#sometimes love is stored in a burn. or a stab wound.

[thychesters]

Luffy is like staring into the sun.

At least, that is what Zoro thinks the first time he sees him. But then, his first coherent thought had been it’s too bright upon their initial meeting, looking up from glowering down at the ground to raising his head and squinting at a too big, self-congratulatory smile and do you want to join my crew?

Then it had been simple enough to blame the harsh sunlight blinding him, framing Luffy’s profile and that bright grin, and he’d bitten back the hell I will one minute and had a sword and an oath clenched between his teeth in the next.

And so Zoro follows the sun.

He follows and his skin reddens and blisters and peels; it splits at the seams and bleeds as he burns, and still he follows. It aches and cracks, and still he reaches out, twining his fingers through promises and a loyalty that will not bend.

Luffy curls a hand around his jaw and it’s a different sort of burning, flaring up into his eyes and down to his very marrow. And Luffy asks, where will you go? Nowhere, Zoro says as the words gather in his throat, raw and parched, and he chokes on them, anywhere.

His touch is a balm as fingertips skitter across his skin, soothing and pressing and digging and prying, and Zoro thinks he would burn again and again, blinded by the sheer brilliance of it all.

And then it’s dark out on the open sea, some nights, and then others too many stars dot the horizon, gathering up above them like they’re spilling out of the slit open belly of a giant, and Luffy tilts his head, blistering heat where he rests against his shoulder and looks at Zoro and says, I think I know where, and would you come with me?

And Zoro is a drowning man with a lungful of sea water, salt gathering with blood at the corners of his mouth and asks, of course, and where?

Luffy smiles and it’s a gathering of starlight and the sun, and it makes Zoro want to shove his fist into his mouth and shatter every one of his teeth, and Luffy would just laugh and bite down on his wrist and lay claim to his pulse point, like he doesn’t already live inside its every thrum.

No telling, he says. Will you still come with me?

And Zoro burns and it rages in the pit of his belly right into the raw skin of each scar, into his fingertips as they dig into Luffy’s scalp. How dare he have to ask, grin with the knowledge that he already knows the answer, and Zoro turns to follow the sun and says, yes, says I wouldn’t be anywhere else.

#zolu #or however you want to interpret it i suppose! #roronoa zoro #monkey d luffy #one piece #roses are red / violets are blue / i want to set myself on fire when i look at you -- zoro probably #(sanji: ok do NOT say that usopp: stop chopper's turning the infirmary into a burn ward. you're giving him more anxiety than usual.) #the first few lines were originally written for another wip i have but i'm bullying myself into getting further into the story first #since i'm only on episode 135 now but i'm!! impatient!! #so maybe that'll come along eventually! who knows! not me! #i wanted to try something different and write something a little more poetic with them but at the same time #neither of them are poetic at all #like why use 20 words when 5 gets the point across #sometimes love is stored in a burn. or a stab wound. #(well i already used that for that last fic with nami but that was more. her and zoro being bros. it's different here ashfjksdalgs) #pardon the typos rip #and if anyone would like this tagged for anything please let me know #kate writes #**

[staytheword]

in flames

in flames — part two of the smell of roses [ ← part one → part three ] [ series masterlist ]  [ playlist ] [ general masterlist ]

this series (and this blog) are 18+ !! minors do NOT interact!! no real people are represented. 

•  lee know x female reader / changbin x female reader / lee know x female reader x changbin (NOT a love triangle), all other stray kids members are featured but not main characters.

• non idol au, bikers au, rivals to lovers au, small town au. inspired by sons of anarchy. (not beta-read so I apologize for any mistakes/typos)

• word count: 14k (14,679)

• warnings: mentions of all sorts of illegal activities. corruption and blackmail. a lot of drinking (sometimes excessive). swearing and insulting. drug consumption (weed only). anger management problems. pyromania. mental health issues. mentions and depictions of violence. bar fights. mentions of blood, broken bones, stabbing and general violence. threatening. motorcycle pursuit. guns and gunfire (no wounds). polyamory. smut. fingering, dirty talk, slight voyeurism (hearing only), mentions of "sharing," use of pet names, making out with multiple people.

He’s put down his spoon, his elbows on the table, and is looking at you like he’s two seconds away from killing you – but you’re starting to understand that’s just his face. 

• taglist: @upallnight-s ; @ughbehavior ; @changbinluvr ; @valreadsfics ; @ppiri-bahng ; @mchslut ; @lady---boner ; you? (let me know if I forgot you, I lost my post-it note with your usernames)

The drugstore is quiet, which you are grateful for, because you can grab the morning after pill somewhat discreetly, although everyone knows everyone in this town. At least, the pharmacist is a woman you’ve never seen judge anyone, so you pay for your purchase and escape without a word. 

