined up perfectly, it allowed Five deep penetration and a view he'd only ever seen in porn and the sight and the feel of it was making his already heavy cock feel like it might truly choke her if he got anymore turned on.

“If it’s too much let me know,” he said, clearly indicating that she should push back if he was too rough or if he made her take him too deep.

He wasn't expecting it, but she immediately pushed back, then started circling her tongue around his tip as she moaned. Since this was not what he wanted, Five's mind whirled with punishments he could deliver but his stomach filled with butterflies the more he listened to her. As she teased the underside of his shaft, his breathing grew heavy, and he couldn’t help but grind against her marvelous tongue.

Reaching up, the girl’s hand dragged down over Five’s abdomen. She was taking her time with him, and it was evident she was enjoying it and the feeling of each ridge between his muscles as he held his body tight, trying not to sway. Five had to admit, he was enjoying it too, but then she wrapped her hand around him, covering the base of his shaft but not moving. His hands clenched; his knuckles white as he let out a rough sounding sigh of exasperation.

Letting his eyes settle on her, Five was just about to start thrusting down her throat again when the girl’s cold hand began to move, and her head shallowly bobbed over his cockhead as she softly sucked.

Five’s body shuddered and she responded by moving her hand up his length, jerking him a few times before pressing her thumb gently but firmly against the underside of his tip where her mouth was just popping on and off.

Sudden waves of pleasure hit Five, followed by shaky breaths as his fingers tightened their grip on her. Taking complete control of her movements again, he quickly forced her head down, pushing her lips sliding all the way to his pubic bone and only pulling her head up again so he could fuck into her throat all over again.

It’s not like he hadn’t warned her or given her an out. That much was clear in Five’s fuzzy mind. There was no denying he wasn't getting a sick sort of pleasure from her tears and her wet gags and each and every spasm of her throat, and there was no way he wasn’t enjoying the sound of the girl’s desperate whines and moans.

She wasn’t tapping out, but her fingers were digging into his thighs almost painfully as her eyes rolling back so far Five was sure her brain must be turning off because he'd skewered it.

Loving every second of dominating her and roughly fucking her face so hard he was making it impossible for her to think, Five paid her back by not holding in his deep moans and low grunts of euphoria, but all too quickly he had to stop, or it would be over, and he didn't want that at all.

As his hips slowed and pulled away, the girl’s swollen lips gently popped off him.

Her brows furrowed upwards as she watched Five with a needy expression. Feeling like he could get away with it, he tapped her chin with the tip of his cock, spreading the drips of drool that the girl couldn’t help but have on her after taking him that long and hard.

Five smiled down at the girl, a cruel sort of look spreading across his face as he watched the little angel wordlessly begging. He tightened his grip on the back of her head.

“God, you are fucking beautiful,” he breathed, then suddenly yanked her hair back, forcing her to crane her neck back. “I can’t wait to paint that pretty fucking angel face of yours.”

After a few more taps to the girl's waiting tongue, Five swiftly brought her down on him again, immediately causing her to gag. The sound of her body fighting him and the feel of her moans buzzing against him as she twitched and repeatedly tried to swallow, all had Five feeling so damn close to the edge again, but he couldn’t stop now even if he wanted to.

Soon, his rhythm became even more aggressive as he took her head in both hands, sadistically slamming his cock into her mouth while griding the back of her throat before pulling off only to repeat the process.

“You really wanted my dick, didn’t you?” Five breathlessly sputtered as he threw his head back and his eyes fell shut.

Inevitably his brutal pattern became more erratic. Eventually, Five pulled back, fully pulling out. His hand that was tangled in the strands of the girl’s hair moved to the girl’s pouty lips instead.

Jerking her chin up he urgently asked, “You think you can swallow all of it?”

She eagerly nodded.

With an air of desperation coming out of him, Five stroked himself needily, bringing himself closer and closer as the girl watched in anticipation, her mouth open and tongue out.

With a few sharp inhales, Five’s body began to shudder, and his legs began to feel like they could give out on him. His heel squeaked on the floor as he drove forward, intent on delivering.

A long string of rough groans fell from Five's gapped lips as the girl flinched and shut her eyes in response to the pearls of white falling over her awaiting tongue.

Having had plenty of pent-up sexual tension from just the last few hours, not to mention a lifetime of being deprived of anything to this level of sexual eroticism, Five’s load repeatedly spurt out of him in heavy ropes.

The girl swallowed and swallowed, trying to keep up but even though she was, Five deliberately pulled back, letting the last of his cum land across the girl’s flushed cheeks and drip down between the mounds of her milky white breasts.

"Oh fuck," he gasped. His hand remained clasped around his shaft. His angry grip kept moving but slowly as it passed over his hot length and he road that the last incredible waves of his release.

Even though Five was on another planet as the heavy sound of his panting started to abate, he noticed that the girl was suddenly sitting there still as a statue. She was totally quiet, and her hands were in her lap as if waiting for further instruction or perhaps it was because she was too scared to move. The fact that Five couldn’t tell was quickly overshadowing his feeling of frenzied contentment.

His chest was still moving up and down faster than normal as he looked in shock down at the mess that he’d made of her. Appalled at what he'd done, he quickly pulled up his clothes and swiftly tucked his softening dick back in his tight black underwear.

Starting to panic, he stopped at zipping himself up, worriedly staring at her again with his belt still dangling open and his mind falling apart.

Five threw his hand back over his hair, brushing the dark strands out of eyes as he looked around the small room, trying to find something to clean the girl up with. He saw a convenient box of tissues, sitting on a small side table so he lunged for them, then gently as possible, he wiped his seed from the girl’s face.

As Five was about to draw another disposable wipe across the tops of her glistening breasts, he stopped short, realizing that maybe doing that wasn’t a great idea.

