#love story but some of it i *don't* want to feel very pointed or political or idk the word but like lady is just going to be casually

[sassysnowperson]

How Not to Read Terry Pratchett's Discworld Novels

With the very exciting fantasy books poll bracket going on Discworld and how to read it is in the zeitgeist again. I figured I would take a crack at adding to this important topic with a guide drawn from my own chaotic mess of a reading journey:

Learn that Terry Pratchett is a fantasy author that several people whose reading taste you admire enjoy. He apparently blends comedy, good plotting, and a world that is both grounded and satirical and you're a big fan of all those things.

Fabulous! Decide to read some of his work.

Go to your local library. Love a good library. You're new to the area, so you're also exploring the library for the first time, too.

You have found Terry Pratchett! Points to you! Pull a book off the shelf at random. It's called The Dark Side of the Sun.

Start reading. Realize that this feels more like sci-fi than fantasy. Sigh in smug superiority about people who get the two confused.

Realize about halfway through that this is not, in fact, a Discworld book.

Nobody warned you the guy wrote other things!

It's still good, tho. Maybe a little rough but this was an older book and the author clearly has potential. Let's try again.

Review his works. The vast majority are Discworld. You are highly unlikely to grab another non-Discworld book. Go back to the Terry Pratchett section of the library.

Oh hey he wrote a book with Neil Gaiman! You've hears of that guy!

Grab Good Omens off the shelf.

Take it home, realize, much sooner, that this is also not a Discworld book. Still enjoy yourself thoroughly. You should read more of this Gaiman dude, too.

But okay. For real this time. Go back to the library and don't leave without *CONFIRMING* you have a Discworld book this time.

Grab a book. Look at the cover. Read the back Discworld! Ha HA! You've done it!

It's called Thud.

You are utterly gripped by a story of a man wrestling with himself, his growing child, the political tensions of a city and extremism that echoes reality beautifully while still being entirely true to itself. It's a story of responsibility and love and building communities and Fantasy Chess. You are driven nearly to tears by the sentence *WHERE IS MY COW?*

You emerge from the book fundamentally changed as a person, and finally understanding what all the fuss is about. You are now a Terry Pratchett reader for life.

You realize Thud was in the middle of a series. That was a part of another series. That explains why there was a feeling that you were supposed to know some of these people already.

You finally find one of those flowcharts and figure out a more sensible reading order.

I always sort of laugh when people ask where to start reading Discworld, because Thud would be first on absolutely nobody's sensible Terry Pratchett reading order. I'm still tempted to recommend it though!

(My actual advice: Going Postal if you love con men being stuck doing the right thing, Wee Free Men if you like YA and smart angry girls owning their own power, Guards! Guards! *and* Men at Arms if you like crime shows with heart and are okay giving earlier work a try (the quality gets better and better, but I think it needs at least two books to get you into it), and Monstrous Regiment if you like gender and queer feelings, anti-war books told in the middle of a war, and/or would prefer a stand alone novel...and, you know, Thud if you want a great read and don't mind some chaos.)

#terry Pratchett #discworld #the worst reading order #gnu terry Pratchett

[steviewashere]

Kiss and Tell

(Can be found on ao3)

Steddie WC: 2,279 Tags: Post Season 4, Steve Harrington Has Auditory Processing Disorder, Eddie Munson Loves to Talk, Minor Angst, Mostly Fluff, Queer Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Has a Bisexual Awakening, But He Already Knows (Sort of), First Kiss, Lots of Kissing

Based on this post that I made. Happy reading! <3

-------- Steve has a staring problem. He knows this. He's been told this. And it's not something he can help or fix or find an alternative for. This is just what he knows.

It's something he's tried to maintain since he was a little boy. And, on that same note, is something he picked up while being a boy in a room with two adults who were fast talkers and big negotiators and all-in on the nature of their careers. But his parents certainly hate that he has a staring problem. Which, that's not unusual, most people hate that he does. Because he doesn't look them in the eyes for more than thirty seconds at a time. And even if he does, he doesn't hear a single thing they said, politely asking they start over, and feeling hurt when they just scoff as loud as possible and walk away from the conversation all together.

The audio just doesn't process. Never has. Probably never will.

He listens to music, but doesn't understand any meaning. He talks over the phone, but must have all other sound blocked out and the curtains shut and his eyes closed to imagine what the words look like leaving the other person's mouth. He argues, but loses track of the original point of the argument—when he laughs instead of apologizes.

And it would be fine—if—he wasn't close to losing his life every year. Where he has to listen to everybody and the important tiny details and the plans and the reasons for what they're doing. Which leads him to danger. Which gives him a bruised face. Which makes the listening even harder, once the concussion leaves and he's just got the leftover damage of his quirkiness.

It would be fine—if—he wasn't made to feel so stupid for what he must do. The jabs and the constant reminders and the...yeah, his sob story.

But there was Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins, who he could keep up with. Because they'd talk about the same things over and over, until he could practically relay all the information, pulled straight from the deep crevices of his brain, and it ends up that they had forgotten, rather than him.

And there was Nancy Wheeler, who was polite enough to repeat things. Who had flash cards and a soft, focusing voice. It was easy to write off looking at her lips. "Eyes up here, Steve," she'd say. "Sorry," he'd respond sheepishly, "getting lost." And he'd chuckle and she'd giggle and then they'd kiss a little and he wouldn't be reminded that he's just a little weird. That, maybe, he just isn't normal.

Robin Buckley makes things easy-ish. She talks fast. And a lot. And she never looks him in the eyes, unless she's asking for a very serious favor, or he has something on his face, or she just feels the need (she claims it's that she hasn't looked in a while, but he shrugs her off every time). (If he can get away with staring at her lips, then she can get away with never looking him in the eyes.) He's mentioned, though, that he has a hard time following her sometimes. That he needs the words repeated a few times. Explained the lip thing, with a tense voice and a quake in his chest and his fingers tapping at the sides of his thighs. And, for a brief moment, he had felt like a creep. Like one of those weirdos that preys on the idea of women kissing. And he wanted to open up Family Video's register, shove his head inside, and sort himself out into the container of fives. But she shrugged, said "Okay," and went back on some ramble, to which he was immediately drawn to her mouth. And saw her repeat the name, Vickie, at least twenty times. He grinned and then when the store was empty, he leaned across the counter and teasingly said, "You have a big fat crush on Vickie, don't you?" To say that he was proud of her sputtering is an understatement.

Now, Dustin and the others were harder to get through. Because they moved at their own pace. And they don't really stop to add him to the conversation. He gets it, to an extent. He knows that he's not really all that intrigued in what they enjoy. (Even if he really leans into the conversation when they mention Sherlock Holmes or Dracula or Star Wars or, even, Star Trek. And he pretends to not be interested in their science fair projects. Or the one time he caught them huddled around a Sports Illustrated, in which he fought the urge to chat their ears off about both baseball and basketball statistics.) But there's a point in the conversations where he's made to feel a little dumb; even if he was staring where they were speaking, but they always grow frustrated, a huff of air released, when they notice he's not "paying attention" (translation: looking them in the eyes. "Because, Steve, it's just talking etiquette!" Dustin had shouted once).

He loves all of them anyway. Even if he misses words. And he loses track of what they were saying. He just wishes they were a little bit more forgivable about it at the end of the day.

Then, Eddie Munson is walking along side him in an alternate universe. He's peeled the vest off his back and chucked it at Steve. And they're talking. Jealous of one another, but talking. But, Eddie's voice goes soft and quiet, his eyes pointing towards Nancy's back.

Steve is looking at Nancy, words fading into the background. And it's not a moment of realization. Or a moment of longing. Yearning, what say you. No—it's one of his moments in which he's "listening," but not processing. So he looks back. And for a mere second, Eddie's eyes are big where Steve stares. Big and wet and curious. Big and wet and persuasive. Big and wet and not at all his lips and Steve is still not listening.

But his lips. Well, Steve's seen lips. These are pretty. They're pink. Chapped and bitten and plush appearing. Mesmerizing. Stretching over Eddie's sharp teeth, exposing dimples and smile lines, making his recent stubble more noticeable than it's ever been before. But his lips are pretty.

Like girls lips, Steve muses. Not really taking in what that means. Because Eddie's saying something about true love. And—shit—okay. Steve can get behind an act of true love. He can get behind sharing denim and coating Eddie's clothes in blood and staring down his lips and—god, his eyes, Steve can't help but notice once more.

Eddie's like a vulnerable cow. With pretty lips, he has to point out. Or a baby deer. With such pretty lips. And he's talking and Steve's finally listening. But it's not just processing. No, Steve's intrigued, interested even. He tilts his head like a curious puppy. Leaning in. Eddie's breath ghosts the tip of his nose. And, sure, it's a little rank. But weirdly sweet. Warm where Steve is otherwise cold. Warm in places Steve's never considered to feel warm in, but he's willing to give in, to wrap up in whatever Eddie has to say. If it all means more of him.

So, it makes sense that after all that they go through, Steve finds himself in Eddie's orbit. As a friend. As a trauma bond. As everything Eddie needs him to be.

He sits on the Munson's couch. On the cushion that dips a little too low. The lights orange and dim and casting beautiful streaks of almost candle light on Eddie's soft, beautiful features. Highlighting where his nose is the most bulbous. His pronounced Cupid's bow. The outer edges of his irises, golden and honey against the off-white of his scleras.

Eddie talks like Robin does. Excited. A lot. Fast. But his voice is soft, focused on the information—like Nancy's. It's teasing, like Dustin's. Soft, though. So gentle. Murmured. Which makes sense, if Steve were to stop and think about it for just a moment. With how late it is. With the little amount of weed they smoked. And it all just fits, with how slow and careful Eddie's lips move. As if testing the words. As if searching for what he means.

But, god, Steve is following along. Of course he is. Hanging onto each one of Eddie's words.

"So, the cashier at the record store got all apprehensive about selling me this tape. Which, I guess makes sense because it's a special edition. Comes with a photo card or whatever, but like—Come on, y'know? If he wanted it so bad, he should'a bought it the moment it dropped. Not my fault he slacks on not just his job, but also his opportunities," Eddie rambles. And, that's right, he's complaining about the music store encounter he had today. Trying to buy some album for some band. Steve got lost part of the way through, so he's not sure who exactly Eddie was getting a tape for. The style of music. But he has most of the information. He just—

Has to squint harder.

So, Steve leans in. As casual as he possibly can. And narrows his eyes at Eddie's lips. The word pretty comes to mind again. Because of course it does. And he can't pull his eyes away, no matter how hard he tries. For some reason, the tips of his fingers tingle a little. Wanting to reach out. Trace his lower lip, right where it sticks out, just above the divot of his chin. Would it be soft, he asks himself. Does he wear chapstick? Steve sighs softly. I wish I could...taste it. His eyes widen, just the tiniest bit. But he ignores that in favor of whatever Eddie is saying. If only he could make it out. He leans impossibly closer.

And there it is again. The soft puffs of warm air. On the tip of his nose. His own lips. Tickling his stubble. Eddie's breath smells like weed and strawberry Tab; a little bit of Kraft macaroni and cheese. Maybe the smallest trace of pepper—

"Uh, Steve?" Eddie nervously calls out. But gets no response. Steve is only a couple inches away from his face. Eyes hooded. Glassy. Zeroed in on Eddie's lips. He's not talking. Doesn't even give a hum. Just...keeps staring.

Eddie sucks in a breath. Eyes darting over Steve's face. He doesn't talk again, hoping maybe Steve will stop. But, nope. In fact, the only thing Eddie gets as acknowledgement for the fact he's stopped talking, is that Steve pouts. Upset. As if his lips no longer moving is some great catastrophe to Steve, some tragedy, some misfortune.

And, Eddie, the awful wreck that he is, can only assume that this means one thing.

Steve wants a kiss. And is, maybe, too chicken shit to close the gap.

So, with no other option. And definitely not wanting to get away from the heated, stirring, calm mask of Steve's face—Eddie presses his mouth against Steve's. Hesitantly smushing their lips together. Dragging his lower lip against Steve's soft scowling one.

And he pulls away. Because Steve isn't doing anything in response.

No, in fact, Steve is extremely expressive now.

Wide eyes. Mouth opened into a silent "Oh." His cheeks are flushed. And as quick as it came upon him, whatever realization that was, fades. Like a cartoon character, Steve's face melts into one of pure infatuation. Mouth lilting. His posture slouching. Eyes going soft against the extreme red of his face.

"Do that again," Steve whispers.

Eddie obliges. And he obliges. And he keeps obliging until they're under a cool top sheet, skin slick with sweat and eyes piercing one another's mouths.

That's when, in the silent air of Eddie's tiny bedroom, Steve admits the greatest thing in the world. "I don't really process when people are talking unless I'm looking at their mouth. I have to read their lips. I didn't—I wasn't trying to kiss you at first, but—" And the motherfucker giggles. "If that's all it took..." Then he's kissing Eddie again. Like it's the last thing he'll ever get to do. And Eddie thinks, If I die from running out of breath doing this, then I've done everything in my life correctly.

So, sure, Steve has a huge staring problem. And he doesn't really listen. And it's something he'll never fix, even if there's a way to.

But he finds that his technique—the thing he's crafted since he was a little boy—no longer works. At least, not on Eddie. Because suddenly, looking at his gorgeous pink lips makes Steve only able to think about one thing: Kissing. And he can't follow along unless he fulfills that want.

Eddie could be in the middle of a deep, all inclusive description of his recent trap in the campaign he's crafting. He could be singing. He could be complaining about some movie he rented. But that doesn't matter. Because he stops talking the moment Steve leans in and kisses him. Kisses like he needs it to live.

And though he rolls his eyes. Huffs a breath. Smirks and barrels on. There's that giddiness, that love pooling in Eddie' heart. Just knowing the effect he has on Steve. And the way he's affected, too, when Steve just whispers, "Sorry, I got lost again. Start over?"

He obliges. And he keeps obliging. And his lips are usually swollen by the time he's finally done rambling.

Steve stares. Eddie talks. And it's the combination of a lifetime.

--------

❤️

#stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fluff #first kiss #Steve Harrington has a bisexual awakening #Steve Harrington Has Auditory Processing Disorder

[me-loving-woso]

Beach days, new teammates and love confessions

After literally months I am back. This is part 2 of Bruises Apologises and Cookies? It’s 15 k and probably I’ll make also a part 3 cause I am now invested in the story. Let me know if I should go on.

The season ending was a very bittersweet moment for you. From one point of view, you really didn't want to leave your club when they had given you so much.

The fans loved you, your teammates had become family, and the stadium was a second home for you. But you knew that you had to move for your career to flourish and make you reach your full potential.

The last game you played was the final of the Coppa Italia against Juventus. Your captain gave you the armband to lead your team one last time, and you were trying to hold off the emotions welling up. You almost felt like you were betraying the team in a sense. Still, you knew it was only an impression, as everyone was spurring you to go to Barcelona. They only wanted what was best for you. 

You won 1-0 in that game, with your goal making the difference. Your teammates made you lift the cup and shed one or two tears. You gave a small farewell speech, and then, for the last time, you rounded your little stadium, where you'd play all of your matches with the team, and said goodbye to your teammates and the fans.

Your mind went on autopilot after that. You pushed away all of your sad feelings in the locker room and in the car to go back home. At home, there you broke down. It was really over. The team, the club that had given you so much, was not your team anymore. And a new adventure was about to start. 

-

The following day, you fled to Eindhoven with some of your friends from the National Team to see the Champions League final. You had promised Mapi that you would be there and also because you were there to meet the coach of Barcelona to finalize the contract with the club.

As soon as you land in Eindhoven, you text Alexia, telling her you have just landed. Your relationship with her had been highly confusing since she welcomed you into her home after the defeat against your team. Something between the two of you had shifted.

She took care of you and made you feel safe in her arms. It had been a long time since you felt like being with her was just casual, on your part at least. Maybe she was just being polite and not actually caring more than necessary. Yet, you would text or call almost daily to talk about your days or just football. She was the first person you told about your move to Barça and she couldn't have been more supportive. 

As you texted her at the airport, she told you that you wouldn't see each other before the game because she was stuck in media duties. Still, she informed your friend and soon-to-be teammate that you had landed, so at least you would get to see Mapi.

As soon as you left your suitcase in the hotel, you got to the bar where you told her you would meet her.

"Soo, what are you doing in the summer?" You ask her while you are both eating some way too unhealthy burgers.

"Ingrid and I thought about going to Ibiza for a week; why?"

"Would you like to come to Italy for a few days?" You offer her, every year, you booked this tiny house for the whole summer in Praiano, near an abandoned beach. You thought it was a total steal for how much you had paid for it. You usually would go there with friends or family for a few weeks. It was really your favorite place to be.

"I would love to come, but I don't want you to third-wheel us." You chuckle. 

"What makes you say I'm not inviting anyone else?" You smirked suggestively, making her understand what you were insinuating.

"So you finally made it official?" You had asked Alexia to join you for the holidays the last time you saw her when she told you that she had never actually been to Italy if not for a match, you said it was unacceptable, so you offered yourself as a tour guide.

A week or so later, you realize that spending more than a day together would be a bad idea for fear of spilling out your deep, confused, and embarrassing feelings for her. So you decided to invite Mapi along.

"Again. We. Are. Not. Dating." You repeat to her for the millionth time, frankly also trying to convince yourself.

"So you are not going on holiday with her."

"Yes, I am. As friends." You explain, trying to find the right words.

"Only friends?"

"Well, with also some other benefits." Her face turns into a disgusted look. "What?"

"You are talking about my captain, it's weird." Frankly, she will be your skipper too, which meant that you were banging your boss? That was a thought for the future you.

"I really hope you would like to join us if you have nothing better to do." You really hoped she would say yes because you had planned to tell her you were joining Barcelona there.

"I'll talk to Ingrid about it, but you know I can't say no to Italy."

As you return to the hotel, you have a drink with your friends, and then you excuse yourself to go to bed when you hear your phone buzz.

Your Favourite Kickboxer ;)

'You up?'

'Yes, Why are you not asleep? It's late, and tomorrow you have a big game.' You reply.

'Just the nerves are getting to me. Last year with Lyon, we got demolished; I don't want it to happen again. It was difficult to keep the team united after such a loss, and I don't want to disappoint the fans.'

'Can I call you?' She sends another text.

You quickly start a video call, and she immediately picks up.

"Hey, cariño."

"Hey, Ale." You both smile dumbly at each other for a couple of seconds, but then you get interrupted by one of her yawns.

"You need some sleep, piccola, or you will be tired tomorrow. And as for the Lyon thing, you cannot predict the score tomorrow; you just can control how you play and try your best to motivate your team to be the best version of themselves. Lead them to glory, and give it your all. You won't have any regrets if you give everything on the pitch." You try to make her feel better, even though you know she will be stuck in her head all night.

"I'll try my best."

"And the least you could do, after ditching me tonight, is to score a goal for me tomorrow. It's the least." You tease her, making her smile.

"Asking for a goal in a Champions final? You know you are a very hard girl to satisfy, right?" She chuckles, making you feel relieved that you were able to make her feel a little better.

"You would be the expert on that, right?" You smirk suggestively, making her raise an eyebrow.

"Oh, I definitely am." She replies confidently.

"Go to sleep, piccola mia; tomorrow is a big day for you."

"Goodnight, cariño."

"Buonanotte, Ale."

-

The morning after you woke up, you quickly texted Alexia for good luck. 

As soon as you got to the stadium, the tension was palpable, especially when in the first half Barcelona was down 2-0. You were getting extremely nervous and anxious. Your teammates, who were watching the game with you, noticed that. You were biting your nails to the skin. You didn't want them to lose, but if a team could turn around a 2-0, it was going to Barça, or at least you hoped so.

As soon as you saw the players come on the pitch for the second half, they all held an expression you couldn't understand. A mix of determination and hunger, especially Alexia.

The second half started, and not two minutes after, your woman bagged the first goal of the remontada. She ran to her fans, looking at you, making your initial with her hands, making all of your organs flip, fully blushing at the gesture. You really thought that she didn't take seriously what you said the day before. 

As soon as she made that gesture, your now ex-teammates, watching the game with you, noticed what had happened and put the dots together.

"It's her, isn't she?" Linari asks you, wearing a shocked expression.

"What?"

"The girl from Barça that you are seeing. It's Alexia Putellas?" You chuckle, turning around to see the game, making her understand she was right. You weren't denying it anymore.

Not even two minutes later, Alexia scores a header, making the score a draw. She ran up to the side of the field, making your initials again and then celebrating with a little bow.

Barcelona was finally on track, and you could see that the intensity was getting much higher than it was before. Alexia played some of her best football in that second half. The game found an advantage with Rölfo when she scored the match's final goal and game-winner.

You saw her lift the trophy, making your heart grow a thousand times bigger on how much you were proud of her.

Then Mapi came to you, and you hugged her, congratulating her. You mingled in the stadium for a little while and finally left to the parking lot. You wanted to see Alexia but knew she needed to focus on celebrating and her teammates. You could text her later when she had the time to reply.

.

Your Favourite Kickboxer ;)

'Meet me in the hallway at the stadium?'

You quickly excuse yourself from your friends and sneak inside the stadium again. As you were walking down the hallways to find her, you felt two hands sneak up on you, making you turn around.

She quickly picked you up from the air, giving you a bone-crushing hug.

"I'm so proud of you, Ale!" You say, nearly tearing up.

She puts you down, turns her head to look at her surroundings, and then kisses you quickly, catching you completely off guard. "I have to return to Barcelona now, but I couldn't leave without seeing you." She says excitedly, you had never seen her this happy.

"You did it! You scored two goals. You are champions once again! I'm so fucking proud of you, Ale!" 

"Did you see! I did your initials. Two goals for you, cariño! I probably wouldn't have won the trophy if it wasn't for you." She places her hands on your cheeks, smiling.

"I didn't do anything. It's all on you. I just gave you a little reassurance."

"You don't give yourself enough credit. I have to go now! I have a trophy to bring back to Barcelona. I'll see you in two weeks, cariño." She gives you a quick peck on the lips and then leaves for the dressing room.

The next day, your Instagram was swarmed by pictures of her celebration and a video of the team that was clearly hungover Alexia included, which made you chuckle.

-

That day, you were leaving for Praiano with some of your closest friends from the Roma team. You had invited them to spend the last days in Italy with you before you moved to Barcelona.

The club announced your signing in the middle of the transfer season so as not to overshadow your signing for the Champion's League win; you thought it was totally unnecessary, but LaPorta wanted to give you a 'proper welcome.'

The day of your announcement coincided with the day Mapi would arrive in Italy. You really wanted to be the one telling her that you would be joining her team, so you talked to Ingrid, begging her to not make your friend open her phone for that day. They would stay with you for five days before leaving for Norway. In contrast, Alexia would remain with you for the whole week, which was something that you were looking forward to some alone time with her. Still, you were also nervous about being alone with her in fear of blurting out your surely unrequited feelings for her.

As soon as her flight landed, you went to pick her up, 

She was wearing some Barça shorts and a baggy t-shirt, wearing a messy bun, and walking towards you. As soon as she was close enough, you ran up to her and hugged her, which she soon reciprocated, picking you up from the air.

"Hey, cariño."

"Hi, champion." She put you down, buried her head in the crook of your neck, and placed a small kiss there.

Then you took her suitcase, grabbed her hand and led her outside the airport. As soon as you get into the car, she takes your hand again and never returns it for the rest of the trip.

"How was the flight?" 

"It was good, though nobody speaks Spanish here; they just add the S to the end of every word in Italian. It's so annoying." She pouts cutely.

"Welcome to Italy."

"So, is Mapi already here?"

"No, they are coming tomorrow morning; they had an issue with the plane tickets."

"So we are alone tonight?" She grins suggestively while you quickly nod at her before focusing back on the road. "So, what are the plans for tonight?"

"It depends on how tired you are." She had just had a whole week celebrating with her teammates, and you could understand if she wanted a relaxed night in. You turn around to see her expression, a mix between a smirk and a suggestive glare. "Oh my god, woman! I didn't mean it like that! I'm more than just a body." You remark jokingly as if you weren't thinking about the same thing as her. 

"I know. I love your body." She kisses the back of your hand. "Just as much as I love what it's inside here." She lightly taps your temple, making you slightly blush at her compliment. "SO, what are the plans for tonight?"

"If you are up to it, I wanted to take you out to dinner; since you say that Spanish food is better than Italian, I want to prove you wrong. And if you still have some energy, we can go for a walk later; I can show you around the city."

"I'm good for anything you want to."

-

As soon as you get to the house, Alexia's eyes widen.

"Oh wow, this is beautiful." She opens her mouth in wonder. 

"Wait until you see the beach!"

You stop the car and take her suitcase inside the house while she is toeing behind you. You take her outside to see the small private beach.

"How did you find this place?" She marvels, still looking at the clear water in front of her.

"We used to come here when I was little; I've actually started saving up money to buy this place. The owner loves me and has no kids, so he is okay with me buying it."

 She turns to you, taking you by your sides. "Thank you for bringing me here."

"No problem."

"Now, can you show me the room? I would like to change clothes."

You grab her hand and take her inside the tiny house. "I'm sorry it's a little messy." You still had some bottles of wine opened and some glasses on the table from the previous night. "My friends left this morning, and I still didn't have time to clean up."

"If that is messy for you, you don't want to come to my house during the holiday season." She lightly jokes.

You take her to one of the spare rooms, where she places her suitcase on top of the bed, and then she quickly looks at her surroundings, confused.

"Is this your room? Because I don't see your stuff in here."

"No, my room is over there." You point at the end of the hallway. 

"Just take me to your room; we are going to sleep on the same bed anyway." She says as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, I thought that you might want your own space."

"You have to stop being so accommodating. If I wanted my space, I would've stayed at home. I came here because I wanted to be with you. So stop being so cautious around me and take me to your room." She says, using her commanding voice that she only used on certain occasions, which she knew had an effect on you. 

You take her to your room, which is the best room in the house. It was the biggest and had a great sea view outside the window.

You leave to make her change while you go in the living room.

-

She wore shorts, her bikini, and an open button-down shirt when she returned. You chuckled when you looked at her; she was really feeling the beach mood. 

"Let's go outside!" She says excitedly.

"Wait, I still have to finish cleaning up, and then I have to go upstairs and finish some other stuff. I'll be there in a couple of minutes." You tell her you really wanted everything to be perfect for this week. 

"Nope." 

"What, sorry?"

"You are on holiday, so stop trying to make everything perfect; it's already perfect as it is, and come outside with me." She insists, making you giggle at her stubbornness.

"But-"

"No buts. You deserve to relax just as much as I do." She quickly approaches you, grabs you by the waist, and drags you outside.

"Alexia!" 

She puts you down on your small patio when you get outside. She places your hands on your cheeks. "Now, let me do something I've wanted to do for two weeks. Can I kiss you?" 

"You really don't have to ask anymore." You reply, standing up on your tippy toes to kiss her. It was slow and soft, and you could feel her smile through the kiss. She picks you up, and you can feel her begin moving. You needed to find out where she was going and why. But you were too caught up in her to understand what was happening. Then you hear some splashes and the sound of the waves. You break the kiss and look around: she brought you into the water, and she was wearing a mischievous smirk. 

"Alexia, don't you dare!" You warn her. She was trying to throw you into the water. She responds to you by chuckling and releasing her grip from your body, making you wrap your legs even tighter to not fall down to the water. "Alexia, come on, I still have clothes on." You tried to convince her, but she looked like she didn't care. So she began tickling you on your sides, which she knew was your ticklish spot. You tried to squirm from her touch, but you lost balance and fell in the water while the woman beside you, still standing, started laughing. 

“Tua madre in carriola!” You exclaim, slightly irritated that you had all your clothes drenched in water, but you couldn't fully care when there she was. You have never seen her as carefree and happy as now. You felt blessed that she was here, right now, with you, being like this, trying to make you finally relax and enjoy some vacation when it was nearly impossible, as you'd always stress about something. 

"You know that I didn't understand anything you said, right? Only something about my mom." She chuckles. You quickly go underwater and grab her legs, making her fall into the water.

"Tu puta madre!"

"See! At least I didn't call your mom a bitch." You tease her while she fixes her wet hair. "And this is payback!" You finish, crossing your arms and wearing a proud smirk. You see her expression change from irritation to determination while swimming towards you. She picked you up and threw you with her in the water, and that is how you spent your afternoon. Stolen kisses, laughs, and a whole lot of competitiveness. Honestly, you couldn't ask for more. 

After the both of you had calmed down after laughing and playfully fighting in the water, you swam to her. You made her wrap her legs around your waist while she was stabling herself, putting your hands on your shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, you always pick me up from the ground; we can switch roles occasionally." You tell her, lightly rubbing her thighs; you really missed having her close to you.

She replies by giving you a soft kiss, then begins to look at you, smiling.

"What?" You ask her, feeling yourself combust at the intense eye contact.

"I just really missed your face, cariño." She says, peppering feathery kisses all over your face. 

How dare she say stuff like that when you try your best to keep inside your confusing and strong feelings for her. 

"I missed you too, piccola." You blurt out, kissing her jaw, holding her a little tighter. You really didn't want to let her go. You had created this little bubble in which the both of you were enjoying each other's presence, not caring about what you were to each other, but just having fun with no constraints and being in each other's company. 

"I think we should get inside." And the bubble popped.

You get inside the house with your clothes soaked and take turns to shower. It had been more than six months since the last time you were able to touch her, and you felt your body yearn for her. Yes, you had kissed, but nothing more than that.

- 

You took her out to dinner in a small place near the city.

You really needed help to differentiate this dinner from a date. It had everything that a date would entail. Good food, subtle and not-so-subtle flirting, and great banter. The subtle touches under the table or the shared knowing glance made your heart skip a beat. This dinner felt like a date, but you knew it wasn't. And that made you feel a sort of uncomfortableness that wasn't easy to set aside to fully enjoy your night with her.

As soon as you finished eating, you took her for a walk around the city, and you would tell her anecdotes of what you did in those places you were walking by when you were a child. 

You arrive at a park, and you both sit down on the swings. 

"You know, this is actually where I had my first kiss." She turns to look at you, wearing a curious grin.

"Here? In this park?" 

"Yeah. It was here. Actually, on this swing."

"Now you have to explain." She asks you curiously.

"Well, I was thirteen. We were a group of five kids, and we would come here every afternoon to have fun and play with the ball. I remember this boy always looking at me, and one day, we were alone at the park. I was on the swing; he made me close my eyes, gave me a flower, and kissed me."

"Oh my god, it's so cute!"

"No, it wasn't. It was very weird. But I think it was just me who didn't want to be handed a rose by a boy, much rather a girl. But that would be a problem for a future 14-year-old me. In hindsight, I think that it should have been the first clue of me liking girls." You chuckle, reminiscing about that young boy who made you realize that kissing boys was disgusting.

"Turn around." You see her standing up with a determined grin.

"What?"

"Just indulge me. Turn around." You turn around, your body closing your eyes expectantly.

"Okay, you can look now." You turn to face her and see a daisy in her hand.

"Well, this might not be a rose. But it is a flower." She hands you the flower shyly, making you chuckle lightly at her cuteness. 

"And you are a girl and not a boy." You state.

"So, can I kiss you? I'll ask because I don't think that poor boy asked you."

"Nah, he didn't. But as I told you before, you no longer have to ask."

"Kissing you shouldn't be something you can take for granted." She replies, leaning into you and weighing the swing's chains.

After more than thirteen years, you recreate your first kiss. And this time, it feels right. It was as if you were meant to recreate it with someone who mattered, who would make you feel excited and nervous about how the little boy felt when he was kissing you. And you felt the same way with her, and every time you kissed her, 

As soon as she breaks off the quick kiss, you remark, "I think you are a better kisser than that poor boy."

"I mean, I'd hope. I'm 29. He was your age."

"Don't get too cocky now. You were slightly better." You tease her. Making her lean into you and give you a searing kiss so that you'd know for sure that if you weren't sat on that swing, probably your knees would give out. It had an intensity that seemed out of place for being in a children's park. But neither of you seemed to care. It was dawn, the playground was abandoned, and you missed kissing her.

And most certainly she was just getting competitive because you told her she was slightly better at kissing than a thirteen-year-old. She wanted to wipe away any doubt about her kissing skills.

She breaks the kiss by lightly biting your lower lip, making you feel all hazy.

"Just slightly better?" She smirks proudly.

You didn't hear a word she said, as you were too busy falling down from the high she had just given you to actually understand words spoken to you in a different language by one of the hottest women you have ever seen. "What did you say?"

"I'll take that as a no." She lightly chuckles, taking your hand and walking to the park exit.

"Let's go home." She whispers, placing a small kiss on your temple.

The walk back to your holiday home was on autopilot. She took the lead on the conversation, asking you questions about the week's plans with your other two friends. As soon as you get home, you go to your small kitchen to get a glass of water while she toes behind you. As soon as you finish drinking, she comes closer to you, putting her hands on your waist and making you retreat until you hit the kitchen counter.

"Thank you for tonight. I really had fun." She smiles earnestly.

"I'm glad that you like it here."

"Oh, I love it here. Even though I think that the people in this place have an average age of 72." She jokes

"Nah, 75. In fact, there is only one kid in the whole town. And the father is actually the boy of the kiss in the park."

"Well, at least he moved on."

"Yeah, it was very tough for him, but eventually, after a very long time, he found love again. But again, how could you ever move on from someone like me." You joke. 

"I don't know. Well, nearly after a year, I'm still here, so something right you must be doing." She teases you.

"Or maybe you just can't find better." You raise an eyebrow suggestively.

"I don't think there is better to find, honestly." Her gaze softens as she says those words, making you blush, hiding your face by placing your forehead on her chest, hiding from her. She pulls her hands away from your waist and puts them on your cheeks to try to move your head from her to see your face. "What?" She asks. 

"You have to stop saying things like that."

"Why? I mean it." She reassures you.

"I- You know why." You try to make her understand, not fully saying out loud feelings; try to make her understand them instead without fully exposing yourself.

"I'd rather you say it."

You take a deep breath. "Alexia, do you want to go on-" Your phone rings and you look from your watch to who is calling you "I have to take this."

You squirm away from her touch and leave to go outside. 

"Pronto, Emma. Tutto bene?" It was your best friend whom you hadn't seen in a year and a half. She never called without asking you beforehand, so you thought it was pretty important.

"Si, tutto bene. Ti devo dire una cosa.” She replies excitedly, making you release a sigh of relief that nothing bad had happened.

Ten minutes later, you come back to Alexia wearing one of your biggest smiles.

"Is everything okay?" She asks, still waiting for you in the same spot as you left her.

"More than okay!" You reply excitedly, walking quickly to her. "My best friend is getting married, and I'll be the maid of honor." You place your hands on her shoulders, then slowly move them to her neck, lightly playing with her hair. "Now, where were we?" You knew exactly how you left her; you were about to blurt out your feelings for her, but you decided to ignore the problem and not dwell on it too much. Instead, you kissed her. The kissing led to something else, and for the first time in more than six months, time froze, and you were back again in her arms.

-

The next morning, you wake up to the alarm with hair on your face and an arm holding you down. You had a headache and clearly were sleep-deprived. You open your phone and look at the time. It's 10 AM. 

"Fuck!" You sit up, making the woman on your side slowly wake up. "Alexia, wake up. We are late; we should've been in the car by now."

You say, rushing out of your bed to quickly change. You had promised Mapi that you would drive her to your house from the airport because you thought it would be a waste of money to book a taxi when you had a perfectly functioning car that could drive you anywhere.

In five minutes, you were able to dress, brush your teeth, and get in the car. Thankfully, you remembered to shower the night before, so you didn't have to do it in the morning; you felt bad for Alexia, as you could see that she wasn't used to this level of rushedness, that you were more than used to as you always tended to sleep in, and eventually have to rush to get in time to train or to games.

You closed the door to the house while Alexia was still halfway done putting her shirt on. As soon as the both of you got into the car and slammed the door, you looked at each other and started laughing.

"Okay, those were the quickest five minutes of my life." She says while catching her breath.

"We totally overslept, and we are totally going to be late." You chuckle, starting the engine of your car.

"We can always say that we found traffic." She offers.

You definitely and not-so-subtly speed to the airport and then quickly call your friend to tell her that you are finally at the airport.

"I'm really sorry. We found traffic on the way here." You tell Mapi while you go to hug her and Ingrid. As your friend goes to hug Alexia, you turn to Ingrid and whisper, "Did she already open her Instagram?" You were trying to hold off her discovering that you were a Barça player; you really wanted to tell her, and that day would be the day that Barcelona would announce your signing.

"No, she didn't, but I can't hold off her phone for long." She replies, breaking off the hug and going to Mapi's side and beginning to catch up on her life and yours. 

"Oh my God, I forgot to tell you! Emma is getting married!"

"No way! She's finally settled down?!" Everyone who knew the both of you always thought that you would be the first one to marry, as Emma has always been the hot mess between the two of you, afraid of commitment. "Is she marrying the same guy from college?" She asks you.

"Yep." You turn around to look at Alexia and Ingrid, and then you explain. "When I was in college when I met Kate, my ex, Emma met this guy who studied economics and finance at our same university. They got together way before Kate and I. He's so dumb. I love him so much. They are perfect for each other."

You turn again to face your tattooed friend, "Wait, is that a hickey?" Her face is adorned with a knowing smirk while pointing at your neck, making you subconsciously hide it with your hand.

"No, it's not! It's a bruise." You try to explain, mentally trying to remember to scold Alexia as soon as you got her alone.

"It's so not!" She chuckles, surprised, making you turn around to glance angrily at Alexia, who replies with an innocent smile. "Is that the reason why you were late?"

"No! We found traffic on the way here, as I told you before."

"Yes!" Alexia casually backs you up, making your other two friends understand it was a lie.

As soon as you get into the car, Mapi is about to take out her phone to put music on when you stop her, saying that only the passenger in the front, Alexia, could put the music on, which was a lie, but you really didn't want her to see her phone. 

-

As soon as you got home, the couple went to their room to unpack the suitcase while you and Alexia put on your bathing suit and went outside to the beach to sunbathe. You were reading some book, trying to focus on the words of the book rather than the woman who was lying half-naked on your right. Which was getting increasingly more difficult whenever she would move or place soft caresses on your back, trying to get your attention.

"Hey." You turn to look at her.

"Hey, cariño. I'm sorry for the hickey. I got a little carried away yesterday night." She apologizes shyly, making you forgive her in the blink of an eye.

"Don't worry about it." You come closer to her, placing a hand on her chest, and give her a small kiss. You brush your noses together and tell each other sweet nothings, creating a small bubble that neither of you wants to pop. "I know that I'm a person who doesn't express much of her feelings vocally, but I just wanted to say that I'm really glad that you are here with me."

"Honestly, there is no place I'd rather be, cariño. By your side is where I am the happiest."

You move your lips closer to her, about to kiss her, when you hear the door of the house open and see your friends coming outside. You make your forehead fall on her shoulder while you feel her sigh displeased. You slowly move away from her and sit up.

"I'm still not used to seeing this." Your friend says while pointing at the both of you, making her girlfriend roll her eyes at her.

You spend the morning in your small private beach playing card games and catching up with each other. 

-

In the afternoon, it was when the club would announce your signing, so you decided to tell her at that moment. You had brought your Barcelona shirt to be able to announce it away from Barcelona. You told the club that you wouldn't be able to fly to Barcelona for your signing because you had already booked your holidays, so you did all the photoshoots and signing beforehand.

The first hours of the afternoon had always been the hottest, so you all decided to come inside and plan together your four days ahead. 

You go to your room and retrieve the Barça shirt. Then you leave to go to your living room. "Oh, and by the way, I decided on my future club." You say casually, sitting down on the couch next to Alexia, facing Mapi.

"You are renewing with Roma, right?" She asks curiously. "I heard some rumors saying that they offered you a big contract."

"Yeah, they did offer me a huge contract. But I decided to leave; check your phone." You look at the time on your watch. "I think they just made the announcement." You tell her excitedly. 

She quickly checks her phone, then turns to look at you smiling. "You'll be a Barça player?" You slowly nod, taking out the shirt with your name on it and showing it to her.

"I wanted to be the one who told you; that's why Ingrid never let you use your phone today." You say while standing up to hug her.

"I'm so happy! We can finally win the Champions League together! Like we always dreamed about!" She says excitedly, looking at the shirt. "Have you already decided on the number? I know that yours has always been the 16."

"I don't care, honestly. I'm just glad to be a Barcelona player. Plus, Rölfo already has the 16. I don't want her to change numbers for me."