Once you’re outside, you breathe in the morning air. The breeze is chilly, the sun warm. It’s a beautiful day for being in complete denial of what you’ve done.

You don’t regret fucking Lee Minho. 

You regret fucking the president of the Vices Motorcycle Club. 

As if they are two different people. 

You’ve woken up determined not to erase what happened from your memory, but not acknowledging it either. It was good – great, even – but now you can move on. 

Right? 

You have a message from Seungmin telling you an order is ready for you at the hardware store, so you stop by once you finish work. You’ve been alone all day, feeling both exhausted and fearful, grateful that you didn’t have to explain your mood to your father. Oh, what’s up? Not much, Dad. Just let my greatest enemy fuck me senseless in his clubhouse last night. The usual. 

Well. Of course it sounds bad when you say it like that. 

“Hey, Min,” you smile when you enter the shop. 

You expect him to give you his usual smile, but he avoids your eyes. “Hey.” 

Without another word, he bends, grabs a bag and puts it on the counter.

“Your order. I’ll add it to your tab.”

He’s still not looking at you.

You take a step forward, taking the bag between your fingers. 

“Thanks,” you say softly. 

His eyes stay focused on the form he’s filling, his jaw clenched, his face closed. Something’s wrong. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he replies, but his voice is sharp and angry. 

“Seungmin…” 

He clenches his fists, seemingly trying to stay calm. Your heart is squeezed so tight in your chest it hurts. Your friend is angry at you. Really angry. And you don’t know why. 

You hope it’s not what you think. 

“Did I do –”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite, you know that?” he finally snaps, looking up at you. His eyes break your heart – dark and resentful. They pin you to the spot. 

“What –”

“Look at me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t spend the night at the Vices’ clubhouse last night.”

You swallow. Your throat is dry. Oh no.

“Yeah,” Seungmin chuckles bitterly. “You really thought no one would notice? That no one would see you? It’s all over fucking town. I had to hear it from my mother.” 

Your cheeks burn with shame. “Min, I…” 

“How did you think I felt hearing her tell me that you, my friend, the one who was always the first to support me in hating these guys, spent her evening cuddled up with their president, drinking beer and watching a goddamned movie?” 

“I was going to tell you,” you mutter, shaking. “I can explain. It just happened, it…” 

Seungmin sighs. “I don’t even want to hear your excuses.”

“Please just hear me out. Minho invited me, and I –”

Seungmin’s eyes widen and you realize that is the worst thing to say.

“Minho?” he repeats. 

You bite your lip. You feel it slip it out of your hands. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“This must be a fucking joke. Are you friends now?” 

The thing you hate the most about yourself is that you’re an open book. So of course your friend reads it on your face. Of course he does. 

“Wow,” he lets you, his voice completely flat, and it’s even worse than the anger. “Are you… Are you fucking him?” 

“Seungmin,” you plead pathetically. 

“You know what these guys did to my mother, how scared she is, and you do that? Above all things, you do that? What the fuck is wrong with you?!” 

“I told you, it just happened, and it didn’t mean anything, I swear,” you cry out.

“Get the fuck out of my shop.” 

His voice is ice cold. It sends a shiver down your spine. 

“Get your shit,” he enunciates, “and leave.”

You look into your friend’s eyes, but there is nothing. You feel his disgust, his spite, his disappointment – and each is a digger sinking into your already bleeding heart. You know it’s useless to argue. You don’t have any excuses. 

So you look away, and then you walk away, avoiding the sight of your reflection in the shop’s window as you go along it. 

Hyunjin calls your name, but you ignore him. You throw a middle finger behind you and keep walking. Your steps are far from straight, but you don’t care. 

You’re too drunk to care about anything, which was the whole point. 

It’s bitter cold outside and you’re not dressed for it, because you barely feel it. All you know is you have to find a place that will serve you alcohol, since Rossi’s will not. You’ve been there for the past hours, asking for drink after drink until Hyunjin started to glare at you, only to eventually say you’ve had enough. 

You managed to argue for another one but then he had shaken his head. I’m getting you home. You snarled at him. No.

Who cares, anyway? 

You didn’t have anything.

You didn’t have anyone. 

You were a mess. 

“Y/N!” Hyunjin calls again. He’s stepped outside the bar and watches you go. He can’t follow you – he’s the only one on the clock tonight – but you know he’s hesitating. 

As you keep walking away, you hear the faint sound of his voice, but it’s not addressed to you. Maybe he’s calling someone. Ha. Joke’s on him – no one will want to come and get you. You don’t care.  