He tossed the soiled tissue on the floor, rubbing his shaking hand over his face.

As his fingers brushed over his eye, Five noticed it didn’t hurt at all. It felt totally normal, which made sense because he could also tell that it wasn’t swollen at all anymore.

All of a sudden, it dawned on him that it wasn’t swollen when they came into the private room. His lip felt normal too and being extremely horny couldn't be the only reason he'd ignored it.

Eyes still closed; the girl let out a small sound that Five wasn't sure how to interpret. Her hand floated up, a finger hesitantly poking at her sticky flesh where her white top dipped the lowest.

“I am sorry,” Five sputtered. “I don’t know what came over me. That was so-"

So ashamed of how he’d just treated her and confused about his face and that just let himself do that, Five couldn’t begin to formulate what he was thinking.

“I am going insane,” he breathed, his eyes falling away from the girl as he started to step back, but then her other hand found his, her cool fingers trapping him even more than the couch behind him.

She started to smile. Still her eyes were closed, and it was making her look so blissfully happy it only further confused Five. She was the hottest girl he'd ever seen but she was way too young for him, and from the time he'd seen her on the dance floor, he never intended to do more than have a friendly drink with her. But clearly something changed his way of thinking, but what that was, he couldn't remember and before he could get too upset about that and what he'd just done, the girl finally started to talk.

“You don’t need to apologize," she said, rubbing at her closed eye lids. "I loved every second of that, and I know that nobody has ever been lucky enough to say this to you, and you are more than worthy of the compliment, so here it is. Five Hargreeves, you have a very nice cock, and you taste amazing."

As much as it seemed she meant it, it also seemed she couldn't say such a dirty and brazen thing with out laughing about it and that made Five feel a lightness that made no senses with the rest of his heavy emotions.

This was not normal. Something wasn't right but he wanted so badly to pretend it was.

As nice as she was being about everything, Five couldn’t help but feel like a total asshole despite all his other terrify reservations, so playing along, he ineloquently countered that with the only thing he could come up with. “I do what I can do with what I’ve got, and unfortunately, I have nothing to compare that unforgettable experience to, but I can confidently say that was the most amazing blow job I have ever received, so thank you.”

“Your very welcome. I do what I can with what I’ve got,” she repeated, copying his words and tone so well that Five couldn’t help but chuckle a little.

Feeling some better, though he didn't understand why the sudden switch, his hand came down on her head again and he started to lace his fingers through her tousled hair, trying to fix it. He wanted to help her up and was reaching down to do it but that all stopped when her eyes started opening.

Five’s eyes blew wide as he stared at the unnatural light emanating back at him where before had only been the paleness of her bottomless eyes. Suddenly, he remembered begging the girl to kiss him while they were out in the bar.

He remembered the taste of blood.

Her smile grew wider, exposing her fangs.

In an instant, Five swooped low, wrenching her head back at the same time he pulled out the knife that had been hidden in the strap attached to his ankle.