"It's already settled, cariñ- Y/n." Alexia interjects, making you turn to look at her. "I know how much the number means to you, and Frido already wanted to change the number to 18, so I asked her if she wanted to make the swap. If you want it, you'll have the 16."

"Ale, there was no need to do that!" You felt your heart explode with affection at the thought that she would do this for you without even asking her or talking about it.

"I know. But I wanted to." You lock eyes, and for a moment, it is as if you are the only one in the room. "Now, do you want me to take a picture of you for the announcement?"

You posted on your Instagram a picture of you and your friend holding your Barça announcement shirt, with the caption: 'Reunited with this one.'

The rest of the week passed in a blur, from boat trips to visiting nearby cities and loads of food; you finally felt at peace and ready for your new adventure in Barcelona.

-

You would stay one last week in Italy with your family to finish packing up, and then you would leave for Barcelona. You found a beautiful apartment near the training grounds, and it had everything you dreamed of. Huge kitchen, a small garden, and a great view of the city.

Everything felt perfect. Alexia was going to pick you up from the airport, you thought it was unnecessary and a waste if her time, but then you gave in, wanting to see more of the woman who had been on your mind ever since that week in Italy, maybe even from before.

As soon as you landed, you got the terrible news from your landlord that a pipe from your apartment had just exploded, which meant that for more than a week, you would be homeless.

As you walk sadly to the exit of the airport, you find Alexia smiling at you as soon as she sees you, but then, as soon as she sees your expression, her smile fades into an expression of worry. You go to hug her, circling your arms on her waist. "Are you okay, cariño?" She asks worriedly.

You bury your head in her shirt, feeling the warmth and comfort she is exuding and taking it all in.

"A pipe from my new apartment just exploded. I am homeless for a week, and I need to find a hotel not too far from the training grounds."

"We'll find a solution together. Now let's go to the car and go home." She takes one of your suitcases, puts her arm on your shoulder, and pulls you close to her, dragging you to her Cupra.

As you enter the car, you melt into the car seat, taking Alexia's hand and giving it a couple of kisses. She turned on the engine of the car and proceeded to leave the infinite parking area of the Barcelona airport. 

"If it's not a problem, you can always stay with me." She offered when you asked her if she knew any hotels near the training grounds. "Because I really don't think you'd want a week of Mapi and Ingrid together." She jokes, clearly making a point, because as much as you love both girls, they are disgustingly in love, and being around them made you feel miserable with your current situation with Alexia.

"Ale, I don't want to intrude. You need your space, and until I'm settled in, I'll take up a lot of it. And I don't want you to feel like you have to because you stayed in my home during the holidays," You say.

"I'm not offering because I feel some sort of obligation. I'm offering because I care about you, and I'd hate for you to be stuck in a hotel when you can simply stay at my place."

"Are you sure?" 

She chuckles at your stubbornness, "Yes, I'm sure, cariño. But I do have one condition that I cannot overrule." She becomes immediately serious, making you unconsciously sit up. "You have to bake me those darn cookies." Her condition makes you chuckle. "I want to bring them to my mamá."

"I'll bake you all the cookies you want, piccola mia." 

.

You get to her home, and as soon as she opens the door, you are met with a ball of fur asking for your attention, which you gladly give to her.

That evening, you baked your cookies together, fully knowing that the next day would be your first day of training, so it acted more as a stress relief rather than something you were doing for someone else. Which wasn't a problem for you, as it had always been your love language, acts of service, and cooking for other people. But strangely enough, you weren't feeling at all that anxious, and most certainly, even if you wouldn't admit it to yourself, it was Alexia's merit.

Her presence seemed to ground you and anchor you to the real world, not making you overthink or go in a spiral of intrusive and not good thoughts.

You loved how, even though she didn't know how to bake, she would try her best to do whatever you wanted her to do, making you grin at her concentrated looks whenever she didn't understand something. 

-

As you went to bed that night, you were cuddling up in Alexia's bed.

"So, are you excited about tomorrow?" She asks you.

"I am a little nervous, but yes, I'm very excited. I'm finally playing for my dream club, and honestly, I couldn't be asking for more. But I do have a question, though: Do you know how many people know about us on the team?"

"Mapi has been a good friend, but for now, only she and Ingrid know. But if you are asking me if I'll treat you differently than what I've been doing now, the answer is no. Of course, I'll not be kissing you because we are at work, but I'll never avoid you."

"You'll have plenty of time to kiss me on other occasions then." You give her a small peck on the lips and go back to your previous position, falling asleep in her arms, looking forward to the next day.

-

The next day, you have breakfast together and then leave for the training grounds. As soon as you get there, Alexia goes in for training, whereas you go and meet all the training staff and Jonatan Giraldez. You were nervous, as you always hated to meet new coaches.

"Hey, Mister."

"Hey, Y/n. I'm so glad to finally have you on my team. It has been two years now that you have been my number 6 choice. I hope we can work well together." He says, shaking your hand, making you blush lightly at the compliment. 

"I will do my best to be the best player I can be." You say.

"I'm sure you will. Now, before going to train and meet your future teammates, even though I know you already know some of them, you unfortunately have some media to attend to."

He accompanies you to a room full of interviewers from Barça TV and some other places, and the interviews begin.

"Hello, Y/n Y/ln. May I ask you some questions?" He asks politely, and you slightly nod.

"Welcome to Barcelona; what made you decide to leave your former club to join Barcelona?"

"Barça has always been my dream club, ever since I was a child. I remember that my uncle wanted me to become an Inter fan, whereas my other one wanted me to become a Milan fan, but as soon as I saw Barcelona play, I was completely taken by their style of play, and it was this club and Messi, that made me fall in love with the sport, so I will always be forever grateful to this club, for giving me this opportunity."

"Y/n, you have the impossible task of replacing one of the best CDMs in the world, Keira Walsh, who had just returned to her childhood club, Man City, with Lucy Bronze; how do you think you will fit that role?"

"Woah, huge question." You lightly joke, earning chuckles from the interviewer. "I think Walsh is one of the best CDMs in the world right now, if not the best. It's not going to be an easy task to 'replace' a player like her, if we can say that. But I'll give it my all to this team, and even if I won't be the best 6 in the world, I'll definitely be the best version of myself to play for this historic team. It's my dream."

"Who are you most excited to play with?"

"Of course, Mapi. We played together during our Atletico days, and I always thought that we worked very well together. But honestly, all of them, I'm really excited to play in midfield with Aitana Bonmati and Alexia Putellas and one of the most underrated players of all time, Patri Guijarro."

"How do you feel about playing with Alexia Putellas, given the circumstances of your previous encounters?" You furrow your eyebrows at the question.

"You mean, given that the last time we played against each other, she nearly broke my nose?" You say lightheartedly, making the people understand that you weren't holding any grudge against her.

The English interviewer quickly nods. "As I said in previous interviews, I think Alexia is a great player and a great person, both on and off the pitch. She will be my new skipper, and I couldn't ask for anyone better. In our previous encounters, I think we were just unfortunate, and when you play with a person who is physically bigger and stronger than you, injuries may happen. But I don't hold any type of grudge against her; in fact, we actually joked about the fact that if she weren't a football player, she could definitely be a kickboxer."

"And that is all for today; thank you, Y/n."

"Thank you all for being here and Visca el Barça."

-

You quickly exit the room and speed walk to the changing rooms to get ready for your first training with the team. As soon as you put on the shirt, you immediately touch the badge of your new team and automatically smile. You had finally made it, and you couldn't be happier.

You put on your cleats and go outside to talk to your coach. All the other girls were making rondos or juggling with the ball, making you feel a little bit like a fish out of the sea. For a slight moment, you were slightly regretting coming to Barcelona but you knew that it was just your mind playing tricks on you and that you deserved to be there just as much as the girls who were already training.

"So, coach, do you want me to run a few laps or do some drills with the ball?" You tell him, feeling ready to do anything, even running, jumping up and down from your standing position.

"Oh no." He chuckles. "I don't know if you do this in Italy, but here at Barcelona, for every new player, we do the guard of honor." 

"Oh no, we don't have to." You say shyly, not wanting to be at the center of attention.

"Oh yeah, it's tradition." He spurs you on, making you go with him on the pitch to your new teammates.

"Girls!" He screams, making all of them turn around. "As you already know, Y/n will be our new 16, so take care of her and make her feel at home!" He says, making you awkwardly wave at your teammates, embarrassed. Mapi walks excitedly to you and gives you a hug. 

"Is your coach always like this?" You ask her, still embarrassed.

"Yep, get used to it."

"I will never get used to wearing these colors," you say, putting your hand on your badge.

"You deserve it more than anyone." She leads you to your teammates, and one by one, you get introduced to them, even though you already knew most of them, never leaving your side, for which you were eternally grateful to her. You leave Alexia for last, and she gives you a quick hug and a reassuring look, which is what you need to finally ground yourself.

They all line up to give you the guard of honor, which you try to make them not do, but Mapi basically pushes you to run, feeling all the smacks on your back as you are running. The training was great after that. You managed to talk and get to know everyone, and everyone was so nice to you.

The intensity, though, was something that you had never experienced before. The Barça rhythms were definitely higher than the ones from Roma, but you weren't the one who would give up that easily, overworking your body, trying to prove yourself to the coach.

You were on a water break, trying to catch your breath, putting your hands on your knees, straightening your back. You feel a hand at the back of your neck lightly squeezing, asking for your attention. You immediately recognize her touch, even though you didn't see her. You turn around to look at her, and you are met with a worried look.

“Are you okay, cariñ- Y/n?“

"So good." You say breathlessly. "I just have to get used to this much running, that's all."

"Do you want me to talk to the coach?" 

"I don't need any special treatment, Alexia." You squirm away from her and jump on Mapi's back, interrupting her from some conversation she was having with Pina and Patri. You felt bad about leaving Alexia like that, so coldly, but then again, you always hated when people were concerned about your physical health or were just trying to help; it made you vulnerable, and you hated that. You immediately regretted how you talked to Alexia and decided that after practice, you would apologize to her.

When practice ended, you were exhausted but still very happy. Alexia was practicing free kicks as everyone left to change.

"Piccola mia, I'm really sorry about how I replied to you today." You say regretfully, placing your hand on her back, making her turn to you.

"I wasn't trying to give you any special treatment, Y/n." What happened to cariño? "I am your captain; if you feel bad or worn out, it's my responsibility to help you." She replies sadly, playing with the ball on her feet.

"I know. And I'm sorry. I just hate when people are worried about me. It makes me feel vulnerable. And I know you were just worried, so I'm really sorry."

"I know you are. Come here and give me a proper hug." She opens her arms for you, which you gladly take, and circle your arms around her waist, putting your head on her chest. Those types of hugs with her were your favorite hugs.

"Now, are you ready for the initiation?" 

You break off the hug and look at her, puzzled. "What initiation? Mapi never told me anything."

"Well, it's more like a team bonding get-together with karaoke."

"So I have to sing? Will you sing too?"

"I am not singing, but you are a newbie, so you have to." She explains as if she were stating the obvious.

"The hell I am not."

"The hell you are." She chuckles.

"I do love music, but I do not sing. When I am sober, at least."

"You kinda have to; it's a tradition. Everyone has done it. It's about shedding any fear of embarrassment."

"But Ale-"

"Nope, it's settled." You sigh at her words and then leave to go to the dressing room.

“Goodbye capitana.”

“Goodbye cariño.”

-

In the meantime, Mapi and Patri were watching your interaction with Ale from afar.

"I've never seen Alexia this… soft? It feels weird." Patri states to her friend.

"Who? Alexia and Y/n?" Mapi asks dumbly, trying not to give out any details. 

"I never specified Y/n." She raises an eyebrow. "Wait. Do you know something?" The midfielder's face turns into a wide smirk.

"I don't have anything to say to you that I should say." 

"So you have something for me that you shouldn't say?" She asks, flipping the situation.

"Stop using wordy sentences to make me confused."

"You didn't reply to my question. Are they dating? Wait, is she the girl we all thought a couple of months ago fucked her?"

"I don't know anything! If you are really that curious, go and ask her!" Your friend replies defensively, really trying not to spill any secrets.

At that moment, you walked through the door and saw your friend, "You didn't tell me I had to sing?! Oh hey, Patri." You turn around to your new teammates happily waving at her, and then you go back to point your finger angrily at your friend.

"Oh, come on! How bad it could be! You were in a band, after all." She says

"You were in a band?" Patri asks curiously.

"I had a really dark past.." You explain quickly and dramatically. "Plus, you know well I didn't sing!"

"Oh, come on. Don't be too dramatic. I'll get you a couple of drinks, then you'll sing something, and that's that."

.

That evening, you were exhausted from your training, so you decided to have a power nap in Alexia's house, which she gladly joined you in. After a couple of hours, you were ready to go and left for the pub, where you would meet the girls from the team.

As soon as you get there, you leave Alexia to go to Mapi and mingle with some of the Spanish girls in that group, Ona, Aitana, Pina, and Patri. While Alexia went to talk to the older girls and her friends from the national team. Some hours in the night passed, and you were really glad that you were getting along with everybody from the team.

At first, you were very shy with them, but thankfully, Mapi, and in some instances Alexia, helped you a little to open up and make your teammates able to get to know you. Some girls were drinking, but you decided not to, and many of them started off the karaoke, making you sometimes laugh at their stupidity, whereas in others, you would clap at them. 

You knew that your turn was coming when you saw Mapi run to another room and come out with a guitar in her hand, making you roll her eyes at her, completely understanding her intentions. You used to play the guitar when you were younger, and you actually were quite good at it. But you hadn't played in so long, and as the hype woman your best friend was and the fact that she loved embarrassing you, fully knowing you hated being the center of attention, she brought a guitar just for everybody to see and ask you about it.

She handed it to you, making you chuckle at her sarcastically, but she was wearing this proud smirk, which showed that she wasn't doing this just to make you uncomfortable and tease but also to show you off, which you thought was very unnecessary.

You open the guitar case, and you see a beautiful acoustic guitar.

"Where did you get this? Did you steal it?" You joke, admiring the guitar.

"The guy behind the bar recognized us and gave me the guitar."

"Do you play the guitar, Y/n?" Ona asks you curiously, making you turn your head around the table.

"Well, I used to play it; I haven't played in a very long time." You say while you pick it up and run the strings through your hands. You stopped playing the guitar when you left for Chelsea. Usually, music was your happy place, but when you moved out from Spain and broke up with Kate, your love for the instrument dissipated, and you wouldn't bring yourself to do something that you enjoyed so much.

"You should play something for us," Patri adds excitedly. 

"Oh no." You reply shyly, putting away the guitar. "I haven't played in so long, plus I don't think I remember much, and I really don't want to embarrass myself." You chuckle nervously, hoping that they will let it go. In the meantime, the guitar thing caught some attention, so now, not only was your table waiting for you to play something, but everyone in your group and some other clients in the pub were waiting for you to play something.

"Oh nonsense, you know that you have to perform; if you don't play the guitar, you'll have to sing. So you decide…" Mapi spurs you on. You take a deep breath and move your chair to the little stage where the people would normally sing karaoke. You quickly tune the guitar, and then you finally feel all the eyes on you.

"Okay, if I get some notes wrong, please don't laugh at me." You look at Alexia one last time, who is somehow sitting with Mapi now, and she gives you a reassuring smile.

So you begin playing one of your favorite songs on the guitar; every time you play it, it reminds you of when life was fun and simple. Whenever you played it, you would get lost in the music and daydream of what those sounds elicit. (If you want to hear it, it's 'Mutter' from Rob Scallon, the live version)

As soon as you start playing, your tattooed friends turn to Alexia.

"Good luck, my friend." She pats her back ironically.

"What, why?" Alexia whispers, still trying to give you her full undivided attention.

"If she still plays like she played years ago, she has this way of conveying many emotions. Either they are sad or happy; whenever she plays something, she amplifies it by a thousand. The song that she is about to play is going to hit you like a ton of bricks, believe me."

The song begins slowly, but then it gets faster and fuller. It made you regret to decide this piece after not playing in so long, but you loved it, and honestly, you really wanted to show off a little to your teammates and, most definitely, to Alexia. Thankfully, this worry of making mistakes was quickly forgotten when you began getting lost in the music. You really missed being able to play and express yourself in this way.

As soon as you finish the song with the last chord, you don't dare to look at your teammates; only when you hear the claps do you lightly blush and turn your gaze around the room, searching for those beautiful eyes that have the capacity to render you hopeless, but you couldn't see her, nor your friend for that matter.

-

Your performance was nearly finished, and Alexia never took her eyes off you; she thought that what Mapi said was right; your performance hit her like a ton of bricks, but more than anything, it brought out a huge realization that Alexia could quite withstand, so she left, to go to the bathroom, trying to get some space. Mapi quickly followed her friend, and as soon as they were inside the small room, the defender turned to pacing Alexia.

"Woahh, hey, calm down. What happened?" She asks the midfielder, placing her hands on her shoulders, trying to stop her from walking around the room.

She takes a deep breath, "Mapi, I have a problem. A huge one."

"Okay, tell me what it is; I know that we can find a solution to it." Her shorter friend reassures her, clearly shocked to see her captain in this state.

"I don't think we can. I just realized that I am in love with her." She says, putting her hands on her face.

"Who?" 

"Who? Mapi really? Lady Gaga. No Y/n, you idiot."

"Sorry, I just wanted to check. But why is it such a problem?"

"Because we decided not to have anything serious, and I really don't want to get rejected when I was the one that continuously pointed out that we weren't dating whenever someone asked."

"I think she feels the same. No. I know that she feels the same. Gosh, I spent five days with you two alone in a house; I can understand when two of my best friends are in love with each other. Eyes don't lie. And don't you dare tell that you haven't been already acting like a couple for at least 6 months now!"

"Do you really think that?"

"I know that. Just tell her how you feel. You won't lo-"

You open the door to the bathroom, searching for Alexia. She had been missing for a couple of minutes now, so you were a little worried that she might have been sick.

"Oh, here you are! I thought you left or you were sick!" You say happily when you finally find Alexia and Mapi, but then you notice something wrong with her, as if she was shaken up. "Wait, are you okay?" You asked, worried, coming closer to her.

"I'm okay, cariño." She reassures you, and then her expression changes into something happier and more proud. "I didn't know you were so good at playing the guitar!" 

"I was better a long time ago. I haven't played in years, but this woman here." You point at Mapi quickly, "Can't mind her own business."

"Thankfully, she didn't; I know for sure you wouldn't have told me that you are good at playing an instrument."

"I would have told you!" You cross your arms, pouting.

"No, you wouldn't." She shakes her head, smiling, while Mapi nods, backing her up. "You'd hate for anybody to know that you are good at something, just in fear of being at the center of the attention." She explains, making you blink twice. It felt as if you were an open book for her to read and understand you perfectly.

"Get out of my head." You remark shyly, earning from her a chuckle. "So you liked the song?" You ask shyly and insecurely.

She gently places her hands on your cheeks, gently caressing them to give you some reassurance. "I loved it; you are a wonderful guitar player, cariño."

"Thank you." You lightly blush. For a moment, you forget that Mapi is in the same room as the two of you because you place your finger on your lips to silently ask her to kiss you. Which she gladly does, feeling her smile against your lips

"I'm still here, you know!" Mapi interrupts you from your little moment, irritated. "Bleah, I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing this." You raise your middle finger at her, still kissing Alexia, fully starting to make out with her. You hear the door shut, making you temporarily pull away from her to look behind you, then resuming back to kissing her.

Five minutes later, you both decide to go back to your teammates, but as the night progresses, you feel yourself getting more and more tired, making all of your clinginess appear. You would orbit around Alexia more, trying to find some physical comfort in her presence, even though you really didn't want to show off your 'relationship' with her.

She noticed this almost immediately, so when you were passing by her, in a swift movement, she wraps her arms around your waist and dragged you to her lap; you stumble a little, trying to balance yourself, placing your arm on her shoulder, 

"Are you tired?" She whispers in your ear as if you were the only two people in the room.

"Yes, I am a little. How did you know?"

"I have already seen you tired many times, cariño. You are very touchy when you are tired." You subconsciously move away from her, but she keeps you in place firmly. "Don't move away; I love this side of you."

At first, your new teammates gave the both of you a surprised look, but nobody would dare to say anything besides Mapi, obviously, who sent you from across the room a knowing look, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. 

By the end of the night, you had played some more guitar as some of your teammates wanted to sing some more songs. But after a couple more hours, you were exhausted, and when Alexia noticed it, she decided to bring you home to sleep.

-

That morning, when you woke up, everything in your body ached somehow. You really had to get used to Barcelona's rhythms. The bed was empty, so you figured that Alexia was making breakfast, so you painfully make it to Alexia's kitchen wearing one of her big shirts and some shorts you found along the way to the kitchen, which were scattered the night before trying to get to the bedroom. She was making coffee the way you liked it, with the moka instead of using her Nespresso machine 'that she loves so much,' which made you smile at her attentiveness. As soon as you walk into her kitchen, she turns around and walks towards you, giving you a small kiss on the lips.

“Good morning, cariño. Did you sleep well?" She turns to her kitchen again, rummaging through the cabinet on top of her stove.

"I slept really well. What are you doing?" You ask her curiously, leaning on the kitchen countertop and peaking.

"So I found out that my mom had a moka in her kitchen all this time, and I didn't even notice it! So I asked her if I could borrow it since I know you prefer this coffee to the machine." She says while putting the coffee maker on the stove.

"Ale, you shouldn't have done that! I would've gladly drank whichever one you had; you didn't have to go through such trouble for me." You lightly slap her shoulder.

"I didn't go through any trouble. I just wanted to make you feel at home."

Before saying something that you most probably regret, aka replying with But you are my home. You dragged her to your height, kissed her to show all of your gratitude, and whispered a small thank you. When the coffee was ready, you both sat down on her small table and had breakfast.

You were talking about some media stuff you were going to do in the afternoon when you heard a knock on the door. Alexia looks at you confused, not expecting anybody, and she leaves with Nana in tow; as she opens the door, you hear Alexia talking to a woman who has a very similar voice to hers, and then you hear her scream, "No, Alba, no!" 

You see the woman enter the kitchen with Alexia chasing after her as if she didn't want her to meet you.

"Hello, my name is Alba. I'm Alexia's sister." You suddenly widen your eyes, shocked. She offers you her hand to shake, and you stand up.

"Hi, I'm Y/N." You shake her hand and offer her a shy smile, subconsciously searching for Alexia to help you out with this unexpected visit.

"I know who you are; my sister nearly broke your nose. By the way, I want to apologize on her behalf; she never had proper manners." 

"Alba!" Alexia screams, exasperated, while you release a light chuckle.

"Don't worry, she has already apologized. But yes, she has to work on her manners." You wink at Alexia, making her roll your eyes at you.

"Since when are you guys dating?" She asks curiously, earning another frustrated scream from Alexia.

"Oh no. We are not dating; she is just helping me out because a pipe exploded in my apartment." You reassure her while she stares at you confused, then lowers her gaze,

"So you give your clothes to all of your guests?" Alba asks her sister ironically, making you slightly blush.

"Well, I- I," The older sister stutters, making the other draw conclusions by herself. 

"So you are dating."

"It's complicated." She says. "Is there any particular reason why you are here?"

"I forgot my sweater here last week, and I need it back. But I can come at another time."

"No, I'll get it for you." She disappears into the house, leaving you and Alba in an awkward silence.

Thankfully, Alexia comes back thirty seconds later, 

"So you should come to dinner at mom's house sometime. She would love to meet your new 'roommate.'" She teases her older sister, clearly trying to irritate her.

"Well, then, you should invite Alexandre too since you live at his house more than you live at your own house." She replies sarcastically.

"I thought we reached an agreement to never talk about Alexandre ever again after the incident."

"By incident, she means when I caught them fucking in the bathroom during the semi-finals against Chelsea last year." She explains to you, clearly trying to irritate her sister, making you feel like you are getting way too much information on their dynamics in one sitting.

"Let me guess: when she saw you, she made some sarcastic remark, rolled her eyes, and left, right?" You joke, clearly imagining the scene.

"That's exactly it! Always rolling her eyes at people. So annoying! Finally, someone who gets it!"

"Uggghh." Alexia sighs and rolls her eyes at you both.

"See! She just did it again!" 

"I don't like this coalition between the two of you." She lightly pouts.

"It's not a coalition when we are simply just stating the truth!" You lightly tease her, earning an approving nod from Alexia's sister.

"I hate you both!" She exclaims, fully knowing that she was just lying.

"No, you don't." Then you turn to Alba, "It was nice meeting you; I hope we'll see each other soon. I have to get changed for practice." You leave the two sisters while you get ready for training.

After a couple of minutes, Alexia entered your now shared room; you turned to her and placed your hands on her shoulders.

"So you met my sister…"

"She's very nice; I hope I made a good impression." You say insecurely.

"You made a great impression, cariño. I'm just really sorry that you had to meet her in these circumstances. Not to put pressure on you, but my sister can't keep a secret, and she'll definitely tell my mom about you."

"What a way to not put pressure on me." You chuckle nervously.

"Don't worry. I will handle everything, okay?" She gives you a small peck. "Now, are you ready?"

Training that day was even more intense than the day before, with the exception that you were finding so many link-ups with your new teammates. Sometimes, you would forget that you weren't training anymore with your old teammates, that if you passed the ball to the right, you would find Giugliano without looking, or that Linari was right behind you, ready for a pass if you needed it. 

Now, you had different teammates, and your body had to get used to it. 

Being back on the pitch with Mapi had been so exciting. Both of your styles of play evolved so much that how you played at Atletico didn't matter anymore. She loved playing with the ball, so you'd expect more passes from her than before.

What really changed everything for you were the players up front. Playing behind Alexia and Aitana was something that didn't happen every day. The best way for them to express themselves was if you were able to cover defensively for them, which you were doing gladly. Adapting to their style of play was not simple; they played on short and fast passes and opted less for long passes, which were your specialty. 

You were practicing on free kicks, which you thought you were pretty good at. You didn't know why, but you were able to curve the ball perfectly, making the goalkeepers go crazy.

You were in a team with Mapi against Alexia and Graham Hansen, whom you were unceremoniously obsessed with her football skills.

It was your turn to shoot your first free-kick. Paños was on goal, and she was eying the ball. You go for the kick and curve the ball perfectly; the goalkeeper didn't even move because she thought it would be going out. It hit a top bin, and it was in. You throw your hand in the air competitively. "Dajeee!"

"That was a great curved ball! Where did you learn that?" Mapi asked, shocked, as she had never seen you take a free kick like that before.

You shake your shoulders nonchalantly while Caro asks you, "What are your free kick stats?"

"Like all time or just last season?" You ask shyly.

"All the time."

"Well, since I played for Roma, I was usually the one who took free kicks. I guess out of fifty-one direct free kicks, I scored forty-seven if I remember correctly." 

"Wait, really?" Alexia asks you, shocked.

"Well, I love taking free kicks, and I practice a lot on them."

"That's not normal, Y/n; that's a really high conversion rate. I don't understand why I just heard about this!" Your friend tells you.

"I don't know, I just love taking them." You shrug your shoulders. "Plus, when I go for a curved ball, I don't know how, but I do it in a way that is almost impossible to predict."

"You can do a knuckleball too?"

"I'm not that good at that." They move the ball to the place and offer you to kick it. You hit the ball hard, and it goes for the post, then bounces off the other and goes in.

You scrunch your nose, dissatisfied, getting a new ball for another free kick, while your teammates look at you, shocked.

You turn to look at them, "What? 

"Well, now we have to change teams, or it's going to get too easy for you guys!" Alexia says competitively.

"Oh, hell no! Now it's too late; we already decided on the teams!" Mapi says.

"Well, let Y/n decide." Ale crosses her arms, looking at you. "Do you want to swap teams and be with me, who is currently hosting you in my home, or that woman over there?" She points disgusted Mapi.

"Well, I-"You try to talk. 

"Of course, she's going to choose me! I've known her for more than seven years!" They kept on bickering while you and Caro just stared at them, chuckling. 

"You know? I think I'm actually switching teams." You raise an eyebrow, smirking. 

"You made the right decision," Alexia says proudly. She walks to you to get on your side.

"That's arrogant to assume that I would switch teams with you, Alexia." You give her a smirk and walk to Caro's side, leaving Mapi and Alexia next to each other. "Caro and I are going to destroy you!"

And so you did. After another twenty minutes, you finally leave the pitch and get home with Alexia. Once again, you were exhausted, but you were very happy that you were able to get along with your new teammates.

As soon as you get home, you throw yourself to the couch while Nala jumps on top of you for cuddles, which you gladly give her.

Alexia was still pouting because she lost the free-kick competition. "Oh, come on, you can't be still mad!"

"I'm not mad."

"Well, it's not every day that you get to be on the same team as Caroline Graham Hansen. You know how much I am obsessed with her football skills."

"Well, then, why don't you go and ask her if you could crash at her place."

You sit right up and drag her by the shirt to you. "Are you jealous, piccola?"

"No, I am not! Why would I ever be! Caro is in a relationship with Marta. Plus, I am the one that has two Ballon d'Or." She says, trying to convince you.

"I know. You are the best of the best. I had to basically seduce you so that my team could have a chance against you. And you don't have to worry about anyone. There is no one else." The last words unconsciously slip out of your mouth, making you mentally curse at yourself.

"There is no one else for me either. Y/n, I have to tell you something." You nod at her while placing your arms on her shoulders.

"I'm in lo-"The phone rings again. This time, it is Alexia's phone. She goes to look at it. "It's my agent. I really need to take this."

After thirty minutes, she comes back looking stressed out.

"What was the call about, that made you go on the phone for thirty minutes?" You ask curiously.

"Oh no, I was also on the phone with my mom; that's why I was out for so long."

"Is everything okay at home?"

"Everything is great!" You could see that something was up. "But you know when I told you that my mom found out about you-us?"

"No? I thought that she still didn't know."

"Well, now she does. AndsheinvitedusfordinnerandIdidn'tknowwhethertotellyoubecauseIdon'tknowifyouwanttocome."

"What, sorry? I know you have this cute little habit of talking fast when you are nervous, but remember that I am not Spanish."

"Sorry." She takes a deep breath. "My mom invited us for dinner. You can totally say no, but-"

"I would love to come to dinner, Alexia. You didn't have to be that nervous." You give her a small peck on the lips. "Tell her I will bring the dessert."

-

"So, are you ready to finally meet your mother-in-law this afternoon?" Mapi asks you while you leave for morning training together. Finally, your home was fixed from the pipe, and you were able to finally live there. There was still a lot of work to do as you had to basically furnish the apartment, which had been really hard, especially when you were away for most of the day.

Thankfully, Mapi offered to help build a table that you had bought from Ikea in your living room, so with some help, your home was starting to take shape.

"She is not my mother-in-law. I am not currently in a relationship."

"I still don't understand why you can't tell her how you feel."

"Fear of rejection. Or fear that it's going to turn out like my previous relationship. Fear of being just delusional or fear of-"

"Okay, you have made your point! I just feel like you should; maybe you'll find out that she feels the same."

"Yeah, right. As if someone like her could fall for someone like me. She's way out of my league. But anyway, you have met Alexia's sister and mom, how are they? Do you have any tips?"

"They are going to love you. Just be yourself."

"That's not helping, Mapi." You chuckle.

"Ugh, just be polite and show that you genuinely care for Alexia. They are very protective of her. Don't show off, and don't be too shy. But I really don't think you are going to have a problem doing all that."

As soon as you went home, you quickly got ready in your desolate apartment; as soon as you were done, Alexia texted you.

Your Favorite Kickboxer ;)

I'll be here in 5 minutes.

The nerves were kinda getting to you, so you paced around your empty living room until Alexia came knocking at your door. As soon as she saw you, she quickly gave you a hug and pecked your lips. 

"Hey, Cariño, are you ready?"

"So ready! You don't even know!" You fake out.

"Okay, yeah. You have to work on your lying skills. What's up? You don't have to come if you don't want to." She says calmly.

"It's not that Ale. I'm just nervous. I haven't met the mom and sister of a girl I am seeing since my ex. I'm just nervous, that's it."

"They'll love you, believe me. Now, take a deep breath; everything will be fine. We will go to my mom's for lunch, and she will show you some of my baby pictures, trying to embarrass me, and my sister will do the same. Then we'll get back home, cuddle up on the couch, and watch some of your sappy movies, okay?" You slowly nod, feeling a slight motivation through her words. "Now are you ready, cariño?"

You slightly nod, and she leads you to her car, but before that, you stop her and gently kiss her lips. "Thank you. You know I really, really like you?" You tell her.

"I really, really like you too."

-

You get to Alexia's mom's house, and the first thing she does is go up and hug you. You were taken by surprise, but after a second of shock, you quickly reciprocated.

"You must be Y/n, right?"

"Yes, it's me. You have a lovely house."

She takes you into the living room, and then she quickly disappears into the kitchen while Alba appears out of her room to see you.

You lightly chat with her until Alexia's mom screams for the two girls to come and help her; they quickly get into the small kitchen, clearly not knowing what to do.

"Do you need help, Eli?" You ask shyly.

"Oh no, you are the guest." She says, gently smacking your hands away from the pan you were stirring.

"Oh really, it's no biggie. I love cooking, plus I know how much Ale is a disaster in the kitchen. I can help if you like." You offer politely.

"For your information, I am a great cook," Alexia says, slightly offended. Neither her sister nor her own mother backed her up. All knowing how bad she was, making you chuckle. 

"Don't worry, mija, you have some great qualities too." Her mom lightly teases Alexia, making her pout cutely.

As soon as lunch was ready, you helped set up the table, and you sat down.

"So, Y/n, how do you like Barcelona?"

"Oh, I love it here. I just had a minor slip-up with my apartment, but now everything is fixed."

"You are from Italy, right? Because I don't hear any accent." Her mom asks curiously.

"Well, I lived in Spain for a long time before moving clubs. I played for Atletico Madrid with Mapi."

"So you must be happy having her back as your teammate."

"I'm really glad. Plus, Barcelona has always been my dream club."

"Is it difficult being away from home?"

"Well, I left my home in Italy when I was really young; I left to study in the USA."

"Oh wow, what did you study there?" Alba asks you.

"I studied physiotherapy."

"So when you retire from football, you could become a therapist for Barcelona or some other football club," Alexia suggests.

"Well, I could, but I actually work with prosthesis. I studied to help people who have lost their limbs to build them prosthesis."

"I didn't know that!" Ale tells you, shocked but also proud.

-

Lunch proceeded great. Ale's mom and Alba were just like Mapi pictured them. Fiercely loyal and protective of one another. You really hoped that you made a good impression because even though you weren't in an actual relationship with Alexia, meeting her family felt like a huge step, and you'd hate for them to not feel like Ale made the right decision by seeing each other.

What you really liked, though, was the fact that you could see how much Alexia was being herself around her family. She didn't have her walls up, nor did she have to keep up with her duties as the captain. She was just herself, and you were lucky enough to be able to experience it and be part of her inner circle.

As soon as lunch was finished, you stood up to help Ale's mom clean up the table, and then you brought the dessert that you had made for the occasion.

"I didn't have much time to prepare something fancier; my kitchen is still a mess."

"You didn't have to prepare anything!" Ale's mom replies while she cuts open the cake you had stress baked for the occasion.

"My parents always taught me to never walk into a home as a guest empty-handed." You simply reply. "And really, it's nothing. I love baking, so actually, you gave me an excuse to make something."

"You know, Y/n, out of all of the girls that Alexia has brought home, you might be the nicest." You turn your head down, blushing, while Alexia, embarrassed, calls out her mother.

"Well, I think that just the fact that you are here means a lot. You know, Y/n, Alexia had a very bumpy love life." Alba calls her sister out, making Alexia send her a death glare.

You were too curious now, "I wanna hear all the details." You rub your hands, waiting for Alba to fill you in.

"Well, Alexia had many situationships that ended rather quickly." 

"Alba!" Alexia warns her.

"One lasted two weeks I think, with this nice girl. For the record, she was really nice. The poor girl had the misfortune to be a cat person. Nana didn't like her, so she stopped seeing her."

"For the record, I don't regret it! My Nala is my best matchmaker, and I could never be in a relationship with someone who doesn't like my dog, who's currently living with me."

You chuckle lightly at her, "Thankfully, Nala likes me, or else, I wouldn't have lasted even a day." You tease Alexia, remembering how you met the small dog when you first hooked up with her, how Nala would try to get her owner's attention, but she was too busy on you to actually care.

"Well, thankfully, you are also a Barça fan because my sister left a fucking date because they were a Madrid fan."

"Okay, it did not go like that." Ale tries to explain herself, but she is soon cut off by her sister again.

"You told her that you played football, and she made a small comment about how she slightly preferred Madrid to Barcelona."

"She wanted me to go to the Bernabeu with her." She pauses. "On the Madrid section!"

"Poor girl, you turned down a girl just because of her club preference?" You chuckled at her stubbornness.

"She was also very annoying." 

"How many dates did you go with the Madritista?" You ask her.

"One." You all burst out laughing.

"The next girl instead, more than a situationship, was a failed date. She was a friend of a friend of mine, and after the date, Ale called me and I asked how the date went, and she replied that she thought that the girl was amazing, but she didn't like the outfit, so it wouldn't work." Alba chuckles hard, making you shake your head teasingly at Alexia.

"In my defense, she was amazing, but the outfit was too distracting, so much so that it felt like our personalities wouldn't go together."

"You got all that by an outfit?" You ask her incredulously.

"Yes." She states bluntly making you playfully shake your head at her.

-

By the time lunch was finished, you were about to leave.

"It was lovely meeting the both of you. I really hope I'll see you soon." You go to hug the two women and then leave to go to the car, waiting for Alexia to say the final goodbye.

When Ale gets into the car, she sits in the driver's seat, takes your hand, and kisses it.

"Thank you for coming." 

"Thank you, for inviting me. Now let's go home; we have a couch to build."

As you get home, Ale quickly gets ready to build your Ikea couch while you take some of your most valuable stuff, like family pictures or small trinkets that hide memories that you will forever treasure. 

You were unpacking the first ball they gave you when you scored your first hat trick, then you moved to a larger box, and you soon felt overwhelmed by how much stuff you had to unpack, making you slightly regret your life choices. 

Alexia was still on the floor trying to build up your couch when she suddenly resurfaced clumsily. 

"Why are those instructions so difficult? I just feel like Ikea should be better at making them. I should ask Frido." She complains to herself, making you chuckle from across the room. 

As you looked at her while she was building your couch, without anything in return, just simply to make you feel more at home, a warm feeling spread through your chest.

You just smiled. Smiled at the woman who came out of nowhere and turned your life around. Smiled at the woman who had taken your heart without you noticing it. And then you realize that maybe what you had with Alexia right now wasn't enough for you. You wanted more. Because those feelings that you had slowly built over time weren't avoidable anymore. What you had with her wasn't enough, and you realized that you couldn't pretend anymore that you were okay with it. 

You needed to be alone, to think, to prepare yourself. Just her being in the same house as you was just too much. You were feeling too much. Feeling too much for her.

So you quickly stood up, crossing your arms, unconsciously wanting to close yourself off as much as possible.

"Ale, I need you to get out."

She turns towards you and sees how much you were shaken. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything is good. I just need you to leave, please." You try to be as convincing as possible. 

"Everything is not good. You are not good. Tell me what's wrong." She rubs your shoulders soothingly in worry.

You don't know why, but your mind figured that it would be best if you'd just rip the bandaid off.

"Ale, I think we have a problem." You take a deep breath. "I think I'm in love with you."

There was no turning back now. You could take your words back, so you waited patiently as her brows furrowed and then quickly fixed in a soft expression.

"I think we have two problems then. Because I think I am in love with you too."

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas one shot #woso imagine #woso #woso fanfics

[cherubfae]

Hello! I'm not sure if you do single characters or not but What if the reader (who's a big fan of horror) wanted to show Alastor some classic horror movies. Their reasoning? "So you can make fun of it," If you do a collection of characters, then it can be like a movie night for the hotel.

Hiya love!! Yes, I do! In fact I'm currently working on a longer Alastor fic at the moment :)) it's like this request was made for me bc I 100% will force Alastor to watch the Scream franchise with me 😭 it's my fave. I'm a mega horror fan, haha! Maybe I'll have to write for slashers again like I used to! I'll just write Al since he deserves some love for himself!! Pls excuse me bc now I'm gonna be thinking about 1920s GhostFace Alastor 😩😩🩷💕

What's Your Favorite Scary Movie? || Alastor x reader

tags: fluff, gn!reader, Alastor critiquing horror media, plot to the Scream franchise, my horror obsession might be showing lmao

Getting Alastor to have anything to do with post 1930s technology was a task and a half. He might've made a deal with Vaggie not to have anything to do with such frivolous technology, but you weren't Vaggie. You were his sweet, dear partner. And he'd never admit just how tightly wrapped he was around your finger.