You stumble through town until you finally get to another bar. You rarely go there because it’s not really your crowd – they don’t have the liquors you like and instead of the music you can hear at Rossi’s, they show sports matches. It seems like it’s football night because the place is crowded, but you push through the crowd until you get to the bar, where you ask for a drink. 

You down two shots of whiskey and ask for a beer. You’re not a football fan, you don’t even know what teams are playing, but you still cheer with everyone else. A few guys invite you to their table, and you let them pay for another drink. 

One has his arm around your shoulder. You faintly recall he’s a construction worker – not like you care who he is. He gives you attention and you relish in it, playing hard to get. He leans towards you and slides his hand on your thigh, which he rubs not so gently, and you’re so deep in your self-hatred you consider letting him do whatever he wants to you. 

It’s not like you want to feel something. 

Quite the opposite. 

His lips are on your neck, and you smell his breath and you close your eyes. 

“What the fuck?” someone close to you says. “What are they doing here?” 

Your eyes flutter open, the guy against you pressing himself against your ass. 

“Dude, I think…” 

A hand grabs the guy by the collar. Another collides with his nose – it snaps in a loud noise. You blink, unstable on your feet. 

You’ve seen this scene before – except last time, Minho just let Jisung go.

He doesn’t this time. 

There’s blood and screams and crunching noises. 

It’s not just Minho, it’s a bunch of them, all in their leather vests, fighting against the thigh-guy and his friends. You see him, his silver hair a mess, fists tight in anger, blood sprayed on his beautiful face.

Changbin crushes a guy’s skull against the bar. 

Chris is fighting two guys at once and winning.

Jisung shatters a bottle against someone’s head and is shoving the shards in his chest. 

You stagger and someone holds you up. Felix. 

“Let’s go,” he says, his voice deep, guiding you gently towards the exit. 

You can’t comprehend a single thing that is happening – but you follow him outside, squeezing his hand so hard you’re sure you’re hurting him. From up close, you see he has long eyelashes and so many freckles you keep losing count. 

You both enter a car. A taxi, you imagine. You don’t notice. 

“Felix,” you slur, slumped against him. “Felix.”

“Yes, Y/N?” 

“Why do you like fire so much?” 

You’re not articulate in the slightest and you wonder how he understands you, but he does. He chuckles. 

“Because it’s alive.” 

You stare back at him. “That’s beautiful.” 

He smiles. “I agree, Y/N.”

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“Home.”

“Ugh,” you groan. “I don’t want to.” You start to struggle against him, but he just chuckles.

“Not your home, Y/N. Ours.” 

You’re surprised but strangely delighted, so you stop arguing. Instead, you start asking Felix questions about fire – how long it takes for this or that to burn, what is his favorite thing to set fire to. It’s not a long ride, or maybe it is, you have no idea. Felix doesn’t even pay the taxi, if it even is one, and helps you out of the car. 

A small house stands in front of you. It looks modest and even desolate but still cozy. You head towards the house, and Felix holds you up and it’s a good thing because your legs barely work, your brain even less. 

“Will you show me a fire trick?” you ask him. 

“I have to get you to bed first, otherwise the boss will be mad.” 

“Ooh,” you chuckle mischievously. “We wouldn’t want him to get mad, right?” 

Felix shares a knowing look with you. He guides you inside the house, which is plunged in darkness, so you don’t see anything. You just stumble through the corridors and doors until Felix helps you sit on a bed. You bring your legs against you, rubbing your eyes. 

“What happened back there?” you ask. 

Felix shrugs. “Just some scores that needed settling. Nothing to worry about.” 

“Did you know I was there?” 

“Yeah,” Felix answers carefully. “Hyunjin said you might need a lift home.” 

You gasp loudly. “You know Hyun?” 

“Everybody knows everyone in this town, Y/N. You should know that.” 

“Yes, but how?” 

Felix indulges you, playing with his pack of matchsticks. He tells you the old story of how he met Hyunjin. He had just lost his parents in a car accident. Hyunjin’s parents owned the funeral place, and they had talked a lot the day of the burial. Hyunjin had been the one to tell him all the right things. They stayed good friends, though they didn’t talk every day. 

When he’s done, you have tears running down your cheeks. “That’s so beautiful. I’m so sorry about your parents…”

“That’s ok, Y/N. It was years ago.” 

“My dad must be so ashamed of me,” you moan, sobs shaking your shoulders.

“What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him, right?” 

You’re not sure that advice applies to Temperance, but you’re too drunk to realize it. Instead, you smile at Felix. 

“Let’s play with fire together.” 

You both sit down on the floor, and he brings a variety of things to show you how fast they burn. You’re both giggling like teenagers when the front door of the house opens to let in a few people, their heavy boots making the floorboards shake. 