Eyes ablaze; he brought the shining blade to the girl's neck.

~~~~Chapters 3 and 4 coming very soon....(mid-next week)

Thank you for reading and if you like, check out my other stories at the links below.

Master List Post to my Five Centric Stories and Art

Link to my other posts on Tumblr

Link to visit me on AO3

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gamerbearmira · 3 months

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ALMA REALIZING SHES WRONG (NOT CLICKBAIT!!)

I said I’d give Housebroken AND I WILL DELIVER. I WILL 💪💪💪

LEAVE GET ITTTTT

_____

Mirabel saw her abuela sitting by the river. She could hear faint whispering, though unlike Dolores, or even Isabela, she just didn't have the hearing to quite pick up what she was saying. She walked closer, not wanting to scare Alma. The older woman didn't seem to notice her, not really. Mirabel's wing fluttered gently as she walked towards her.

"Abuela?" Mirabel asked, her voice slightly raspy from the disuse of a human language.

Alma jumped a bit, turning to look at Mirabel. Instead of the disdain she had seen before, she just looked sad, turning back towards the river. Mirabel had caught a glimpse at the tears that were still falling from her eyes. Mirabel paused before moving to sit down next to Alma

There was a bout of silence before Alma finally spoke up. "You know...Pedro loved all kinds of animals. But butterflies were always his favorite."

Mirabel looked towards Alma in shock, and opened her mouth to speak, but quickly closed it to let her continue. "I had always suspected that the candle wasn't the only kind of magic. That it had come with some kind of price to pay. But I never knew what. I was convinced that I needed to...prove that we deserved it. But in the end...I guess I was wrong."

One of Mirabel's 4 hands moved to rest on top of Aoma's. She didn't pull away. She held it gently, much to Mirabel's surprise. "Is...this the price?" Mirabel asked, referring to the curse. Alma looked at her, searching her face before looking back at the river.

"I don't know. And I could never bring myself to come back here to see," Alma says truthfully, squeezing Mirabel's hand. "Though looking back at it, it seems that Pedro might've already been...like you. And the others."

"Really?" Mirabel asked, and she looked excited. Alma looked at her for a moment. Mirabel looked pretty much the same since she was a kid. She still had that sparkle in her whenever she got excited about something.

Alma couldn't help but smile.

"Yes. I saw a photo, a little before I had your mamá, tía and tío. I had thought it was a costume of some sort but looking back," Alma paused, her smile faltering for a moment. "I don't think it was a photo."

"What did he get?" Mirabel asked curiously, and Alma chuckled.

"A lion. Ironic isn't it?" Alma said in a bittersweet tone.

There was more silence. The two sat by the river. Mirabel had a question, a question that she wasn't the only one to think of. The other family members wondered the same. She was here with her abuela, and she was listening.

"Abuela?" Mirabel caught Alma's attention, and she looked toward her granddaughter, waiting for her to finish talking. "Did you...did you really hate us back then? Were you upset about...us being this way?"

Alma stared at Mirabel, and her face visibly fell, and she looked horrified before looking down into her lap. Alma didn't say anything, and Mirabel grew worried. Had she gone too far? Maybe she shouldn't have asked.

Before Mirabel could open up and apologize, Alma finally spoke. "No." Mirabel was shocked. She sort of half expected her to say yes. She felt silly for thinking that now.

"R-Really?" Mirabel asked a small smile on her face. She couldn't help but feel happy that all those years ago, she hadn't hated them.

"I was...scared more than anything. I blamed myself. I thought I had done something wrong. That I had failed," Alma sighed deeply, and she tried to turn her head, but Mirabel could see the tears streaming down her face. "I didn't mean to drive you away. Or any of them. And for years, I was trying to work up the courage to apologize, to bring you all back. But I never could."

"So...did you?" Mirabel didn't finish her question, knowing her abuela knew what she was talking about.

"Sí. I did. Mamy times. But I didn't," Alma turned towards Mirabel, grabbing her hands. "Mirabel, listen. I'm not expecting you or the family to forgive me. And I'm not asking you to forget about what happened, and what I did. But...I am asking that you all, you, mi nieta, give me another chance."

"I-" Mirabel was cut off by Alma, who squeezed her hands. Mirabel's other two arms jumped up, her wings fluttering once again.

"Please. I just...I just want us to be a family again. I want to change, to be better, for all of you. I'm sorry." Alma pleaded. Mirabel searched her eyes. She tried to look for any sort of lie, some kind of fake apology. But she could tell she was being genuine.

Mirabel gave a watery laugh, hugging her abuela tightly. "That's all we wanted to hear."

—————

I MISSED THIS AU SO MUCH idk why we I stopped. I do still plan on doing it after one of the main three ends, tho I’d say the werewolf au (3 or 4)is coming close to an end rather than Mamabel (5 chapters??)

ANYWAYYYYY MORE ASKS SOON <333

#my asks #my asks are open #encanto #encanto au #au #encanto mirabel #encanto alma #housebroken #housebroken au

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cloudofbutterflies92 · 4 months

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I know I felt like this before, but now I'm feeling it even more(Christmas special)

Before starting I wanted to thank @creativepromptsforwriting for giving me the idea to do this little Christmas special💕 (the link is here, and the prompt is number 4), having said that I hope you enjoy it. Likes and reblogs are always appreciated.

PS: The title song references "Dream" by The Cranberries

Tags(I'm only tagging you because I love you):@chloekistune @graveyard-party666 @onehornedbeast @alypink @cassietrn @simonxriley @carlosoliveiraa @corvosattano

Paring: Ghost x F!OC

"Here they are" huffing for breath Simon carried the boxes from the attic into the living room, then releasing a sneeze.

The dust had soiled his sweatshirt, despite the fact that Eden monthly always had that ball of cleaning the attic.And it was also his favorite.

"I told you to let me do it but you no no, you wanted to do your own thing" the brunette with the knife removed the tape, well there was everything.

Jokingly Eden wrapped the red Christmas festoon around herself, starting to move her hips cheerfully "How do they fit? I could come like this to Christmas dinner at grandma's house "she then burst out laughing along with him.

"Well certainly better than the sweater Johnny wants me to wear, he's set on us guys having to wear that stuff" Simon scratched the back of his blond head, just thinking about it gave him hives.

"Oh come on poor Johnny."

"You say that because to you girls he didn't force it, that's why" his lips curved into a smile, taking from the box a silver Christmas festoon.

"No seriously? We said red."

"Actually you said silver with Gaz" Simon insisted, being stopped by Eden, absolutely no way it was silver.

"It was an 'option if you heard right, because he liked it"

"I like it too garden dwarf" he messed up her hair.

If there was one thing Eden hated it was that you used her height to attack her, she knew she was small in stature. If you wanted to offend her, just call her a "garden dwarf."