He seemed to genuinely enjoy the first few Halloween movies as well as the first Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Alastor took a great of interest with Hannibal Lector from The Silence of Lambs. He was deeply considering watching the television series you told him of. He thinks Freddy Krueger is a piece of shit and wished he could do him in with his own hands.

The next movie, however, seemed more susceptible to being torn to pieces by his ever-watchful eye.

"So the point of this picture show is what... Billy is angry because his mother abandoned him and he doesn't know how to deal with those big feelings at his age?" Alastor gives an indignant snort, looking bemused at the old television screen currently playing a VHS of Wes Craven's 1996 slasher classic Scream. That's as new of tech as Alastor would allow, so you made do.

Snorting out a laugh, you lean against his arm. Alastor's crackling gaze flickers to you his smile softening around the edges. He did very much adore your laugh.

"That about sums it up, yes," you grin, biting down on the corner of your chocolate bar.

Alastor leans his back against the sofa, pulling the blanket wrapped around you two closer. "I don't know how that Macher boy thinks that peer pressure is a justifiable defense for murdering people." He unwraps his own piece of bitter chocolate and pops it into his mouth. "Own up to your choices, for Heaven's sake. And people find these two attractive? Are they not in love with one another? Surely anyone with two good working eyes could see this."

The sixth Scream movie damn near has Alastor foaming at the mouth, each and every movie felt as repetitive as the last with slight twists and changes. He was polite to keep most critiques to himself, eyeing how much you clearly enjoyed showing something so near and dear to your heart. While the plot was rather lackluster, he had to admit he was interested in the severe brutality of the sixth and despite his opposition to new media, felt that it was a decent enough film. With such a repetitive storyline, he didn't really expect that sort of twist.

"There's one more we can watch!" You grin, holding up your copy of Scary Movie. Alastor's eyes look ready to pop out of his skull as if to say 'Oh god, another??' "I don't think you'll guess who the GhostFace is!"

"Is it the man called Doofy?"

|| I DON'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, RESHARED, OR EDITED. TUMBLR IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT AND THE ONLY PLACE WHERE I POST MY WRITING. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS, THE STORY BELONGS TO ME. || CHERUBFAE © 2024

"What the fuck-- how."

#hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin imagines #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor x reader #alastor imagine #alastor headcanons #cherubfae 2024

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

me, waking up drenched in sweat, violently sitting up in bed and letting out a gasp: IT'S A METAPHOR FOR BEING A YOUTUBER

idk if someone already thought of this and this is also probably the most obvious reading of it but here i go anyway: i was just walking a dog and listening to potato prints and when phil said "you've come a long way daniel" i was like "huh phil is in the teaching position in all of these just like he was for youtube" like phil just gives editing pro tips the whole time and it all parallels their story as a youtube duo.

and obviously the entertainment industry is rife (not proper usage of that word but it Feels Right so fuck you) with satanic symbolism/imagery/iconography/motifs. being an entertainer is "selling your soul to the devil" etc etc and we know dan hates being a youtuber and does feel that way. you gotta upload twice a day every day in order to be the number one art channel on youtube dot com after all. you gotta make those crafts for satan. bo burnham has a ton of lyrics/songs that i'm thinking about rn like "you used to do comedy when you felt like being funny but now you're contractually obligated so dance you fucking monkeeeey DANCE MONKEY DAAAANCE" and in "repeat stuff" which is a commentary of how mainstream pop love songs and pop stars have to be really superficial and unoriginal because they need to appeal to everyone and at one point he sucks satan off lmao and is like AHFRUEHQFWIIO I AM A VESSEL IDUSHISKA 666 KAJSDFI ILLUMINATI UIGDFSAHIO FREEMASONS. highly recommend looking at the lyrics to that song if you're into that kind of thing.

also the (very rightful) dig at phannies for the "don't cry craft" spamming like "we love all of our crafty audience that spread the message of this channel on all the other videos on the internet! everywhere! everybody enjoyed that!" is how creators who want to keep status have to address their audiences no matter how annoying or harmful they're being. thinking of the ajr line "stay out of politics, stay on the fence / stay out of all of it to keep half your fans" because like,, yeah if a creator ever expresses an opinion that declares their feelings on one side of an issue then they will lose support (smosh is a perfect example of a bunch of people never ever ever expressing an opinion if it could be considered controversial among their audience, like refusing to address the genocide happening right now and just taking their zionist member who the fans are mad at out of some videos to be like "shhhhh nothing to see here we don't know what you're talking about"), ESPECIALLY if that issue is the behaviour of their audience.

obviously the first dapc video was not made with any intended meaning, they just woke up and were like "let's be weird and freak people out" and they did that, and then adding in symbolism and making it all mean something developed with time. but i'm gonna pretend that it has always had consistent meaning because i'm neurodivergent and love overanalysing silly little media.

i am so jhfbvdahfkiufadkhlj right now so if anyone has more theories or things to add lmk and thank you for coming to my ted talk

#me saying shit #dnp #dan and phil #phan #dan howell #daniel howell #amazingphil #phil lester #danisnotonfire #yeet my deet #yeet my deenp #danandphilcrafts #squareflakes #glitterfaces #potato prints #slime

[sailoryooons]

Incubus yoongi x reader

Go wild with smut maybe theres fluff and angst too! Love your writing so much

☾ Pairing: Incubus!Yoongi x archdevil!Reader

☾ Summary: 

Sunder (sun·​der) transitive verb : to break apart or in two : to separate by or as if by violence or by intervening time or space Sunder (sun·​der) intransitive verb : to become parted, disunited, or severed

☾ Word Count: 5,297

☾ Genre: Smut, Forbidden Romance, Angst, Fated Lovers

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Vague worldbuilding - this takes place in a Hell setting so.. Lots of talk of literal hell, implied violence and war, themes of classism/species racism, hint of political scheming, depiction of servants who are chained/collared, implications of sex work/incubi being bread specifically for sex work, honestly Yoongi and reader kinda give co-dependant vibes, explicit language, explicit sexual content including oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, a little bit of overstim, cum eating if you squitn, multiple orgasms, bleeding/scratching/biting, possessive themes… um I don’t know the smut scene is more PrOsEy than straight-up smut. 

☾ Published: Sunday, April 7 2024

☾ A/N: We are using Forgotten Realms (dnd) lore because I was randomly inspired to do so. You need zero knowledge of Forgotten Realms or dnd lore to read this - there is vague world building and references to a plot on the side that I imagine Yoongi and reader are a part of but that does not happen in this little one shot. I just did it for the tension and because I’m out of control. 100% change I got some dnd lore wrong - don’t care, I kinda made it my own in parts as needed!!! Thank you!!! 

☾ A/N 2: Dear anon, I don’t have a clue what this is, but it was inspired by a very specific scene in the movie Troy when Paris (Orlando Bloom) sneaks up to Helen’s (Diane Kruger) room while the Greeks and Trojans are downstairs partying and he’s like hehe let’s bang it out. That’s it. I really hope you like this because sometimes I fill requests and I'm like ..... that probably was not what they had in mind and yet here I am, delivering whatever ??? this is ??

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾Filled Requests ☾ Masterlist  Milestone Request Event ☾ Ask

Note: I don't use my tag list for requests!

A pair of dark eyes in the shadows around the party catches your attention as you listen to Archdevil Belial's drone about his victory in Phlegethos. The fiend’s words fall on deaf ears as your gaze narrows to a deadly point on the man lingering in the shadows across the room, keeping away from the revelry with a single chalice in his hand.

And he’s staring at you. 

You feel your muscles constrict as you flick your gaze away, your heart rate picking up speed as you try and focus on Belial again. It isn’t a story you care to hear about - he’s been droning about his defeat of the Kelemvor worshipers on the fiery planes of Phlegethos. Hardly a battle as much as a skirmish outside of the city gates that demanded his attention. 

Archdevil Belial is none the wiser that the creature he really desires to kill is lurking at the edge of the party, burning eyes on you as he cocks his head and glances toward the empty staircase that leads toward the living quarters. 

There’s a twitch of irritation in your stomach as Yoongi turns and vanishes into the shadows. He is good at being seen only when he wants to, which works in his favor when he enters the hall of his greatest enemies, all in one room because of war meetings against the very fiend who now slips upstairs to your bedroom. 

It was only a matter of time before Yoongi showed up - despite the level of stupidity it takes to show up in the hall of your sworn enemy. Yoongi likes to show off though. He likes to remind his enemies - and himself - that he is not so easily kept out of places that he wants to be. 

Especially if those places he’s being kept from have you inside of them. 

“Thank you for the conversation, Lord Belial,” you interrupt. The devil looks at you with his mouth open, eyes blazing as you interrupt him to dismiss yourself. You feel a small twist of satisfaction. “I must retire for the evening. I am returning home tomorrow before starting my campaign through the realms to ensure my father’s army are being… led properly.”

Belial’s face twitches in irritation. You’re above his station - though not too far - and decorum is everything in matters of spoken insult. “Yes,” he agrees. “It is important for our… figureheads to inspire. The Whip of Asmodeus paints a threatening picture, to be sure. It is hard to be of influence on the battlefield - we do appreciate your efforts off the field.” 

A laugh like cutting glass bubbles from your lips. “You honor me.” You feel the ice in your mouth when you dip your head politely, pretending to be unbothered by the implication that you’re nothing but an empty threat. “I will see you in a tenday, Lord Belial, when I come to inspire in Phlegethos.”

With a curt turn, you cut through the party toward the stone dias. Those in attendance part for you like water parting around a sharp boulder, hurrying to get out of your way. Figurehead or real threat doesn’t matter - you’re the daughter of their lord and by rights their lady. 

Your father sits on his throne of twisted bone and fire ahead of the party, crimson eyes drinking in all that happens from his seat of power. Yet he has missed something incredibly important that now lingers upstairs waiting for you. The thought makes your lips twitch in a smirk as you ascend the stairs to where Asmodeus sits, a giddy tingle in your belly. 

A beautiful incubus boy sits next to the throne on the floor, a gold collar around his neck with a glittering chain that leads to Asdmodeous’ hand. The incubus looks at your father with adoration, gold eyes burning. Mouth agape. Breath catching. 

You don’t know how much of it is performance. It’s always hard to tell with the lower level fiends what is real and what is an act. It’s part of the dangerous game they play, and thought you’re more accustomed to their kind - especially the one lurking in your room - you’re still unsure how to tell the difference with this one.

You catch the scent of honey and vanilla as you step nearer, though the incubus doesn’t look at you. You immediately feel the ebbing power of allure from the creature, battering your senses just being so close. Asmodeus seems unaffected by the battering power of lust radiating from the incubus, but you see the two guards behind him glance toward the creature on the floor. 

You grit your teeth and ignore the twist in your gut, trying not to be irritated. Only one man has power over you this way. It isn’t the incubus’ fault that he’s doing what he was trained to do, but the sudden pitch in your stomach and dizziness you feel around him unsettles you. 

“I am returning to my chambers, Father,” you murmur, bowing deeply. “I have grown wear of Belial’s peacocking.” 

Behind him are two massive Orthons, no less than eight feet in height and wide like a troll. Their horns are curling and battle-scarred, ugly tusks showing from thick, fat lips. The beasts are hellish weapons from wars passed, now assigned to the personal guard of your father. You note that they also did not notice the shadowy incubus slipping into their party and up the stairwell.

It almost makes you tsk. Even for a creature as skilled and powerful as Yoongi, slipping past an entire party full of the most powerful infernals in the realms is impressive. He is, of course, more than just an incubus now, but still. The sheer magnitude of doing it successfully is not lost on you - and makes you worried for his sanity. 

“Sleep well,” Admodeous voice rumbles, his voice like stones grinding together. “Tomorrow, you return to Malbolge and ready to set out on your campaign.” His fiery eyes turn to you and you feel the weight of the burning Nine Hells press against you. “They will feel the crack of the Whip of Asmodeous and know that we are mighty. 

“It will be done.”

“She is as pretty as My Lord is,” the incubus boy purrs from where he sits at the foot of the throne. You glance at him, realizing that his golden gaze has broken away from your father and turned to you. Your stomach twists in equal parts anger, guilt, and disgust as you feel the lick of his power. “The House of Asmodeus is as beautiful as they are powerful.”

Again, it’s hard to discern if the incubus is performing or if he means it. Asmodeus pulls the chain hard, yanking incubus toward him. You hear his neck pop, though it doesn’t break as the creature wimpers at the sudden show of violence. “Do not speak to her, worm. You are nothing. She is the Heir Apparent and Princess of the Nine Hells. You are fodder.” 

The incubus cowers, and ducks his head away from you, curling in on himself. The sensual allure to him lessens distinctly, the energy souring. You feel your fingers twitch as you think of Yoongi. It is not difficult to guess that Asmodeous’ newfound desire to humiliate and dissipate incubi and succubi are inspired by his hatred and inability to rid himself of Yoongi’s stain. 

Swallowing thickly, you bow once more, slipping backward off the dias and toward the stairs that lead upward. No one guards them - there are supposed to be no enemies at this party - and shadow falls over them, the torches flickering as though watching you ascend.

Music and voices follow you up the stairs, the soft click of your shoes against the carved stone louder in the growing silence as you navigate to your bedrooms. The staircase winds and the sounds drift further away from you until it’s only the crackling of occasional sconces and your steps.

Two heavy doors in the west wing of the Citadel belong to your bedroom. The crackling energy of the arcana buzzing along them acting as a lock makes your skin tingle. You mutter the password and feel the pop of magic as it vanishes, allowing you to push heavily against one of the doors to grind it open. 

The room is both yours and not. It was your room for most of your life growing up under the ruler of the Nine Hells, opulent and dark, full of old possessions and heavy, draping curtains to keep out the smoke and ruin, rich art painted by careful hands with red and purple splashed across canvas. 

Now, it feels like a room that belonged to someone else entirely. You’re no longer the vicious little thing that thought would sit on the throne in Nessus one day. You’re no longer the unthinking weapon that Asmodeous uses to maintain order and public punishment. 

A large bed stands on a lifted dais, covered in silks and piled high with pillows. They lay undisturbed as you close the door behind you and mutter the password again, feeling the static of magic seal them shut behind you. It would take a small army to batter through them, thankfully. 

Your eyes scour the room. Embers burn in a smoldering fireplace, offering little light in the dimness of the bedroom. A large sitting area stretches to the right with leather chairs and velvet chaises, tables covered in untouched books and scrolls. 

To the left is an open study, a heavy wooden desk in the middle of the room backed with bookshelf-covered walls and heavy chests locked with tombs inside. You see the cover of a journal flipped open, the only sign that Yoongi had been lingering in your study snooping. 

Your mouth twitches at the corner as you look away from it. Yoongi leaving something out of place is only ever on purpose, a confirmation to you that yes - his visit has double meaning. You might be the primary reason the incubus and favored chosen warrior of a death god has snuck into his enemy’s home, but you’re not the only reason. Of course he is looking for any extra information he can use against his enemies. 

It stings a little more than you’d like. 

Stepping further into the room, you swivel your gaze back and forth, looking for a sign of the slippery man himself. A master of shadows, Yoongi is only seen when he wants to be. Strange, for a fiend whose very nature is to be seen and devoured, to give and to receive, to lure and enjoy. Most of his life has been spent in spectacle, and now he spends it in the shadows. 

Warm breath brushes against the back of your neck, making your skin prickle. “I like this dress.” 

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Yoongi’s callused fingers brush up your arm. It’s a ghost of touch but it makes your eyelids flutter shut, warmth thrumming in your stomach immediately. Unlike the incubus downstairs, you don’t feel a magnetic pull that is arcane here. You just feel the pull to Yoongi - a desire that is your own and fueled by nothing else. 

He has no reason to use his charm here. It makes you shiver as you lean backward into him, eager to feel the solidness of his chest and smell the sweet wine on his breath. 

“You always say that,” he purrs, the words low and scratchy. His other hand comes up to brush his fingers up and down your other arm, pulling you toward him full. You melt, fading into him faster than you should. “When will you learn that I will go wherever you are?” 

“Even if it means your own demise? You’re in the Citadel of Asmodeus.” 

“He’s killed me before.” Yoongi’s touch is more solid now, hands exploring your waist and curves, squeezing your flesh, pressing you against his waist. You rest the back of your head against his neck, inhaling cedarwood and sage. “I’m not so easily destroyed.” 

“Don’t.” 

You don’t want to recall the many times Yoongi has been wrenched away from you. Each time a little closer to permanence than the last. Time and time again, he has been ripped from your hands as your father attempts to destroy the fate linking you, to burn it until there is no tether there. 

“You’ve been good,” Yoongi notes. His hand goes to the silk strings on the side of your dress, pulling them undone. “He truly thinks you no longer think of me? That he has succeeded where he has failed a dozen times before?” 

“Yes.”

“His arrogance knows no bounds. He’ll think he’s a god, soon enough.”

You turn your head to the side, brushing your mouth against Yoongi’s. His lips are warm and taste of wine, urging your tongue to swipe across his bottom lip for a taste. “Is he not?” you ask against his mouth, fighting the need to shiver as one side of your dress falls open. “He rules the Nine Hells absolutely.” 

“Oh come off it,” He laughs. “You and I both know that isn’t true, otherwise he wouldn’t be in a civil war. Plus… I have recently acquired Avernus and Dis.” 

You straighten and turn around sharply to look at him, brows furrowing. For a moment, you forget what it is he’s said to shock you. You’re hypnotized by eyes dark enough that they reflect the stars when in the mortal world, a mouth that is soft and sensuous, a gentle, round nose that is opposed to the way he can turn it up at someone in a sneer. A faded scar over one eye - one of many that he's received over the years.

Yoongi is beautiful the way the moon is, distant and cold, but with a glow of softness that is often underestimated. 

You had made that mistake before. A long time ago, incubi and the lower creatures of the Nine Hells hadn’t been a blip on your radar. They were nothing to a princess of the Nine Hells, someone whose entire purpose for existing would be to one day step into ruling over all nine of the realms crushed in your father’s fist. 

Now, you know better. You’d been a silly, arrogant girl then, head filled with dreams of ruling over the dread cities and bringing the dukes and duchesses to heel. You’d never considered that perhaps your existence was more for appearances and leverage than anything else. 

A puppet. 

Belial, was, unfortunately, quite right about that. 

“What do you mean you have Avernus and Dis?”

“The skirmish in Phlegethos was a distraction. The dukes and duchess’ have been so frenzied about making sure they don’t have any disruptions in their rule that Belial scrambled to deal with his, turning his eye away from the others. Mammon… well you know Mammon. He is not a concern, for now. He cares little who holds Avernus and Dis.” You narrow your eyes at him. “I had help with Dis.”

That sours your stomach. “Bel.” 

“He has no love for Zariel. And he’s from Dis.”

“He’s a traitor. You’d do well not to trust him. Who knows when he’ll turn on you if promised something.”

“The Nine Hells are full of traitors.” Yoongi’s deft fingers undo the other side of your dress. “Including me. You think I would not sell out every single one of my fighters for you, hmm?” Yoongi presses a wet kiss to your jaw. You lean your head back to give him access to your throat. “You think I wouldn’t throw away being Kelemvor’s chosen and carrying his mantle for a chance to have you forever?” 

“You do have me.”

“Not in the way we are designed.” His voice is a growl as he bites at your throat, teeth scraping. You feel dizzy in his arms, but he holds you steadfast. “You were designed for me by the wheels of fate, and I for you. All of this - war, death, political scheming - it stands in our way and I would betray the god who gives me my many lives to cut to the chase in an instant.” 

The rage-laced words are an anger you’re familiar with. Two creatures born to exist for one another - more than fated mates. Your very existence tied to Yoongi’s is a matter of universal balance, two threads of fabric that must remain woven together, lest the realms collapse. 

Divine Scales. Two lives bound together that must remain in balance for the rest of the world to exist. You and Yoongi are not the only Divine Scales in the realms, but you’re perhaps one of the most difficult to balance in a world set on keeping you apart. 

You, the daughter of the Archduke of the Nine Hells. Yoongi, an incubus servant whose purpose was to lure, steal, and spy on behalf of Asmodeus. It was an unfit match that your father was set on destroying - his daughter an heir would not be tied to a lowly creature of lust and servitude. 

“Careful,” you murmur as Yoongi peels the fabric from your skin. The air is warm but you feel a shiver anyway, nipples pebbling at the temperature change. “Your god might not like to hear you say such things.”

“He is not my god,” Yoongi mutters. His eyes are hungry, burning with desire as he drinks you in, his fingers gripping the flesh at your hips. “He is a convenience. I need power to take control of the Nine Hells, he gives me power. You are the only being I worship. The only goddess I recognize.” Yoongi sinks to his knees and your stomach flips. He looks up at you, lips parted and pupils blown, eyes so dark you could spill into them and never find your way. “Let me prove my devotion. Let me worship the only divinity I’ve ever known.”

Yoongi’s words are a spell on you, and not because he’s in an incubus, created and bred to be alluring and lead mortals to the Hells to give up their souls. Yoongi’s words have power because he is Yoongi, a being who he designed to be your other half. Another being you love so entirely that you intend to sacrifice the realm you call home, that you actively betray the people you’ve known since you were a child in order to be with him. 

These snatches with him are so few and far between. He fights a war against your father and his archdevils while you unravel them from the inside. Two knives carving away at the system which fights to keep you apart. 

You forget about all of the atrocities committed and to come. You push away the anxiety that Yoongi is thwarting his power by coming to the seat of his enemy’s power, just because he can and because he wants you. 

Instead, you focus on the way his mouth leaves wet kisses across your thighs. Yoongi’s fingers press into the back of your legs, holding you to him as his tongue lavs at a small scar on your hip, his teeth nipping the flesh.

Your world falls away as his tongue and mouth suck at your skin. Heat gathers between your legs, feeling the wet ache in your folds as Yoongi purposefully avoids going toward the apex of your thighs, instead showering your inner thighs, calves, and hips with soft kisses. 

Strong hands pry your legs apart. You let him slide your foot over, widening your stance easily. You cannot recall a single person you have ever been pliable for. You are the Whip of Asmodeous, a sharp weapon made to force subservience and delve out punishment. 

You are no whip in Yoongi’s hands. You are silk, sliding through his fingers as his mouth presses closer and closer to your heart. To everyone else, you are a weapon. To Yoongi, you’re just you. A mind to adore, a body to worship. 

Your knees threaten to buckle when the first, slow swipe of his tongue runs up your drenched folds. Yoongi chuckles, the sound throaty. Gently, he lifts a leg and pulls it over his shoulder, providing a counterweight as you stand but also giving him access to your aching cunt, pressing his face close as he licks you from hole to throbbing clit again. 

“Yoongi,” you whisper, a hand shooting to his hair. Your fingers slide through soft, silk strands and twist, rooting him there. He groans in appreciation, focusing his tongue on slow, up-and-down licks, avoiding your clit as he works. “Fuck.” 

He hums, the feeling buzzing through your pussy as he closes his mouth over it, sucking gently. His mouth is wet and warm, tongue soft as it circles your aching bundle of nerves. Your legs feel gummy as you waver, holding onto him to keep yourself standing as much as you are to keep him in place.

Yoongi’s hunger can rarely be sated. He devours you, mouth eager as he sucks and licks at you, lips smacking loudly as he does. You barely register the obscene noise, canting your hips up into his mouth as the pleasure begins to build slowly. 

A hand presses into your ass, pressing you harder against the flat of his tongue. Yoongi opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, looking up at you with fucked out eyes as he urges you to fuck his face at your pace, to use him like a god would use a conduit. 

Yoongi is your conduit, and you are his. You vowed centuries ago to be his whip, a weapon at his command. He vowed to be your shield, your knife in the dark. 

The powers of the Hells would keep you apart. Beyond the impropriety that someone so lowborn could be fated for one of the highest powers among the infernals, the two of you together are too much of a threat. Too much power tied to one another, a divine match that cannot be broken.

Still, they try. 

The two of you have died before. Keeping you dead isn’t easy, though. Neither can truly die while the other lives and no one has quite managed to kill you both simultaneously - a familial crutch that Asmodeus cannot seem to overcome. 

You’d die every day to have this moment with Yoongi, your breath caught in your lungs, sweat beading on the small of your back, head tilted back as your heart beats so loud it's all you can hear. You feel every part of your body coil before there is a moment of white noise as your orgasm crests over, your cunt squeezing, your hand pulling his hair. 

Yoongi drinks you in like he cannot get enough. Gluttonous, ravenous man, pressing into your heat as he sucks. Your hands tug at his hair, the stimulation going from warm and fluid to sharp and biting. He grows a little when you pull his face back by the strands of his hair, a picture of madness with the lower half of his face covered in your slick, lips red and swollen, eyes unfocused. 

You pull and he stands, knocking you back as he does. You stumble the remaining footsteps to your bed, mouths connecting in a tangle of teeth, tongue, spit and cum. You taste yourself on him, sucking his tongue greedily into his mouth as your hands claw at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours. 

He complies, letting you push the shirt off his shoulders as he climbs over you, pressing a knee between your legs as he traps your lips in a searing kiss again. Your lips feel bruised where you kiss, his mouth demanding. His hands claw at your hips, pulling you down into his knee, grinding your slick cunt against his leg.

You let out a breathy sound, both from the feeling of pleasure blooming between your legs once again and the warmth of his skin, your hands rubbing across his chest, seeking to chase the inferno within. Yoongi has always been warm, but something hotter burns in him now. Something divine, vicious, and powerful lurking beneath his skin, the unlikely power of a god of death lurking just beneath the surface. 

You know that Kelemvor, the God of Death and Lord of Judgement has chosen Yoongi as a conduit of power because Yoongi seeks the balance of the world - he is a part of the balance of the world. His very existence is paramount to a deity whose very nature is to maintain the scales. 

It doesn’t stop you from wanting to eat away at the divinity under Yoongi’s skin, to drive out the influence that isn’t yours, to assert your dominance over a god and remind him that Yoongi does not belong to Kelemvor, he is not an extension of death. He belongs to you and you alone. 

It is an irrational, violent bout of jealousy that overtakes you for a moment. Your nails rake down his chest a little too hard, leaving trails of blood beneath. You bit his bottom lip a little too hard, the taste of iron and salt spilling into your mouth with his tongue. 

Yoongi smirks against your scarlet mouth, pulling back to look down at you. He knows what it is you seek. Yoongi always knows. Your minds are not connected, but your souls are and there is little you can hide from him. “You cannot rip him out of me, no matter how much you want to.” 

“I will try.” 

“Good.” He leans down and bites hard on your collarbone, making you gasp. “I will tear Asmodeous’ influence from you in kind.” 

Your hands are less harsh as you undo the laces of his pants, pulling them down powerful thighs. Your viciousness cools in the shower of the whisper of his love against your ear and the scrap of his tongue against your skin. Every single part of you burns hotter than the deepest part of the Hells, driven there by him alone. 

You love him - such a simple word could convey it accurately, anyway.

It seems too small of a word, unable to fit the fountain of want, desire, trust, and yearning that spills out of you into such a small cup. You don’t know if love can truly hold everything you feel for him, if it conveys that there is nothing god, archdevil, or fate that would stop you from being here with Yoongi, getting to touch him, to taste him, to whisper into his mouth as he presses the head of his cock into your weeping entrance. 

“You’re mine,” you gasp, rolling your hips forward to meet the slow, powerful strokes of his cock. Yoongi cradles you to him, his hands gripping you tighter as he presses your bodies together, as though you could meld. “Mine mine mine.” 

“I’m yours,” he agrees, voice throaty and strained. “Who else could I belong to?” 

You have no answer. Stars dance behind your eyelids as you move to his rhythm. Yoongi’s skin is heated and sticky as he moves against you. You feel his heartbeat in exact time with yours, twin rhythms. Your arms wind around his shoulders, fingers twisting in the hair at the nape of his neck. You feel the muscle of his back and shoulder flex as he fucks you slowly, each stroke pointed and driving you to the edge again. 

Yoongi’s mouth brushes yours. You breathe in his air, unable to put anything else into words, thoughts consumed with him. With how he tastes, with how he smells, with how he feels. Nestled in the deepest part of you, you feel home. It is such a rare feeling, only discovered here like this, connected. 

It makes your breath catch, barely audible above Yoongi’s low groaning and the loud smack of skin against skin. Your heels dig into the bed, head pressing into the mattress as you throw your head back, unable to do anything but take what Yoongi is giving you. 

His pace quickens, slamming into your cunt with enough force to break you. But you do not break - you could never break with him. You squirm in his hold, babbling and panting and trying to breathe as he drives you to the edge of madness - and then you peak. 

A wild sound escapes you as you seize into him, muscles clenching, cunt spasming. Yoongi’s thrusts turn vicious, fucking you through your orgasm as you clench down on him with a vice grip. His fingers grip the back of your neck, pulling you toward his chest as he leans backward, your legs sliding as he seats you in his lap, fucking up into you. 

“Imagine thinking they could take you away from me,” Yoongi hisses. His thrusts are sloppy and hard, spearing you and sending you hurtling right toward the edge again. You submit to him, head lolling to the side as he takes you. “Imagine thinking that you could defy a prewritten fate that you are mine, that you are anything less than what was made for me.” 

A sob slips through your lips. You cannot think of a response, only able to cling to him as though to say yes. 

“They cannot take you away from me,” he growls. “I will destroy this world again and again if they try. They cannot sunder what is here, they cannot rip you away from me any more than you can rip the stars from the sky.” 

Just as you begin to teeter on the edge, Yoongi slams his hips home, clenching as he comes. “You cannot be anything else but mine.”

It sends you hurling over the edge again, so powerful that you forget where you are for a moment. It is intoxicating, this bliss that unfurls like the flowers of a petal. Nothing exists here but calm water and the scent and taste of Yoongi. There is no war here. No fight to keep you apart. No demands, no expectations. It’s just you and him. Like it was always meant to be. 

Slowly, awareness creeps back toward you. It is a lumbering, lazy thing. You only feel somewhat aware that you’re in a bed and that you feel the heat of Yoongi next to you, the press of his mouth against your shoulder. The aftereffects of sleeping with an incubus are not lost on you, even as a powerful infernal. 

Everything feels melted, like it could fall through your fingers like grains of sand. Perhaps you could float away if you tried, but Yoongi grounds you. The feeling of his hand on your hip and his mouth on your skin is the most solid thing that exists in this world in between, keeping you tethered to something real. Something substantial. 

When you blink away the sticky high of the post-orgasm daze, Yoongi is watching you with soft, round eyes. The burning desire is still there, but at the forefront is adoration. Worship. Love. Anything stronger than words can describe. 

“Are you okay?” he kisses your jaw before drawing back to examine your face. You nod, head heavy. “Too much?”

“No. Not with you. Never with you.” 

His mouth twitches like he’s unsure. You nestle closer to him, closing your eyes as you’re cupped in the safety of his presence. “With Avernus and Dis at your command, you can take Phlegethos,” you murmur. “Mammon will give you Minauros if you can do that.” 

“Hmm.” 

Your eyes flutter open, watching as Yoongi closes his. You can tell by the twitch in his mouth that he is thinking. “I will deliver you Phlegethos.” He cracks an eye open and looks at you, seeing the hunger that burns there. “Belial needs a good whip to put him in place.” 

“The Whip of Asmodeous?” 

“No.” You grin. “The Whip of Kelemvor’s Chosen.” 

#yoongi smut #suga smut #min yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts suga #bts fanfic #minors do not interact #minors dni #bts suga smut #i forgot how to tag at this point its been so long #also raise ur hand if you cannot pronounce phlegethos

[prismuffin]

so for my bday ficcc i have two ideas

idea number one: male reader is based on my demon oc. basically personality wise they very sassy and flirty. kinda a bitch ass ho. idc who u pair it with imma be real. it could be ghost, soap or or price. or like batman. he summons them n junk

idea number 2:

polycule ghost, soap x male reader. male reader is a smart dumbass. like they’re an airhead all of the time minus work. they’re a colonel but honestly dumb as shit outside of work. obvious as hell.

if u want more ideas i can tell u love u mwahhhhh

A/n: Hey Webbie!! Happy birthday!! (Or late birthday depending on when I get this out) decided to go with option 2 kay? also i didnt know how to end this- fight me-

Idiot Boyfriend

Poly!GhostSoap x airhead!male!reader

( summary: Ghost reflects on how he fell in love with two dumbasses )

Warnings?: swearing, mentions of alcohol, talks of guns and violence, reader being a dumbass

!-!more under the cut!-!

Ghost sighed as he watched you chase Gaz around base. He'd apparently tickled you which you saw as a threat, immediately taking off to get your revenge. Hearing a laugh beside him Ghost turned, seeing an amused Soap who was also watching your silly antics. "Go get 'em sweetheart!" He cheered you on and Ghost groaned. "Don't encourage 'em Johnny," "Why not? This is a funny sight," He smirked, sitting next to Ghost, his head instinctually falling onto the taller mans shoulder. Ghost rolled his eyes as he watched you trip, Gaz stopping to laugh at you. "Oh damn, think he's alright Lt?" Soap asked only to get silence as a response. "Lt?" Ghost had heard him, though he was too busy wondering why he was even with such an airhead anyway. He'd already been dating one headache why did he feel the need to worsen his pain with another.

When he'd first met you he was already with Soap, their relationship being monogamous at the time. Though that was more of a suggestion than set in stone. Maybe it was the fact that the first time he'd met you- you were choking some guy out with the power of your thighs alone that'd intrigued him. Either way you'd easily clicked with Soap after meeting him, and after exchanging war stories and silly jokes with the two men all day they both knew at the end of it that they liked you. Initially, it wasn't going to go anywhere but Soap was the one who suggested adding you to their little relationship. Ghost was hesitant at first, not because he didn't like you but because he wasn't sure if you liked him. You'd obviously liked Soap, romantically or not you both clicked immediately, but for some reason for Ghost it was so hard to read you on your feelings for him. Sure you were polite out of respect but could it ever go deeper than that? He knows sometimes his dark humor can fall flat and his stoic tone doesn't help either. Soap had reassured him that he had a charm that couldn't be beat, but of course he'd say that. You and him clicked so easily, you both told terrible jokes and fucked around when you shouldn't. You both had a mutual love for explosives and beer and karaoke and had this natural bond he could only wish for with you. After talking about it they sort of dropped it for a few weeks but it was clear that Soap had liked you and he could understand why. Especially after what he considers the true turning point for him. It was a pretty normal night on base, everyone asleep in their barracks, everyone except Ghost. He often had nights like these where sleep was the last thing on his mind, memories plaguing his brain as he fought desperately to think of anything else. He would wake up Johnny, tell him about the bad thoughts, but he really needed the sleep after the last mission they'd been on. So he thought to deal with it alone, going into the kitchen to hopefully find a stashed bottle whisky to drown his sorrows for the night. Only upon entering he found you, leaning against the counter, pouring yourself a freshly brewed pot of coffee. You both locked eyes, a mutual understanding flooding you both as you held out the warm pot, asking silently if he'd join you. He, of course, was hesitant but had nothing better to do. So he grabbed a mug from the cabinet and watched as you poured his coffee, black.

You'd both sat in silence for some time before you asked quietly why he was up. He told the truth, nightmares, but didn't go into much detail understandably. You hummed, replying with the same answer when he'd asked you a similar question. Your jokey manner was all but lost in this moment, at least for a second. You'd asked him to talk about his nightmares with you, saying that it'd be better than him just holding everything in all the time. He didn't expect it, but you were so easy to talk to. Just the smallest amount of convincing and he did what you asked. That night you both shared the stories of your nightmares with each other. You comforted him, gave him advice and told him things he definitely needed to hear. Him ranting only got the ball rolling as he found himself sitting on the common room couch with you simply talking about anything and everything, your company in the now silent base was warming. You'd even laughed at his horrid jokes, throwing back a few that he's now added to his growing roster of dark humor. He hadn't felt like this since...well...Johnny. As the sun rose and light cracked through the curtains he couldn't help but feel a little glad that he'd gotten to spend time with you. That night alone showed him he did have a natural connection with you. You understood him in ways he didn't even think you could. He found you also shared his insomnia episodes, his love for dogs and specific guns, his respect of stealth and going at it alone on missions. When he saw Soap later that day he nonchalantly added that he's now considering asking you to join their relationship, and he couldn't help but replicate the smile on Soaps face.

One which he held now.

"Lt?" Soap glanced up at Ghost, noticing the slight crinkle in his eye and the small indent underneath his cloth balaclava. To anyone else he'd look completely normal right now, but Soap knew that those miniscule signs meant that he was smiling. Smiling at you as you groaned on the floor. Closing his eyes, Ghosts shoulders bounced in a silent laugh before he moved to stand, Soap following him with his eyes before realizing where he was going, and moving to go to you too.

Rolling on your back, you huffed, the cold floor on your rear as you stared up at the blinding white flood lights that shone down on you. Only they were blocked by a shadow, then two, the smiling faces of your boyfriends stood over you. "Need a hand sweetheart?" Soaps Scottish accent filled your ears and you couldn't help the small smile that found it's way to your face. Reaching out with both hands you grabbed onto one of each of theirs, laughing as they hoisted you up with ease. You felt Ghost pat your back before his arm wrapped itself around you. Looking at him you noticed the small smile beneath his mask and reciprocated his action, now committing to a full side hug. You just held each other there before Soap joined in, now you held both of your boyfriends in your arms. You rocked back and forth between them, your chase with Gaz momentarily forgotten as you accepted this newer task of being held. Only momentarily though as Gaz came back into view you suddenly remembered what you were doing before this, your glare being set on his form. "Garrick!" You yelled and he ran again, you moved to chase him but the hands of ghost didn't seem to want to let you go. "No you don't, come on, we're leaving." "Awww but Simon come on-" you groaned, "I'm starving." He stated bluntly, practically dragging you away from the scene as Soap laughed at your pouting face, following the two of you to the kitchen. Ghost simply listened as you began ranting about some random show that you and Soap had been watching, allowing you to completely forget about the Gaz thing as you got distracted by your own thoughts again. He watched as you and Soap recounted a particular episode that seemingly got on your nerves as it ended on a cliff hanger, silently smiling once again as he relished in the company of his two idiot boyfriends.

----!----

( HAPPY BIRTHDAY WEB I HOPE YOU LIKE YOU BIRTHDAY FIC SEXY !!! )

Thanks for reading! Have a great day/night!!

My requests are CLOSED !!

See my DIRECTORY for upcoming fics!

Masterlist

#prismuffin #“cause I'm an idiot and I'm ya boyfriend yes I am” #x male reader #male reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghostsoap #ghostsoap x reader #ghostsoap x male reader #cod mw2 x reader #cod ghost #cod soap #ghost x male reader #soap x male reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #john soap mactavish x male reader #john soap mctavish x male reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #mw2 x reader #cod mw2 imagine #cod mw2 x male reader #simon riley x male reader #simon riley x reader #poly ghostsoap #poly ghostsoap x reader #poly ghostsoap x male reader #soapghost #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x soap

[writingjourney]

Friday Nights at the Vinothek | Vampire!Secondo x gn!Reader

Summary: When the local vintner who buys his cigarettes at the kiosk you work at offers you a job you can’t believe your luck. But after moving to the vineyard where the attraction between you only grows, you soon realize that he is not quite who you thought – and that working for a vampire comes with unexpected dangers.

Content: 26k words, gn!reader, smoking, alcohol consumption, blood donation/needles, fainting, vampirism (blood drinking, mind control to keep you asleep), werewolves, violence, hurt/comfort, smut (biting, blood kink, fingering, spit kink, praise, cuming in pants, cockwarming, p in hole sex, no protection), 18+, MDNI

I'm happy to finally share this story. Thank you @foxybouquet for your help with the nicknames ♡ This is a continuation to my fic Friday Nights at the Cinema Club with Primo. You don't have to read that one. However I recommend reading them in the correct order if you do! The Ao3 version is split into 3 chapters for easier reading.

Masterlist – Ao3 link – Part 1 | Primo's Story

“You must come with me, loving me, to death; or else hate me and still come with me, and hating me through death and after. There is no such word as indifference in my apathetic nature.”

― Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, Carmilla

May

It takes all of two minutes of regular walking until he finds himself at his destination. Kiosk the sign reads in chipped away block letters, the color faded from decades of exposure to the sun. 