Eden made a teasing grimace "Very funny, give it here" then tried to put down the festoon taken by the blond, stubborn he instead reached for her, placing the silver festoon over her hips.Damn him, he always managed to get his way

"Why don't we make a deal luv?We can put both colors so it's a tree really made by both of us," he murmured in a deep voice.

Simon had told her a long time ago that he hated Christmas, that he always had bad Christmases because of that piece of shit father of his.

Eden sighed, she wanted to see him happy at the end. She wanted this to be the first special Christmas for Simon, spent with the people he considered his family.

"All right, deal. But just" he stopped her with a peck kiss before starting to gather what was needed to decorate.She stood there motionless with one finger raised like a fool, then followed him in decorating the tree.

In the end it didn't turn out too bad either, the red and silver blended perfectly. Like the two personalities of Eden and Simon.

"What did I tell you babe. I have the eye" proudly he winked at her.

Eden replied with her usual eye roll "Just this once" the brunette tried to tidy up what they had combined, letting him reach the shelf of vinyls she collected, her father's legacy.

"If you want anything Christmas there's nothing there, I only have a CD Reggie gave me a while back."

A whispered "tsk" departed from Simon, triumphantly displaying a Cranberries vinyl "I could just as well put on Mozart, but since you granted my request, I want to reciprocate" he reached out and grabbed her by the hips, with Dolores O'Riordan's voice soundtracking the laughter and those uncoordinated dance moves. They looked like two teenagers, and it was funny how a man who struck terror from the stories about him was instead such a sweet person, only for the woman who had helped him believe in something that had never crossed his mind: love.

"When we have time you and I are going to dance school, we're in bad shape."

"Yes of course" he with the back of his hand brushed her right cheek and with 'the other held her side. One more step and the two were ready to move on to the next stage.

Except that the Christmas tree literally fell on both of them, especially Simon, who found himself on the ground imprisoned among the balls and festoons.

"Stupid cat, I bet it was you Mr. Orange."

Bingo, the chonky cat had run into Eden's arms meowing, Eden unable to stop laughing. It was immortal that scene.

"Help me, don't laugh. That would do it Chloe," he wiggled, managing to get out of there with Eden's help.

"Sooner or later I'll bake that cat with potatoes, now we'll have to do it again. Bloody hell."

"Don't talk about our son like that "Eden brought the cat toward her protectively, actually Simon loved him.

"And anyway if we do it again now afterwards I'll give you a massage. The kind you like so much and more."

"The kind I like?" He frowned with amusement.

"The ones you like" Eden repeated, watching him dart away and collect ogliating the necessities to redo the tree.

The usual Simon.

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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

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Broken Glass Chapter 3 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Prompt: You are Dolores Cannava, a young Italian-American nurse desperate to make her own way in the world and break free of her dysfunctional mafia-connected family and traumatic past. Elvis Presley is just returning home from his two-year stint in the Army, looking more handsome than ever, but feeling the pressure to successfully find his way back to the stratospheric career he was forced to leave behind. In a twisted turn of fate, Elvis finds himself in the hospital where your paths cross. Forced to harbor his potentially career-ending secret and needing to escape a terrifying future in New York, you are pulled into his unusual world and must endure a begrudging fake relationship with Elvis in order to protect his reputation (and his life).

TW: Sexual assault (not described in too much detail). Dissociation. Mentions of physical abuse. Coercion. The Colonel. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers. Hurt/Comfort.

Rating: R (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 5.9k

A/N: Happy Broken Glass Wednesday, y'all! 💔🥂❤️‍🩹 I'm going to try to put out a chapter a week on Wednesdays (we shall see if I can keep up lol). Thank you for your lovely responses to Chapter 2 and I'm so glad people are finding the premise and E's health to be as fascinating as I do!

Please read the trigger warnings for this chapter. While not super graphic or in detail, this chapter delves into some dark things related to both sexual and physical assaults that are the catalysts for Dolores' decisions going forward and could definitely be triggering to some readers. It's not the whole chapter by any means--the actual moment is very short, but it is referenced in her desperation to forget what has happened to her and to escape her situation.

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance!

I imagined it with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat.

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

I’ve used the tag list from Pink Scarf, and added those who requested it, so please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Story is cross-posted to my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those reading experiences!

Usually, the subway threatens to rock you to sleep after your night shifts. It is rather quiet in comparison to the trains headed into Manhattan, filled to the brim with workers of all kinds who are headed in from the boroughs. A bonus of working nights has been the less crowded and frenzied rides as you are heading out of the city while everyone else is going in. But this morning, every time you close your eyes, those brilliant yet stormy sapphires stare back at you with amusement. You can’t even focus on the book you’ve brought without your mind wandering back to the strange encounter with Elvis, wondering why he’d chosen you of all people to bother.

Heat flares through you again at how maddening he was in such a short amount of time, but you are self-aware to recognize that while the heat is mostly frustration at his actions and the repercussions they caused you, it also speaks the tiniest bit of how his pointed, beautiful gaze made you feel a little off kilter. You are annoyed that you can’t seem to forget how lovely he looked asleep in the bed.

Not asleep. Unconscious.

And that reminder strikes dread in your heart. The words in his chart (which I shouldn’t have looked at in the first place) make you feel uneasy because this secret is likely to cause untold repercussions if discovered. Considering the fervor surrounding his draft into the Army, you can only imagine the emotions of the female populace if they learn the truth about their beloved idol’s health.

You shift in your seat uncomfortably, the weight of your knowledge an unwelcome pressure on your psyche. It’s your own fault of course. But the empathy that serves you well in the hospital also has you feeling sad for the poor man, despite your annoyance. You may not be a fan, but you can’t deny the man’s talent and impact on the world. Thousands, millions even, will be devastated when…

No. It’s none of your business. You shouldn’t even know who the VIP is, much less be worrying about the man’s future. You have much more pressing things to worry about.

Those worries take hold with each step towards the house where you live. It’s certainly not a home, not anymore, and hasn’t been for a very, very long time. Your mother’s untimely death assured that.

Part of the excitement of getting into nursing school, even one as close as Bellevue, was that you were required to live in the dormitory. Four whole years in a tiny closet of a room, clad with only a single bed and a tiny desk and a small sink. For many of the girls it was torture but for you it was sweet relief. Peace. Safety.

But the day after graduation, you’d been forced right back into the viper’s nest, unable to find a place to share with anyone else, certainly not before you’d secured the job you now are desperate to hang onto, the one thing that will hopefully secure that freedom for you.

A heaviness settles over you the moment you hit the doorway and you say a silent prayer that you are late enough to have missed breakfast. Another bonus to nights is the fact that you have a viable excuse to not interact with your volatile father, Pop, because he, along with your younger brothers, are often gone by the time you trudge through the door.

But said door is unlocked, a sure sign that you’re too early and the dread you’d felt on the train about a man you barely know is nothing compared to the fear that settles in your stomach at the sounds of breakfast in the dining room.

You tiptoe down the hall in an attempt to remain unseen, your breath held as though it will somehow make you invisible. It’s only two big steps past the open door of the dining room but those steps might as well be a ravine. You make a break for it all the same.

“Dolores!” Pop’s voice sends you ramrod straight, but the tone of it is not the usual gruffness and distain. No, this is the voice for company, the one that covers all the dirty little secrets that permeate the walls of this house.

“Look who stopped by! Aren’t you glad to see our old friend?” Pop says in that saccharine voice.

You pull your gaze up and right into the black eyes of another man you don’t want to see but have to act as though you do.

“Hello, Gianni,” you force out of your mouth as neutrally as possible, but you grip your purse tight enough that your knuckles turn white.

“My beautiful Dolores! It’s been too long, bella,” Gianni coos at you, rounding the table to press an unwanted kiss to your cheek. He lingers too long, his hands like heavy weights on your biceps. Every ounce of you wants to push the snake away but you cannot, not here in front of Pop and your brothers. Gianni is too important in the community and disrespecting him would have consequences.

“You are a hard woman to get ahold of, Lori,” he purrs in your ear, using the nickname that is reserved for close relations and friends. This angers you but you are tired and weary and correcting him would only spell trouble.

“I was just telling Gianni how that hospital is working you to the bone, keeping you up nights, and that’s why you haven’t returned his calls,” Pop says pointedly, the clear message underneath being “Why the hell haven’t you called him back?”

Your heart sinks into your stomach. You hadn’t called him back because you are avoiding him like the plague. Because you know he’s going to ask you out on a date and the result will be him asking you a question you do not want to answer.

Gianni has had his sights set on you since you’d hit puberty. Thankfully your youth saved you, as the seven years between you two was a great enough span that even your father did not approve of it in those early years. Then, nursing school kept you out of the fray, beyond a few well-chaperoned dates. But now that you’ve come of age and are back home, you’ve felt the crawl of him under your skin, getting closer and closer.

The fact that he wants you at all is crazy. Gianni’s father Salvatore is one of the “pillars of the community,” the Consigliere—the right-hand man of the boss of this crime family. He’s one of the most important figures in this dysfunctional community you live in. Being a woman, you aren’t supposed to know any details, of course, but it is impossible not to know at least some of what goes on in the famiglia. Especially when your father has been coming home covered in blood and bruises and smelling of gunpowder since you were a small child.

You aren’t supposed to know your father is a soldier, a violent underling sent to do all the dirty work for the boss. It’s hard to deny, though, since his temper and aggressiveness are never just left at “work.” Unfortunately for you, Pop’s somewhat lower position in the hierarchy has not disqualified you from being courted by Gianni; in fact, with approval from his father and the boss, Gianni has every right to pursue you.

However, to the dismay of all parties, you do not want to be pursued. Not by Gianni. He is handsome with his dark hair and olive skin, yes, but ruthless, set to devour anything in his path. He wants to possess you. Own you.

His near-black eyes shine with it even now, this need of his to collect what he believes is his due. You are well aware that he has intentions to marry you—the beauty and intelligence you inherited from your mother has seen to that. And since it’ll raise Pop’s stature in the famiglia, he has been pushing you towards Gianni one way or another since Gianni took an interest. Only your mother had been hesitant, but when she died, all hope was lost.

An arranged marriage in a modern world.

So, no, you haven’t returned Gianni’s calls because once you do, he’ll take you out and then he will propose, and you’ll be expected to accept. That has been made crystal clear by your father. Once that happens your life is over. Nursing will be over. Any independence you’ve gained will be gone, and you’ll be shackled for eternity to another cruel man and forced to bear his children and look pretty and happy while you do it.

Which means the fact that Gianni is here, now, is very bad news indeed.

“Sorry, I’ve been busy with so many shifts. The new nurses get nights,” you say, as though you didn’t love the night shift.

“Of course, of course,” he tuts, “which is why I am here to take you to breakfast.”

It is not a question.

Your heart drops so quickly it makes your stomach queasy, like you are on a roller coaster you cannot get off. The trapped feeling has panic swelling in your throat. Pop looks at you expectantly, with both warning and excitement flashing on his face.

You cannot refuse the invitation.

“I-I’m a mess, Gianni, and I haven’t slept,” you sputter out in a last-ditch effort to escape this.

The way his hand trails down your arm to grasp your hand makes your skin itch and you resist the urge to yank away from his grip. “You have to eat, bella. Go fix yourself up real quick, I’ll wait. And I’ll have you home at a decent hour,” he finishes with a wink.

You don’t trust yourself to speak because the bile rising behind your panic threatens to give your feelings away. Instead, you just nod and smile before heading up the narrow stairs to your room.

A quick change into a nicer dress, along with a wash-up and unpinning your hair is all it takes to make yourself presentable, but you find yourself stalling for as long as possible. You wish you could be tittering with the excitement that every woman deserves when they get engaged, but Gianni is a man you do not and will not ever love. You can barely stand to be in his presence, much less marry the man.