Secondo steps inside. The neon lights flicker unrhythmically, uncomfortable to his sensitive eyes but the small corner store is the only business in a radius of forty kilometers that’s open after eight pm. Two tall newspaper racks greet him by the door, another long shelf that sells all sorts of cheap booze, a random assortment of groceries and drug store products, a bunch of dead flowers slowly rotting in their sad plastic prisons. His brothers would hate it here. Hell, sometimes even he hates it here but as the lovely face behind the register comes into view these feelings quickly change. He wonders why on earth you would choose to spend the limited years of your life working late night shifts in this dingy, outdated shop. Weekend nights, at that.

“Buona sera,” he says, then points to the Marlboro reds behind you.

The selection is abysmal here. You hand him the cigarettes, the picture of a rotting lung barely catching his eyes from the packaging. It means nothing to him, would have meant nothing to him even if he wasn’t beyond mortal diseases. Meanwhile your own curious eyes roam his form like they always do. Not very subtle but he does the very same thing with no hint of shame, your hair and skin tone flat and ashen in the horrible lighting, a wide, deformed black polo-shirt with your name tag on it hiding most of your body.

“Grazie,” he says, handing you a twenty. “Keep the change.”

At first, you fought him over the money. By now you accept it without question, the whole interaction usually playing out in exactly the same way as it does tonight. All this morality, all the politeness. You’re wasted here, wasted in this joyless life.

“Do you want to smoke with me? You close in a few minutes, no?” he hears himself asking, not sure where it is coming from. The clock above your head tells him it’s almost ten. 

“I’ve never smoked before,” you say. Such a soft voice. He wonders how it would sound in a scream.

“That is not a no.”

You smile. “No, it’s not.”

What does it say about him, that he wants to corrupt this young, innocent human? Maybe that he has seen too much, the way they tend to throw away the few years of life that they have to work and work some more, energy wasted for corporations, for family drama and horrible vacations just to feel a short sense of adventure every once in a while. Then they die full of resentment and regret and once they’re gone their offspring fight over the little money and the few possessions that they leave.

Not that his own family is much better.

You meet him outside of the kiosk a few minutes later. Wordlessly he hands you a cigarette, followed by his luxurious gold Dupont lighter, worth about a thousand euros, a little splurge he treated himself to in Paris a few years ago. When you open the lid, it gives its signature cling, a well-measured flame flickering to life as you spark the flint.

“This is a fancy lighter,” you comment, bringing the cigarette to your lips.

Secondo smiles. So you have an eye for these things, even if you lack the funds. Even more curious now he watches you light the Marlboro, promptly coughing in pained stutters. He doesn’t fight the amused smile that tugs at his lips as he carefully extracts the expensive lighter from your hands, slipping it back into the pocket of his tight black slacks. 

“What do you say?” he asks.

“It’s not bad,” you reply. “But I don’t think I’ll stick with it.”

He’s not surprised, though he is impressed you so easily gave in. “There are many more ways to sin, more ways to enjoy life, that might be more to your liking, little dove.”

“Like what?”

“Hmmm.” He examines you, lingering on the playful smirk on your face. “Wine of course, riding a motorcycle, expensive clothes, parties, good food… sex.”

An unmistakable heat reaches your face. He can hear the blood pumping faster through your veins, smell the first few hints of arousal oozing from your pores. It satisfies him, your reaction.

“So what, are you the devil trying to corrupt me?” you ask, covering the tremor in your voice with a chuckle.

He takes a drag from his own cigarette, exhaling a long veil of smoke. “Something like that.”

You get more restless beside him, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “If ugh… if you’re asking me for other favors, I’m really not–”

“No,” he interrupts. “I am not. I am not in the habit of finding my lovers in old shops or dark alleyways of small towns.”

“Where do you find them then?”

You pose the question quite genuinely, a flirty undertone to your words that he’s not sure you’re even aware of. He eyes you curiously. “I thought you weren’t interested?”

He can sense more heat rising to your face, radiating off into the cool night air. “I never said that.”

Ah. He averts his gaze, resisting the temptation. Secondo does not take human lovers. Not anymore. After centuries of losing people, of swimming around aimlessly with no one to anchor him, a ship lost in the endless expanse of sea that is an eternal life, he has set himself firm boundaries. Humans are a source of food, at best a companion for a few minutes of conversation, but they are never permanent. Allowing them into your bed leads to lies and wrong expectations. Falling for them, loving them even – it is hopeless, it’s a non-exhaustive well of pain and grief and misery. And attempting to make them last, turning them? He won’t make the same mistake that his younger brother made, inevitably breaking promises and dooming an innocent human to the same restless fate until they despise him for it.

He watches you stub out the cigarette on the metal lid of the nearby trashcan before throwing it away, turning back to him with a glimmer of excited anticipation in your eyes. He’s not sure what you see in him – a sophisticated older man looking for a young lover? A lonely customer in search of a few minutes of company? The local vintner out for a smoke after a long day? 

“Maybe next time we will try something else,” he says.

You don’t reply as he stubs out his own cigarette, heading back home without looking back.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Vampire Gazette 02/05

Werewolf Presumed Dead After Fight In Central European Woods

A fight between a vampire and a werewolf during last Friday’s full moon supposedly ended in the death of the lycanthrope. Multiple anonymous sources claim that the victim was a middle-aged outcast who resided close to the scene of the conflict in a small Central European town. A source close to the family suggests that the vampire, who remained unharmed, is Primo Emeritus. Known as a former Papa and eldest son of the current head of the Church of Emeritus, the vampire moved to the town no more than twelve moons ago. The source states that it was an act of self-defense and that the Emeritus ghouls took care of the body. No remains could be found within the castle walls of his now abandoned home, according to a representative of the werewolf community. A team of impartial investigators has been hired by the authorities to look into the case. Upon editorial request, Primo Emeritus was not willing to comment on the accusations at this time.

Instances of fights between vampires and werewolves have become rare over the past two centuries. This is the first instance of a killing between the two groups in almost a decade. Further consequences remain to be observed. Experts expect the respective authorities to be able to smooth the waters fairly quickly considering the high social standing of the Emeritus clan.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Secondo nearly spits out his evening coffee, Terzo next to him breaks out in manic laughter. For a few minutes after reading the paper they both sit around the large dining table in pure, unadulterated wonder.

“He killed a fucking werewolf?” Terzo finally speaks into the silence.

“It would appear so.”

More laughter. Terzo is holding his belly underneath his pristine white blouse, his chest heaving with the intensity of his fit. Secondo knows his brother is not breaking out in amusement but sheer disbelief and yet, it is a rare, almost heart-warming experience to hear him actually laughing for once. If only the circumstances weren’t as dire.

“I’m not surprised no one informed us,” Secondo muses. “Father must know.”

“He must, yes, but he doesn’t give a shit.” Another bout of laughter as Terzo’s elbows crash down on the majestic wooden table, his head landing on his hands in a gesture of wild incredulity. “He killed a werewolf. Primo.”

“Will you stop laughing? This could have serious consequences, outcast or not. We have to keep an eye on this.”

“Do you think they’ll be after us?”

A shrug. “That would be foolish but it is a possibility.”

Terzo rests his head on his upper arm now, elegantly draped over the table with his raven hair falling into his face as he turns to his brother. “Why do you think he killed him?”

“Perhaps it was self defense. Some werewolves still hold a deep hatred for vampires. Though it is very stupid to attack Primo. He must have known who he is.”

Terzo pauses, drumming his fingers against his head. He was never able to keep still for long, a little fidget with a tendency for clumsiness, drawing attention to himself if he wanted to or not. “I wish we knew what he is up to. I hate this separation. Can’t you invite him over for that big fancy new wine tasting?”

“He clearly stated that he wanted to be alone for a while to build a quiet new life.”

“Yes but by now a while is four decades.” 

Secondo breathes out a sigh. “I can invite him, I am not sure he will come.”

“Let him know I’m here.”

“I don’t know if that is an incentive or a sure way to get him to never call again.” 

His voice is deadpan, yet Terzo breaks out in more laughter. “You can be so funny, fratello. If only you wouldn’t hide it behind that scary scowl of yours.”

“Aren’t you supposed to help the ghouls clear out the west wing today? We need to renovate the rooms.”

“I don’t know why you assume I am the new bellhop in your hotel business.”

Secondo waits until Terzo meets his eyes, narrowing them for extra emphasis. “Don’t think I do not know why you suddenly felt the need to visit me over the summer. Surely it was not because you missed me so.”

“I don’t know what you mean, fratello.”

“What makes you think they will be here?”

Terzo holds his gaze, similar white and green eyes meeting, only breaking away when the door to the dining room flies open and a black-hooded ghoul steps inside. “They will be, I know it.”

June 

Time feels especially gooey on weekend nights. Customers are a rare sight, not even Mr Emeritus, the attractive older and suspiciously well-dressed man who occasionally buys cigarettes from you, shows up tonight. The tinny music from the old radio behind the counter is somehow worse, every shift a ten hour train ride without stops. Usually, you sit on your little stool reading your book or scrolling on your phone. Today, it’s so boring that you open the daily newspaper to scan the job listings, just in case something pops up.

As expected, it is hopeless. Another dead town center of a remote village with no qualified job offers, your salary a joke but your boss never fails to stress that you at least get the employee discount and free Wrigley’s Spearmint bubble gum. Even with your meager savings you can’t afford the move to a bigger city right now, the prospect of being alone in an even larger just as hollow space with too many strange faces around you not at all enticing. At least here people know you, even if all of your friends have long since moved away in search of jobs and a place to settle.

You turn the page, a rustling sound that feels too loud in the quiet vacuum of the kiosk.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Nordsteiner Abendblatt

– Ad –

Wine is not the only juice of life that makes it worth living. Donate your blood to help the local hospitals this weekend at the Emeritus Vineyard.

Date: June 25th, 4-10pm

Reward: 50€

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Fifty euros? You pause. Have they always offered money for this? It’s not a pay rise, it won’t get you very far either, but for a bit of blood it’s certainly tempting. There haven’t been any blood donation campaigns here in quite some time, not since they closed the local medical center after pretty much all of the doctors retired, their offices long since abandoned. 

You mull it over until you close the shop half an hour later after another sluggish Friday night without customers. You walk past the Vinothek, peeking inside like you always do on your way home. For a shop slash bar that sells wine in an almost abandoned old town it is incredibly fancy, antique looking wooden interiors, deep green velvet wallpapers with a subtle pattern of tendrils of vine that seem to be crawling up to the ceiling, dipped into the soft shadows of dimmed wall lamps. Everything is centered around a bar that is too well-stocked and professional for a town like this, expensive liquors, a wine fridge that must have cost more than your tiny old car. Two men are nursing their drinks – only one of them is peering over the rim of an actual wine glass, black hair falling into an aging face, the other one tipping the remainder of a beer into his mouth.

The only explanation you have is that this is Mr Emeritus’s little playground while the actual money comes from the export of the wine they produce in the vineyard at the edge of town. You’ve been to the old Mansion before, tugged away in the rolling hills framing the area. They offer guided tours with subsequent wine tastings, hikes, really, that are especially beautiful in early fall when the grapevines are filled with deep purple fruit and the leaves of the surrounding trees are slowly turning yellow. Even though you don’t drink all that often and are by no means an expert you have to admit that you’ve never tasted wine quite as smooth, quite as delicate as Mr Emeritus’s.

That day a few years ago you didn’t get to see the owner himself, you’re not sure if you’ve ever actually seen him in broad daylight, but now you do spot him standing in the doorway at the far end of the bar. He looks dashing, wearing tight-fitting black slacks, a matching black button down shirt with expensive-looking leather gloves and the sunglasses you never see him without. He’s Italian, that much you know, polite yet reserved when he’s not coaxing you into smoking. Even a few weeks later you’re not quite sure what got into him that night, talking to you about enjoying life and sinning, about alcohol and sex and then just… leaving. Not even mentioning it again when he picked up new Marlboros the week after.

Lost in thought, you almost miss that his gaze shifts towards the window. Under his glasses it’s hard to tell if he is actually looking at you but you decide to leave anyway before he gets the idea of inviting you inside. Somehow you must have got stuck for a moment, frozen in time, because before you’ve even passed the bar he suddenly pops up right in front of you. Confused, you glance from the entrance back to him, the door only slowly swinging shut. How–

“Buona sera,” he says, lighting a cigarette with the fancy gold lighter he let you use last time. For a man who seems to indulge in luxuries, he seems so very down to earth, minimalist in a way, no word, no detail that feels out of place. 

“Hello,” you reply.

For a moment you stand there like you’re waiting for the bus to pick you up, unsure if you should just leave or if he is trying to start a conversation. Maybe he’s just out for smoke, maybe he didn’t even notice you from inside. The tip of his cigarette burns up brightly when he takes the first drag, a bright orange fleck of light in the darkness surrounding him. His mere aura beside you seems to command the night, wholly different from how you perceive him in the kiosk. This is his private kingdom, this is where he feels at home.

“Did you finish your shift?” he asks then, puffing out smoke.

“Yeah. It was a calm night.”

“I see.” He takes another drag, then he holds the cigarette out for you, secured between his gloved fingers. “Hm?”

You instinctively shake your head and his pencil mustache twitches. He does not pull away, a dare, maybe. “Okay,” you decide. “Sure.”

A rare smile. He takes a step closer which sends you into a nervous spiral, your heart pumping faster and faster. A slight tremor runs through his hand as he places the filter at your lips, the very part that was trapped in his own mouth mere seconds ago. At this thought, your hands start to sweat, warmth spreading out in your lower belly. His eyes are fixated on your mouth as you close your lips around the cigarette, taking a brave inhale that burns in your lungs. This time you don’t cough or stutter. Your face starts to burn all the same.

“Can I offer you a drink?” he asks. “On the house.”

“I don’t usually…” You catch yourself before you finish the sentence, shaking your head to dismiss your own hesitation as you remember his words. “Yes, thank you.”

If he notices how flustered you are, he does not let on as he holds the door open for you to invite you in. The man who finished his beer earlier is slipping past you by the entrance and you notice that whoever had the wine is not inside the bar anymore. At the prospect of being alone in here with Mr Emeritus, your stomach does a somersault.

He disappears behind the bar and you set your bag down on one of the stools before you shift into a comfortable position right next to it. The seats are soft and plush, inviting you to stay for more than one glass. Observing the happenings behind the bar from here is a lot more exciting than from the outside. Mr Emeritus is in his element, that much is certain, whipping out glasses and corkscrews with expert movements.

“You do not drink often,” he states. “I think I have something that you would like.”

You nod your consent and watch him pick out a bottle from the fridge. It looks expensive, a white label with gold-foiled lettering. Papastrello, it says. The rest of the words are too small.

“What are you reading?” he asks as he opens the bottle. His eyes have found your bag, the spine of a worn old paperback peeking out of the open zipper

“Carmilla,” you say. 

“Ah, vampires.” The cork pops, a deep, satisfying sound. A rich, slightly sweet scent escapes the now open bottle. “Do you enjoy the old tales?”

“I prefer them over the newer adaptations, yes.”

“So do I,” he says, expertly filling a glass with the red liquid. “I am surprised a young person such as yourself is so fond of the classics.”

You chuckle. “I think many people are. Or they would not be classics.”

He hums, setting the glass down in front of you. “Not blood but a red that is just as beautiful and rich,” he remarks. “One of my fratellino’s favorites.”

“I don’t uhm…” You carefully take the delicate stem of the thick-bellied glass. “I don’t really know how to–”

“Smell it for a moment, grappolino,” he says. “Do not worry about drinking.”

You bring the glass to your nose. The scent is so strong to your unused senses that you barely have to sniff. Even so, you’re not sure what you’re smelling. It reminds you of different fruits, cherry maybe, almost sweet but with a hint of acid.

“There are different categories of aromas,” he says. “Primary, secondary, tertiary. Many factors influence the smell, the type of grape, the fermentation process, the aging in the barrel.”

He explains it calmly, knowledgeable, not like he wants to brag or taunt you for your lack of expertise. You have to admire how soft-spoken he is for someone with such harsh features, such a domineering aura. Seldom have you met a man of his standing who was so pleasant to talk to, who drew you in like this.

“Now try,” he instructs. “A small sip, hold it in your mouth for a moment, breathe in and see how it makes you feel.”

You do as he says, taking some of the red liquid in your mouth and swirling it around your tongue, breathing in as you let it sit. Somehow the aroma is still there, different from the taste, more intense, but together they fill your senses in a most pleasant way. The wine feels smooth in your mouth just like you remember, even as you swallow, not at all like the cheap supermarket wine you know from when you were younger and drinking with friends.

“No blood, you were right,” you say with a smile. “But it is good. I like it a lot.”

He nods, content with your reply, and fills your glass up a little more. Somehow you feel good about satisfying him, about following his instructions and earning his approval. You wouldn’t mind following him in other areas of your life.

“Speaking of blood,” you say to distract yourself from these thoughts. “I saw your ad in the paper earlier. The one for the blood donation.”

“Are you looking to donate?” he asks, perking up. With his interest so focused on you, you suddenly feel almost shy about it.

“I am thinking about it,” you say. “I used to go years ago.”

“We are happy about everyone who donates. It is for a good cause, we are going to do it every few months now.”

“I didn’t know that you get money for it or I would have looked into it sooner.”

“The kiosk does not pay well?” he concludes.

You huff out a pained laugh. “No. It’s a struggle. But there aren’t many jobs available around here.”

He regards you curiously, at least from what you can gather without seeing his actual eyes. You wish you could. His mustache is a dark brown color, even without hair on his head you assume his eyes must be dark just like that. Or perhaps green, maybe even hazel. Without seeing them your own gaze quickly falls, dancing along his sharp cheekbones and down his prominent nose, the lines on his face leading you to his mouth, pencil mustache, full lips over a strong chin. You’ve been eyeing him for months now, every time he visits the kiosk, but somehow the change in lighting, the change in atmosphere, gives him a magnetic, almost preternatural aura.

A smile tugs at his lips then and you panic for a moment that he might have read your thoughts, that you must have been staring. You quickly avert your gaze, downing way too much of the wine to keep up a graceful appearance.

“Can I offer you some food? Some cheese, perhaps?” he asks.

“Actually, I should um… I should head home,” you say, already feeling a little lightheaded. “It’s late and I have a shift tomorrow.”

“Take the bottle,” he says.

“What? No– That’s–”

“Grappolino, I want you to have it. Don’t insult me by refusing a gift.”

You’re not sure what the name means, something with grapes, probably, but you’re too flustered now to pay much attention. When he hands you the bottle you blindly take it, uttering a few words of thanks. He remains steady, unbothered, which you assume is a good thing. He’s not truly offended. You wonder if anything could shake him enough to break his measured temper.

“I will see you at the donation?” he asks when you slip from your stool.

“Yes. I will see you there,” you promise. “I can’t wait to give you my blood.”

He chuckles, a foreign sound coming from the depths of his throat. Without looking back up, you grab your bag and almost rush out of the bar. The cool night air slaps you in the face like a whip, clearing your head and senses from the effects of the wine and its producer in mere seconds. You take a few deep breaths, pressing the cold bottle against your burning chest. If he is flirting with you then it is certainly working, if not then his mere presence affects you in ways you feel almost ashamed of. Either way, you can’t deny that the money has suddenly become a secondary motivation to visit the vineyard next week. No, there is something way more thrilling waiting for you.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Specks of dust dance in the sunlight like a thousand tiny feathers, sinking to the ground almost weightlessly. The two empty sitting rooms on the ground floor should be enough to meet the demand that Secondo expects for today. Everyone who donates their blood gets a voucher for the Vinothek and fifty euros cash on hand. The incentives promise a high yield, enough to fill every pre-order as well as the glasses of his special guests once the blood “wine” is ready to be served.

To his chagrin, all the ghouls are busy renovating the guest rooms, and so Terzo is the one helping him prepare the localities. The partnering hospital has sent a truck with enough donation chairs to line the walls opposite of the south-facing windows of the two rooms, granting a nice view over the vineyard. Come sundown, the ghouls will handle the donations. With their monk-like appearance Secondo hopes the people will be trusting. All the bureaucratic hassle, all the licenses and administrative obstacles better be worth it.

“So, how many times do we have to do this?” Terzo asks, rolling another chair into the room.

“This will be the first harvest, another one in September,” Secondo says. “We will keep sixty percent of donations, the rest goes to the local hospitals. It should give us enough to last over the winter if the demand is stable. Then we continue in spring.”

“Mhm and you’re looking forward to tasting the blood of someone special?”

Secondo’s gaze snaps up in a withering look. “Are you eavesdropping on me?”

“It was hard to avoid, fratello. After I finished my wine I had to use the bathroom and it is so close to the bar, no?” He shrugs, smiling to himself. “Now, what happened to Mr. I-don’t-fuck-humans?”

“Who said anything about sexual intercourse?”

“Sexual intercourse?” Terzo repeats. “That’s not a very romantic word. Not very sexy either.”

“I am not looking to fuck, I am looking for a food source.”

“So you want to sample their blood today?”

“Yes.”

“What makes you think it’s good? Why are they special?”

Secondo has no answer to this. Instead he pushes his sunglasses up his nose, adjusts his gloves, biding time. When he finally meets Terzo’s curious gaze again, he shrugs. “I have a feeling.”

“Where exactly is this feeling located? Just below your belt?”

He heaves an annoyed sigh. He won’t grace with him a reply to this, maybe even because he knows that there is a certain truth to his brother’s words that he would rather ignore. There is just something about your smell, about your presence, your positive aura, the warmth in your eyes, that wakes a certain hunger in him. Sexual or not, Secondo knows that he needs to taste your blood.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

The mansion is just as impressive as you remember from your last visit years ago, throning over steep hills with neat rows of lush grapevines. The sight takes your breath away as you carry your already tired body towards the open entrance gates of the estate. A grand, majestic building sits partly hidden behind two tall beech trees with their voluminous crowns, U-shaped, well-kept and exuding the impressive historic atmosphere of centuries past. Ivy and vine tendrils crawl up the high walls on either side, hiding some of the rich ornamentations of the façade that are partly embellished in gold.

You leave the winding trail through the landscape, your muscles burning from the steady uphill climb, and enter a spacious, stone-flagged courtyard. An almost Mediterranean ambience welcomes you – old wine barrels have been stacked in one corner, beautifully planted with lush flowers and shrubs like a small magical garden. A small outdoor sitting area dominates another corner, shielded from the sun by a pergola that’s overgrown with more vine tendrils. Terracotta planters scattered around the open space house even more greenery and the whole area smells richly of herbs and pollen.

You soon spot a sign with a red arrow, the words blood donation written underneath, leading into one of the side entrances. An old chair secures a wooden door that opens into a cool but gloomy hallway, flagged with old stone tiles that remind you more of a castle than a stately home. You’re met with voices chattering in the rooms on either side – it seems busy. Glancing into one, you spot a small reception area and decide that this is where you must be registering for your donation. One wall of the room is lined in medical chairs, almost all of them occupied by donors with black-robed men that remind you of monks tending to them.

You are greeted by one of them, only not with words but a gentle nod as he guides you through another door. Inside is a small office where a pale but kind-looking doctor receives you. After a short talk he clears you for donation and you’re assigned one of the chairs near the entrance. One of the black-hooded men approaches. He really must be a monk, you decide, doing charitable work. Perhaps Mr Emeritus has connections to the church – it would make sense if he is veering into the philanthropic lane now. So many religious orders have their own humanitarian organizations who offer volunteers in the field of medical care, maybe he even has his own. You don’t question the process as everyone else in the room seems comfortable.

The monk does not speak to you when he prepares your arm but he is certainly skilled as he slides the sharp needle through your skin and into your vein. You hardly feel any pressure and as the tube fills with your blood, you start to relax in your seat. He hands you a black rubber stress ball, mimicking how you’re supposed to squeeze it to your palm to increase the blood flow. For the next ten minutes you stay exactly like that, your arm outstretched and your fingers wrapped around the squishy toy. Time passes fast, an older lady begins to chat with you before she is done and leaves you to yourself. Once your bag is filled, the monk removes the needle and expertly wraps up your arm. You don’t see where he carries the bag as he leaves through another door.

With your donation complete, you first sit and then stand up, cautiously stretching out your limbs as to not overwhelm your circulation, following the lady’s advice to take it easy. Another sign in the hallways indicates that there is a sort of break room with snacks and drinks, so you decide to head there and wait until your body has recovered. The sudden change of light and temperature as you leave the sunny and warm sitting room does you no favor. Suddenly your head begins to swim, an icy cold wrapping around your body like a blanket of snow. Your fingertips tingle, cold sweat spreading over your back and then you’re sinking, falling–

“Careful,” a steady voice says and instead of the cool stone floor you hit a soft, strong body. Your vision is blurry but you clearly see the outline of black sunglasses over a strong nose and then those soft, full lips. The man cradles you against him, sitting you down with his knee supporting your back. “I need you to lie down, grappolino. Do I have permission to carry you?”

You nod, not quite sure what is going on as your brain struggles to cling to the world around you. 

“It’s you,” you whisper when he gathers you in his arms like you weigh nothing at all. 

He carries you down the hallway, the sudden movement only making you dizzier until you feel like you have to throw up. “It is me,” he says at length. “Do not worry, little dove, I will take care of you. I will take care of you forever.”

You close your eyes at the sound of his soothing words, spoken in such a deep but somehow soft voice that caresses your ears like the gentle touch of a lover. Comforted, you rest your head on his shoulders, breathing out a tired sigh, and drift off.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

“This is the right bag?” he asks, even though he can smell it through the plastic and antiseptic layers surrounding it. The same scent he detected from your arm when he carried you upstairs, a scent that already has his nerves on edge with an appetite that he can hardly contain.

The ghoul nods and Secondo shudders as he cradles your blood in his hands. What a beautiful red, richer than any wine he ever made. He takes off his sunglasses to admire how it moves when he flexes his gloved fingers, the texture so smooth, almost silken. Saliva gathers in his mouth and for a moment he forgets the presence of the ghoul.

Impatient now, he looks up to dismiss him. “Grazie.”

He’s already in the kitchen when the door closes, ripping open cabinets in search of a glass. But his body is on fire, burning, longing, craving. He feels like a starving man, like an addict in search of a fix, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s abandoned his search. With both hands he takes the bag and sinks his fangs into the plastic, penetrating the material until he can finally taste you. A deep, rumbling moan breaks from his chest as the first drop of blood meets his tongue. It’s not enough. He bites harder until more of the liquid spills out. Secondo drinks like he has never drunk before. Any attempt at savoring it is in vain. He can’t remember the last time he lost control like this, gulping it down with a greed that would make Lucifer proud, an unquenchable thirst. Your blood is infernal, drinking it an unholy sacrament, the closest he has felt to his faith in decades since leaving the Church. More and more he sucks into his mouth until it dribbles down his chin and onto his sleek white shirt, the one he ironed before knowing that he would meet you today. He rips it from his chest as soon as the bag is empty and the taste starts to fade. Impatiently he sucks at the stains until the aroma finally escapes even his hyper sensitive taste buds.

He’s a wreck. The smell lingers in his nose long after he’s licked the last remnants from his gloves. He sinks to the floor, shamefully gathering the last few drops of blood he spilled and bringing them to his searing, ruined tongue. A pathetic, shameful whimper escapes him and he has to sit in quiet solitude for several minutes until he manages to gather his wits. This is embarrassing, he decides. He has to get cleaned up and dressed.

Secondo enters his bedroom where he brought you to rest a mere ten minutes ago. The sight of your innocent form sleeping in his bed nearly sends him into another frenzy, your neck exposed over the collar of your shirt and practically begging for his mouth. He stands and looks at your weak body, watching your eyes twitching behind their lids, even if they stay closed. For now he is sated enough to stay in control, pushing any animalistic thoughts to the side. You’re beautiful, such a lovely young human, sleeping in the bed of a bloodthirsty monster. The thought makes him chuckle. Perhaps human prejudice against vampires is not that unfounded, even if he usually thinks of himself as a rather sophisticated specimen.

He allows himself another moment of silent reprieve, his eyes roaming your peaceful form without his glasses now. Eventually he brings himself to take a quick shower in the en-suite, freshening up, more cologne, less blood to spook you. He decides on a simple dark green polo shirt, showing off his arms. As he splashes his face with water, he can’t help but wonder what is happening to him. 

Your taste is unlike any he has ever experienced before. If he sold it in bottles, even watered down, everyone would flock to his business. But just the thought of sharing you with any other vampire makes him recoil in disgust, the hair on his arms standing up in defiance. It is an entirely new sensation, entirely unwelcome, and yet he can’t shake it. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do about these intrusive feelings, about his lack of control, the possessiveness that overcomes him in your presence. He’s not even sure if he can trust himself to be near you.

But even so he knows that he cannot let you leave. Not anymore.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

You dream of him. 

The outlines are blurry, a room that feels dark, the lights blended out and only coming in through cracks that won’t allow your eyes to focus. Then his handsome face comes into view. Your vision clears for just a moment. Blood covers his face. Not his face. His mouth. His eyes are weird, one is a dark red and one is incredibly pale, the strong brows above drawn tightly together. His gaze is intense, a hunger, a craving reflected in his glowing irises. You’re scared for just a moment but then his expression changes, a sudden tenderness glossing over the harshness of his features and the red eye turns to an emerald green. He looks quite beautiful like this, even with the blood covering his mouth. Especially with the blood covering his mouth.

When you break free from the tight grasp of your hazy dream and open your eyes, his face is right there. You startle, your slow heartbeat suddenly jumping into a sprint, but there is no blood, no discolored eyes, just his sunglasses as he pushes them up his nose.

“Don’t be scared, grappolino,” he says from the edge of the bed. “It is just me.”

You nod, blinking yourself awake. Your head hurts, a low thrum that penetrates your skull like a fly repeatedly hitting a window.

“Do you remember what happened?”

You sit up slightly, propping the pillow up behind you and the way it hurts, the pressure and numbness in the crook of your arm, brings back your memories. “I donated blood.”

“You did. And you fainted,” he explains. “This is my own private bedroom.” 

“Do… do all the patients get this treatment?”

A chuckle. “No.”

Heat rises to your chest and you avert your eyes. They are immediately drawn to his bare arms, to the dark hair covering them before his gloved hands appear in your peripheral vision. The polo shirt suits him, a dark green color, the cut accentuating the solid shape of his shoulders. A tuft of dark chest hair peeks out of his open collar and you can see his nipples through the fabric. It is cold in here, you realize. Or perhaps your goosebumps have a different origin.

“I brought you something to drink,” he says, lifting a dark glass bottle he must have set down beside the bed. The distraction is imminent. You eye it curiously, a frown settling on your face. 

He can’t possibly be offering you wine right now? 

“Grape juice,” he states.

“Oh.”

You feel silly now, maybe your brain is still not fully awake. He opens the screw and fills a glass that was previously set down on the bedside table. When he hands it to you, the tight bandage on your arm hinders you yet again from moving freely and you have to hold out your other hand instead. Mr Emeritus is patient, waiting until you’ve taken the first few sips before he stands from the bed.

“I will bring you some food, little dove. We need to increase your blood sugar, give you some energy. In the meantime you will be good for me and drink your juice, yes?”

His words make you choke on your spit and you cough uncomfortably into the burn. “I ugh… I will. Thank you.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile but it’s enough to have you flustered. You take small sips of the juice that, just like his wine, feels smooth on your tongue and has a rich, intense flavor. It warms your belly, brings life back into your limbs and other parts of your body. You’d be good for him in so many different ways if he let you.

That thought makes you abruptly realize that you’re in his actual bed. You use the chance to properly look at the spacious room surrounding you. It is furnished rather simply, heavy dark curtains cover most of the windows but even with most of the light locked out you can’t see anything beyond the huge canopy you’re resting on. You’re draped between dark green cotton sheets that must have an incredibly high thread count with how soft they feel underneath your fingertips. The dark wooden bed frame is kept upright by four artfully carved posts, solid and dominating the room, the drapes tied to them with rope. You spot two doorways – one is closed, the other slightly ajar. The wall next to the open door is home to a huge painting, the edge of the gold frame shimmering in an odd ray of light that breaks through a gap in the curtains. You don’t know the artwork, it seems to be a dark one, mostly covered in shadows now, but you think it must be a religious subject because you can make out monk-like figures, a goat, a building that resembles an old abbey.

“You walked here?” 

Mr Emeritus reenters the room, carrying a tray as he pushes the door open with his black leather brogues. 

“Ugh, yes. Is that bad?”

“You cannot walk back,” he decides. “No one is available right now to drive you and I cannot leave before we are done with donations. I suggest you stay and rest.”

“As in… stay the night?”

“One of our guest rooms should be finished by now. You can stay there.” A pause as he settles back beside you and places his cargo in your lap. On the tray you find a basket with a few slices of bread, ciabatta from the looks of it, a plate with a small piece of butter, two different wedges of cheese, a bunch of grapes and other fruit. It looks delicious. “I hope this is to your liking.”

“It looks wonderful, thank you.“ You look from the tray to him. “You’re not from the area originally, are you?”

“No, I am not from the area. Does that matter to you, grappolino?”

“No, you just… you don’t look like you belong here,” you finally say, popping a grape into your mouth. “You should be in… I don’t know, Rome, Paris. Or Tuscany, maybe. Why did you bring your business here? Just because of the vineyard?”

“The mansion has been in possession of my family for a long time,” he says. “I always had an interest in wine making, so I took over when the previous tenant expressed his wish to retire.”

“So you actually chose to live in the middle of nowhere?”

“I enjoy the quiet and solitude.” He cocks his head to the side. “And besides, so do you.”

“Hm, touché.”

You eat as much as you feel comfortable with. He watches you throughout your little meal and while it unsettles you you’re more than willing to accept his hospitality. You promised to be good for him after all and you don’t intend to break that promise. Once you’re done he relieves you of the tray and sets it down on the floor. He gives no indication that he wants to leave.

“Do you feel better?” he asks instead. “Let me feel your pulse.”

You don’t object when his gloved hand reaches for yours. The leather feels thick, sturdy, which makes his hand look huge when it surrounds yours. But then he seems to make a last minute decision to remove the gloves, revealing pale but strong hands, dark hair trailing from his knuckles down to his arm. His fingers are cooler than you expect even though there is a warm glow pulsating underneath his fingertips. Your heart immediately begins to hammer in your chest, rapidly beating against its cage of bone and skin. This will not be a useful measuring, at least not if he’s trying to anticipate your health.

Perhaps his train of thought is similar, for his eyes search yours the moment he feels the increase. The corner of his mouth pulls up slightly and his thumb gently strokes over your wrist. You’re quite incapable of looking away, even through the sunglasses there seems to be a sort of shine in his gaze. If only you could properly see them, not just their shadowy outlines. Sparks fly just below your skin, sending shivers through your whole body.

“You seem livelier to me,” he concludes. “Perhaps some more sleep will do, hm? I will have your rooms arranged, you can stay here for the time being.”

“I have a question,” you pipe up before he can leave, a hint of embarrassment laced into your words that you can’t quite hide. “Am I still getting the money?”

“The money?”

“The fifty euros.”

You’re acutely aware of his thumb still stroking your wrist, so softly that it tickles. “You will, grappolino. But there is… something I want to talk to you about. I was going to wait but perhaps now is a good time, no? Before you are too tired again.” 

“What is it?” you ask.

“I want to offer you a job.”

Your eyes widen, the words so unexpected. “A job?”

“I need an employee for the Vinothek. Wine tastings take place on Friday nights every few weeks and I need someone to take over the regular business as I take care of them. The rest of the time you can help out in the vineyard. We have a few important events soon where we introduce new varieties, some international guests will come to visit and there is a lot to do until then.”

“Are you sure this is… not just a pity job offering?”

“No,” he states so matter-of-factly that all your questions vanish. “I can use two extra hands and a sharp brain. I will double your current salary and you can move into your own quarters here for no extra cost. I will make sure your rooms are to your liking.”

You let the thought sit for a moment. Double your salary? Living in an actual mansion in the midst of beautiful wine hills? You wonder what the catch is, if he’s just going to fire you once fall is over or if he’s going to give you all the most horrible tasks he can think of. Even so, for that much money you wouldn’t mind cleaning toilets, sweeping the floors or brewing his morning coffee. It’s not that different from what you’re doing right now anyway.

“Of course there will be no eh… bad blood if you say no.”

“That seems exceptionally dumb,” you say, cringing a bit at your words. “What I mean is, that’s a… a tempting offer. It’s one that sounds too good to be true, actually. It’s just… I don’t know much about wine.”

“I can teach you all that you need to know, grappolino, non preoccuparti,” he says, his voice deeper and almost sultry. His thumb presses into your pulse then, drawing a line along the vein in your forearm until he stops just below the crook of your arm. Then he seems to snap out of whatever thought occupied his mind and pulls away. “Think about it. I do not expect a reply right away.”

You nod, missing his fingers on you already. When he finally leaves the room, you sink back into the soft mattress and imagine what a life here would be like. The offer is too good to refuse and your undeniable crush on Mr Emeritus urges you to agree even more, no matter how foolish it would be to pine after your employer. Subconsciously you bring your thumb to the wrist he just held, mimicking his touch. You think you might die if you don’t feel his hands on your body again. Perhaps he was right, perhaps you would like to explore all the different ways of sinning that he mentioned to you, and perhaps you would very much like him to take part as well.

July

Even though you’re still not quite sure what to make of the masked and hooded monks living in his home who never seem to speak, you accompany them to pack up your belongings. They follow all of your requests and directions without question, treat your things with utmost care and make sure nothing gets lost. What is even more astounding is how they carry even the heaviest of boxes filled with books without any visible strain. Most of the furniture you won’t need anymore is quickly sold or gifted to people on eBay and in the span of one afternoon, all you need is neatly packed into boxes that are now stacked in your new quarters.

You’re not quite sure how he did it but Mr Emeritus handled your job transition quite seamlessly. Your old boss agreed immediately, at least that’s what he told you, and a day later you signed all the necessary paperwork. It gives you a whole day off to familiarize yourself with your new living situation. All morning you unpack boxes, sort books into shelves, clothes into drawers. Your quarters are bigger than anticipated. A decently sized sitting room with beautiful antique-looking green sofas leads into a wide, canopied bedroom that has an en-suite bathroom as well as a walk-in closet.

You are free to use the impressive kitchen downstairs and really, you still haven’t found the catch in the whole arrangement. In search of a cup of afternoon tea, you make your way exactly there, hoping that the pantry is stocked since you’re pretty sure Mr Emeritus has his own private kitchen somewhere else in the mansion. This morning, when you picked up a cup of coffee, he was nowhere to be seen and no dishes or any other evidence betrayed that he was down here. 

When you enter the room now, you spot someone else – a raven-haired head stuck in the fridge. The man looks like he just woke up, wearing grey sweatpants and a purple dressing gown. When he turns around, you notice that his upper body is naked and for a moment you’re not sure where to look. The sweatpants barely conceal the outline of his cock and his bare chest and the soft pouch of his belly are covered in thick black hair. A few small tattoos litter his pale skin, an upside down cross underneath his ribs, two more symbols you don’t recognize just above the dip of his hips. His face seems familiar, broad and handsome, beautifully aged with lines that bring out his strong features, bushy dark eyebrows over eyes that… You halt for a moment. One of his irises is green and the other is white, just like the ones you saw in your dream. Heterochromia is nothing new to you, but for an eye to be this pale?

“Oh, buon pomeriggo,” he says with an openly flirty smile. “We have not met yet, I believe?”

“Uhm... no. I don’t think so.”

“You can call me Terzo.”

You give him your name as well, introducing yourself as a new employee. Before the man can say anything else, steps resound behind you and Mr Emeritus appears in the doorway, eyeing him with barely concealed disdain. “Am I interrupting, fratello?”

“Oh, we just met,” you explain. “I wasn’t aware there was anyone else living here.”

“This is just my brother,” he states. “Don’t mind him, he is ugh… hanging around.”

Terzo scoffs dismissively. “I am actually also working here–”

“I thought you were not my new bellhop, fratellino?”

“I help with the guest room renovations. Really, I am the eh… interior designer, you could say.” He grabs your hand, bringing it to his lips with a smirk. “Anyway, it is a pleasure to meet you, tesoro. How lovely to have a youthful presence in this old house.”

“Likewise. I actually wasn’t aware this was a hotel also.”

“It is not,” Mr Emeritus explains, taking a few steps into the room now. He looks incredibly handsome today, wearing his usual black slacks as well as a black button down shirt, sleeves rolled up and the collar open just enough to reveal some of his chest. “We are going to host some of the guests who submit to long travels in order to attend the wine tastings. Now, I was looking for you. I think you need a tour of this place, grappolino, no?”