The walk down the stairs is more like marching to your funeral rather than a date. You manage to plaster a half-pleasant look on your face, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

Gianni is the picture of patience standing next to your father in the foyer in his expensive suit, reeking of Acqua di Parma cologne. It makes you nauseous.

“Oooh, Lori’s going on a date!” your youngest brother Paul teases as you walk by him. This sad spectacle has gathered a crowd of your 18-year-old twin brothers, Tony and John, and 16-year-old Paul.

“Stai zitto, and get outta here! Go get ready for school!” Pop hisses at the boys and they scatter, but not before Tony gives you a knowing look that only you catch. The glance is as full of trepidation as you are.

Pop practically pushes you into Gianni’s waiting arms with that deferential, schmoozing smile and betrayal boils in your blood. A father is supposed to protect his daughter, not serve her to the wolves on a silver platter.

But your betrayal is quickly replaced by repulsion when the heat of Gianni’s hand resting on your lower back bleeds through your dress. He leads you outside and into the back of the waiting car, then slides in next to you, too close. Ignoring the driver, he makes small talk on the way to the restaurant, one that should be closed at this hour, but for the son of the Consigliere, it is open and staffed, though you are the only customers.

You resist the urge to balk when he orders for you and are monumentally uncomfortable being alone with him like this. His predatory eyes are focused solely on your every movement, so you attempt to be the picture of congeniality, as your culture has trained you to be since birth: pleasant, polite, demure. Underneath the façade, your heart pounds against your ribcage because you are unable to stop the collision you know is coming.

Barely able to eat the food in front of you, you resort to tiny bites and pushing the rest around the plate as inconspicuously as possible.

“You don’t need to be nervous, bella,” he states, seeming almost amused by your anxiousness. He flicks his wrist and the waiter appears out of nowhere to clear the plates. “And I know you are tired from slaving away all night at that hospital, but soon you won’t need to worry about any of that.”

The surety of that statement makes your stomach roll. Gianni pulls a small velvet box from the inside pocket of his coat and places it in front of you on the table. Your heart is a jackhammer against your sternum. You think you might pass out.

“My bella,” he purrs, getting up, then sliding into the booth next to you, trapping you in, “I think you know I’ve had my eye on you for quite a while now. Of course, I had to let you finish your schooling, let you grow up into the lovely woman you are now…”

Let me? you bristle internally, as if it were ever up to him, as if you ever needed his permission in the first place.

“But now it is time to let me take care of you and give you the life you deserve,” he finishes, opening the box in front of you to reveal a ridiculously large and gaudy diamond ring.

You are frozen, wanting so badly to tell him where to shove his ring and flee as fast and as far as possible. But instead, you can’t seem to move to stop Gianni from grabbing your shaking hand and placing it upon your trembling ring finger.

“Be my wife,” he says.

A command, not a question. One to which you don’t respond. Gianni takes your silence as acceptance, however, taking the single tear that spills down your cheek as one of happiness and not distress. He brushes it off your face with the backs of his fingers and you want to flinch, scream, anything that will tear you away from this union, but all you do is give him a tight smile and try not to sob outright.

Fight, goddamnit! your mind screams. But you can’t. You are imprisoned in your fear and despair, trapped by propriety, shackled by the responsibility to your family, to your brothers. Because a refusal would blow back on them as much as it would on you.

So, you don’t pull away when Gianni’s hand grips your chin or when he presses a kiss onto your lips. You’ve only been kissed once, by the boy who took you to the prom. You’ve been far too busy to date these past few years, much less kiss anyone, but at least that experience was enjoyable and coupled with butterflies. This kiss is devoid of anything other than a feeling of disgust. It seems to mark you as his possession, his cold lips making your stomach turn once again.

The rest is a blur as he brings you home, inviting himself inside. For once, you wish your father was home because the hungry look in Gianni’s eyes promises nothing good for you as he walks in behind you, into the too-silent house.

You fumble for the right words, the words that will make him leave so you can mourn the loss of your freedom in peace, but once he realizes the house is empty, he turns to you and pushes you into the wall. He is much taller than you, his muscular limbs so much stronger than your flailing ones as he pens you in.

The next kiss is hard and rough, all teeth and tongue. You press your arms against his chest in an attempt to push him away, but it does nothing but urge him on. Dizzy from the effort and drowning in the heaviness of his cologne, you barely make a dent in defending yourself against the assault of his lips on yours.

“Gianni, stop,” you finally breathe out, but he seems to take this as encouragement, nuzzling into your neck, his lips pulling and nipping at your skin. You can’t find the strength to push him off, to scream, to do anything other than whimper while his hands grope and wander places on your body that no man’s have gone before.

You pray for it to end. And when he grabs your hand and forces it down, down, down to feel the hardened length in his slacks, you go far, far away. You disappear into the same fog that takes you every time Pop goes ballistic, only realizing the truth of what happened when you come back into yourself later, feeling the pain of the bruises on your ribs, or seeing them on Mama, back when she was still alive to take them for you.

So, it shouldn’t be a surprise when you wake up much later in your bed, on top of the covers, your clothes in disarray. It’s not until you register the heaviness on your ring finger that you remember your engagement and the feel of Gianni’s meaty hands on you.

Barely making it across the hall to the bathroom, you vomit up what little you managed to eat for breakfast at the restaurant. Once the heaving stops, the shaking begins.

But you do not cry.

Rinsing out your mouth and splashing water on your face, you don’t, no, can’t, think about what may have happened once you faded away. You push away the thoughts of why your body feels sore and bruised in places it shouldn’t and why you can still smell the stink of his expensive cologne lingering on your dress and your skin.

No, no, no.

Disorientation makes you blink slowly as you come back into yourself and into the present, and you make your way back into your room. Your eye catches the clock and suddenly you feel wide awake.

Dammit!

You slept too long and are close to missing your train into the city for work, which today starts earlier than normal due to the fact you stupidly agreed to cover the end of your friend Sally’s shift so she could go on a date.

There is no time, then, to linger in despair. You race to rip off your dress and throw on a clean uniform, one thankfully already pressed and ready to go, pushing away the dark thoughts threatening to consume you. A pass of a comb through your messy locks and a few pins help you look somewhat put together and you slip on your white shoes, grabbing your bag.

The sparkling on your finger makes you pause long enough to tear the ring from your hand and throw it onto your vanity. If anyone asks, you don’t want to wear a ring like that into the city.

Flying down the stairs, you avoid the questions budding in Pop’s mouth with a “I’m late!” as you rush out the door. By the time you reach the station, you are breathless, but are just in time to make your train.

Exhaustion weighs on you as the adrenaline in your blood wanes. You slept today, but do not feel rested, and you pretend you don’t know why that is. It’s the last thing you want to think about.

Engaged. I’m engaged. To a monster. And he hurt me.

Your breath hitches in time with the rocking of the train, panic creeping its way back in.

No. Not now.

The urge to climb out of your skin, or at least scrub it raw under the locker room showers at work, must wait. You are grateful that you have to hit the ground running as soon as you step through the front doors of the bustling hospital. One emergency leads into the next and you barely have time to think past the next crisis, much less worry about what happened earlier today or the terror your future holds once you leave this hospital tomorrow morning.

“Nurse Cannava!” Nurse Hunt calls for you, her voice dropping once you approach, “Dr. Paulson is in with our VIP patient, and he is needed urgently. Go get him for me, and don’t get distracted by our patient this time, will you?”

“Yes, Nurse Hunt,” you say quickly, the dig not even bothering you. You’d take a lifetime of them in lieu of what waits for you outside this hospital. Fingers tittering nervously, you find yourself hoping that Elvis does not blame you for what happened last night. Though the way this day is going, you wouldn’t be surprised to find him combative towards you. And perhaps you deserve it after the way you treated him (even if he was being an ass).

The scene you are met with when you arrive at Elvis’ room is not what you are expecting, however.

“L-L-Little bird,” Elvis stutters, but it is not with the air of confidence he exuded last night. It is not aloofness or displeasure.

Your annoyance at the nickname, along with the smallest bit of relief that he is up and talking, quickly turns to apprehension. Much to your confusion, Elvis seems almost reverent as he stares at you, like you’d descended from the heavens or something.

Must be the head injury, you think, trying to make sense of him.

The other three men crammed into the tiny room all turn to stare at you at once, eyes wandering over you far longer than necessary, as though you are both interrupting something important yet are expected at the same time.

Why in God’s name are they all looking at me like that?

Elvis’ churning oceanic eyes lock onto yours and are loaded with such emotion that you can’t begin to sort through it, and you have to tear your gaze away. You manage to sputter out Nurse Hunt’s request to the doctor and instead of replying, the lot of them turn to Elvis, as though he has any say in it.

The silence sits heavy, and Elvis’ pale cheeks turn a little pink, almost bashfully, as you look at him again. He stares at you in an unreadable way, as though taking in every bit of you, as though seeing you for the first time. Confusion rushes over you in a self-conscious wave.

Have I done something wrong? Is this about snapping at him last night?

You shift uncomfortably, trying to piece together what is going on. But with everything that has happened in the last 24 hours, your brain can’t seem to put anything together other than that this group of men have lost their minds.

“I’ll be right there, Nurse,” Dr. Paulson finally states, looking back at you almost regretfully but you don’t take the time to try and figure out why. You are just grateful to be dismissed and leave the strange scene. In fact, with one crisis after another on the ward this shift, you put it out of your mind completely.

Until Dr. Paulson pulls you aside in the early morning hours, that is.

The doctor looks uncomfortable, his face in a grimace, when he leads you into a quiet corner.

Oh, Madone, I’m going to be fired. As if this day can get any worse. Your heart pounds and you fight back the tears that prickle behind your eyes.

“Nurse Cannava, I know this is going to be unorthodox…” he begins, and suddenly your mind jumps to another, equally disturbing place. The man is wearing a wedding ring, for God’s sake. And is old enough to be your father. You’d never taken the doctor to be that kind of man, but he interrupts your thoughts by continuing, “…but are you interested in private nursing?”

Now that is not what you were expecting. Relief floods through you, followed quickly by bewilderment.

“Excuse me, Doctor, private nursing? What do you mean?”

“Well, um, you see, Mr. Presley is going to need some discreet and rather specific care going forward,” he whispers, “and it seems as though you, um, fit the bill, so to speak, to take care of him exclusively.”

You fight to hold back the laugh that wants to escape your mouth at the pure absurdity of the situation. Elvis wants you of all people, the nurse who nearly took his head off last night, who sent him into respiratory distress, to take care of him exclusively? A day ago, you would have told him to shove his offer where the sun don’t shine.

But things have changed dramatically for you in the last day.

“I know it sounds strange, and certainly you’ve done great work here, but might you be willing to discuss this with his manager?

You cross your arms and worry your lip in between your teeth. The words fall out of your mouth before you can think too much on it.

“Yes, I’ll speak to him.”

Dr. Paulson sighs and nods, walking you down the corridor to a small waiting room. Your heart pounds in your ears as you are led inside.

“Colonel Parker, this is Nurse Cannava,” Dr. Paulson says, in a bristled tone that insinuates he doesn’t particularly care for the portly, balding man standing near the window you assume is Elvis’ manager. Colonel Parker turns to you, and you immediately get the sense the man is not to be trusted. Being around criminals who pretend they aren’t ones your whole life has given you a sixth sense for this sort of thing.

“Ah, Nurse Cannava, how lovely to meet you. We have much to discuss. I’m Colonel Tom Parker, Elvis’ manager.” Colonel Parker motions for you to sit in the chair across from him. He attempts to wave off Dr. Paulson, but the doctor does not go, choosing to stand in the doorway instead, seemingly wary to leave you alone with this stranger, and for that you are silently appreciative.

“And of course, this conversation must remain completely private, no matter what you decide. I’m sure a smart girl like you can understand the sensitivity of the situation,” he continues, leaning back in his chair, his casual position in direct contrast of his words.

“Of course,” you nod.

“Good. Now I’ll get right to it. After speaking with your supervisor, I know you are already aware that Elvis is quite…unwell.”

An understatement, to say the least.

“Yet I’m sure you also know how important Elvis is to so many people like yourself. Are you a fan, Miss Cannava?” he asks suddenly.

“Um, not especially, Mr. Parker,” but you rush to add, “It’s not as though I dislike his music, I’m just not one of those girls who, uh, fawns over him, sir.” You try and remain as neutral as possible because you get the feeling this question is some sort of test.