Terzo dismisses you with a gentle smile, waving after his brother when you both leave the kitchen. Mr Emeritus briskly walks ahead, leading you down a long hallway.

“Were you going to eat?” he asks. “I interrupted.”

“No, I wanted a cup of tea. But I can just have that later.”

He hums, then leads you up a staircase to show you where the guest rooms are going to be located. You see some of the monks again, carrying furniture, painting walls, cleaning rugs. They don’t acknowledge your presence, only step aside when you pass.

“Mr Emeritus–” you start.

“You can call me Secondo,” he interrupts. “Since you are already calling my brother by his first name.”

You’re not sure if you’re imagining the hint of jealousy tainting his voice. He certainly did not look too pleased when he entered the scene earlier. “Secondo and Terzo,” you say. “Like the numbers?”

“My father was not very creative when he procreated like a dog in heat. He argues that he followed an old Italian tradition which is just convenient, no?”

You make a mental note that his father is not a good subject to broach just as he leads you back into the main staircase. “Can I ask you something else?”

“I understand you must have many questions. Feel free to pose them whenever you wish.”

“Well, the biggest one I have is… uhm…” You pause but he does not seem bothered at all. “Who are the hooded men? They look like monks but also not like any real monks I’ve ever seen before.”

“They are something similar.”

“Like a cult? Is that why they don’t talk?”

“No, grappolino, not a cult. We call them the Nameless Ghouls.” His voice is even and patient considering the amount of questions you’re shooting at him. As you walk down the stairs you notice that he is not even remotely out of breath while you’re already struggling to keep up. “They are bound to certain rules of their community such as to not speak to outsiders. They work for me because they were summoned to do so for which I am very grateful. I have arranged one of the former guest houses on the property where they live amongst themselves.”

You furrow your brow, a little confused as to how much of a red flag that should be for you. Ghouls, the religious painting, the upside down cross on his brother’s chest… it does seem suspiciously like a cult. His pace is so fast that you almost stumble down the stairs now. “Do I… do I also have to join them?”

“Oh, no, non preoccuparti. They have nothing to do with you.”

“So they just… help out here?”

“Sì. They make all of this possible.”

“I mean, if they want to live like that, I guess that’s okay.”

He stops in the middle of the staircase. You almost stumble into his strong back, catching yourself on the railing just in time. “I assure you it is all consensual, grappolino. They are free to leave and do as they please. Just like you. Nothing here happens without great enthusiasm.”

You look at him, toying with the hem of your shit nervously now that his gaze is back on your body. Enthusiasm does not sound like he is talking about work but at least it also doesn’t sound like a cult. “This word, is it a good thing?”

He chuckles. “It is a… how do you say? Pet name?” Suddenly he takes the step that separates you, inching closer until his face is right in front of yours. “Do you want me to stop?”

Your eyes widen. “Oh, no. No, I like it. I was just wondering… is it a common name?”

“No, it is not common.”

You stare through his glasses, trying to make out the expression in his eyes. Is he flirting with you? Is he making fun of you? The tension is unbearable but you cannot be sure if he feels it as well with half of his face hidden from your sight. You have half a mind to take the glasses from his face.

“If you follow these stairs all the way down,” he finally says, stopping you from any foolishness, “you will reach the wine cellar. It is the door at the bottom, right next to the main entrance.”

“That’s… that’s where all the treasures are kept?”

His mouth curls into a rare smile. “Not all the treasures.”

“Can I ask another question?”

“Certo.”

“Do you have the same eyes as your brother?”

He cocks his head to the side, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “You will have to find out, grappolino.”

You swallow, about to take a foolish step closer to him when he suddenly backs away. His face is out of reach before you can even attempt to rid him of the sunglasses and he’s halfway down the next flight of stairs when you finally catch yourself.

“Now let me get you some tea and some food also,” he calls, not even making sure whether you’re following. “You have to eat a lot of iron and vitamins to increase blood production. We don’t want you to get anemic, hm?”

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Vampire Gazette 02/07

A group of rogue werewolves attacked two unsuspecting vampires in the Styrian mountains last Monday. The perpetrators fled the scene after they did not manage to kill their victims and attracted the attention of a nearby group of vampires. Both victims fully recovered in the span of two days while further circumstances of the incident still escape the authorities. Unnamed sources claim that one of the vampires is an old acquaintance of Primo Emeritus. Since last Wednesday, speculations on Social Media suggest that the incident could be connected to the death of a lycanthrope in May in which the former Papa was supposedly involved. Neither the authorities nor the Emeritus family were willing to give statements to confirm or deny these rumors.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Secondo is not proud of slipping into your room that first night. He’s not proud when he sees you sleeping so peacefully, trusting that you are safe in his care. You look lovely, young, the picture of innocence and trust. A human so lively, so curious and quick-witted. There is an intelligence in you that is way beyond your years and maybe it is the very reason why you so foolishly trust him – you’re not superstitious.

Before he drinks from you, he inspects your quarters. Sheer curiosity, he tells himself, he always liked to learn. Your bookshelves are filled with all sorts of genres – classics, romantic novels, thrillers, horror, historical fiction, non-fiction. What is most telling however are the books on your bedside table. He finds the same copy of Carmilla you carried in your bag, a book about wine making you must have recently ordered and another book that looks suspiciously like a cheap erotic novel. Maybe not so innocent, he thinks, wondering how he would find you if he came in here a few hours earlier, just before your bedtime.

Secondo is not proud when he slips into your room again a few days later. He’s not proud when he does it again and again and again until one day he notices the first signs of anemia in you and gives you a week of reprieve that has him shaking like an addict. At least he found the strength to be careful now, exerting the control he lacked when he tried that first bag of blood, barely puncturing your neck with one of his fangs and drinking as slowly as your blood flow dictates. He does not want to hurt even a hair on your head, does not want you to wake up the next morning with a wound like an animal attacked you and get suspicious. No, he needs you to stay here and stay well, a source of food, a source of joy.

Still, the moment he drapes himself over your sleeping body and your blood hits his tongue it takes all of his strength to stay calm, to suppress the moans spilling from his lips, to stop himself from growing hard against your sleeping body and humping you like a horny teenager. Just a late night drink, nothing else, a meal to sustain him throughout the night. The restraint he displays is impressive even to him. It goes against all of his predatory instincts that tell him to simply drain you, to consume you until you have nothing left. 

No, Secondo is not proud of any of it. And he slowly starts to realize that it is not stealing your blood that affects him in such a way that he struggles to keep his eldritch powers measured, to ensure that you stay asleep when he feeds. The kiss of a vampire can be impactful even for the vampire himself, at least when other feelings are involved. So no, it is not your blood that breaks his resolve, that makes it so hard to treat you like any other food source.

It’s the feeling of your skin against his lips.

August

Every day in the vineyard feels like a dream. 

You never realized how much your job at the kiosk and living in your tiny flat with nothing but the bare essentials had drained you of the joy of living, how it had put you into a sluggish rhythm of loneliness and unfulfilling work – not until you started to see a different life for yourself, that is. Perhaps Secondo was right when he told you to try out different ways to enjoy yourself all these months ago, perhaps he saw how stuck you were before you got here. Your growing crush on him certainly helps to envision a happier future for yourself in this place.

Your favorite thing are the quiet afternoons with him. Usually, you never see Secondo or his brother before two o’clock. It seems like they are night owls – it is not a rare occurrence that you spot light underneath his office door well into the late hours when you head to the kitchen to grab a cup of tea. In the mornings, you get most of your work done, usually helping out with wine orders that the Nameless Ghouls pack and a post truck picks up around noon. In the evenings, you help out at the Vinothek, taking care of the shop or waiting on people while Secondo tends the bar. But the afternoons? The afternoons are priceless.

Secondo and you usually get comfortable underneath the pergola in the mansion’s courtyard. While he prefers to sit in the shade you have opted for a sunny spot. First you share a break with some afternoon coffee for which his brother usually joins you, then, once Terzo leaves, he starts to teach you everything he knows about wine and wine making. As expected, he is a most patient teacher who takes great delight from your genuine interest in the subject. Today, he is talking to you about different grape varieties and their differences in taste.

“Sangiovese is a red variety,” he explains. “Very common and the base for many wines that I have shown you, grappolino. Chianti, for example.” 

“Like in the Silence of the Lambs.”

“Sì, like that one.”

“Have you ever had it with liver?”

“You see, my dove, Chianti is actually not a good wine to have with liver. Amarone would be much better suited, or some lesser known ones. Dr Lecter would have known that, in the book he did.”

You have to smile at that. Of course he would take note of such things while watching a movie or reading a book. While he continues on his lecture on Sangiovese, you breathe in the rich scents that waft over the courtyard, carried by a gentle summer breeze. For a moment you turn your face into the sun, letting the warm rays caress your features. Mild summer days are your favorites, being outside in a simple shirt without freezing or sweating too much. When you turn back, you notice Secondo watching you. When you smile at him he cocks his head to the side, still observing you without shame. As though he only notices now, he suddenly turns away and reaches into his pocket. When his hand comes back into view it holds a silver flask and he makes a face when he takes his first sip.

“Not good?” you ask, chuckling.

He shrugs, giving a dismissive hum. “I am… used to drinking better things these days.”

“What’s in it?”

“A new drink I have been working on. I try to sample it throughout the day.”

“Can I try?”

“No, grappolino, it is not ready for that yet.”

“You will tell me when it is, though?”

He smiles, a genuine, almost soft smile that you see on him more often now when you’re just among yourselves. “I will, little dove. You are always so eager to learn and try new things.”

The compliments he gives you, if rare, are always meaningful. They manage to fluster you every single time and you subconsciously start to scratch at your neck again. This has been going on for some time now – a few mosquito bites that never stop tingling and as soon as you touch them they start to torment you.

Secondo eyes you, brow furrowed, as if to ask why you’re fidgeting so much. The itch won’t leave, however. At this point it’s hard not to just give in and scratch until it’s bleeding and hope that it will just heal off.

“Mosquito bite,” you explain. “I’ve had them since I got here. Somehow they love to drink from my neck.”

“It is a very tender spot, no? Well supplied with blood.”

“Hm, I think so.”

You scratch until it hurts, then you force yourself to stop. Meanwhile, a distant noise becomes louder and louder until a truck enters the courtyard. Its loud beeping as the driver turns around and goes into reverse hurts your ears to the point where you cover them.

“Oh, I quite forgot about that,” Secondo says and stands up. 

You watch from the pergola how a few of the Nameless Ghouls appear and carry boxes as well as barrels of wine outside loading the truck. Secondo further rolls up the sleeves of his button down shirt to help, carrying boxes until there is not much space left. The Ghouls bring three more barrels and you watch in utter fascination when Secondo picks one of them up like it weighs nothing more than a feather, placing it inside the cargo area. A minute later the truck takes off to his destination and the Ghouls disappear.

“This… was this a full barrel?” you ask, still in shock, the moment Secondo joins you again.

“Oh, no, of course not.”

“Why would you deliver an empty one?”

He eyes you, sitting down, not even out of breath. How is he so fit? You never see him working out. “Always so many questions, grappolino. So curious.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” you say with a shrug.

“Some people buy them,” he says at last. “For eh… decoration purposes.”

You eye him skeptically. Even carrying an empty barrel would take a lot of strength. At the same time, you assume, he has been carrying boxes and barrels and heavy pieces of furniture for years now. When he reclines against his chair, you again take notice of how pale he is.

“You should wear sunscreen,” you say. “You look like the pale type that burns easily.”

“I am Italian, my dove. I am not the pale type.”

“Still, sunlight is the main cause of skin aging and skin cancer.”

“Are you telling me I look old, grappolino?”

“After you just carried all these things old is the last word on my mind that I would use to describe you, no.”

A smirk tugs at his lips but when you take out your sunscreen, waving it in front of his face, he still allows you to apply some to his cheeks, chin and forehead. You think that any excuse to touch him is worth it, even if it means acting like a mother hen to a significantly older man. Despite your inner desire, you don’t let your hands linger on his face. Touching him feels vaguely forbidden, even with his consent and over the greasy layer of sunscreen. Your shaky hands certainly betray the nervous flutter in your body and when you sit back down on your chair, your stomach is in uproar.

Yes, these afternoons are your highlights because with every day you feel like you take a precious step closer to him. And if you’re really lucky and he’s not too busy he takes you back to his private kitchen afterwards to give you your own little tastings, introducing you to flavors your tongue has never met before. One month in now, you can honestly say that the decision to come here was the best one you ever made in your life.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Vampire Gazette 04/08

Ad:

Don’t miss when the new special varieties of the world famous Papastrello wine are introduced. Now with a hint of blood and many more flavors.

What? Food, Wine, Socializing

Where? Emeritus Vineyard

When? September 29th

⛧ ✦ ⛧

It is a subtle art to manipulate the taste of blood. You have to feed your prey the right flavors of food and pour the perfect drinks down their throats to influence the aroma in just the right ways. Too much alcohol and the blood is ruined, too much sugar and it tastes like cheap supermarket wine. Secondo has refined his approach over the past centuries to match his personal preferences.

“Grappa,” he says, pushing the thin-stemmed glass in front of you. “A young one.”

You sway the glass underneath your nose, inhaling the sharp scent. There is not much you could deduce from the smell, not with your human senses, but he appreciates how you always try to use them regardless of how futile the results.

“It is distilled from the pomace after the winemaking,” he explains as he watches you nip. “Nothing goes to waste.”

You smile. “That is a very progressive view.”

“I think it is a very conservative view. Traditional, if you will.” He raises his brows, waiting for your reaction. “Do you like it?”

“It’s nice, it burns in all the good ways.”

“It used to be the drink of farmers,” he explains, filling your glass again. “Until technology progressed in the last century. The taste improved a lot, now it is very popular. I learned how to make it in Northern Italy not too long ago.”

“Were you always a winemaker?”

“No.” He does not elaborate, though his brow furrows as the ghost of distant memories tries to haunt him. The flicker is gone as fast as it came. “Come here, grappolino.”

You do, walking over to where he is sitting and stopping right in front of his chair. He grabs your hand with his gloved one, the back facing upwards before he takes some of the grappa and spreads it on your skin.

“Go on,” he says. “Take in the aroma.”

The scent that hits your nose is pleasant, much more pleasant than the taste. When you are done, looking back at him, he reaches out for your hand and brings it to his own nose, holding your gaze. His lips graze your skin when he sniffs and you think you’re about to combust, your whole body tingling nervously at the unexpected touch.

“Impurities show in the smell,” Secondo explains, remaining unfazed. “Of course, this one does not have any. It is perfect.”

“Of course,” you repeat and when he looks at you with his intense discolored eyes, you’re not sure if he meant the grappa. “So… is that true for people as well?”

His brows rise, a smile tugging at his lips as he nuzzles your hand. “Hm, I don’t smell any impurities in you.” A pause in which you stare at each other, unmoving, unblinking. “Unless they are…” His hand slides up your arm, agonizingly slow. Fingers sprawl out on your cheek, cradling your face before he taps his index finger against your temple. “In here.”

“I can’t say my thoughts are very pure when I’m around you, no.”

Your admission, so readily given, hits him like a gut punch. His cock jumps in his pants, swelling until his slacks are uncomfortably tight. It’s not like hasn’t daydreamed about making you come in a hundred different ways, about having you sprawled out underneath him in the very bed you first opened your eyes to him, to have you begging for him, showing him just how obedient and good you can be when it really counts. Right now, he wants to bend you over one of the wine barrels and have his way with you until you’re crying out his name, until every bit of boldness leaves your body and you’re at his mercy in more ways than one. He wants to teach you the sin of lust until you’re fluent in its very language.

“You’re the first human in a long time that’s tempted me,” he admits with a sigh, pulling his hand from your face. “But the sinner knows temptation when he sees it. I won’t fall, little dove.”

You chuckle, leaning further back against the edge of the table. “The first human? That sounds ominous.”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. “You should thank Satan for the gift of ignorance. I know you like to ask questions but sometimes it is better not to know.”

“Secondo,” you whisper and then you’re closer, your leg touching his knee. It is evident by the way your blood rushes to your face that you can see the predicament in his pants. He makes no attempt to conceal it. “I don’t know what it is that you think you need to protect me from. But I just wish… I just wish…” You visibly swallow. Then your tongue darts out to wet your lips, slowly, sensually. “If you’re a sinner, then why not sin?”

It is foolish of him to allow you to slide into his lap. Even more foolish to place his hands on your hips and pull you closer, to feel your soft flesh against his thighs. Your hands land on his shoulders, delicate, curious fingers that feel him without shame. They stay there until you sit so comfortably that you don’t need the support anymore at which point they start to travel – over his chest, down to his belly, back up over his bare forearms. The skin contact is more intoxicating than the grappa. You’re always so warm.

It is only when they reach his face that he flinches. You stop immediately, trying to meet his gaze through his glasses. He takes a deep breath. You’ve seen Terzo’s eyes, there is no reason why you would be spooked by his now. And yet–

“Please?” you whisper.

He knows that meeting your gaze with no barrier is going to bring him to his limits. It is a last safety measure, a shield to prevent you from seeing into his soul and to stop him from falling into yours. Curious, beautiful eyes who have seen way more of him than he ever wanted to bare. Still, it seems like you have softened the hard edges of his resolve. More and more of him trickles from the cracks and he can’t quite figure out how to mend the leaks. 

His cautious nod is all it takes for you to take the frame of his glasses and carefully pull them off his face. You hold his gaze so bravely, even as you set them down on the table. The quiet that follows is agonizing even to him. His muscles tense and even though he tries not to blink, he’s the first one to do so.

“You do have the same eyes,” you finally whisper.

“Runs in the family.”

“Ah.”

Those soft fingertips dance along his jaw now, tracing the lines on his skin as though you’re drawing a map. He allows you to get to know his face, even allows your palm to cup his cheek when you gain more courage. The warmth spreads inside of him like a flame, kindling his deepest, most carnal desires that used to be latent for so long. 

It terrifies him and yet he craves nothing more than to give into the pull of their current.

“Secondo,” you whisper, his name laced with all of your needs, and then you’re leaning in.

He already feels your hot breath against his lips, your thumb swiping along his sharp cheekbone, and he can’t help but admire your boldness. It would be so easy to give in and accept his fate, accept that he is not as immune as he thought. But to do so would be to admit to his feelings and the consequences, the pain this would cause you both, is not worth a fleeting moment of passion.

He turns away at the last second, your nose brushing against his, even as your lips miss. You pull back, looking at him with your heavy-lidded, lust-filled eyes. It takes everything in him not to grab you. Confusion ices over your features then and he uses the moment to gently push you off his lap until you land on your feet again.

“Go to bed, grappolino,” he says and to his own shame he can’t meet your eyes as the words leave his mouth.

Even so he catches the hurt of rejection that flickers over your face. He can already smell the salty tears gathering in your eyes, even as he fully turns away and starts to clean the table. Your footsteps retreat with no argument, no witty comeback, not even an insult or a sound of annoyance. He almost wishes that you would have slapped him.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

When he sneaks into your room that night dried tears stain your velvety cheeks. They present him with a feeling he has not dealt with in centuries – guilt.

He falters, thinking that he should not feed from you tonight, not after refusing your intimacy earlier when you offered it to him so willingly. And yet, perhaps even more now, he wants to feel your skin against his as if to offer you the comfort he cannot give by day. Against his better judgment he settles in bed next to you, facing you this time instead of just taking your neck from behind. You’re sleeping on your side, one cheek squished to the pillow, the other one available to him. Secondo pulls at his gloves and gently strokes along your cheekbone, gathering what little wetness remains. You’re warm. So warm.

With some effort he leans over you, finding the spot on your neck and reopening the wound with his fangs. As he begins to drink, his arm wraps around you, pulling you into a more comfortable position. It is the closest thing to a hug.

The contrast between you and him hits him with full force in that moment. He’s not sure why you’re not afraid of him. Most humans sense the presence of a vampire. Unaware as to what the threat is, they still usually feel unease or a vague air of danger. Perhaps you have no sense of self-preservation or perhaps you truly just don’t fear him. Perhaps you’re one of the few people who are unaffected, too curious for your own good.

Or perhaps you were simply made for him. Perhaps Lucifer made your paths cross for a reason.

The thought of having you, of leaning into what has been building between the two of you is terrifying but thrilling at the same time. With your blood in his mouth it is easy to imagine claiming you, revealing himself to you, bringing you into his world and showing you its magic.

He’s not sure how you sense his line of thinking but in that moment you start to shift, moving against him like you’re trying to get closer. He slips, losing grasp on his powers for just a moment but it is enough to make you rouse. You don’t fully wake but your sleep lightens and with a tired sigh you cuddle up to him, tilting your head so he has even better access. An arm wraps around his middle, fingers playing with the hem of his black shirt until they graze his bare midriff. 

“Secondo,” you whimper. 

It awakens something inside of him he has not felt before, not a sexual feeling but a thrum somewhere close to his heart. Need is dripping from your voice, the smell of your arousal hits his sensitive nose, and he’s sure you must be dreaming about him now. Before he knows it he has sunk both of his fangs into your neck and is sucking the blood oozing from the wound. His senses explode, the feeling of your skin on his fingertips, your taste, the way you sigh and seek out his embrace. Lust he can handle, hunger he can handle, but these feelings run deeper, digging below the surface and clawing their way into his very core.

Suddenly it’s all too much. He pulls away from your abused neck, already discolored and swollen, and the sight of what he’s done is enough to propel his overwhelm and guilt into new heights. Secondo slips from the bed and before he knows what he’s doing he finds himself back in his own bedroom. He throws his gloves to the side and stares at his shaking hands. Hands that held you not five seconds ago. Hands that are already yearning to hold you again. His body is buzzing with the need to be close to you, trying to chase the feeling he had when you clung to him, and he hasn’t felt this alive in centuries.

He slides to the ground, leaning against his bed and staring through the window at a growing, nearly full late August moon. What he should be focussing on is the Vinothek, the preparations for the event not even a full month in the future, the growing tensions with the werewolf community and the upcoming wine harvest, not playing around with his little human. 

Secondo licks along his teeth, grazing his fangs, but the taste of your blood won’t fade from his mouth, no matter how many times he swallows and swallows and swallows. It remains there, a phantom of you to remind him of his folly. He knows he won’t find any peace tonight.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

When you dream of him this time, it sets your body on fire. Your imagination, in comfort or torture, brings him into your bed where he wraps himself around your body and kisses your neck with reckless abandon. It seems to last all night but at the same time you feel like you’ve only slept for an hour. Waking up is like being ripped from paradise and cast back into the raging horrors on earth. At first you think you still feel his lips on your neck but the sensation turns into a dull pain, not that of a love bite but that of a hammer repeatedly hitting your skin. You remember his rejection from last night and promptly feel like throwing up.

With your mind still stuck in the fragments of the dream, you enter your bathroom to splash your face with some cold water. The pain on your neck has reached into your whole shoulder area by now and you pause when you spot your reflection. A huge purple bruise has spread over the area around the bite. How–

It would not be the first time your body has let his frustrations out on yourself in sleep. Maybe you scratched the mosquito bite too hard, maybe that’s why you dreamed about him kissing your neck in the first place. At any rate, what you really need right now is a cup of coffee and some painkillers.

Without as much as changing you quickly head downstairs. The house is eerily quiet as usual, the morning has just begun after all and the sun is creeping up over the horizon. Every window you pass reveals a spectacular view of the vineyard with its rows and rows of wine dipped into the soft orange light of a late summer sunrise.

The sight helps improve your mood somewhat. Though that is quickly reversed when you reach the kitchen. You’re already halfway to the coffee maker when you jump after spotting Secondo sitting at the large kitchen table. His own cup of coffee sits in front of him as he reads the paper and you’re wondering if he never went to bed in the first place. 

Of course he has already detected you, eying you curiously. He’s not wearing the glasses, you note, only his gloves, a simple black polo shirt that draws your attention back to his forearms. Quickly, you avert your gaze and focus on the machine in front of you, your face hot in shame for your silly attempt to kiss him as well as your dream.

“Buon giorno, grappolino,” Secondo says, closing the newspaper he’s spread out in front of him and folding it neatly. You can’t read his expression, not even with his eyes revealed to you. 

“Good morning,” you say. “You are up early.”

“Sì. We get some important deliveries today.”

The noise of the espresso machine drowns out your hum of acknowledgment and briefly ends the conversation. However, Secondo’s gaze lingers on your neck and you realize that you’re still only in your loose sleeping shirt and pajama bottoms, the bruise in plain sight.

“It’s… it’s not a hickey.” You’re not sure why you’re saying it. It’s not like you could have got one in the span of the few hours that you’ve been separated. “I don’t know how I got it, probably scratched too hard in my sleep.”

He doesn’t reply, not with words, but there is something in his expression that is wholly foreign to you. His brow is furrowed, his lips slightly parted, and without his glasses you can see a range of emotions reflected in his eyes. If you didn’t know any better you’d think it’s a mixture of shame and guilt. He doesn’t stay long enough to let you see more.

September

Harvesting wine is a brutal job. That is what you’ve been told, anyway.

Hand-picking the grapes instead of using machinery protects the soil, Secondo told you, which is why the Nameless Ghouls head out every morning and every evening to gather them manually while the sun sits low on the horizon.

“The grapes have to stay cool,” he told you when you asked him why they left at four in the morning each day. “It reduces the risk of bacterial infections.”

You watch the bustle from your window, how they start at the bottom of the hillside and make their way up, row after row with buckets and containers on their backs. Once their shift is over, they bring the yield back into the courtyard where they prepare it for further processing. 

It seems like they never get tired.

Most days, Secondo and Terzo either help them pick or they take care of pressing the grapes. Things stay a little awkward, at least for you. Secondo does not really acknowledge that anything happened at all and since the whole vineyard is busy with the harvest while you’re stuck in the office or in the shop, restocking shelves, checking inventory, taking care of shipments, you hardly even see him. On one hand, his rejection still hurts, but on the other hand you’re relieved that he has not fired you or had any other negative reactions to your advances. It would not be the first time you meet an emotionally repressed man who pushes you away. Not the first time you calm your anxiety by nurturing your foolish hopes that maybe one day he will find it in him to like you back.

You learn that the harvest has to go over quickly before the grapes are overly ripe. It’s no surprise when they’re done after no more than three weeks. The cold storages are filled with grape juice just like the wooden barrels in the wine cellar where it now rests, fermenting slowly over the next few months until it turns into wine.

With the harvest done, focus shifts to the upcoming tasting event. When you don’t see Secondo chasing the ghouls through the guest wing for some last minute changes to the interior, you usually know he’s busy in the wine cellar, entrenching himself in one of the back rooms which he told you are not for nosy little doves. You’re sure he’s working on his new wines, perfecting the secret recipes. He prefers to work undisturbed in silence, so whenever he is busy down there he has you stock the mini bars in the guest rooms, make floral arrangements to decorate the sitting rooms or prepare small self-made gifts for the visitors. Anything to keep you occupied elsewhere.

You’re not sure if he really wants to work in solitude or if he’s just avoiding you.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Secondo never took himself for a coward. 

He is a smart, calculated man who has a few centuries of experience under his belt that help him go through life mostly unscathed. He tries to anticipate risks and act accordingly and he might come across as cold or dismissive at times because of his measured choices. He hides, he protects, he does what he has to do. But he is not a coward. 

He is not a coward but since that night, he has not drunk from you.

It bears the question if avoidance and cowardice are two sides of the same coin. If he can’t win either way. The impulse to ignore an issue is not exactly familiar to him but with the event coming up, with the harvest and goings-on at the vineyard it is easy to slip into a mode of focus that pushes you away by keeping busy.

If it weren’t for that hunger.

He’s drinking enough blood from his supply to sustain him but somehow it will not sate him in the way that your blood does. Even as he works with Terzo now, preparing the rooms for the guests that are arriving today and tomorrow, all he can think about is you. It certainly does not help that your smell lingers in every single room.

“Fratello,” Terzo pipes up behind him. “Did Primo say he would bring someone?”

“Hm?”

“He’s…” His brother snorts, pressing his greasy palms against the freshly cleaned window. “I swear to Satan, he’s with a human.”

“Di che parli?”

Secondo can’t help but join him, glancing out of the window like that one annoying neighbor everyone hates, scanning the courtyard in search of his older brother. Primo’s old Bentley has been parked at the far side beneath the beech trees. His long blond hair dances in the breeze behind him as he rounds the car and opens the door to the passenger seat. Someone else steps out, not a ghoul nor anyone else Secondo has ever seen before. The person holds his gloved hand and he immediately pulls them into his arms, wrapping his deep red cloak around them. He leans down to kiss them on the mouth, tenderly, taking his sweet time as he cradles them in his arms like they’re the most precious thing in the world.

“Ma che cazzo…” Terzo whispers. “The old man found someone before I did.”

“He’s with a human,” Secondo states.

“No shit, Sherlock, eh? Not all of us are anthropophobic.”

“I am not–”

“Satana, are they going to stop making out? That’s disgusting.”

“Stop spying, stronzino.”

He practically pulls Terzo from the window and forces him to welcome their brother in the entrance hall downstairs, as respect demands. They have to wait another five minutes until Primo appears, carrying two large suitcases, the human he brought with him entering alongside. They’re young. Very young in fact. Probably around your age, he can’t help but note.

“Fratello!” Terzo greets him exuberantly, opening his arms to him. Primo barely has enough time to set down the suitcases before Terzo’s lips press to his cheeks in two loud kisses. “You look well! And you brought someone, che sorpresa!”

“I am well,” Primo says as Terzo quickly moves on to the human, taking their hand delicately in his and bringing it to his lips. Meanwhile Primo faces Secondo who is still rooted to his spot behind the reception desk. “Grazie per l’invito.”

“Grazie per essere venuto,” he replies diplomatically. “It is good to see you, fratello.”

“To be honest, we need a place to stay for a while.” He turns to his companion who has since been freed from Terzo grasp, wrapping a possessive arm around their waist with a sort of love-sick expression that Secondo has never seen on him before. “This is my little flower, my greatest treasure. I want you all to meet.”

Terzo and Secondo exchange a quick look but before they can say anything the human speaks up. “It’s nice to meet you both. Primo told me a lot about you.”

“Only good things I hope, eh?” Terzo asks.

“They know,” Primo says then. “You don’t have to hide.”

“You told them?” Secondo asks, the shock evidently woven into his voice. 

“Fratello, what is going on?” Terzo’s reaction is quite similar. “Werewolves, a human?”

In that moment Secondo’s senses detect you coming down the stairs. He shushes his brothers, nudging Terzo towards the suitcases in hopes of giving the appearance of a normal check-in. The last thing he needs right now is another human finding out.

“I told you I am not your bellhop,” Terzo complains.

You round the corner, then, and they finally pay enough attention to notice you as well. Secondo can’t help but take you in when you descend to their level. His eyes find your neck, the bruise mostly faded but even so the memory of that night is clear in his mind. That appetite inside of him stirs, the urge to have his lips on your skin again to taste not just your blood but all of you.

“Oh, hello,” you say, effectively bringing his attention back to the situation at hand. “I thought I heard voices. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, grappolino.” He has to force himself to stop staring at you. “The first guests have arrived. This is our brother, Primo, and his… partner.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“And who is this?” Primo asks, shooting Secondo a knowing look before he greets you with a gentle smile. “How lovely to see a new face in these old halls.”

Secondo introduces you, not without a hint of barely concealed shame. He can feel Primo’s eyes boring into him throughout, the accusation of hypocrisy very evident in his narrowed mismatched eyes. Of course Primo would see right through him. His older brother’s senses are even stronger than any of theirs. He would not be surprised if he still smelled him on you.

“Can you find a Ghoul to carry their luggage?” Secondo asks. “I would like to have a moment with just my brothers.”

“I won’t leave my flower,” Primo says, vehemently shaking his head.

“It’s okay,” they interject, running a soft hand along his arm. “I will just start unpacking.”

It is only with a great deal of reluctance that Primo follows him and Terzo into the kitchen and leaves his little flower to you. The eldest immediately finds the kettle and brings some water to boil. Old habits die hard, Secondo supposes. Serious conversations are only to be held over a calming cup of herbal tea.

“Cos’è successo?” Secondo ask once they all sit over their mugs. “With the wolf?”

“It was not done on purpose,” Primo says. “I was protecting someone I love. That is all you need to know.”

“The human?” The word comes out with much more venom than he anticipated.

“Ah and you are here to pass judgment?” Primo asks, giving him a withering look. “You?”

Secondo presses his lips together. “Not judgment. I am trying to understand why.”

“Is it so hard for you to imagine caring about someone? To love them so much that you would kill for them?”

”No, I–“

“I am not here to be questioned,” Primo interrupts. “You invited me to an event, no? That is what we are here for. If you allow us, we would like to stay a few more days until we can move into our new home. But apart from that, I do not wish any commentary on my life.”

“You are moving?” Secondo asks. “With the human?”

“Oh, don’t mind him, fratello,” Terzo chimes in. “He is just grumpy because he fell in love with a human as well but unlike you he already messed it up. We are very happy for you and your little flower.”

“I will not have this childish conversation,” Secondo says. “There are werewolves running amok because of this, attacking our kind.”

“And they will calm down,” Terzo says. “There are a few rogues, it is not the whole community.”

“Secondo, I know you are worried.” Primo’s voice lost the defensive tone, instead it sounds much more like the caring, diplomatic voice his brother is used to. “But I don’t need your protection. If any werewolf is foolish enough to attack us, they will face harsh consequences. I will defend what is mine and I urge you to do the same.”

Secondo lets those words sit for a moment. He has never felt protective of anyone outside of the family before but now the first person that comes to his mind is you. Would he have done the same, killing a werewolf to save you? Potentially rekindling a centuries-old conflict between two communities? 

The answer comes surprisingly easy.

“Did you invite Copia?” Primo asks then. “He is not here?”

“Oh, he is busy playing Dracula somewhere in the Slovakian mountains,” Terzo replies. “He said not to expect him but to send him a few bottles.”

“He is not doing well.” Primo takes a long sip of tea. “It has been half a century.”

“Until father steps down this will not change,” Secondo says. “Copia has the rightful claim to the title.”

“Well, we had this argument before and it caused a family feud that made us vulnerable in the first place,” Terzo snaps. “The old stronzo doesn’t give a shit.”

“Let’s not get into this now,” Primo says. “We are here to celebrate that your business is doing well, Secondo. It will give the community something else to talk about for a while.”

This is as long as they manage to keep Primo from going to look after his flower, leaving them to stew over their own tea mugs they won’t be emptying. Secondo struggles to grasp what he learned today. Primo – the experienced, the wisest and most reasonable of them – is in love with a human. A young, kind, lovely human. And he is happier than ever before.

But perhaps that is not what is so hard to understand. Perhaps it is the fact that Secondo wishes he had the very same thing. Primo’s words still ring inside of his head. Is it so hard for you to imagine caring about someone?

The answer is no. He knows exactly what it feels like.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

The next twenty-four hours are the busiest since you came to the vineyard. Guest after guest arrives and Secondo puts you in charge of welcoming them. You’re behind the reception desk most of the night because apparently most of them traveled through the evening hours. By twelve pm on the very day that the event takes place the last guest arrives. He is a middle aged man with dark hair and kind brown eyes, looking far more average than the rest of the guests with their fancy clothes, aristocratic features and expensive cars. He reveals his name to you and you scan the reservation, finding him at the bottom as one of the last ones to book a room. There aren’t any left, so he must have got lucky. 

“That would be the blue room, sir,” you offer, handing him the key.

He eyes your neck, then, and you’re not sure what he is looking at, if he can still somehow see the faint remnants of your bruise in the dim lighting inside. Before you can apologize for your appearance, he glances away again, smiling. “Thank you, little one. The blue room sounds lovely.”

“Let me ask someone to carry your luggage, sir.” 

You’re ready to ring the bell and call for a Ghoul. However, the man stops you with a wave of his hand. “Oh, not necessary. I shall carry it myself. A little workout never hurt anyone.”

“Oh, okay.” 

He’s already up the stairs when you’re distracted from the encounter. Secondo strolls into the entrance hall. He does not appear nervous, despite only having eight hours left until the event begins. Right now he’s dressed in a simple polo shirt, slacks, his usual gloves and sunglasses. You love it when he looks somewhat casual, at least to his standards. Still, you can’t quite revel in his handsome appearance. Since the tasting is so close now, your anxiety has risen to an uncomfortable level. He said he needed an extra pair of hands but he never specified for how long.

“Has everyone arrived?” he asks when he reaches the desk.

“Yes, the last guest just went to his room.” You eye him as he scans the list in front of you, not even taking notice of the state you’re in. “Actually, do you have a moment?”

He looks up, then, and you freeze. Even through the glasses meeting his eyes has the heavy impact of a gut punch. You’re surprised by how gentle his voice is. “Of course, my dove. What is it?”

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,” you ramble before you can think twice about it. “I know, we were just being a little flirty with each other and that this is very different from actually attempting to kiss you. I feel very stupid now that I… that I misread the situation and I want to apologize. I love working here and I don’t want to lose it when the event is over. I enjoy being here, spending time with you and I don’t want to leave.”

“Grappolino, who said anything about leaving?”

You’re almost crying, tears pricking your eyes like a thousand needles. “You’re avoiding me. I just assumed that when you don’t need me anymore…”

He stops you by reaching for your hand, pressing his thumb into your palm. “You do not have to worry about this right now.”

“How can I not? You’ve been acting all sorts of weird with me.”

Secondo sighs deeply and you regret bringing it up now when he’s already stressed. But then he perks up as though something caught his attention. He pulls you into the door to the wine cellar by the stairs just when you hear voices and footsteps approaching. Blindly you stumble after him, shivering when you reach the cold stone masonry downstairs where he turns on an old, dim ceiling light. Down here it smells of fermentation, wine and vaguely of must. You lean against an old table, listening to the gurgling sounds of the carbon dioxide leaving the barrels.

“You won’t go, grappolino,” Secondo says, running his gloved hand over his face until he reaches his sunglasses and takes them off. “In fact it is I who should apologize for how I’ve been treating you. For things you don’t even know about.”

You stare into his odd eyes, the white iris almost glowing in the gloomy old cellar. He takes two steps until he’s right in front of you and you feel a cold shiver of anticipation running along your spine. You haven’t been this close since the grappa incident and the smell of his cologne makes you dizzy with need.

“My dove, you did not misread the situation. I very much wanted to kiss you.” He cages you in, resting both of his hands on the table at your sides. “And I very much want to do so right now.”

“Please,” is all you can say. “Please, Secondo.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up into a smug grin at your begging tone, the lines on his hollow cheeks deepening. He leans in until your breaths mingle, until you can feel his exhales tickling your lips. “We shouldn’t,” he whispers into the tight space. “It is foolish.”

And yet he does not pull away. His hooked nose nuzzles yours as if to savor the moment for just a bit longer. You dare to reach out and wrap your hands around his strong neck, playing with the collar of his shirt. He hums when your fingertips brush the tender skin at his nape and his own hand moves to cup your cheek, looking for more contact. The leather feels soft, hiding how his firm grip keeps your head in place. His eyes are stuck on your lips and you decide to close yours, mentally tracing the line of butterflies that flutter from your belly all the way up to your throat. Another hum leaves him when you part your lips in a sigh and then his thumb pushes your jaw up, tilting your head just right before his lips capture yours.

His mouth is cooler than expected, softer too. Secondo takes charge of the kiss in a way that makes you weak in the knees. Gentle but firm at the same time he moves his lips against yours, slowly increasing the pressure. You moan softly, clinging to him as your body sinks and sinks against him. His hands move to your hips to catch you and he easily sets you down on the table, stepping between your legs until you can feel his whole front against yours. He’s already half-hard and his outline is only growing against your stomach.

You snake a hand between your bodies, cupping his length through the tightness of his slacks. Secondo groans into your mouth, pushing his tongue between your lips with urgency. You kiss back with the same hunger, swollen mouths and eager tongues exploring each other to the last crevice. When you break away, saliva drips from the corner of your mouth to your chin and he licks it off, kissing from your cupid’s bow down to your jaw.

Before you can properly recover your breathing, Secondo’s hand toys at your lips and he slides two of his fingers inside your mouth. You receive them, allowing him to press down on your tongue.

“Get them wet for me, hm?” he murmurs into your skin. “My perfect little dove. So eager, so filthy, just waiting for me to fill you.”