“Hmm,” is all he gives you in response. He looks you up and down with a careful beady eye and you resist squirming in your seat. Instead, you straighten your spine and lift your chin, your only tell being the way you tightly grasp your hands in your lap. His look is not a leer so much as an assessment as he takes in every inch of you.

After a moment he nods—you seem to have passed muster.

“This is an incredibly unique situation, my girl, which I’m sure you can appreciate. Elvis needs discreet, around-the-clock care, according to Dr. Paulson here,” he says with distain, “but we can’t have the world knowing that Elvis is ill. It would do irreparable harm to both his career and his fans.”

He is talking as if Elvis will have a career with his diagnosis, you think in surprise.

Colonel Parker must read this on your face. “You must understand, he loves his work, my dear, and nothing will keep him from it. Or his fans. Which is where you come in.”

“I assume I would just be there to take care of Elvis when he needs it, and to make sure he takes his medications and such?” you say.

“Well, it’ll be much more involved than that, my dear.”

You look at Dr. Paulson, who’s mouth is set in a line, as though he’s attempting not to add something to that statement.

“What do you mean, involved?” you ask.

“Firstly, you will need to live and travel with him,” he starts.

You nod. You figured as much, which is honestly why you are even considering this in the first place.

“But you see, no one can know you are his nurse. Elvis must appear, for all intents and purposes, the picture of health.”

Narrowing your eyes, you ask, “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I’m understanding, sir. How am I supposed to live and travel with the man to administer medical care without anyone knowing?”

Colonel Parker looks at Dr. Paulson, and then at you, a strange smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You’ll be his girlfriend, of course.”

You choke at that. You can’t have heard him correctly. “Excuse me? I’ll be his what?”

“You will play the roleof his doting girlfriend, while secretly being his nurse. It was love at first sight, you see. Our handsome soldier comes to from a simple bump on the head and falls instantly in love with a beautiful young nurse, sweeping her right off her feet and into his life. Quite the storybook fairytale, wouldn’t you say?” he smiles that shifty smile.

Your heart flutters as fast as a hummingbird’s. “You…you can’t be serious. I—he—” you stutter.

“Oh, I couldn’t be more serious,” he says, the smile falling from his face. “I’ve been told this situation is life and death, my dear, and Elvis needs someone like you to help keep him alive.”

Silence falls and you can’t help but gape. But your mind whirls with the possible implications and how they might get you out of your current situation. If you weren’t desperate, you’d laugh in this man’s face, but your situation, and Elvis’ for that matter, are both quite dire.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Of course, you would be extremely well compensated for your trouble. That’s in addition to room and board, since you will be staying with Elvis. But you will have to leave your current life behind to sell your relationship both to the public at large and to both his and your friends and families for this to work,” he adds.

It’s completely, utterly insane. You don’t even like Elvis, so you’re not sure how you’re supposed to pretend to be in love with him, while at the same time having to secretly tend to his medical needs. You can’t in your right mind see how this will work. You are no actress.

But that fraught voice in your head is thinking about your survival, about that engagement ring sitting on your vanity and the expectations that go with it. About what has already been taken from you because of it. You push those thoughts as far back as they will go, but the fear remains because you know that if you stay, any scrap of independence you have will be gone, and you will live the rest of your life with a horrible snake of a man.

You’ve been wrestling with a way to escape since Gianni put that ring on your finger, claiming you as his, against your will. But as a single woman with hardly any money and nowhere to go, your options to run are limited. And if you run, with the resources of the famiglia, you know you would be found quickly and your punishment would be painful, if not deadly.

But with Elvis, you’d be cared for—you’d have money, you’d be travelling, and you assume that with his fame, Elvis has a wealth of protection at his disposal. As long as you are close to him, and with the relationship being so public, you realize Elvis might be the only one who can protect you from Gianni and your father.

They wouldn’t dare do something to me if I’m Elvis Presley’s girlfriend. They won’t be able to touch me.

You choose not to think too much on how you still would be giving up some of your freedom. How you will still be tied to and at the mercy of a man. You don’t think about how long you might need to keep up this act and what might happen if you decide to leave. No, all you know is that as much as Elvis might annoy you, he seems like a decent man. He does not seem the type to hurt you, and you’ll be his employee, not his true girlfriend, anyway. You will still be nursing and earning money while doing so.

I can figure out the rest later.

“Perhaps it is asking too much. I know not every woman would be up for the task—”

“I’ll do it,” you interrupt Colonel Parker.

His eyes widen with surprise, which you get the impression is hard to do with this man. “You will?”

“As long as Elvis approves and that we have a contract with established rules and such. I think I’m safe in assuming I won’t be required to, well, beyond playing it up in front of others I won’t be required to…to do anything untoward,” you say, not being able to keep yourself from blushing at the implication.

“Of course not, of course not, my dear!” Colonel Parker hurries to say once he picks up on your meaning. “It’ll all be on the up and up and respectable. We would never ask you to compromise yourself like that.”

You nod, trying to still your shaking hands. You don’t trust Colonel Parker as a person, but if there is a legal contract, he can’t force you to do anything you don’t agree to.

“Then I will do it. When do I start?” You hope it’s as soon as possible. Frankly, you’d leave this hospital with the lot of them right now if it meant you didn’t have to go back to that house again.

The smile that spreads across his face unnerves you but does not scare you. Not like the other men in your life.

“Excellent, my dear. I will get that contract set up for you immediately, while Dr. Paulson apprises you of your medical duties. You’ll begin as soon as you sign on the dotted line,” he says. “Then we will get you in with Elvis. You both will have a lot to talk about, I am sure.”

You gulp and your heart flips in your chest. Part of you fears all the things you don’t know about what you are walking into: about Elvis, his lifestyle, and what you will have to do to convince the world you are Elvis Presley’s girlfriend. But it will all be worth it if you can get away from marrying Gianni or staying with your father.

Mother Mary, they will be furious.

But by then you’ll be long gone, safely tucked away by Elvis’ side.

And, strangely, that gives you more comfort than you could have ever hoped for.

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