You suck at the digits spurred on by his praise, swirling your tongue around their length while his lips firmly attach to your neck in a bruising kiss, just like in your dream. You struggle to keep your grasp on reality, lust and pleasure overwhelming all of your senses. When he finally pulls his hand from your lips you feel horribly empty. He gives you no time before he pushes his hand into your pants, not even playing with you before he immediately slides it in deeper. He finds your opening, fingers probing and widening before he slips one inside. You keen, grasping his shoulders for support and he adds a second one shortly after. The stretch is beautiful, thick, gloved fingers that he crooks expertly to hit that sweet sensitive spot inside. You think he moans louder than you at the contact, sinking against your body for a moment as the sensation hits him.

“You…” He shudders, groans deeply into your ear. “You’re so… warm.”

He gasps when you impatiently rut against his hand, rolling your hips in sync with the movements of his fingers inside of you. He helps you along, pumping his fingers in and out of you while still kissing your neck with his insistent mouth. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper, closer, until his hard cock rubs against your front at every thrust of his hand. Secondo grunts like a wild animal and then his teeth sink into the juncture between your neck and shoulder. A stinging pain shoots through you and you cry out in surprise. The feeling is not unpleasant, on the contrary – the pain mixing with your pleasure makes you wonderfully dizzy. He must have broken the skin because there is more wetness now than just his spit trickling down your throat. Secondo startles when he feels it, breaking away from your neck, and you can see blood staining his teeth and lips. “I’m sorry– I–”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “It’s okay, I like it rough. Don’t stop.”

His lips press to yours urgently. You moan, tasting your warm blood in his cold mouth, and you push your tongue inside even deeper for more. Secondo’s movements speed up. His fingers fuck you roughly until you can’t help but clench around them. It only takes a few more flicks of his tongue against yours, a few more strokes of his fingers until you’re tumbling over the edge. The moan that breaks from your throat echoes loudly in the old stone halls and you whimper pathetically at every thrust with which he carries you through your pleasure.

You notice that his hips still hump your front in sync with the last few pumps of his hand, chasing the friction of your body. He’s grunting, his open lips pressed to the corner of your mouth before they slide down to your neck. His tongue darts out to lick the remaining blood from your collarbone, eager strokes of his tongue that leave a wet trail over your skin before his lips close tightly around the wound. Suddenly he stills, releasing a drawn-out moan stifled by your wet skin and you feel his cock jumping inside of his pants when he cums. For a moment he holds you against him, removing his fingers to wrap both of his arms tightly around you.

“Perdonami, per favore,” he whispers, pressing a thousand soft kisses along your neck. “I hurt you. I hurt my little dove.”

“Don’t apologize,” you stress. “I like it rough, I would have told you if I didn’t.”

“That’s not…” He sighs. “No, I cannot hurt you. It has to stop.”

“Secondo.” He falters at the sound of his name, frowning at you. “I liked it. Please, don’t worry.”

He takes a shuddering breath, shaking his head vehemently. “Grappolino, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

You smooth out the deep line between his eyes, caressing his features with all the tenderness you feel towards him. He slowly relaxes, resting his forehead against yours. For a while you stay like that, embracing each other, breathing each other in. Your heart beats strongly against your ribs, longing to reach him. You’re not sure if you’ve ever been this happy before.

“Secondo,” you whisper, nuzzling his nose with yours. “I think I’m in love with you.”

He freezes against you, his limbs going rigid. After a moment he pulls away to meet your eyes and there is such visible confusion etched into his features. His mouth opens slightly, revealing the edges of two sharp fangs, still dipped in your blood. His eye turns from a deep red to its usual green.

Suddenly, it all begins to fall into place. Perhaps you breathed in too many alcoholic fumes down here, perhaps you’ve finally lost your mind. But the way he lapped at your blood, the way he avoids the light, the bruising around your neck, the sunglasses and late nights, how you dreamed about him with blood staining his mouth, his eye glowing red–

“Secondo!” a voice calls down the stairs. “Sbrigati!”

His head whips around and he tries to break away. You attempt to keep him there, holding onto his shoulders, urging him to stay. “Secondo, are you… are you a–”

“We have to talk later,” he says, tearing himself away from you with ease. “We have to head to the Vinothek and get ready for the guests. I will wait for you in the courtyard.”

”But–“

He won’t hear you out. Before you can say another word he’s already upstairs.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Somehow you manage to get dressed. Your legs hardly carry you upstairs, weak from the force of what just happened as well as the sudden stress added on top. With your evening outfit already neatly laid out on your bed it doesn’t take you too long to get ready but you also can’t find any calm moment to gather your thoughts. Your suspicion spreads in your mind, carrying a hint of fear but also curiosity. You’re sure you’re slowly losing grasp on your sanity. It’s impossible. You’re not superstitious, on the contrary, you’ve always relied on your thirst for knowledge, on the fact that you learn fast, that you see through things and quickly understand them. But if your notion turns out to be true, you ran into the trap of a predator with open arms and a bared neck.

Even so, your suspicion doesn’t stop your cheeks from burning when you meet everyone in the courtyard, Secondo and his brothers already waiting for you in the shade of the pergola. When his eyes meet yours you feel a pull, a need unlike any you have felt before. You can’t help but wonder if you’re being manipulated, if this is all a mirage and he’s been toying with you all this time.

Real or not, their looks for the night take your breath away. What strikes you the most is how all three of them are wearing face paints that shape their features like skulls. They’re all slightly different but Secondo’s looks the most menacing, stressing the sharp edges of his jaw and cheeks. In contrast to that of his brothers his eyeshadow is glittery, sparkling in the light that meets his face.

Suddenly you’re wondering how the thought of them being vampires has never occurred to you before. Secondo looks quite like Count Dracula himself in his white button down shirt, a green brocade vest under a perfectly cut suit jacket, an emerald green bowtie, black slacks and leather brogues that match his gloves – the same gloves that were inside of you not even half an hour ago. Terzo’s outfit is quite similar only that his shirt has ruffles, the vest is a deep purple and he’s fixed a silver brooch on his collar that bears the upside down crucifix you’ve seen tattooed on his body. Primo is wearing a crimson brocade tailcoat, his long blonde hair curled at the edges while his partner’s outfit was carefully chosen to match his. They look like they jumped straight out of a classic horror movie – elegantly menacing, aristocratic and weirdly out of time.

During your ride to the Vinothek, you’re closely pressed to Secondo’s side on the backseat of a short limousine with darkened windows, driven by one of the Nameless Ghouls. Even dressed up you feel quite out of place. His strong thigh is pressed against yours, distracting you enough that the five minutes pass quickly. You stare at his hands resting in his lap, toying with the hem of his gloves, and you wonder if he wore the same pair on purpose.

At the venue, more Nameless Ghouls arrange tables and chairs in one of the side rooms that are usually empty. You feel pretty useless while the others discuss the tasting, so you refill the shelves in the store up front and distract yourself by preparing the bar for the evening. At some point Secondo approaches you behind the counter. “You can handle the hum-” He coughs. “The evening bustle while I lead the tasting?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Thank you, grappolino.” He stops, almost reaching for your hand but pulling back just before your fingers touch. He looks like he wants to say more, you want him to say more, but his lips stay sealed. It is odd to look at his painted face, a man you thought you knew, thought you were in love with. Now it is hard to say if any of it was real.

Once the first guests arrive, you’re tasked to show them into the event location. You know the actual tasting is going to take two hours with the subsequent chance to socialize. Once the door closes you get somewhat comfortable behind the bar. Throughout the night you only have to tend to two guests, the rest of the time you spend googling everything that you can about vampires on your phone. No helpful sites pop up, only a few intense subreddits about suspected vampire sightings that only serve to confuse you even more. 

About two hours later, the door to the side room bursts open and Terzo storms past. He pulls at the door of one of the wine fridges, blindly reaching for one of the bottles. Secondo follows two seconds later, closing the door quietly behind him with a deep sigh. You step aside when Terzo reaches for a corkscrew, pulling the cork out like it’s nothing.

“You don’t know if it is true,” Secondo says, leaning in the doorway.

“Well, they’re not here,” Terzo says. “They didn’t come.”

“You should be glad they did not, fratello. It spares you the pain of another rejection.”

Terzo lifts the bottle and places it at his painted mouth, taking a long swig until the paint is smudged and his lips take on a deep crimson tone. He lets the taste sit for a minute, seemingly content before he starts to empty the bottle without pause.

“Fratello, you need to calm down,” Secondo warns him. “This is a wine tasting.”

“Yeah, so? Are you supposed to be boring at those?”

“They are a more… sophisticated sort of event. Come sai.”

“What I know, fratello, is that I’m here for a good time, just like everyone else. I want to have some actual damn wine and find someone to fuck later, sound sophisticated enough?”

“Terzo,” Secondo says. “You can’t fuck or drink the pain away.”

His brother frowns, grabbing another two bottles from the fridge. “Watch me try.”

You follow Terzo with your eyes as he pushes past his brother and disappears in the other room. Through the open door you can hear the bustle of people socializing, the clinking of glasses. “Will he be okay?”

Secondo closes the door and shrugs. “This is going to cost me a lot of wine. It is not easy to get him drunk.”

“So ugh… who didn’t come?” you dare to ask.

“His ex.” Secondo lifts his hand to rub at his eyes but thinks better just before they touch his make-up. “It is a long story. Someone told him they’re with someone else.”

“Secondo,” you try, now that you have him alone. “Actually, I’ve been wondering…”

“I need to look after him before he causes a scene. Can you do me a favor and get some of the orders sorted? The bottles are in the backroom. You can pack them in the usual boxes and bring them out back where one of the Ghouls will pick them up later.”

You want to argue with him, force him to listen to you, but he seems too tense to risk an attempt now. Instead you nod. “Where are they?”

“I will bring you the forms.”

With that he disappears into the side room as well. You’re curious, maybe too curious for your own good, but you just have to risk it and slip inside as well. The sight that meets you has you gasping. All of the guests have gathered around bar tables, wine glasses filled with a deep red liquid as they eagerly chat and drink. Even in the dimmed light you realize that this is not the same wine you’ve seen served at the bar, nor does the texture resemble any of the ones Secondo had you try. No, if it’s true and they’re– 

A sudden sense of terror overcomes you, even more so as you notice the first curious pairs of eyes on you that you swear are a glowing red. They don’t look real, they don’t look even remotely human, and most of all they look hungry.

“You are too curious for your own good.”

Secondo is by your side immediately, blocking your view before he ushers you out of the room. You let him carefully manhandle you until you’re outside of the door, still petrified from what you just saw, from the sudden horror fantasies your mind conjured up.

“The orders,” he says, pressing the documents into your hand before he gently cups your cheek.  You’re panicking, maybe. Or perhaps you’re not breathing at all. “My dove.”

“Hm?”

“Are you alright?”

You nod, telling yourself that this can’t be true. It simply can’t. You’re seeing ghosts, your brain has taken hold of an idea and ran wild with it. This is the real world, not one of the many novels you read. Secondo is right here, looking just like always, his iris green and not glowing at all.

“I’m sorry for busting in,” you say, realizing your silly mistake now. “I just… God, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m losing my mind.”

“Grappolino, I promise we will talk tomorrow. First we have to get this done, yes?” His thumb swipes over your cheek, so gently that you decide to believe him. “I will meet you once the guests leave and we will talk about what happened today.”

“Alright.” You nod, leaning into his touch. “I’ll… I’ll take care of the orders.”

He must know of your suspicion, he must know. His eyes tell you that he’s not going to let you leave, that he has an eye on you if you want to or not. For some reason you still feel safe knowing that he’s here, his touch nothing but comforting. His nod is barely noticeable but he does let go of your face eventually to go back inside. 

For a few minutes you have to hold onto the wall, slowly breathing in and out, trying to calm your racing heart. Perhaps it’s the lack of proper sleep. You spent most of last night checking in guests, only getting a few hours of rest in the early morning. 

This is ridiculous, you tell yourself, vampires aren’t real.

Once you’ve recovered, you start to pack the boxes, distracting yourself with the basic, monotonous work that is packing order and updating inventory. You’ve already carried a couple of boxes outside into the alley behind the Vinothek when your sneaking suspicion grows stronger again. There is an easy way to find out whether they were really drinking blood. One way to prove to yourself that you’re overreacting.

Without thinking you rip one of the boxes back open. The bottles look like any other wine bottles. Papastrello, the label says in gold-foiled lettering that is all too familiar by now. The only difference is the upside down cross that is stamped into the paper. The bottles are about the same weight, the dark glass no different from the other wine bottles you’ve seen. The only way to know for sure is to open it, to look at the wine itself.

In that moment you’re too scared to head back inside, too scared that someone is going to sense your suspicion and either laugh about your paranoia or possibly harm you for finding out what no one should know. You feel quite unhinged when you grab the bottle and smash it on the concrete of the sidewalk. What splashes out and mixes with the shards of glass is a red liquid that might be wine or might be blood, you can’t quite tell. The pale light of a full autumn moon reflects in the color, making it much paler than it looked inside. You know that you have to try it to know for certain whether it is wine or not.

It takes you a long moment of persuasion, silently debating with your inner voices until you reach out and wet your finger. On your skin, the liquid feels wrong, thicker, creamier, but also not quite like blood. You swallow your fear and bring it to your lips.

The moment your finger hits your tongue a deafening growl echoes in the street behind you. The sound is predatory, animalistic, ringing inside your ears long after it stopped. The hairs on your arms stand in alert as you turn around, expecting an aggressive dog or perhaps even a wolf straying from the woods. But what meets your eye is anything but. The creature is huge, filling the width of the whole alley with its broad shoulders and even as it cowers, resting on his two huge clawed hands, it’s almost as tall as the cars lining the main road. 

The metallic taste on your tongue is forgotten the moment you spot it. Another growl and the beast jumps into action, galloping along the alley just as you scramble to your feet. Flight is hopeless, you barely take two steps in an attempt to sprint before its heavy steps are right behind you. Still you run and suddenly it seems like you’re making headway, the sounds gaining distance. You dare to turn around when you finally reach the end of the alley. What you see feels surreal, like a nightmare brought to life.

Secondo is standing between you and the monster who seems to have stopped, assessing the situation. Against all instinct you take a few steps back in their direction, watching the furry creature with its deformed but still somehow human body. Suddenly you recognize him, dark hair, the same brown eyes. It has to be the man who checked in this morning.

“You attacked the wrong human,” Secondo says. “This is not who you’re looking for.”

The creature does not seem in control of itself as it paces the road, sniffing audibly, baring its fangs to you in an attempt to intimidate and scare. Secondo stays in front of you, the image of a predator himself, but compared to the werewolf he looks small, almost fragile. Fear buries its way deep into your body. Suddenly you’re not worried for yourself anymore but for him. Your heart is hammering so fast that it echoes inside of your skull, your whole body sweating and shaking. 

When the beast finally pounces, you shriek. Secondo grabs its massive arms to keep it at a distance but the werewolf tears at his clothing, ripping until its claws sink into his torso. His voice stretches into a pained scream that penetrates your whole body, deeper and deeper until you can feel it all the way into your marrow, rattling at your very core. The wolf is going to rip him to pieces in the blink of an eye. It’s going to kill him the moment he breaks his powerful hold.

You would never forgive yourself if he died because of you, if he got hurt trying to protect you. And maybe it is foolish, maybe you should let him handle the fight by himself, but you close the gap anyway until you can duck and reach into his pocket. Before you can think any of it through you’ve already sparked the flint and shoved the flame of his stupidly expensive lighter into the wolf’s fur. At first you think it is too dense to burn but then the beast starts yowling. The softer underfur has caught on fire, a disgusting sulphuric smell spreading around you. For a moment the wolf recoils in pain, letting go of Secondo who stumbles backwards. You’re trying to reach him but then the wolf deals one final blow, throwing his massive arms around his body. At the last moment, his paw smacks into your flank and pushes you down.

You land on the concrete, all breath brutally ripped from your lungs, and the intense pain of the impact explodes in your whole body. Secondo falls to the floor next to you with a heavy thud, dark non-human blood oozing from the cuts in his body. You hear more sounds as your vision slowly fades. Terzo is storming out of the back door, more people blurring into one big mass of faces behind him – and then you’re gone.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Vampire Gazette 04/09

Last night’s wine tasting at the Emeritus Vinothek ended in a brutal fight between the owner Secondo Emeritus and an unknown lycanthrope. The werewolf attacked a human employee outside of the establishment but could be stopped when the vampire intervened. He fled the scene while the other attendees took care of the victims. Both vampire and human escaped the fight slightly injured but are going to recover with no permanent damage, according to a spokesperson of the family. This is the tenth incident of violent conflict between vampires and werewolves in the past four months, following a surge of cases after the killing of a lycanthrope in May.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

“Here then, were all the admitted signs and proofs of vampirism. The body, therefore, in accordance with the ancient practice, was raised, and a sharp stake driven through the heart of the vampire, who uttered a piercing shriek at the moment, in all respects such as might escape from a living person in the last agony. Then the head was struck off, and a torrent of blood flowed from the severed neck. The body and head was next placed on a pile of wood, and reduced to ashes, which were thrown upon the river and borne away, and that territory has never since been plagued by the visits of a vampire. ”

You wake up to Secondo’s voice as he reads you the last few pages of Carmilla. Slowly noticing the world around you, you realize that you are in his bed in the mansion, the same soft white sheets surrounding your tired body that you found yourself in that first day. You keep your eyes closed, listening until the story is over.

“They always kill the vampire,” he says. “Perhaps they are right to do so.” A pause in which you hear the rustling of pages as he closes the book. “I know you are awake, grappolino.”

You turn around, opening your eyes to see him lying in bed next to you. The memories of what happened flood your brain, the way he protected you from the attack, saved you by risking his own life. You remember falling, the impact of the hit you took, and you’re surprised that you’re well, that you feel no pain other than the heaviness of your tired limbs.

“You slept almost a whole day,” he says. “I thought you might be angry with me. But I needed to watch over you.”

You take the book from his hand, running your palm over the smooth cover. Secondo looks tired, paler than usual and without the sunglasses you can see the extent of his exhaustion in his eyes. He’s wearing a dark green robe over black sweatpants, an altogether unfamiliar sight compared to his usual put together looks. No matter what happened, no matter what you now know, an intense surge of love for him floods your whole body and you can hardly shake it or push it down.

He saved you and you saved him. Everything else seems almost insignificant in that moment.

You shift so you can get closer and he watches you like a hawk, tracing all your movements.  “My dove you shouldn’t move around.”

You don’t listen, you can’t, even as the soreness in your muscles makes it harder. Eventually you settle with your head on his belly, closing your eyes until the wave of emotion has crashed over you. He only seems half as frightening from here, in fact he looks incredibly soft as he gazes down at you.

“What do you think would happen,” you whisper, “if instead of killing we started loving them?”

He exhales – a pained, heavy sound that carries a distinct sadness. His expression shifts and he shakes his head, watching you with glossy eyes. “How can you say this when you know what I am? When you see what my world can do to you?”

“Because I feel it,” you say with no pause. “Because my heart screams that it does. I’m not scared.”

“Of course you are not. You never were.” His hand reaches out but he stops himself. “Per favore, may I touch you?” You press your face into the soft fabric of his robe, giving him a firm nod, and he gently strokes your hair, running his fingertips over your scalp, more to soothe himself than you. “I will never forgive myself for being late. That I missed the wolf in sheep skin because I was too distracted. When it hit you…” His hand stills and his lips press together tightly. After a moment he cradles your cheek, caressing your skin with his thumb. “I will protect you. I will never let any harm come to you, my dove. I swear it.”

You turn your face, leaning into his touch. “Why did he attack? To get to you?”

“I drank from you,” he says. “Imprinting myself on you. He must have thought you were Primo’s partner. Or perhaps he was just looking to hurt any one of us and went after the smell. There has been an ongoing conflict.”

“Vampire werewolf politics?”

A smile tugs at his lips. “Yes.”

“I’m so confused, Secondo. I have so many questions.”

“I know, my dove. I will answer them in time but you need to rest.” He sees your disappointed expression, running his hand along your lips now. “One question.”

“Your business…” you start. “Does this mean vampires don’t harm people? It’s not like they show us in all those movies? They drink from bottles and you get it from blood donations?”

He cringes slightly at your question, a painful twist, perhaps at the prospect of disappointing you. “Many vampires still… hunt. Some are more predatory, some are more subtle, some prefer to not hurt anyone. There are a million ways to feed, amore, and we have no laws to regulate this.”

“But why would they still hunt?” There is irritation, confusion in your tone. “If there are easier ways?”

“Some vampires enjoy the taste of fear in the blood,” he says. “A lot of adrenaline, stress hormones, it flows faster after biting too. Even here sometimes people are scared of needles and you can taste it later after taking their blood. But it is not as intense as it is when you… hunt.”

“Do you… do you like this taste?”

“No.” He falters, cocking his head to the side. “Not anymore.”

“But you have?”

There is a hint of accusation in your tone but he does not seem disturbed by it, on the contrary. “I will not lie to you. I have in the past, grappolino. Many young vampires do, a bit like teenagers who drink alcohol for the first time. But taste changes with time, as it does for humans, and I have left those wild, young days long behind me. In fact, since I tasted you…” He trails off, running his finger down your jaw until he strokes the faint remains of the bite on your neck. “I have no desire to hunt for a better taste.”

His words send a shiver through your body. His thumb presses back against your neck, then underneath your jaw, following the line of your pulse. Even knowing what he is and what he did – your body longs for his touch and you don’t know what to do other than give in. You press your cheek into the softness of his belly, the fabric of his robe smooth against your skin, trying to hide how easily affected you are. “So you were my mosquito? The bites were yours?”

“That is the second question.”

You furrow your brow, trying to pull away but he won’t let you. “Secondo–”

“You take me for a monster now,” he states. “And maybe I am, maybe I am cruel for wanting you for myself in ways that made me keep the truth, in fear that you could not accept me. But my feelings for you are real, they are consuming me more than any thirst for blood ever has. I am…” He swallows, his voice firm as he continues. “I am devoted to you forever.”

For a moment you let those words sink in. This is as close to a confession of his love that you got until now and you realize that it must take him everything to be so open with you. He seems to mistake your silence for rejection.

“I understand if you want to leave,” he says. “I will not stop you.”

You shake your head, finally managing to sit up and properly look at him. “I don’t want to leave. I don’t ever want to leave you.” He looks pained at your admission, like he has almost been hoping for a rejection. “Why are you so hesitant? Is it that unheard of to be with a human? Your brother is with one as well.”

“Every time I have opened myself to someone it ended in pain and it will end in pain with you, grappolino. Unbearable pain, loss, grief, loneliness.” He stops himself, his eyes red and glistening. “With you I have let the sun back into my life. And I cannot… I cannot bear to have the world take it from me again. Non credo che lo potrò sopravvivere questa volta.” (I don’t think I can survive it this time)

“It doesn’t have to, Secondo,” you assure him. “There are ways… there are ways to make it last, right?”

“There are ways. But this… it is not something to take lightly, amore.”

“Secondo, I want you to know that… that if it ever happens, if I ever die, I want you to turn me,” you say. “I don’t want to leave you, ever.”

He pauses, shaking his head at the conviction in your tone. “We will discuss this later. You need time to think about it, to learn more.”

“You saw how fast it can happen. I feel like–”

“Amore,” he interrupts. “Not now. The next time I think about your death it will not be in this bed.”

You sigh reluctantly, trying not to mope as you settle against his chest. If he has a heartbeat it is too slow and quiet for you to hear it. But his body underneath yours feels nice, soft and welcoming. You notice that he doesn’t seem to be in pain either.

“Why am I not hurt more?” you ask. “I know that’s another question.”

“We have healers in our midst. They have some influence on your circulatory system.” His hand moves to rest on your waist, playing with the hem of the loose white shirt someone put you in. “You will feel sore for a bit, I think. As will I after my body healed my wounds.”

“Would it… would it help if you drank from me?” you ask.

“You’re too weak, my dove, but I appreciate the offer.”

You sigh, bringing your hand up so you can run your fingers over the sliver of chest that peeks out of the robe. Slowly you open it more and more, toying with his dark chest hair and feeling the smooth skin underneath.

“What do you think you are doing, hm?”

You just smile up at him, pushing the robe all the way open. He doesn’t stop you from exploring more of his body, following the line of hair down to his belly, supple and slightly raised. His own hands start to grab more of your body then, squeezing the flesh on your hips, grabbing at your ass. Before you know it he takes hold and pulls you fully on top of him. Your core meets the outline of his hardening cock, barely concealed by the sweatpants. You gasp at the contact, slowly rolling your hips for a bit of friction.

“You feel good enough to tease me,” he says. “Then you feel good enough for a kiss?”

A smile breaks out on your face and you lean in, resting your upper body against his. Before your mouths can touch he has already grabbed you and sits you both upright. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer and trapping you in his lap until you can feel all of him. Only then does he allow you to close the gap. The kiss has a bruising force, lips pressing in hard, teeth clashing until you adjust and find a heavy but more controlled rhythm. His tongue licks into your mouth hungrily, flicking against yours and you moan, vibrating against it. Your whole body shudders, looking for more, anything to quench the need pooling into your core. Secondo groans at every roll of your hips, sucking on your tongue, biting your lower lip like he wants to consume all of you within seconds. You kiss back with just as much hunger, tying to keep pace. Your whole body is burning with need for him, carrying you higher and higher. After a while he slows, hitting an invisible break, and you follow, pulling away to look at him.

Secondo heaves an exhausted sigh, not letting go of you but creating a small gap between your faces to breathe. “I am not quite in shape yet, amore. I don’t think I can keep up tonight.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to drink?”

Maybe it is the way your voice is practically begging him to do so, maybe it is the hunger in your eyes or maybe he truly needs the energy that your blood provides because he finally relents. You pull at your shirt, baring your upper body to him and for a moment he hungrily takes you in, running his hand over every curve, thumbs teasing your nipples until you arch into him.

“So responsive,” he murmurs as he kisses along your jaw. “So good for me.”

His words make you squirm in his lap, the hard friction of his cock adding to the pleasure that runs through you at every touch. “Please. Please, Secondo.”

“Already begging for my cock?” He huffs out a chuckle, hooking his fingers underneath the elastic of your underwear. He rips the fabric apart with ease, running a bare finger over your arousal. “And already so eager. Always so, so eager.”

“I need you,” you whisper. “Please, all I want is to feel you.”

“Hmm, that is all I want too, grappolino. Perhaps you can use the time while I feed...” His fangs scrape over your skin, not breaking it but leaving a burning trail along your throat. “… to keep me nice and warm, hm?”

“Yes,” you immediately squeeze out. “I will do anything.”

“But there is a catch.” He pulls at his sweatpants, freeing his cock until it slaps against your abdomen, trapped in the tightness of your bodies. “You have to be so very good for me. You cannot make a single move. Can you do that?”

“Yes. Yes, I can.”

“Good.” 

He lifts you up carefully, keeping you on your knees above him. You leak onto him, drops of your arousal landing on his cock, and he hisses, his fingers digging into your flesh. With one finger, he wipes it off and smears it over your entrance until he can slip it inside, quickly adding a second. A deep moan leaves you at the intensity of the stretch but you quickly adjust and find pleasure in the stimulation. He pumps a few times, spreading his fingers to widen you even more. When he seems satisfied he pulls them out and grabs both of your hips to pull you down into his lap. The tip of his hard cock slides into your entrance. Before he is even fully inside you already clench around what he offers, making you both moan at the sudden intensity. Slowly you sink down further, his mouth hot on your neck while you run your hand over his shoulders. Once he is fully sheathed, he gives a full body shudder.

“Satana, you are so warm,” he whispers, his voice as delicate as if he is saying a prayer. “So, so warm.”

You don’t speak, allowing him his moment of silent reverence. However, patience is not on your side today and you can’t help but squirm after a second, trying to find the smallest amount of friction. His cock is big, girthy, stretching you open like nothing else you’ve felt before.

“No moving,” he finally says. “I need to be precise.”

With that his lips search for the spot on your neck. He stops eventually, opening his mouth and wetting the spot with his tongue. You expect the pain and yet the sting draws a whimper from you. Secondo stops at once, waiting for your reaction. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “Keep going.”

His fangs pull out and you can feel the blood oozing from your vein. Hungrily he laps at it, not quite sucking but firmly holding his mouth over the wound, tongue swiping at the hole in your neck with every swallow. It’s slower than you expected, even as your heart rate goes up in arousal an anticipation. His cock jumps inside of you and you clench around him, earning you a moan from somewhere deep inside of his chest. For a few minutes you hold out, desire building inside of you with every drop of blood that leaves your body.

Eventually, Secondo breaks away. You notice that his skin feels slightly warmer underneath your fingertips, that his eyes look more alive when they finally meet yours again. The green one has turned red just like in your dream and a drop of blood runs down his jaw. You lean in to kiss it away, the metallic taste on your tongue an intense reminder of who you are with. Secondo reciprocates the kiss with renewed energy, licking the blood from your lips and tongue. You taste more of it in his mouth and you can’t help but moan.

“Your taste,” he says, breaking from your lips. “It is the most exquisite thing, my dove.”

“Do you feel better?” you ask breathlessly.

A nod. You squirm again, his cock shifting inside of you as you try to find a comfortable spot. Secondo huffs out a deep breath, the same strain visible in his eyes that has you whimpering with every little movement. “This is not how I want you,” he says. “I told you I would show you how to sin, no?”

With that he grabs your hips, a sudden invigorated strength that seems effortless as he easily manhandles you onto your back while he stays buried deep inside of you. The impact reopens the wound on your neck and you feel drops of the warm liquid running along your skin.

“White sheets…” you whisper as more blood dribbles onto the fabric. “Bold choice for a vampire.”

He chuckles, licking along your shoulder to catch the few remaining drops. He hums, his tongue almost rough when he cleans every drop you have left to give.

“Your blood sugar is low,” he whispers then. “When we’re done here I will feed you, amore. After a nap, perhaps.”

You giggle but it quickly turns into a gasp when he finally starts to move, slowly thrusting into you in a steady rhythm. He grabs your thighs then, pushing them deeper into the mattress until he has you folded in half. With him so deep inside of you your whole body is boiling. You can’t help but hold onto his shoulders, allowing him to move faster, fucking into you almost desperately now. Your arousal leaks all over your joined bodies, wet, squelching sounds soon filling the air around you as his hips piston into yours. You moan without shame ever time he hits that sweet spot inside of you, every time his skin rubs against the other sensitive areas on your body.

“I’m so close,” you whisper, keening and closing your eyes when he thrusts even deeper, slower now.

“You look at me, amore,” he warns. “You look at me when I make you cum.”

Your eyes snap back open, meeting the liquid fire reflected in his red iris. Secondo’s grip on you is tight and his own grunts echo in tandem with the sounds of your skin meeting, with all the desperate noises that leave your lips. You dance along the precipice for a moment, trying to last, trying to stretch out time for a little longer. But when he begins to stutter, his own eyelids fluttering in pleasure at every slow, deep stroke in an attempt to keep them open, you finally fall. The climax that hits you is stronger than any you have felt before and you’re a mess, mewling and whimpering, breathing in jolts as the heat spreads in your body like fire.

Your muscles clenching around him soon has Secondo following. His cock jumps, pumping you full with his seed while he breathes a low moan into your ear. You feel every raw shudder, every  little twitch, until it starts to leak out of you and he finally loosens his grasp. Your legs sink back to the mattress and he settles on top of you. Skin against skin, his cool while yours is hot and burning. For a long time you both calm down. Even if he doesn’t seem out of breath, it is clear that he needs the quiet moment of reprieve just as much as you do.

“Ti amo,” he whispers, first almost too low for you to hear but then louder. “Ti amo per sempre. Not even death can part our union.”

You press a gentle kiss to his cheekbone. “I love you, too.”

He huffs out a breath, turning you both to your sides where he holds you close against him, his lips tickling your temple as he presses more and more soft kisses to your skin. You start to relax, his sweet touches lulling you into a state of half-sleep. Your mind finds back to what really occupies it, all the questions and insecurities. A thousand thoughts are swimming in your head, some of them have to do with the sticky mess between your legs, some of them leave the four walls of this bedroom altogether.

“I can hear your mind working,” Secondo grumbles. “I thought I had distracted you well enough.”

“It’s just… are the Nameless Ghouls real ghouls then?” you ask. “And is the special wine all blood or is it some sort of amalgamation? The healer you mentioned, was it the doctor from the donation?”

“Grappolino,” Secondo warns. “All in due time.”

He shifts onto his back, pulling you on top of his chest. You have to bite your tongue to stop interviewing him because he is right – you’ve had enough exertions for the day, and you’d rather spend your remaining energy on more of this. 

“Should we have a smoke?” he finally asks.

“In your bedroom?”

“In our bedroom,” he corrects and reaches for the bedside table.

He grabs a pack of Marlboros, retrieving one to trap between his still swollen lips. The gold Dupont lighter opens with a cling and you have to smile. When he hands you the cigarette this time you don’t hesitate. You take a deep drag, pressing your mouth to his before you exhale. Secondo holds it inside, then releases the smoke into the air above you. When his arms close around your body in a firm embrace, you rest your eyes – and listen to the quiet sizzling of the cigarette as it slowly burns out.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed vampire Secondo. If you want to be tagged in any future Friday Nights stories pls let me know! Terzo and Copia will get their own stories, as you might have guessed from the hints in the plot ♡

Masterlist – My Ao3

#friday nights #secondo #secondo x reader #secondo fanfiction #vampire secondo #papa emeritus ii x reader #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus ii fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction #vampire fiction #secondo smut

[adorabluesposts]

Hi!!

I loved your Lucifer x death story and I was wondering if you’d write a Lucifer x Reader but they are Alastors daughter who he kept sheltered? Like they are innocent and such but they were hellborn so they can’t leave. I feel like Lucifer would definitely pine over somebody so maybe him trying to get her to realize he likes her while Alastor keeps him away?

Tysm for being my first request<3 love this idea!!

This is realllyyyy long because I had to give in a lot of context before getting to the point. Might turn this into a series just because this is too fricking long 😭

Lucifer X Alastor's daughter.

"You dare to touch my daughter?"

For the longest time, you were locked away.

Locked away by Alastor, a man who raised you with a certain paranoia, keeping a happy mask on as he taught you manners in his Radio Tower, never letting you leave.

Alastor had raised you in seclusion, shielding you from the brutality of Hell’s politics and power struggles. You knew nothing of the outside world, your knowledge confined to the ancient tomes in the tower's private library. You pretty much devoured tales of angels and demons, of forbidden love and cosmic battles. But your favorite stories were those of your father—the radio demon who had once terrorized the living world, because it amazed you; Your father was never like that with you.

Even aunt Rosie would often tell of shenanigans Alastor did, which surprised you at first. You were truly in denial, of how your father could do such things. You got used to it, even coming at peace with knowing you'll probably never be like him.

There wasn't much interaction that you did- only talking to your father and his shadows, Rosie (who was very much your favourite person in the world) and some of the Overlord's, every now and then.

It was mostly you, all alone in the tower. All alone. Lonely. Bored. All alone. Bored. For decades. Eons. You lost count, seriously.

--

"Dad." You munched down your pancake, Alastor looking up from the mirror hung on the wall , even though he was supposed to fix his tie. "We need to talk."

"Could this wait, deer?" He replied, turning back to the mirror. "I'm late to my job."

Ah, yes, his job. The job you never asked about, because every time you wanted to, he'd shoot you a glare.

"No, I can't wait." You said, getting up from your seat and walking over to him, fixing his tie. "Dad, this is important. My birthday's soon.. and I'm positive I'm old enough to go outside. I've read so much about Hell that I know enough about it. I've even made a slideshow if you don't believe me!"

Alastor looked at you with an angrier expression. "My deer, we talked about this-"

"You can't keep me here anymore. You're not keeping me safe, you're ruining me."

Alastor sighed deeply.

"it's not fair, dad."

"it really isn't." He agreed.

Reluctantly, and with a lot of talking, you got him to agree. As long as you stayed by his side for a while, you'd be able to go out. You needed to sign a contract, though (father's orders), to swear that you'd try to stay safe.

"But how will I stay by your side if I can't accompany you to work? What is your job, anyway? Considering you're not working for the radio anymore." You asked, and he stayed silent for a few minutes. It was clear this was a big step, and he wasn't so happy about letting his little dove grow up.

"I work at a hotel." He sighed. "Do your research, darling. I'll tell my coworkers you'll be paying a visit."

"paying a visit? Does that mean I get to go there alone?" You eagerly asked.

"Oh, nonononono, I'm picking you up."

--

"You've got a WHAT?" The energetic voice of the blonde asked, jumping up and down.

"who knew smiles had it in him-" Angel earned a 'be quiet' glare.

"They'll be visiting today.. just don't get weird." Alastor's static buzzed lpudly. "I've been keeping them safe for as long as they lived. Their poor mind doesn't know how this all works."

"so they're a good person?" Vaggie asked, accompanied by Charlie's: "Does that mean we can get them redeemed?"

"Hahaha!" Alastor laughed. "They're a hellborn. And never in my mind mind would I let them leave my side and go to Heaven, even if they weren't."

"Did you know about this?" Husk's clearly too-sober voice asked Nifty, to which the girl just shook her head.

--

You nervously fidgeted with your hands as you awaited your dad's arrival. You were dressed nicely, wanting to make a good impression. What if your dad's friends were mean? Cruel? Evil? What if they didn't like you?

~

"Some of them are a bit odd." Alastor buzzed, his hand on the doorknob of the hotel. "You'll get used to it, deer."

You breathed in and out, calming your nerves as you walked in. "Woah, this place's not so b-"

"Hii, I'm Charlie, welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!" A girl eagerly ran up to you, shaking your hand with excitement. "I was soo excited to meet you! You need to see the others! I need to make a tour!"

You were pretty confused and feeling many feelings about the first interaction, but thought Charlie would be a fun person to befriend anyway.

"Hi, I'm Vaggie." A girl next to her said, softly taking Charlie's hand from yours, which you silently thanked her for. "I'm Charlie's girlfriend."

You smiled. "Nice to meet you both."

"That's Husk, he owns the bar." Vaggie said with a calm voice, pointing to the creature who grunted at you.

"that's Nifty, she cleans." Vaggie continued, her girlfriend jumping up and down in excitement next to her.

"And that's Angel Dust, our first resident. Sir Pentious was our second resident." Vaggie said, her voice followed by the 'Heya toots' the spider said.

--

"Will you be staying? We'd love to have you. You're so nice I love you already!" Charlie said, after a successful tour. You lost your dad long ago, seeming as if he's gone to do his own business (you pretended to ignore how his shadow replaced yours in the meantime).

"It wouldn't be too bad." You said. "I could get a bit of a break from my dad for once."

"Uhh, speaking of dads." Angel poked his head in the room. "Charlie, your dad's at the door."

Charlie nervously looked at Angel. "Oh, that's great.. what does he want?"

"He said he wanted to revisit without Alastor, since word is he's out of town."

"my dad's out of town? Great!" You silently mumbled.

"Oh, well, I guess it's time you meet my dad, aha." Charlie told you, and you raised an eyebrow. "Who is your dad?"

A short figure walked into the room, eagerly hugging Charlie. He looked so much like her, ignoring the height difference.

"Oh my." You whispered, recognising the face from the books. "Your dad's-"

"Oh, hello." The man smiled at you, looking you up and down, "I'm Lucifer, The-"

"King of Hell, yeah, I know. Oh my Satan."

An awkward pause followed. Silence. More silence. Him looking you up and then down again, making you fix your posture.

"Well, ha! Dad, why don't I show you some new things we added to the living room?" Charlie practically dragged Lucifer out.

--

Your mind instantly lingered on the king for the next few days. It was no surprise why he was the most beautiful man in the world, truly gorge- snap out of it.

"Deer, I've been talking to you!" Alastor set his cup down. "Why aren't you listening?"

"Oh, sorry. I was zoned out." You excused, and his static buzzed louder.

"Strange. You're never like this." He sighed. "I knew I shouldn't have let you out."

His serene smile practically stared at you.

"No, dad, I mean-" You laughed nervously. "I just really miss the hotel, dad. It's really nice."

Excuses. More and more excuses every time you zoned out. Every day. And then he'd take you with him to the hotel, and you'd silently pray that Lucifer would be there. He never was.

--

"A party?" You questioned Charlie. Apparently, the princess wanted to throw a party to spread awareness and information about the Hazbin Hotel- people would come and have fun, Charlie and the crew would explain the deed, and we'd get more visitors.

If you ask me, Charlie's got the IQ.

"And you think I should come?" She nodded as an answer.

Your dad stood next to you, a protective aura lingering over his body. "I think it's a lovely idea, Charlie!" His static buzzed.

You looked at him, eyes widened. "You do?"

"we'll surely attend, Y/N." He smiled. "Would be good for you."

You shuddered. This was so unlike him.

"I don't have what to-"

"I'll help with that!"

"I don't know how to dance, either. And I'm socially awkward-"

"You'll be fine, come on!"

--

You looked at your clothes nervously. You looked good, better than ever, but what would others think? According to Charlie, a bunch of royalty would come (including Lucifer, the Ars Goetia.. Lucifer!!)

And all you could whisper out was fuck, because you were so nervous.

Charlie knocked at your door (technically her door, as you got ready in her room- the party started hours ago. It was the anxiety that made you stay), and practically begged for you to finally go.

You and her linked arms, to which you entered the main lounge area, where you saw people. So many people. And your anxiety rose.

You gave your best smile as she introduced you to a few people, such as Stolas of Ars Goetia (who you thought was very polite and nice, even through his sad smile), and a few of the Sins. Beelzebub was someone else you met, who instantly brought a grin and laugh to your face.

It was all gone when you caught Lucifer's gaze, and you both walked towards eachother. It was the second interaction you two would have- a chance to make a better impression.

"Oh, wow, you look dashing tonight." He said as he bowed to you.

That's right, he bowed. You internally screamed.

"You look quite wonderful, too." You said, and he rose up with a smile. He took your hand, your fingers brushing softly with eachother as he kissed it.

The music went silent, overshadowed by loud static. Everyone looked around confused as the room glowed red, and your father appeared behind Lucifer.

"You dare touch my daughter?" He growled. You could feel his anger and protectiveness in your gut. You sent him a reassuring smile and glance, to which he stopped towering over Lucifer, the music blasting again.

Everything back to normal.

Lucifer and Alastor exchanged a glare of pure hatred.

Shit, was Lucifer messing with you just to fuck with your dad? It was working, then. Alastor was beyond furious.

You looked into Lucifer's eyes and couldn't help but smile. It was like a spell. You were frightened, that you'd fall in love now, even though he was quite literally using you to get under your father's skin..

To be continued..

Okay that's it folks. This took a lot to upload but I've started the next part and ahhh I love itt. This is a bit rushed but I hope you like it so far :)).

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin spoilers #hazbin

[mortuarywriting]

Falling into Place

Ao3 Link - [First] - [Next Chapter ->]

All things considered this isn't what you were expecting to wake up to when you went to bed. One minute you're on your phone, trying to pass out, and the next? You're here. You've had some interesting greetings in your life, but dropping about six feet and having twelve guns leveled at your face? That takes the cake

Warnings:

Reader Insert, Plus-Size Reader, The Author Regrets Everything, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Isekai, canon divergence Look we're gonna dig into the implications of omegasverse changing bits and pieces of history as well as addressing whatever the FUCK is happening as CoD's history. Idk man Godzilla is canon and nobody bats an eye at that fact and you think I'm gonna be normal about that? No

You could be having a worse day, you think, as you stare at the interrogation table you're cuffed to. They could've shot you the second you fell the six feet from the sky into a random army base. That's a very real thing that could've happened.

But no, you just had a dozen guns pointed at you in one moment and a slew of questions you didn't have satisfying answers for.

No, you had no idea how you got there. You'd been in bed tooling around on your phone and then you were falling.

They asked who you worked for, and were not impressed by your mundane answer. You didn't work for some pmc or intelligence organization. You asked them to their faces if they thought you could pass a PT test if you tried. Not that they answered or appreciated your point, mind.

It was only after you gave them whatever identifying information you had that things got… spicy.

"I would love to tell you what this designation of yours is if you tell me what you mean. Is it like a classification of civilian versus enlisted? Is it physical? Is it your horoscope? I don't know what I don't know," you explain again for the Nth time. You didn't wanna play twenty questions but here you fuckin were, captive audience and all.

The man asking you questions had lost his charming good cop look. He was getting more and more annoyed on this one, "your designation," a demand, not a question and sure as shit not an answer.

"Again, would love to tell you! I don't know what you mean! Feels like some kinda Star Wars thing," you grumble the last bit to yourself but the man cocks his head.

His eyes narrow, "what are… Star Wars, you said?"

You blink owlishly, "beg pardon?"

"Star War. Clarify."

It's your turn for your brow to furrow, and furrow it does, "Star Wars? As in the multi-billion dollar franchise created by George Lucas and eventually sold to Disney," your tone is questioning, just shy of asking if the guy lived under a rock but his expression didn't let up and the last thing you needed was bad cop, so you continued, "the story of what happened a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away? The political space series of movies versus Star Trek's more scientific and discovery based longstanding TV show? Nine major movies and the Clone Wars before Disney sunk their talons in. Like yeah we got more shows and movies that expanded the universe but they also cut out decades of book contributions in their acquisition and that kinda sucked. But yeah, that Star Wars?"

"Nine movies," his tone is disbelieving, and now it's your turn for your eyebrows to raise, "can you name them?"

You nod, "well yeah. Do you want them in episode order or release?"

His brows furrow, "did they not release in order?"

"In a sense? Three trilogies, 4-5-6 back in the late 70s early 80s, then 1-2-3 in the late 90s early 00s, and 7-8-9 through the teens. So order, yes, just… not a cohesive one."

"Release, then," he leaned back and crossed his arms, a position you'd love to mimic if you weren't cuffed to the table for… an indeterminate period of time now, actually.

"A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back, and Return of the Jedi-"

"Woah now, empire? What's a jeddy?"

You give him a blank look, trying very hard to mask your disbelief as you look between him and the mirror behind him. You look at your reflection, take a deep breath, and- "sir would it be easier for you to maybe check the internet?"

He seemed to bristle, nose flaring and looking at you expectantly.

You just… kinda sat there. You tapped your fingers together on the desk and kept the eye contact he was intent on. It took a good minute and him getting progressively pissier before you simply ask, "would you like the other movies now?"

You didn't expect an explosion of movement from the man. He downright snarled and slammed his hands on the table as he burst to his feet, the sudden change sending his chair screeching back before falling with a clatter. You leaned as far back as your cuffed hands would allow, eyes wide and a panic rising.

Both of you turned to look at the door when it slammed open with a barked, "Williams!" 

The man who opened it reared back a bit, "Christ, layin' it on a bit thick," he groused, his tone sounding more like someone chastising a teenager for using too much Axe body spray. He smoothed his posture back into something casual as he fanned the air dismissively with a hand, "cap wants you to take a walk."

Your interrogator- Williams, apparently- stares at the man in the door, the two locking eyes before the one in the door straightens from his purposely relaxed posture. You watch the both of them, noting the shoulders tensing as the two just. Staring at each other? Eventually the guy who'd been grilling you looked away and stormed out, the man in the doorway letting him slip out easily enough before turning a charming look back to you.

He took a minute to fan the door a few times to get newer, blissfully cool air in before he entered the room, "sorry 'bout him. He really did a number in here," the new guy tsked before closing the door quietly behind himself.

Your brow furrowed even as you slowly relaxed a bit, had this Williams guy like… farted or something? A nice quirk of ventilation keeping you from smelling something abhorrent? Either way you simply shrug as he walks in and tips the chair back up, sitting and giving another reassuring smile, "how you doing, love?"

You opened and closed your mouth a few times before simply settling on, "I'm a bit… whelmed? This has been," you give as vague a rolling gesture as you can without your cuffs rattling too badly, "a lot? And I have no idea what just set him off either?"

It's the man before you's turn to quirk a brow, "no idea?"

"If I knew the answers to his questions I'd've given 'em by now. I don't, though, and then he just started staring? And hell I just thought it was some kinda macho 'I can stare the truth out of you,'" you pitched your voice lower and pushed your shoulders out for a second to mimic the douchebag behavior before settling, "so I kept eye contact because I'm so out of my depth I have no reason to lie at all and now…" you trail off, gesturing around the room, "all that."

The man nods slowly, "alright love, could you tell me about the last five years?"

Your brows furrow, "oh fuck, 2019 was five years ago wasn't it. God, time is an illusion. Anyway, you want what I was doing leading up to and through the pandemic?"

You think he might've startled for a second but he simply moved to scratch his chin, "mhmm. Just your thoughts on the last five years is all."

So… you ramble. Because he was nice and not prodding or asking weird questions. You talk to him about your job before the pandemic, how people thought covid was just a flu until the death tolls kept climbing, how tons of governments dropped the ball on a local or country-wide level and how that kicked back onto your life, and then the absolute crapshoot of the last election cycle, the shitty 'oh no this is the new normal everything is fine' behavior that has lead to surges and cycles of a fucking plague and so on. He simply nodded, gave some sympathetic hums and winces appropriately at your experiences.

"And did you go back and watch Star Wars through that? Or other things Disney owned?"

And, well, that was a weird way to phrase it but you shrugged, "the mouse is just shy of a monopoly and not one that anybody can take that down so… yeah, I guess? They kept putting shows out and expanding their Star Wars universe so that's been kinda neat to watch but not just them, no. Couple other games and stuff like that to keep me busy, too," you kinda handwave and shut up because panic rambling to MILITARY PERSONNEL is probably not your smartest move in hindsight. Especially when you don't know his name. A+, self.

You tap your fingers against the metal table as he looks at you, "and you said covid has a long term effect of ruining people's senses of smell and taste?"

You nod slowly, "yeah, dude? It's one of the biggest warning signs for most people? Like if everything starts tasting like it was made by a middle class white mom who keeps shoving random letters in her kids names you should swab? That kinda shit?"

What rock has this guy been living under? You were pretty sure the military were supposed to be way more familiar with this shit all things considered, but you've been wrong before.

It was his turn to give you a bit of a wide eyed look before he poorly covers a laugh, "alright, that's fair. I need to go talk with my captain," he hooks a thumb over his shoulder to the window, which didn't surprise you that there had been people back there. He offers a reassuring smile as he stands, humming idly as he pushes the chair back in. He pauses mid-step, "you mentioned that there were cards…?"

You find yourself nodding slowly, "yeah it was important and you couldn't fly or go to certain places if you didn't have one for a while. Should still have a picture of mine buried on my phone," you really didn't wanna get another first-round of covid shots, you REALLY didn't wanna repeat the 24 hours of suck for no reason.

"Cool, thanks," he flashes another charming grin before he slides out of the room.

You lean back in your chair, what an odd guy. Nice though.

-------

"Right," Gaz says as he opens the door to Price and Ghost, "either our mystery guest is off her nut or she's legitimately from somewhere and somewhen else."

Ghost and Price look at each other before turning back to Gaz, this… complicated matters.

Well, it's not like you hadn't given them information to identify yourself. They'd dig up who you were one way or another.

-------

You stare blankly as the nice man from before gives you a sympathetic look, "what do you mean I'm dead?"

Behind him is a guy you're not sure if he's just fuckoff huge or if he's just moderately huge and it's forced perspective.

You don't think it's forced perspective.

You are absolutely trying not to panic spiral.

You are absolutely doing a horrible job at that.

"Well," he opens the file before him and there's a news article, proudly proclaiming "Locals Die in Horrible Freak Accident" like that's not some form of you that was looking like some smear on the pavement, "there's this. Fingerprints match up. Can check for dental if you're really curious."

"Were there even any teeth left after that," you mumble as you take and read the offered article. Seven people were involved, the pictures used are mostly flattering. Hell, you almost don't mind what pic they used for an alternate you but… "that's certainly not the pic I would've wanted. Maybe this me had different tastes?"

You take the time to actually read through the article. It's not helping because for as much as you stare at the page you're not absorbing any information. Some form of detachment, if this was really you? You'd died. A different you but a you nonetheless. You died and you're reading how it happened. There was a lot to unpack in all this and you just needed to put the suitcase away for now. You'd much rather throw it away at this rate.

You were rapidly coming to the understanding that you and Toto were not in Kansas anymore, and there wasn't a convenient yellow brick road to get yourself back home. No easy way to get the hell out of Dodge either. Was it Dodge or the O.K. Corral that was in Kansas? No the O.K. Corral wasn't in Kansas- Dodge was though, that's right. 

This analogy was getting away from you and some part of you figured this was just your brain trying to protect yourself but… wait, wasn't this a metaphor? There wasn't 'like' or 'as' or goddammit not again.

You recognize some names here and there but largely everyone involved were perfect strangers. The article doesn't cover if it would've been slow or quick. You hope for the smear that it was quick. Smears like that don't happen slowly, right? Well, not unless it's like a dramatic slide down a window, but not usually across pavement like that.

Still not sure how you feel about all of it. Bit morbid being confronted with your mortality like that.

Certainly answered a lot of questions about your theoretical passing you never thought about. Like if the obituary for you in what you know to be your own home and world is just as… really kinda just mediocre as this. Have you really done nothing of note for an obituary? Damn.

You kept pouring over the article, each pass bringing new words into focus that help connect the picture a little bit, but… Something repeated in the article made you pause, "two alphas, four betas, and an omega?" 

There was no decent way to ask about that. Any questions invoked from here would border into dangerous territory better kept between yourself and a private browser history. You knew what you were about but there was no fucking way.

"Their designations," the nice man whose name you still hadn't caught explains, "mostly explaining their secondary gender."

You look at him owlishly. You pray to whatever God might be listening that you wake up shortly. Or that the earth below your feet opens up and swallows you. Whichever comes first, the mortification will snipe you otherwise.

"Please tell me this is an elaborate joke at my expense," you are very quiet as you are trying to get really cool with a lot of things really quickly.

"Negative," the big fucker in the back practically growled and you knew that voice would do things to you if you weren't half stepped out of your own body. 

You missed whatever his followup was but your brow furrowed when you checked the date on the article, "I've been dead for months? That…" you let the paper fall from your hands. Everything about this is wild at best and very overwhelming at worst. 

A lot of this qualified as worst.

You look up at the two, missing the odd look they shot at each other as you try to pull yourself back together, "so now what? You've got a not-a-smear of me that fell from the sky onto a secure military base, and where I'm from we didn't have," you paused to gesture between the paper and the two soldiers, "dynamics was it? That was just a fanfiction special."

"Fanfiction."

The way he said it was so carefully neutral you paused, "oh my god without Star Trek to popularize fanfiction and the fan community, how has fandom evolved? Is fanfiction a thing- well, yes, it does fanfics have been a thing since Dante Alighieri wrote the Divine Comedy and even before- well, the question is more if it's still popularized? Are there still the wattpad fics of- I am getting so off track. What exactly is the next step?"

You look from the nice man to the big fucker and back, neither saying anything but looking at you with careful blankness.

You felt like you were being weighed and measured in their eyes.

You hoped to anyone listening that you weren't found wanting at least. Not when you're in the shit situation it looks like you ever so increasingly fell into.

"Considering I'm. Not smear. And very much not from here? Are blanks a thing? Or is that what a beta is I'm," you trail off, brow furrowing, "fuzzy. On the whole thing. The flavor of understanding, dynamics, and population skew tended to be dependant on the author's level of horny."

The did get a bit of a snort from the pretty one before you, the one in the back tilting his head just so as the pretty one spurred you on, "okay please don't take this the wrong way, you have given me nothing to go on but A/B/O and-" a finger was raised in question to that, you quickly explaining, "the fanfic shorthand for the universe without being a mouthful. Anyway- I've seen population numbers being roughly the same across the board, I've seen alphas and omegas at roughly 1% of the population of society on either end, I've seen alphas at about 5% and omegas at 1%- those ones are usually the most horny I swear.

"And it's all over the board, no consistency- sometimes it's betas are infertile, sometimes they're the straightman to the comedy that's an alpha and omega trying to woo each other without being too horny to function. Sometimes it's a sliding scale where being beta just means you're more the more middle-ground regulated hormonally with alphas and omegas being the opposing ends of a spectrum. Can you please say something and give me a fucking break because my panic rambles are probably like. Some kinda prejudiced. I'm still not over the 'I'm supposed to be a smear on the ground we don't even have dental images of to confirm who it is anymore' nugget you dropped on me. I think I'm doing well for this"

You would rather not tell them that as soon as you're out of this box of a room you were gonna be curled up in a ball and unabashedly weeping. That was none of their business.

The pretty one gave you what you're sure was supposed to be a reassuring smile but the quiet stretched just a bit too long. You looked from one to the other before leaning forward, "is this supposed to be soothing in some way? Because it's just a bit of an extended awkward silence and that's uh-"

It was the big one in the back's turn to give an amused snort, the pretty one looking bashful, "right, sorry, we uh-"

You jerk a bit, "wait, was that supposed to be some scent thing," you really didn't wanna say pheromones and potentially dig yourself into a deeper, more awkward hole based on Horny Pseudoscience.

Pretty rubbed the back of his neck, "something like that. You really couldn't smell anything?"

You know the exact Face you're making. It's very much your 'I have told you this and I'm getting tired of having to repeat it' face. You can tell he clocks it but for the record, because to your mortification this has to be recorded, you simply give a succinct, "no, I haven't smelled anything. Not from you, not from him," you jerk your head towards the big fucker, "and not from douchebag from be- Williams! His name was Williams. Nothing. Really had no clue why you were fanning the door when you came in."

You sigh, rubbing the heels of your palms into your eyes, "okay. Assuming I'm not about to be put into past tense a second time. Do we have any idea what popped me out here?"

The sentences are stilted, you know you're getting more rattled the longer you're here but sue you alright it's been the worst six hours of your life here.

They just continue to look at you, pretty keeping a polite almost customer service look as big one just stares unceasingly.

"Right. Okay. Am I going to be reintegrated to society or is this," you gesture around the little room as much as you can, "looking like my home for the foreseeable future."

No change in what you can see of either's expression, and you just sag. Deep breath in, deep breath out, "cool. Alright. Well. I know nothing of how biology is altered here, I'm not sure how that has impacted changes throughout history, and frankly I don't know what your pop culture has done. I'm assuming math and written languages are largely the same but in all fairness I don't know what I don't know."

You just stare quietly at the table for a bit longer before looking back at the two of them, "is there anything else you need because I can feel the freakout creeping up and while I know there's no real privacy, uh…"

The pretty one looked back to the big one, at some point you're sure you'll get some sort of names but for now? Now you watch the big one nod, the pretty one give you a polite smile and some vaguely polite bullshit your brain is swiftly going too far out to hear.

You only hope that whoever is behind the mirror is polite enough to look away as you put your head down on the table and give yourself the opportunity to, just this once, cry. As a treat.

[Next Chapter -> ]

#rambles from the morgue #a for effort and all that

[ao3cassandraic]

What does Aziraphale know and when does he know it? Part 2, The Chinwag

Prologue and Part 1, for those who need them.

The chinwag is written and shot in two timeframes: as it's happening, and as Aziraphale retells it to Crowley. That's a fair wodge of extra production expense, compared to just having Aziraphale retell the story. There's got to be a reason for it (beyond additional Derek Jacobi, which is never bad).

I think the reason is so that we-the-viewers can check the congruence between actual events and Aziraphale's retelling, also between Aziraphale's emotional reactions to the Metatron and the emotions he pours out to Crowley. (Remember, Aziraphale is a lying liar who lies!) Also, as some meta-ists have already pointed out, to leave the possibility open that we are not getting the whole story in either frame -- there's likely some interaction that we aren't shown and that Aziraphale doesn't tell Crowley about.

But why wouldn't Aziraphale tell Crowley everything? Hold that thought (though if you've read through my metas, you already know my answer).

The chronology of the chinwag is very tangled in-show (we first see the very end of it!) so I'm going to disentangle it here, as best I can.

Aziraphale tells Crowley, "[The Metatron] said that Gabriel obviously hadn't worked out... and he asked who I thought should take over in Heaven..." Then we cut to the actual chinwag. Aziraphale looks a bit how-is-this-my-problem-exactly, and gives the obvious bureaucratic corporate yes-person (well, yes-angel) answer: Michael.

And the Metatron calls him silly for it. The Metatron has just insulted Gabriel, Michael, and Aziraphale in practically the same breath; if Aziraphale had had any doubts about contempt being fundamental to the Metatron's personality, they've been blown away now.

The Metatron: "... there's only one candidate who makes even the slightest bit of sense." Aziraphale's reaction shot: polite interest in his face, but his hands appear clasped together under the table -- he's stressed and he's hiding things. "And that's you."

And we don't get Aziraphale's actual reaction to this -- we cut back to Aziraphale telling Crowley. I know what I think Aziraphale's actual reaction, and how he expressed it, were -- and I don't think for an instant they were the same -- but by all means consider for yourself. The show wants you to. Also consider whether either of those is the same as the excitement he projects toward Crowley. My cards on the table, and a sneak peek of the next post in this series: I don't think so. I think Aziraphale retelling this story is Aziraphalean kayfabe. The Metatron wants and expects him to be excited, so he's acting excited.

We then cut back to the Metatron's actual words: "Well, yes, you're a leader, you're honest, you don't just tell people what they want to hear; it's why Gabriel came to you in the first place, I imagine."

There is not one word of this that is not bullshit. Starting from the end, Aziraphale knows why Jimbriel came to him, because he asked and the utterly guileless Jimbriel told him. It had nothing to do with leadership or honesty; it was because Jimbriel had a strong, if vague, impression that Aziraphale was the one being who could and would improve Jimbriel's situation. (Other metas from other meta-ists discuss why Jimbriel might feel this way.) The rest of the Metatron's line is manipulative generic corporate-style flattery having zero intersection with the phalanx-refusing, frequently-deceitful, go-along-to-get-along angel we all know and love.

So is Aziraphale buying the Metatron's love-bombing? I mean, it's wholly plausible that an angel would buy it, just out of sheer emotional desperation; Heaven's angels -- those who even remain after the Great War and the mass Fall -- are pitifully love- and approval-starved. Aziraphale himself has barely gotten a kind word from Heaven in his entire existence, and he's had plenty of reprimands. Gabriel didn't get a single gift in six thousand years. Lonely, obliging, bottom-of-the-hierarchy Muriel practically plotzes at the least slightest hint of approval from anyone ever.

There's only one angel on Earth or in Heaven who knows genuine, sustained love and support, though, now that Gabriel is gone -- and it's Aziraphale. I look at Aziraphale's face after the Metatron drops that love bomb, and I see no hint of joy or warmth or Muriel-like gratitude. He's not buying it. Aziraphale knows what love is, and this ain't it. (Crowley rescues Aziraphale once again, and he's not even there! I love this.)

What Aziraphale knows at this point:

The Metatron wants him back in Heaven.

Given the Metatron's habitual contempt for everyone around him, and given the blatant lies with which he expresses respect for Aziraphale, the Metatron must be lying about that respect. So whatever his reasons for wanting Aziraphale in Heaven, they're not his stated reasons about Aziraphale being suited to the job.

The Metatron is really buttering him up! "Second-in-command after me" is a pretty solid bribe! A lot bigger than a coffee! And the Metatron doesn't butter anybody else up! So the Metatron has clearly (and likely correctly) determined that ordering Aziraphale around doesn't work -- Aziraphale has a history of defying blatant orders, both openly and by working-to-rule. (The Metatron may or may not know the full details of the Arrangement, but of course it is another example.)

The Metatron is neither omniscient nor infallible. He doesn't know why Jimbriel went to Aziraphale. He doesn't know what line of patter will serve as a suitable love bomb. He can likely be fooled.

What Aziraphale likely wants to know at this point:

What. The fuck. Does the fucking Metatron. Actually want from him.

What. The fuck. Is the fucking Metatron. Actually up to. Because the Metatron has gone a long way out of his way -- en-corporating, coming to Earth, grabbing a coffee, saving Aziraphale from Michael, holding Muriel in reserve, separating Aziraphale from Crowley, pouring poison into Aziraphale's ear (Hamlet allusion, anyone?) -- to further whatever his aims are.

The Metatron, next: "There are huge plans afoot, enormous projects, and I will need you to run them. You are just the angel for the job."

Aziraphale's face, in the next shot, is still full of worry. That's a partial answer to the questions in his mind, but far from a complete one. So he plays to keep the Metatron talking, hoping that will make things clearer. "I… I don't want to go back to Heaven. Where would I get my coffee?" (He doesn't want coffee on a regular basis. He's a tea drinker! This is a prevarication. There is no trust at this table.)

The Metatron, rather than answering, raises his bribe. "You know, as supreme archangel, you would be able to decide whom to work with. I've been looking back over a number of your previous exploits, and I see that in quite a few of them you formed a de facto partnership with the demon Crowley. Now, if you wanted to work with him again, that might be considered irregular, but it would certainly be within your jurisdiction to restore your friend, Crowley, to full angelic status."

I quoted the whole thing because whew, it's crucial and it's layered.

What Aziraphale now knows:

The Metatron sure doesn't look to be taking no for an answer.

The Metatron knows something -- how much isn't clear, but likely something fairly significant -- about the Ineffable Husbands' shenanigans through the ages. He's been studying them. (Which I find chilling, honestly, but I'm a privacy wonk so I would.)

The Metatron knows Aziraphale and Crowley are friends, important to one another; he up and said so.

The Metatron might not mind if Aziraphale got some of his own back from the other archangels. "Deciding whom to work with" in a corporate bureaucracy often means deciding whom to fire, after all. This, too, might be part of the bribe.

The Metatron is somewhat willing to let Crowley return to Heaven. Only as an angel, though, no more bee!demon. He doesn't seem enthusiastic at the prospect, however, or he'd have offered this tidbit already.

What Aziraphale likely wants to know:

The two questions he still has. They have not been answered.

What. The actual fuck. Are these plans and projects? Are they real or are they get-Aziraphale-out-of-the-way make-work?

Is the offer for Crowley on the level? (Nothing else has been so far!) Or is the Metatron's raise not bribery, but blackmail?

As for how Aziraphale responds to this: No joy, warmth, or pleasure, none. His eyes shift quickly when the Metatron first says Crowley's name, and if anything he looks even more worried for a moment. And again, we aren't allowed to see Aziraphale's actual reaction to the raised bribe offer.

If I'm Aziraphale, being railroaded into this return to Heaven by this extremely powerful and worrisomely sketchy being, I sure would want my right-hand demon at my, er, right hand. I'm just saying.

The temporally-last chunk of the chinwag is the Metatron bringing this weird unsavory job offer to a corporately-scripted close: "Well, you don't have to answer immediately. Take all the time you need." Aziraphale plays for additional information, again, by echoing Gabriel's stunned reaction, "I don't know what to say." Note that this is not an eager yes, or any kind of yes at all! Not even the possibility of Crowley being an angel again has managed to wring assent out of Aziraphale! He's the actual opposite of all in on this!

But the Metatron refuses to give any additional information, leaving Aziraphale with a lot of unanswered questions. And he gives Aziraphale an explicit direct order, which is decidedly peremptory of him, considering. "Well then, go and tell your friend the good news."

We see Aziraphale respond to this with his very best go-along-to-get-along faces. He then crosses the street toward the bookshop; his back is turned to the Metatron at last, so he can let out a bit more of whatever he's feeling. What does he do? He takes a deep breath, flashes the Metatron one more brief placating smile, physically pulls himself together, and walks stiffly across the street with another pulling-himself-together gasp for breath in the middle.

This is not a joyous angel returning to his right-hand demon with joyous news. This is an angel with a lot of unanswered questions who's worried sick and unable to let down his guard fully.

Notice, by the way, that the Metatron then goes and has his little insultingly condescending interaction with Muriel, and then he turns back toward the bookshop and stands there. Like Furfur's zombies peering into the magic shop in 1941, he's watching Aziraphale and Crowley from a distance through the bookshop windows. Can he read lips? Who knows. But he's watching.

Next up: The Fiasco.

#gos2spoilers #gos2 spoilers #good omens season 2 spoilers #the fucking metatron #aziraphale #the final fifteen minutes #good omens meta #good omens

[beanghostprincess]

I really loved your hc about Sanji meeting Yassop and Usopp meeting Zeff and I start to think about like-

What about this with Zosan, Lusan and Lawsan?? This will be SO funny and perfect-

Just hear me: (and yes, this will be with our queen Trans!Fem Sanji)

Mihawk and Zoro going to a dinner with Sanji and Zeff because both want to know their child partner

Shanks going to Baratie 'cause Luffy insisted, and Sanji going too just to say a 'hello!' to her father and properly give the notice she's dating her captain (Luffy forgot to tell this to Shanks and he just discover he was knowing the father of his son's girlfriend when they already are in Baratie)

Law going because Sanji wanted him to know Zeff, and even hating to interact too much, he acepts because he knows how much this mean to her

And like, how you think they will react about the thing of Zeff eating his own FUCKING leg??

Okay, this is really funny- The chaos. Just imagine the chaos. Gonna try to put my thoughts into words (<- Literally a fucking writer. I'm just tired today don't blame me).

Please assume the OP world here is exactly the same but Mihawk and Shanks actually raised Zoro and Luffy. Somehow. Don't ask me how. They see them as their fathers. Zeff and Sanji's story is still the same because they're canonically family lmao. And also Transfem!Sanji as you said btw bc I love my princess.

─┉┈◈Zosan◈┈┉

The thing about Mihawk and Zoro going to a dinner with them is that Zoro and Sanji would try to behave but they would end up arguing in front of them anyway because that's just how they are and Mihawk and Zeff would end up talking alone about them tbh. Zeff offers Mihawk one of his best wines and Mihawk is- Well, you already know how Mihawk is. Their conversation is pretty polite but they keep drinking while the other two are in the background fighting for some meaningless bullshit like: "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GET HERE FIFTEEN MINUTES AGO, STUPID MOSSHEAD" / "OKAY SO IT'S MY FAULT THAT THE SEA IS VERY ROUGH TODAY AND THE SHIP ALMOST SINKS" / "LIAR!! I'M SURE YOU JUST GOT LOST".

And it's uhhh chaotic. But there's passion and Sanji is mad because she cares about him meeting Zeff and Zoro is frustrated but actually trying to calm down. Zeff and Mihawk are very fond of tough love and passionate couples so these two fighting just means they have strong feelings for each other. However, they end up making up and sitting down with their fathers while they tell anecdotes and try to get to know each other better. Mihawk and Zeff are intimidating af and I'm like 100% sure that Zoro would be scared of Zeff at some point bc he would look at him with that look of "If you hurt my daughter I'm killing you" and Zoro is, for once in his life, scared of a cook. Then that silly topic of "Oh, yes, I ate my own leg to save this little shit of a daughter from starving to death" comes up.

Zoro almost chokes on his food and Mihawk stares at Zeff for a while, looks down at his leg, squints his eyes at him and says: It certainly is a really admirable doing. And just out of mere curiosity, was it good-

Zeff: A little bit of seasoning and less pain would've helped

Sanji: DAD, WHAT THE FUCK

Zoro: Curly, you didn't tell me your dad was cool

Sanji: OH, YES, EXCUSE ME MOSSHEAD FOR NOT TELLING EVERYONE ABOUT MY DAD EATING HIS OWN FUCKING LEG

Mihawk: I say admirable doing because you just met her, right? I would not have done something like this for this bastard right here

Zoro: Thanks, dad

Mihawk: You're welcome I let you and Princess stay with me, don't push it

Sanji: Who's Princess?

Zoro: My sister

Sanji: YOU HAVE A SISTER?

Mihawk: Zoro, you didn't tell your girlfriend about Perona?

Zoro: I forgot

Sanji: I'm going to murder you

And basically, long story short, the night ends pretty well to Sanji's surprise. Mihawk is very nice and polite to her even if he looks pretty dark and edgy, and Sanji can't believe that man raised an idiot like her boyfriend. Then we have Zeff, who shakes Zoro's hand so hard it hurts and whispers in his ear all the atrocities he would do to him if he hurt his precious princess. Things that won't happen, of course. That's why that 'would' is there. But still, he tells him anyway. Just in case.

─┉┈◈Lusan◈┈┉

When Luffy tells Shanks to go to the Baratie together, he doesn't hesitate to say yes because who would refuse to go there? What kind of pirate would he be? Sanji is already there because she decided to go a bit earlier, so Shanks instantly assumes he's just going to have lunch with his son in a very nice place and see Zeff again after a long time. When they get to the Baratie and see that Sanji is there too, Shanks assumes Sanji just stopped by too. A coincidence. He already knows that's Zeff's daughter, btw.

But then Luffy does that thing he always does, running towards someone he loves and hugging them tightly with his legs wrapped around them. And Shanks is just like "Oh, well, that's his usual behavior and he's just greeting his cook" but then they kiss and it's uh, confusing. So Shanks asks what's going on and Sanji is all like "Please, don't tell me you didn't mention this to Shanks" and Luffy just shrugs, turns around, and says "Dad, I'm dating Sanji!" then looks at his cook again smiling and Sanji sighs: "And you obviously didn't tell him this was supposed to be a thing so our dads could talk-"

Shanks: Fuck, am I meeting your dad now? Like, actually meeting him as your boyfriend's dad? That's not- Hey, Anchor, you did not mention this.

Luffy: I'm sorry! But Zeff is reaaaaally amazing!

Shanks: I am well aware that he's amazing but you need to warn me first about this stuff.

Luffy: What? It's just dad stuff-

Shanks: I AM NOT GOOD AT DAD STUFF

Then Zeff appears and Shanks tries to act like a normal father for once (he can't. He fails. It doesn't work) and they actually end up having a pretty calm and fun dinner once he relaxes, remembering that Zeff has always been cool. Luffy is extremely clingy with Sanji, a thing that Shanks already knew but never guessed it was because of them dating. And now that he sees it from a different perspective, it is clear that they're in love, even if Sanji won't stop trying to push the kid away because he's obsessed with sitting close to her and eating food from her hands and things like that. Little shit has a more stable love life than him. That's depressing.

Their laughter and joyful voices fill the whole empty restaurant and Shanks and Zeff are already a bit drunk while Sanji is dragged by Luffy to sit on his lap. And it would be embarrassing but it's not like their dads are looking at them, too caught up in their own anecdotes and stories.

Then Shanks asks how Zeff met Sanji because he knows that's not his biological daughter. He remembers Zeff telling him about his little princess years ago when Sanji was still at the Baratie and Shanks stopped by to eat with his crew. And of course, Zeff explains what happened. Their shared dream and everything. Luffy isn't really listening because he already knows the story and is too focused on his girlfriend right now. Zeff tells them about the leg thing, and Shanks starts laughing so, so fucking loud and hysterically:

Shanks: I DID THAT TOO

Zeff: You did what, too?

Shanks: Don't you notice something missing? Perhaps on the left side of my torso? There hanging? Well- Nothing hanging, actually

Zeff: You did not-

Shanks: I did not, but I lost this useless thingy saving this bastard right here

Sanji: You said you're not good at dad stuff but that's a pretty dad thing to do, huh?

Shanks: I guess so, yeah. We have more things than I thought in common, Red Leg!

Luffy: Except for cooking. Your cooking is awful.

Shanks: My cooking is amazing, Anchor, thank you very much.

Luffy: THAT'S NOT TRUE! YOU ONLY HEATED UP WHAT MAKINO MADE FOR ME

Shanks: But I did a good job!

Anyway, they surprisingly have a very nice and warm meal together without Shanks or Luffy being as chaotic as Sanji thought they'd be. When they're heading out, Zeff just pats Luffy on the shoulder and tells him to take care of his princess and appreciate her food or else he'll make him clean the dishes again but this time for years, quite literally speaking. Shanks sees the couple holding hands when they get out of the restaurant, the redhead staying behind for a second to speak to Zeff. But Shanks is already at that point of drunkness where he starts having a breakdown and he's like "Why does my kid have a girlfriend and my husband left me?????? This is so unfair. They love each other so much, Red Leg, look at them!!!!!!!" and Zeff is like "They're young and stupid too, but they'll grow up. You still haven't. Please get out of my restaurant before you make my onions cry."

─┉┈◈Lawsan◈┈┉

Law doesn't want to meet Zeff, that much is clear. He is not good at meeting new people and even less meeting father figures because God knows he doesn't have a good memory of how his relationship with his dad ended (Rip Cora-san, we miss you). But he goes anyway because Sanji keeps insisting and saying that it's important to her, and of course, Law can't say no to her. Well, actually Sanji just tells him that if he comes with her to the Baratie, she'll wear the Soba-Mask suit (Stealth Black or whatever, Sanji refuses to say those words so-) again for him some time and Law accepts almost instantly. Fucking simp.

So they go to the Baratie and Law is dressed in a white shirt and actual, proper, and almost elegant clothes because Bepo said he needed to do it in order to give a good impression, and Law, deep down, just wants Sanji to be happy. And if getting along with her dad will do it, having to deal with this torture for a few hours is worth it.

Sanji keeps telling him not to worry about Zeff because, even if it's a big step in their relationship, her dad is just a bit scary but a good guy, after all. He will like Law once he knows how much he cares about her too! But Law isn't worried about that, he just fucking sucks at social interactions. Free the introvert from having to socialize, please, he just wants to stay with his girlfriend alone and cuddle and infodump about silly little things and comics. This is highly bad for his mental health (getting out and talking to people).

But, well, turns out Zeff is actually a great guy. Even though at first he looks at his daughter intensely and says: "Why the ex shichibukai of all people? This guy looks depressed too. Have you eaten, kid? You look like a starving man. He looks like a starving man, sweetheart. You're not dating an emo bastard who does not eat" and ends up having an argument with Sanji... He's fun to be around, once he settles for feeding Law everything he can cook. And Law isn't complaining but decides not to mention how much he hates bread because he feels that sentence will end up with him dead on the floor.

However, Sanji is the one mentioning that after a while of seeing Law forcing himself to eat bread, rolling her eyes and taking it from his hands to eat it herself. And Zeff is just like "You should've said so earlier, son! Just eat whatever you like. I feed people for them to enjoy the food, goddamnit!" and Law can only nod and keep eating.

And they actually end up getting along when they start talking more and more. Law starts actually laughing and smiling a little bit and Zeff pats him in the back from time to time whenever he mentions stuff he has done with his powers. Zeff just finds that hilarious. And Sanji is happy they're getting along, but extremely embarrassed when Zeff starts talking about her childhood (Law is enjoying every second of this). Then the topic of how Zeff met Sanji is brought up, and Sanji doesn't really want Law to hear it because she didn't tell him about the leg thing. And when he finds out, he's just...

Law: You didn't tell me your dad did that for you

Sanji: It's not something I like to explain, y'know? I kind of feel guilty to this day

Zeff: You're such a cry baby, Eggplant. I already told her countless times I chose to do that and it ended up saving us both! What's the problem?

Sanji: Shut up, old man, you don't get it!

Law: I do get it. The- Uh- Feeling guilty about your dad sacrificing himself. Without Cora-san... I wouldn't be here.

Zeff: Well, kid, I don't know what your father did, but be grateful instead of feeling guilty. I'm sure he's a nice man if he raised somebody who loves my girl this much.

Law: He was a good man, yes. The best. And- I- I do love her. A lot.

Sanji has a moment where she almost cries, but she doesn't!! (She does. She goes to the bathroom and cries).

When they have to go back to the ship, Zeff stops Law and says:

Zeff: You might need to eat more, that much is clear, kid. But you take care of her and that's good enough for me.

Law: Thank yo-

Zeff: But you also strike me as someone who would die for her and even though I do appreciate the effort because I would do the same, don't die on her, got it? And eat more. Eat what she makes, actually. And you also should check if you're celiac.

Law: I'm a doctor. I know I'm not-

Zeff: Then stop bitching around and eat bread like a man, for fuck's sake.

And, you know, Zeff might be a bit intimidating but he is, after all, a good man just like Cora was.

#this was really fun to write #they all love sanji #i love sanji too #and also they're so iwenfjksndf #the lawsan one ended up being kind of sad #but y'know the other two are funny #one piece #black leg sanji #roronoa zoro #monkey d luffy #trafalgar d water law #red haired shanks #dracule mihawk #red leg zeff #zosan #lusan #lawsan #that lil bit hint of shuggy bc i can't control myself

[lykegenia]

So something has been bugging me for a while now about A and N’s backstories, and while I know not everyone will be as pedantic as me, as someone who loves history and has done a lot of writing, I feel that if you’re going to write a story about vampires and give them a specific time and date of origin, then there should be a certain level of research that goes into making that background authentic. I'm not saying that Mishka didn’t do any research. It just seems that in order to keep the vibe of a happy, mellow fantasy some of the less savoury aspects of A and N’s upbringings have been left out, and it's a shame. To be honest, it feels a bit disingenuous, and it feels like an opportunity got wasted.

Let me explain (long post got long, it's 2am)

Let's take A first, since the problem is simpler here.

A is the child of a Norman lord and an Anglo-Saxon noblewoman, born in the first generation after the Norman Conquest of England in 1066. A says that these were turbulent times but that their parents had a happy marriage. Which. While I’m sure a lot of unions in that time period made the best of it, I can’t help but feel this description strips away a lot of the context of what was going on at that point in history - and removes some of the complexity about A’s thoughts on love and relationships.

Basically, after he took control of the throne, William the Conqueror stripped many Anglo-Saxon lords of their lands and titles so he could give them to his Norman buddies instead - with the added bonus that it left the Anglo-Saxons without the means to raise armies against him. The sisters, daughters, and widows of the dispossessed Anglo-Saxons were then forced to marry these new Norman lords to legitimise their power, not infrequently after all of their male relatives had been slaughtered. It’s not as if Anglo-Saxon women weren’t used to being used as political chess pieces, but the years after the conquest were brutal. It’s why William had to build so many castles. The point that I’m trying to make is that even if A’s mother was content enough in her daily life, due to the power imbalance between her and her husband, it's very likely she had little choice in the matter. She may have seen a lot of her family killed for political reasons, with the knowledge that – in an age where women had very little protection outside of their paternal household – she might be next if she made too much of a fuss.

It would be fascinating to see what effect that tension has had on A 900 years later, or even to get an acknowledgement of how much times have changed, but we don’t. We don't see how their early years affected them, how they view relationships formed naturally instead of via political contracts. And I really, really wish we did. There is so much potential there.

But A is not the one keeping me up past 2 in the morning. It’s N, and the utter detachment their backstory seems to have from the period in history they lived in as a human. And it all stems from the fact that they came from the English nobility in the late 1600s.

See, the bulk of the problem is that English inheritance law at the time heavily favoured primogeniture, where a man’s wealth would go to his first-born son. Some dispensation was made for widows and other children, but the estates, assets, and most of the money had a very clear destination.

For one thing, this makes it kinda weird that N’s stepfather would have needed an heir before he could inherit, because except in extreme circumstances everything would have gone to him anyway. Don't get me wrong, this isn't the worst part of the problem, it’s just annoying when there are more plausible reasons for him marrying a woman already pregnant with another man’s child (old family friend wanting to save her from disgrace, needed the dowry to pay off gambling debts, there was a longstanding betrothal between them that would have been tricky to get out of, etc.).

No, the bigger problem with N’s backstory vs primogeniture is firstly that at the time the English aristocracy was racist af (still is tbh) and given his pretty obvious mixed-race heritage, no court would have agreed that Nate was a legitimate son (this is for a very special reason that we will be coming back to). I say Nate specifically here because primogeniture requires the eldest legitimate son. Nat wouldn’t have inherited at all, as women in that period passed from the guardianship of their father (or other male blood relative) into that of their husband after marriage, and only gained any kind of independence with widowhood. If N had been an only child, maybe they would have been treated as a special case, but unfortunately Milton exists: the eldest legitimate son who by law will inherit everything.

Now here’s the thing. Your average aristocrat in the 17th century is very obsessed with lineage and keeping the family line unbroken. He would not, therefore, send his legitimate heir to sea to be shot at or drowned before he can carry on the family name – that joy instead goes to any other sons who need their own profession, because again, they will get very little. Nat would have had a dowry, but would never have been expected to make her own living, so I'm going to focuson Nate for this next bit.

In Book 3, if you unlock his tragic backstory Nate tells you he joined the Royal Navy after Milton went missing so that he could go look for him. And, well. This is where his backstory as Mishka tells it completely falls apart. For two reasons:

1. Even in the modern day, you can’t ‘just’ join the Navy, and you certainly can’t just jump straight to being a lieutenant – it takes years of training and after a certain age they won’t take you because they won’t be able to mould you easily enough into a useful tool. For most of the Navy's history, the process was even more involved. It wasn’t an office job you could just rock up to and then quit if you felt like it, it was a lifetime commitment. Boys destined to be officers would be sent to sea as early as 12 to learn shipboard life, starting at the bottom and moving up the ranks. These were gained by passing exams and by purchasing a commission – which is why you generally had to come from wealth to be an officer at all. Once you get to lieutenant you're responsible for a lot of people, and might be tasked with commanding any captured ships alongside the daily running of yours - it was not an easy job.

2. Even as a lieutenant (one rank below Captain, with varying levels of seniority) it’s not like you can just go where you want. In the 1720s British colonies already existed in India, the Caribbean, and up the entire eastern seaboard of North America and into Canada, and the Navy was tasked with protecting merchant shipping along these seaways (and one trade in particular that we’ll be getting to, don’t worry). Nate could have ended up practically anywhere in the burgeoning empire. He would not have been able to choose whom he served under, and would not have been able to demand his superior officer go against orders from the admirality to chase down one lone vessel because he thinks another one of the admirals might be a bit dodgy. It could not have happened.

Besides these impracticalities, there’s a far easier way for the child of a wealthy man to get to a specific point on the far side of the globe to look for their lost sibling, which is the route I assume Nat took sine she couldn’t have joined the Navy (yes she could have snuck in but she’s specifically in a dress in the B2 mirror scene so). All they'd have to do would be to charter a ship and tell the captain where to go, which is the plot of Treasure Island. It's quicker, less fuss, with less chance of things going wrong. It's even possible in the age of mercantilism that the Sewells had some merchant vessels among their holdings that could be diverted for the task. Why go through the hassle of joining the Navy and potentially ending up on the wrong side of the world when you can just hire a ship directly?

If Nate does have to be in the Navy (and let’s face it, it’s worth it just for the uniform) then it's far more plausible is that, as the illegitimate son who would not inherit because of racism etc, he got sent to the Navy as a boy and rose through the ranks to become a lieutenant. When he got news of Milton’s disappearance not far from where he was stationed, he begged his captain to go investigate in case whatever happened turned out to be the symptom of a bigger problem. Like pirates.

I like this version better not just because it makes more sense, or because it keeps Nate’s situation re: inheritance closer to Nat’s and therefore makes their stories more equal, but also because it adds a delicious amount of guilt to Nate’s need to find his brother. We know his entire crew died looking for answers, because he was selfish – that’s roughly 100-400 lives lost because of him, and we know that sort of thing eats at him.

So that's one side of the story, but if Milton wasn’t in the Navy, what was he doing on the other side of the Atlantic in the first place? Well, this is where we come to the biggest elephant in the room regarding N’s backstory as a member of the 17th century English aristocracy and potentially as a naval officer: the Atlantic Slave Trade. If you are wealthy in 17th century Britain it's more than likely that your wealth comes either from the trade itself, or from the products made with the labour of enslaved people. If you are wealthy, you want to protect your assets from attack by pirates or foreign powers so you don't become less wealthy, and that is what the Navy is for.

Regardless of N’s own views on slavery at the time – and any subsequent changes in opinion – it’s likely their family owned or had shares in slave plantations in the Americas. As distasteful as it is, it makes far more sense that Milton was on a trip to check the family’s holdings when his ship - specifically a merchant vessel - went missing. From a pirate perspective, a merchant ship would make a much better target than a Navy vessel, being slower, more likely to have valuable cargo, and less likely to have marines or a well-trained broadside.

It's not surprising that Mishka left out the subject of the slave trade given her tendency to skirt around darker subjects and general blindspot for racial politics, but it is nuance that, if it was there, would create a more grounded and coherent backstory for N that doesn’t have quite so many holes. Like with A being the child of an invader and his war bride, we could get some deeper thoughts from N about their place in the world - How do they feel to have grown up so privileged when others who looked like them were regarded as literal property? How did they feel being part of the system that made it happen? Did it inform their compassionate nature? Is it still a source of guilt or someithng they've tried to make up for?

I'm not sure where I was going with all of this. It's late, my sleep pattern is fucked. The tl;dr is that giving the vampires' backstories historical context would make them feel more multifaceted and would give opportunities for character growth that are instead missed because of a desire for a more sanitized version of the past.

#thank you for coming to my ted talk #the wayhaven chronicles #twc #a du mortain #adam du mortain #ava du mortain #n sewell #nate sewell #nat sewell #it's annoying because it’s such a small tweak in the grand scheme of things #If she didn’t want unfortunate implications she could have made N from a century later when the navy was actively trying to stop slavery #A could have been from a 50 years earlier to tie his whole family’s demise into the subjugation of the english after the battle of hastings #or a century later when the two courts had mostly integrated #mishka made choices #they deserve to be given more substance than mere aesthetics #you can tell it’s late I’m using long words

[ladyjenise]

Thoughts on why Ganondorf makes "that face" in Tears of the Kingdom

I'm several months late, but I didn't want to post spoiler stuff when the game was fresh and, frankly, I had quite a whack summer. So here we are.

Anyway, onto the meta: my thoughts on why Ganondorf makes "that face" in Tears of the Kingdom.

Yes, this face:

One of the first things I want to do is credit some rad metas that helped me along in my thought process:

-Discussion of Ganondorf's facial design from a technical and creative standpoint

-Discussion of Ganondorf's outfit

And now to the actual meta! Will include spoilers for Tears of the Kingdom.

When the screenshots of Ganondorf making "that face" first hit the internet, there was a lot of lol and wtf, which was fair. Most people weren't that far in the game yet. Actually, not sure it was even out yet (there was an early leaked ROM floating around at some point pre-release). I don't want to dwell much on people's initial reactions as I think if you're here reading you've already processed your initial feelings on seeing it. And your initial reaction of LOL WTF is fine. Out of context, it probably made little sense.

But let's talk about context: Ganondorf makes this face after killing Sonia for her Secret Stone. He's literally laughing over her dead body as Zelda calls out vainly to the fallen queen. It's a very heinous, dramatic act. And I think, in context, that confused people even more because his face, on first glance, feels over the top and silly for such a serious moment. However, it's not there because Nintendo's devs don't know what they're doing. At least, that's what I'm trying to argue here.

Let's discuss the build up to this scene in the story chronology: Ganondorf tries to use moldugas to attack the fledgling kingdom of Hyrule. It goes badly because Rauru, alongside Sonia and Zelda, are able to use Secret Stones of the Zonai to fend off the attack. It's a very lopsided victory.

Ganondorf takes a moment to pout before observing the Secret Stones. Ganondorf correctly observes that brute force will not be enough. Not one to sit back on his failures, Ganondorf is clearly already hatching a new plan. End of scene.

We next see Ganondorf at the court of Rauru and Sonia, bending the knee in what we know is a false act of fealty. Of course, this scene is a reference to the plot of Ocarina of Time (where we spy on Ganondorf through a window as he bends the knee to the King of Hyrule, who is out of the shot). it's also a glimpse of Ganondorf the schemer.

If you had not met Ganondorf before playing Tears of the Kingdom, you might actually think Ganondorf is just a mindlessly violent guy (and he is that too, don't get me wrong). You might not have expected this dude to roll up to the court of Hyrule and start playing the political game. His character design looks like the exact kind of guy who could punch your head clean off your body. Just look at him:

He's a brick wall. He looks like a big tough guy, and maybe he's just some big dummy who only understands violence. It's a stereotype Nintendo has subverted again and again with his character. And there Ganondorf is at the court of Rauru serving backhanded compliments like a pro. And while Rauru assures Zelda that he knows Ganondorf is up to shit, he's really got Rauru convinced that he can handle him. As we shall see, Rauru was mistaken. But that's Ganondorf for you. His character is about subverting expectations. This is what makes him so very fun.

Even his costume, with the reversible robe, tells you a lot about who he is. On the outside, a calm, clever, cultured man. On the inside, he's ready to fuck your shit up. I love it.

Back to the scene.

After assuring Rauru he simply wants to play nice and have the protection of Hyrule, Ganondorf serves some cunty lines implying Rauru is an interloper and an outsider etc before leaving. And it's at this point I noticed that when Ganondorf takes his leave, he makes this really flourishing move with his arm that made me stop and think.

You can probably find the scene online somewhere, but here's a screenshot of what I mean:

And note that he also uses his sleeved arm, creating that extra diva flourish as he goes. We also get a real good fast look at how colourful and different his sleeve is. He's turned his back to Rauru and the others after swearing his fealty. His changeable nature is displayed to the player. It's a nice wink and nod to Ganondorf's later betrayal. Only Zelda has a real inkling that he's really, really bad news and probably shouldn't even be there. But if you've played Ocarina of Time, you understand that Zelda isn't listened to until it's too late.

Returning to the flourish itself: Ganondorf didn't have to do this. And Nintendo didn't have to waste animation time having him do this. But they did. And they did it again when he laughs over Sonia's body. And they do it again when he swallows his Secret Stone. They just. keep. doing. it.

Why?

Why do all this extra dramatic animation for Ganondorf?

Those familiar with kabuki (a classical form of Japanese theatre) are probably screaming KABUKI, and I would agree. I didn't immediately get there at first only because my background was in another form of classical theatre: Greek (ask me about my unversity minor lol). I'm not going into a deep dive on either classical Greek theatre nor kabuki because that's a lot, I'm not really an expert or super familiar with the details, and I also think their Wikipedia pages will probably give you a decent summary of what you might want to learn details on. However, classic Greek theatre is old as shit and has a lot of great stories with characters you'll recognize. I recommend.

What I need you, dear reader, to understand about classic and ancient forms of theatre is their emphasis ON emphasis. It's a lot of what we might think of as exaggerated elements, over-the-top forms, and straight up spelling shit out to the audience. Real archaic shit. Because the world we are watching in these memories IS archaic to Link. There's 10,000 years between the memories we see and Link's time. It's like we, as Link, are viewing a kabuki play or a Greek play about stuff that happened then. It makes perfect sense to have Ganondorf act like he's in an ancient play. And that's how you get shit like this:

This is all theatre.

But why is ancient theatre so weird? It's not. We think it looks weird because it's unfamiliar to us. Most of us don't grow up watching ancient plays. Even those of use who read Shakespeare in school are usually sweating through the now-archaic English (it was only 400-ish years ago!) You're not equipped, and that's cool.

And honestly, if you are familiar with Ganondorf, he truly is a creature of theatre. Just look at this castle he builds in Ocarina of Time:

He destroyed Hyrule Castle to build this giant fucking castle levitating over a pit of lava. Like why? Because he CAN. Because he can't do anything in halves.

Also, his outfits. Look at this shit. He can't tone it down. I don't think he could if he tried.

Coming back to Ganondorf's face when he kills Sonia: when Ganondorf's face contorts and he starts to laugh evilly, we are told in very certain terms that he's made a critical choice. If you weren't sure before, you're being told now: He's evil. There's no going back from this. And he's embracing it. There is zero remorse. Killing her was the act he needed to move from man to monster. It's very important that you, the player, understand this. It's a moral thing. And I don't mean like "If you like this character after you are a bad person" type of thing. That's not what I mean here (and what people who have weird obsessions on the internet often misunderstand just so they can start fights over dumb shit). What I mean is that the storytellers need you need to understand your character's motivations for wanting to fight this guy.

And the next scene plainly shows what I'm talking about: Ganondorf takes the Secret Stone and literally turns into a demon king. He's no longer a man. He's this other, immoral being now. Bye bye, human Ganondorf, hello monster Ganondorf! That's it.

Going back to his eating of the Secret Stone, which changes Ganondorf from good ol' demon king to the for realsies demon dragon, he says some lines about giving up his "body" and "mind" and, frankly "everything", just so he can win. But also it's a desperate last attempt at keeping hold of the power that has so horribly blinded him to the truth.

That last part is ironic for Ganondorf, a man who was clever enough to get into the heart of Hyrule, steal their powerful relic, kill the queen and ALMOST become king. Because that's his ultimate failing. He's smart, clever, and his wins get the better of him. His addiction to power means he never stops to consider he might have weaknesses he cannot yet see, or that, as Rauru warns him, his arrogance and blind faith in his own abilities and talents might be his downfall.

In a way, the story is just as much about Link searching for Zelda and Zelda trying to figure out her role in the world as it is about the fall of a powerful man. Is it tragic that Ganondorf let himself become so corrupted by power that it would slowly transform him from man to demon? I guess it depends on who you ask, really. (I think it's fucking cool)

#legend of zelda #ganondorf #tears of the kingdom #spoilers #tears of the kingdom spoilers

[creedslove]

DESERVE IT - PART FOURTEEN

Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: Dinner goes wrong when Murphy can't control his anger over Javi's association with Los Pepes and uses you as a way to offend him. Javier isn't pleased and ends up taking out on you

Warnings: incorrect narcos plot, angst, hurt, offense, asshole!steve murphy, asshole!javier peña, mentions of break up, insinuations of cheating, smut, oral sex (f!receiving)

A/N: Hi besties, I hope you will like this chapter. I don't know how I feel about it, I liked some parts and hated other parts, but I feel it was necessary to the story and well asshole!javi is back, so enjoy!!! 🥺

• PART ONE TO THIRTEEN ON MY MASTERLIST

5k words

Olivia chewed her food slowly, her content face as she savored the mashed potatoes and well-cooked veggies and very so often shot you and Javi adorable little smiles. She was an adorable child, eating her own food which you also prepared, while the adults enjoyed their Italian and the bottles of wine.

You had already finished one with Connie before the boys arrived, so you really knew you should stop yourself right there. You definitely didn't want to wake up vomiting all your way to work, you were definitely not ready to have Javier holding your hair back while you emptied your stomach in front of him. You knew he would do it without complaining, just as you would do it for him if he ever needed it, but you got really embarrassed at the thought of it. It wasn't a very sexy image. You were also in no mood to face any pregnancy jokes, because it seemed women were only designed to have one condition which implied growing a child in their womb, especially at your work environment where it was dominated mostly by men and their narrow points of view or women like Colleen who would love to overhear a juicy gossip and spread it through the country even if it had no proof of it being real.

And the third reason was because death would probably be sweeter than facing a hangover in the Colombian heat.

So when Murphy offered you another glass, you politely declined, helping yourself to another slice of lasagna, hoping you could filter the alcohol in your blood by putting something in your stomach.

He shot a glance and raised the bottle at Javi who also shook his head, which you thought was odd. Javier Peña never refused a chance to get intoxicated in alcohol.

You went back to focusing on Connie's story, though Javier's hand was restless on your thigh. That wasn't common of him either. Of course he had the habit of touching you, but he usually just rested his hand on your skin, however, you could feel how he squeezed your thigh softly, you didn't mind it at all, but you knew him enough to tell it wasn't normal. There was something bothering him, but not only him, Steve was also bothered, angry even, as he very often made snarky remarks towards your boyfriend. It wasn't unusual for the two agents to have conflicts concerning work, both of them were stubborn as a mule and if they didn't agree on something, things could get bad between them, but at the same time, they always managed to leave their work beefs at work, so whatever happened must've really angered Steve.

Javi took a deep breath, side glancing at you as you ate. He was hoping you would be satisfied enough so he could come up with any excuse to go home, at the same time he didn't want to rush you, it wasn't your fault he was a dumbass who only took bad decisions in life, well, not only bad ones, you were the living proof Javier could get some things right, but other than you, the rest was just a long shot.

When Steve mentioned something about work, Javi began to restlessly trace patterns on your skin. It was as if he had gotten into a nervous state, though you didn't get what exactly happened, it was like the two of them had an inside joke going on, one that was not funny at all.

You then remembered your interaction earlier that morning, when you put on his shirt and Javi had told you he was going to wear that during his meeting with Messina and you immediately relaxed at the same time you felt your cheeks and the tips of your ears heating up at the immediate memory that flooded you of what came after he had mentioned the shirt. The way he'd gripped your neck, touched you and filled you up with every inch of himself. It felt like you had been lost in paradise. Also, it became a fair assumption the discomfort between the two agents was their boss's doing. She must have been feral on them during their meeting and Murphy probably blamed it on Javier, or Javier blamed it on Murphy like they usually did.

The tension you felt dissolved completely and you actually enjoyed your boyfriend's little touches under the table, they weren't erotic, - Javier wouldn't do that. Yes, he was the kind of guy who would definitely finger you under the table in a crowded place, but no, he would never even consider doing that if there were any kids nearby. But the touches were intimate, affectionate. You bit your lips, pretending you were listening to every single sentence in that conversation, but in reality you were trying to distinguish what exactly Javier's finger was invisibly drawing on your skin, you could feel steady lines, following a rhythm order and you couldn't help but smile big when you finally broke the code.

P

E

Ñ

A

That's what his fingers traced on your thigh.

It was so silly and childish, and yet a sweet reminder of your relationship. He marked you as his even unconsciously. You couldn't lie at all, it felt pretty good.

Olivia yawned big and felt her little eyes closing on their own as sleep became so intense she couldn't keep her little head from hanging low. Connie chuckled as she noticed her daughter being so sleepy and immediately got up, picking her up gently and disappearing into one of the rooms of the apartment.

Murphy took the opportunity his wife and daughter weren't in the room any longer and smirked as he raised yet another glass of wine towards you before killing it in one sip.

"So, Y/N… you and Javi are a thing, for real now, huh? Remember just how a few months ago he was a real dick to you? He treated you like absolute shit and even fucked a hooker that looked just like you, or so I heard…" he laughed softly "good thing you are a real sweet thing and you can overcome those ups and downs in your relationship, because trust me, sweetie, I'll really need this resilience"

Just as shock was everything that went through your body, anger was the only thing that ran through Javier's veins. You both could tell Steve was drunk from the amount of wine he'd had, but he should've known better than to bring shit up like that. It was none of his business, and still quite of a gray area for the two of you as you had pretty much ignored it and pretended it never happened, when in reality you just hoped everyone else would do the same. It had already been pretty humiliating and painful as it was and you definitely didn't need anyone, let alone Steve bringing that up.

Javier slammed his hands on the table, immediately getting up and pointing a finger at Steve's temporary madness. It was one thing if he was pissed off at him. If he wanted to punch Javier in the face he could even do it and Javi would definitely not give two shits about it, but teasing you and bringing you into that situation, that was too much for him.

"Shut the fuck up right now, Steve. Why are you even saying shit like that? I made a lot of mistakes but this is none of your fucking business, I don't talk about your personal life, so why are you doing this to us? To her?" He pointed at you, as you kept your head low, you felt so ashamed at that moment, still clueless to why such thing had been brought up like that, but Steve didn't care at all.

"Sorry Y/N, didn't mean to embarrass you, but I was also wondering if you know your wonderful boyfriend is being threatened by the head of the Los Pepes death squad? Do you know she has promised to end his career in the DEA by going to the american press?" He asked "can you believe that?"

You didn't say anything at the same time Javier's voice filled the room initiating an argument with Steve, hoping he would stop talking.

"Here's a great idea, Jav… instead of jeopardizing our entire mission, you could give in to your impulses and fuck Judy, maybe it will help us all… I'm sure Y/N wouldn't mind, deep down she knows she can't expect much from you… or maybe she would understand perfectly, I'm sure she would take this bullet for the team"

You didn't know why Steve was acting that way, why he was suddenly so angry, you could understand his frustration, of course but it didn't explain why he decided to use you as a target to hit Javier. He could have just talked about his posture as a cop, insist on argumenting how wrong associating with that squad was, but using personal elements to provoke Javier was too much.

"Why are you doing this Steve?" You finally raised your head and stared at him, your cheeks already wet with tears you couldn't control at the anger and shame of being treated that way by someone you thought was your friend.

You could have raised your voice, defended Javier, defended your relationship with him, but you felt so weak and small at that moment, as if you were just a stupid little girl who fell for the Romeo's cheap tricks. You knew you couldn't let Javier's past intrude your relationship, he had changed, he wasn't that jerk anymore, he was a good man, actually he had always been a good man but he didn't believe in himself. You believed in him and that made him believe as well, and that was why your relationship was working so perfectly, but no one, and especially no one you considered a friend had the right to bring those things up. It was mean, hurtful and you felt you couldn't stay there any longer. If Murphy had a problem with Javier, he should solve it with him, and not drag you into the eye of the storm.

You got up and grabbed your coat, walking to the door at the same time Connie returned from the room and watched the warzone her dining room became. She didn't understand why Javier was screaming at Steve at the same time her husband pointed at you and mumbled something she couldn't actually understand and you cried, but she knew it wasn't good.

She called your name, trying to make you stop, wanting to talk to you and ask you what was going on, but you turned your back to everyone and walked away, running downstairs and locking yourself up in your apartment.

Javier on the other hand was livid, he wanted nothing more than throw punches at Steve, he didn't understand where that attack came from, Javi knew he had all the right to be pissed at the Los Pepes association but that should have been handled in the office and not during a double dinner date, and not by attacking and teasing his girlfriend. Javi also knew it was the only way he would get a reaction from him. If Steve had said anything about Javier, he would have probably shrugged it off, but the moment he brought you into the deal then Javi got angry. To the point he didn't know any better and finally punched his friend, feeling Murphy's face under his fist and blood immediately soaking his pained knuckles. He didn't want things to go like that, but it was partially if not mostly Steve's fault for acting like a dick around them all.

Murphy immediately fought back, throwing a punch at Javi, who groaned and was ready to get back at the other man once more if it weren't for Connie screaming for them to stop. She was terrified, in all the years they'd been together, she'd never seen her husband act like that and especially not towards his partner.

She desperately asked them to stop, but Steve seemed to only had fallen back into his senses when Olivia also screamed in fear, so scared at the commotion happening in the living room and snapping her away from her sweet dreams.

Murphy finally stopped and looked at his wife's shocked face, then looked back at Peña, who was panting and wiping the sweat off his face.

"See the shit you did, Javier? You can never do anything right!" He said angrily and paced the living room, "my daughter's crying now, scared because of your fucking scene!!! Not that you understand what that means, because you are never gonna have that, Javier. Never! You'll screw up just like you did with your job, I don't even know why you still try it!"

•••

Javier immediately left the apartment and ran downstairs, the whole environment was suffocating him, but not as much as Steve's words. He knew people didn't take him seriously, not his friends, not his partners at work, not his hometown and not even his dad. And he never really cared about it, or the part of him that actually cared was long gone and buried. It was easier to handle things that way, Javier taught himself.

But lately he had learned to trust a little more in himself, because you had faith in him, you were the only good thing he had in life and he hated himself to be brutally reminded he didn't deserve you like that, he hated how you left the room crying, disappointment after disappointment. Of course to some extent blaming it on Steve was the logical attitude, but if it weren't for himself, there would be nothing Steve could have used against you. He had done all those things, he had humiliated you with a fucking prostitute, not only that, one that looked just like you, it was disgusting and low, and he honestly didn't know why or how you had forgiven him.

Even if the whole death squad drama didn't happen, you would still have to face shame for the rest of your life just because of the mere fact of being with him. It didn't matter where you went, if it was Colombia or Laredo, people would always point fingers at you, whispering and laughing at the fact you chose Javier Peña.

He wanted to disappear at that moment, it weighed so heavy in his chest, he felt so guilty and ashamed of himself.

At the same time he needed to see you, he wanted to avoid you. He hoped you weren't so upset, so broken at what happened, you were such a strong girl, but even he could tell Steve stroked a delicate point.

He stood in front of his apartment and opened the door, walking inside and calling your name, having no answer and swallowing hard, as he knew instantly you were back at your place. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed deeply, a bad feeling taking over him as his heart raced at the absence of you.

He turned around and went for your apartment instead, an anger filling his body, running through his veins. He knew he couldn't just aim his anger with Steve at you nor his self-hatred, but god, it made his blood boil not to find you there. All that talk about love, partnership and understanding just went to shit because of Steve's tantrum?

He didn't knock, instead he used his own key and burst the door open, making you jump off the couch startled. You sniffed as your eyes were red and puffy, being obvious you'd been crying for the past half an hour.

You looked at him, not liking how dark his expression was, he wasn't looking at you with soft, loving eyes, you could see the burning rage and you didn't know what else had happened, but you trusted he wasn't going to be childish and take it on you.

"What now?" He asked and folded his arms "is it because of Judy and her threats? Or is it still because of the hooker?" He asked annoyed and looked at you up and down. He was just so angry, at any other time, he would have wrapped his arms around your body, pulled you closer and made you forget all about what was hurting you, but at that moment, Javier's feelings were a turmoil and he couldn't control them.

You dried your tears and walked to him "why are you being so rude? It's not my fault" you said and stared at him, why Javier was snapping like that was beyond you.

Javier scoffed and shook his head "I'm not being rude, I just asked you a question, are you gonna cry about that too, Y/N? I thought all that talk about forgiving and believing I was a better man was real, but every single time something about my past comes up you're gonna cry like that?" He was visibly impatient at the same time he was willing to give everything in order to shut himself up before he could screw things up.

You frowned and shook your head "yeah, I meant all that when I said I believed you, and that I trusted you could be a better man, Javi… you are a good man" you said "but this is not the way of talking to me, it hurts Javi… I don't hold it against you, but it does hurt… it is something you did to hurt my feelings and you knew it… and now with Los Pepes… you are in danger, your career Javi… what if they try to kill you?" You blinked some more tears, but his expression was indecipherable.

He scoffed again and looked at you

"It doesn't make any sense, there's nothing any of us can do about it, cariño. I've always been a bad guy, too bad you couldn't see it, or you saw it and that was why you liked it so much"

Come on, Javier, don't say it.

He begged himself and bit his lower lip softly

"I don't think this will work, Y/N…"

You shook your head and took a step closer to Javier, he couldn't just regress to what he was before, no, you two had made such progress, you were so in love with each other, he couldn't just do what you thought he was about to.

"What are you talking about, Javi? It is working between us" you said as your breath accelerated and the blood in your ears almost made it hard for you to hear.

"It is working, but it's not gonna work in the long run Y/N"

"Are you breaking up with me?" Your voice cracked as you stared into his eyes.

No, never. He thought. He couldn't hold himself back now, he had made so much progress he was just so happy, he just wanted to fall on his knees and show you he was yours and only yours. But he didn't.

"Fuck this"

He said and turned around, walking out the door.

•••

You didn't keep track of how long you were crying by yourself. You couldn't believe and wrap your head around what happened. Just as you had got Javi, you had made plans with him, you had envisioned and fantasized a life of happiness and love with him, moving into his ranch, living your life next to him, maybe getting married one day and even maybe bringing a baby into the picture, all of that, it seemed so real to you and just like that he walked away from you.

Anyone could see it coming, but you couldn't, because they didn't know Javi the way you did, they didn't love him the way you did and they didn't know he loved you the way you did. He was so affectionate, so in love, always in need of touching and feeling you next to himself, he couldn't just walk away from you. Yeah, what had happened was bad, but all the path you walked together couldn't be undone just by one simple occasion. Steve's words couldn't be that powerful, could they? Or Javi wouldn't just break your heart with that stupid excuse of keeping you safe or because he knew you deserved better. That grew old, you didn't buy anymore. One part of you didn't believe your Javi, your lovely handsome boyfriend would ever do that, but on the other hand that was exactly what it looked like. He had just walked away with no further explanation.

You felt so lost, so alone as if the ground had disappeared off your feet and you desperately needed to find a grip back to reality. The beautiful moment you lived with him couldn't be over just yet, you couldn't accept that was ever all you would get of him because the cold truth snapped you away from the fairytale you lived for the past two months.

Those two months of pure happiness and bliss, of affection and amazing sex couldn't be the only thing to your relationship with Javi, because you were certain those two months would ruin the rest of your life, you would never be able to be happy again.

You desperately felt the need of being close to him, even if he had just left you wanted to feel his warmth, his embrace, smell his cologne, you wanted to cup his cheeks and make sure he was real, he was still yours.

So you didn't think twice before walking into his apartment. It was where you were supposed to be sleeping, where you should be tangling yourself into his body in bed, naked, rapid breathing and rhythm moves bringing the two of you to the bliss you craved so much with your man. Everything about that place hurt when you stepped inside. It had become so cozy, your true home, more than your own apartment and yet, the desperate possibility of not having free access to it every single day just made your heart tighten in your chest.

You didn't know where Javi went, a teeny tiny little part of your brain tried haunting you, planting the jealousy and anxiety seed, reminding you of all the shady sketchy places he often went to to pick up women before getting with you, but you quickly dismissed it. You had hopes it wasn't nothing but a misunderstanding, and even if it weren't, you thought Javier was better than that. Chances were he just went out to some bar to get drunk and forget that night ever existed, and it was what you should do too. If he had the right to low-key break up with you and go get drunk, then you also had the right to forget.

With the exception you we're already tipsy from all the wine you had had earlier, before everything went to shit, and that you were in Colombia and that was definitely not a safe place for a woman to walk alone at night.

Also, the fact you weren't a DEA agent carrying a gun for protection weighed on it.

A gun.

A gut feeling told you to immediately look for Javi's badge and gun, if he had left them at home, it meant he left for a bar or somewhere else, though you really didn't want to even think of that hypothesis.

You shook your head and got off his bed, going to the safe place he kept them both and opened it, finding it completely empty.

Your mouth went completely dry.

He had taken his gun and that could only mean problem.

When Javier drove back home he wanted to punch and kick himself for being that stupid. He couldn't even begin to explain to himself all the things he did wrong. Was it jeopardizing a whole investigation by allowing a death squad to finish the enemies they had in common? Was it letting his temper get in the way of his friendship? Yeah, Steve was a douche and he deserved that punch, not only for himself but for embarrassing you like that. As Javi had thought over and over: Steve could have talked about anything about Javier, but not about you. Not when you were so good to them, not when you were his girlfriend and Steve's friend. It was mean, cruel even and also a cowardly move coming from him. But now, thinking clearer, Javier knew he could have handled things better, maybe he could have just left and let the soberness of morning light handle the situation better. It would've been wiser to do that.

But out of all the bad things Javier did that night, definitely his attempt of pushing you away was the cherry on top of the cake.

He didn't know what had got into him, the whole situation led him to an unbelievable anger, one he should have aimed at anyone but you, because you were the only good thing in his life, you were the one who made it all worth it, you were the one he loved and wanted to have a future with.

And yet, he acted like a real bastard. He purposely hurt you, he left you in the dark and now he was terrified you had taken things to the letter, he just didn't know what he was going to do if you walked out of his life. If you did it, he would deserve it, but he was sure he would die.

Javi parked and got out of the car, his head pounding at the adrenaline and the booze, the punch, the stress and the fear of being alone. He sighed, he shouldn't have done any of the things he did that night, especially not after he grabbed his gun and left, but he saw no other way out. Javier took a look at your apartment door, you were probably there, asleep or crying yourself to sleep, as everything was dark and silent, so he just entered his place, knowing it would be just as dark and empty as it was the first day he moved in.

And you were there.

You were there as if nothing had happened, as if you hadn't been treated like shit by Steve first and then by Javier himself. He just couldn't believe it.

"Y/N…" he whispered and walked to you, seeing your puffy eyes, the tears caused by him, still present. You were still wearing the same dress as earlier, and god, you looked gorgeous, he wished he had told you before. When you were still having dinner with your friends, when he had his hand on your thigh, tracing his own name on your skin.

You didn't move, as you watched him walk towards you, you didn't see the storm in his eyes anymore, but you didn't see the joy in them, they were empty, sad… red.. was Javier tearing up? No, you must've been seeing things, you had never seen Javi cry.

Suddenly, he felt a wave of disappointment in himself, he knew what that scene looked like, even if he still carried his badge and gun, anyone who'd met him before would've guess he had taken a quick trip to a brothel and he felt ashamed of that, of himself and the fact people would always either laugh at you or would pity you for it.

"You're probably thinking I went to a whorehouse or something… Y/N I-"

You cut him off, shaking your head and whispering no repeatedly. Even if, yes, for a split second your anxiety made you consider the hypothesis, but you dismissed it right away, others could think whatever they wanted of Javi, but you knew him. You trusted him.

"No, Javi… I think better of you, I think the world of you and I trust you you wouldn't do this to me"

And that broke Javi.

Because you were too kind, you were too good for him, you were everything he didn't deserve it.

You always assumed the best of him, and he could never find anyone better than you. He wasn't in a whorehouse, he was at a whore's house. He went over to Judy Mocada's and against any better judgment he pointed a gun at her head, how her sicarios didn't kill him on the act, he would never know, but she thought it was intriguing, amusing even. What made a DEA agent hold her at gunpoint in the middle of the night definitely caught her attention.

He had made her an offer, she agreed and he needed to wait for her at the Embassy the next day. A part of him knew it was easy, too easy, actually, but he didn't care at that moment. In fact, he felt he should've blown up her head when he had the chance to.

And then he just wanted to go home and pick up the pieces of what he'd shattered.

And there you were, being too kind to him, being too loving, too affectionate. It just showed him little of a person he really was.

And standing right next to you, Javi felt onto his knees. His head looking up at you, all the love and admiration back in those beautiful brown eyes, his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer.

"Soy un perro a tus pies"

Javier told you, his breathing was uneven as he waited for an answer that never came. You didn't have words to tell him, after all that happened in just one night you didn't know what to say. So instead, he decided to apologize to you in the best way he knew, the way he could speak beautifully without any words.

He sank his face into your core, lifting your dress up and quickly pulling your panties to the side. He lips didn't tease when they wrapped around your clit and sucked on it, feeling your characteristic warmth, your taste, and when your moans filled the room and your fingers ran through his hair, tugging and gripping at them, he thought that maybe and just maybe things would be alright again.

_____

A/N: it was a hard chapter to write, but it felt necessary to the story, I didn't want to ruin Javi's character development but I also wanted to show that deep down he is still the same insecure handsome broken agent we came to love 🥺🥺🥺

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal imagine #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x y/n #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fanfic #javier peña imagine #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena x y/n #javier pena x you #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fanfic #javier pena imagine

[jils-things]

I would never fall in love again until I found her

I said, "I would never fall unless it's you I fall into"

I was lost within the darkness, but then I found her

I found you

[3.25.23]

ouueeehh we're back to my corny love letters like last time 💜 again absolutely NO pressure reading these, because it WILL get lengthy 💜 this also serves as a personal love letter that i can archive!

ahh, steven st.one. a wild card in my f/o list. i never thought i'd find myself to like him... i've always tried my best to avoid the pretty boy design after i've gotten older which is why i was oddly in denial during my early steven days hehe... the earliest memory i have of him is just me battling him in my ruby emulator back in the 4th grade - but i don't think i actually remembered him too well, i only thought he looked like a silly anime version of the classical composer be.ethoven and tbh, i still like to think he does look like him in the rse style lolll 💜

for the whole, actual story - it was just last year - i was reading the r/s arc, of course. it was one of those days in school where i had nothing much to do and snuck my phone to read manga to pass some time. at some point, my classmate joined to read with me - it was at this moment where steven debuts properly and it caught my classmate by Surprise. she thought he looked very handsome! to which i teased her... strangely enough, this exchange impacted me? maybe it's because someone acknowledged what i was doing and even bothered to briefly read along with me - so in a way steven kinda bookmarked that memory.

so after that exchange, i just kept on reading. everytime he had something to say, i couldn't help but just stare at his face? he looked nice, i guess? he's also very gentle and polite... i kept this thought of mine for quite sometime until i was discussing the manga arc with my p.okespe mutual and he mentioned him. i somewhat confessed he looked nice and that was the biggest mistake i've ever done because what my friend did after was absolutely blow me with art after art of the pretty rock collector and i was STRUGGLING. it ultimately came down to this one cute panel in the o.ras chapter where he was blushing and I wasn't the same person since then 🚶🚶🚶and funnily enough, i told myself I wasn't going to fall for anyone because of the manga and whoopedoo p.okespe!steven my beloved the greatest man ever. i mean i love the game counterpart as well, they're nearly identical - it's just the manga that totally swept me... sighhhh

steven is such a nice character to begin with, he's honestly a very humble and nice champion. he's not showy about his identity and would rather be alone by himself to indulge in what he wants. he is willing to give up a very respectable position in the po.kemon league just to pursue his interests and with that i see a man not after power and fame but a man who just wants to find joy in what he does even if it demotes him. on top of that, he's just a sweet gentleman. he was raised well of course, and you can see it clearly in his acts in the story. i love him very much for that and who wouldn't want those traits?

i was really absolutely embarrassed to be all over this guy at first - it took a whole month for me to actually share to my blog about how i liked steven and took awhile to adjust to that fact that i opened up about it 😭 but the community was very kind and supportive about the pairing and if i'm being honest, i think stevaide made a super lasting impact on my blog recently and it's really so comforting to picture them as a young loving married couple with ruby. it made me feel unashamed with what i can do with my silly ships. i'm still very glad for the endless support for steven and jaide.

soo, yes. happy memoryshipping 💜💚 thank you for making my times of struggle more bearable if not perfect and thank you to everyone who enjoys this ship even if it was just a little bit :]

credits to @/cafekitsune <3

#~ art #pokemon selfship #selfship #selfshipping #selfship community #safeshipping #there it is guys... the day #so glad i was able to make this before i got busy and i really havent been drawing anything fun so!!! ahhh #this is currently my wallpaper since rendering it and i LOVE it to bits #also yay full reveal of that chibi doodle hehehehhe #iim so happy yippepeieeyeyeee #♥️ memoryshipping