“Felix?!” a voice calls.

“Here, boss.” 

He stands up just in time for Minho to appear, but although you’ve sobered up, you’re still too drunk to move quickly – Felix’s speed almost makes you dizzy. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Minho asks. 

“Just – I was –”

“I told you to get her in bed,” Minho hisses.

“She kept talking to me,” Felix mutters. “Besides, she’s here safe, right? That’s what you wanted. We were just talking.” 

You had forgotten about the matchstick you were holding, and the burn stings your finger before you let it go. 

“Aouch, FUCK,” you snarl. 

“Safe, huh?” Minho says. 

Felix bows his head, but Minho only sighs, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks, Yongbok. You can go.” 

A second later you are alone with Minho – he crouches next to you. 

“Hey, Trouble.”

You smile drunkenly at him, pointing at his cheek. “You have something here.” 

“That’s called blood.”

You pout. “Ew.” 

“Be grateful it’s not brains.” 

He says it lightly, and his face looks so gentle, it’s a brutal contrast with the blood on his cheeks and fingers, that you notice as he cups your cheek. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Fantastic,” you answer. 

“Y/N.” 

You’re pretty sure – but you’re very drunk – that it’s the first time he’s called you by your name. Not Trouble. Not doll. Your name. 

You bite your lip. “It should feel like a mistake,” you whisper. “But it doesn’t.” 

“Life’s too short for regrets, doll,” he says. “Your true friends will come around.” 

You look up at him, eyes burning with exhaustion and tears. “Is everyone okay?” 

“Jisung got a nasty cut, but he’ll be fine. Don’t worry about him.” 

“And Changbin?” you ask. 

Minho smiles. “Changbin’s fine.” 

“Okay.” 

After a second, he takes you gently in his arms, lifting you up. He helps you remove your shoes and your clothes – it’s not like he hasn’t seen you before, anyway. He hands you a t-shirt, which feels soft against your skin, and you lay down in bed afterwards, slipping under the covers, and he strokes your hair. 

“I’ll be right back,” he says. 

“Hm?” 

“This is my room.” 

“Oh,” you chuckle. “So this is the squeaky bed?”

With a mischievous smile, you start to rock your body – and just as expected, the bed squeaks, the headboard slamming into the wall. You snicker. 

“That’s very loud.” 

“Told you,” he says with a wink, closing the lamp on the bedside table. 

You instinctively close your eyes, and the darkness almost instantly puts you to sleep – you’re just conscious long enough to feel a kiss on your forehead, and in response, you whisper Minho’s name and wish him good night. 

When you open your eyes in the early hours of the morning, you are not alone. There is a warm body against yours, an arm around your hips, a breath against your neck. The blinds are drawn, but pale light pierces through enough for you to see around you. You blink, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. Your mouth opens in a yawn, and you slowly turn on your back. 

Minho is still asleep, his face buried in the pillow, his hair a tangled mess in front of his eyes. His mouth is slightly open, letting you glimpse at his cute teeth – he looks so young. So kind. So beautiful. 

He takes your breath away.

You would have thought you’d be bothered to wake up next to him, but you’re really not. You even find yourself smiling fondly, playing with his hair a little. His hand has fallen on your stomach, warm and heavy. His arm is still bandaged from the other day. His scar is pink, and you want to kiss it. Like you, he’s dressed – it’s weird to see him in just a plain t-shirt, though. His bed is not very big, so you have no choice but to stay close. You take a few seconds to look at him, trying really hard not to let your thoughts wander, but it’s hard. 

You used to see the leather cut, and the leather cut only.

Then you saw Lee Minho, president of the Vices. 

Now, you just see Minho – and yet, he’s all of those things at once. 

It’s silly. There’s no future with Minho. You don’t even want that – he just makes you feel good right now. Not an old lady type of guy, he said. 

You need to go. You need a glass of water, something to eat, and a shower. You’re working this afternoon. You have a life to get back to.

Sort of. 

You think about your father. About Seungmin. About Hyunjin. 

What do they think of you? 

Not much, you tell yourself.

You inhale slowly, chasing the thoughts from your head. You can’t apologize for who you are. You’ll apologize for the hurt you’ve caused them because you feel awful about it. But you can’t be sorry for who you are, as messed up as that person is. 

Gently, you take Minho’s hand to put it aside so you can leave the bed, but when it’s barely in the air, his fingers sprawl around yours and clutch them. 

“Hmm.” 

He guides your hands, intertwined, towards his lips, and places a soft kiss on your fingers. It’s a good thing you’re laying down because your legs turn to melted butter.  

“Am I pretty when I sleep?” he asks.

You scoff. “You look like a little bunny.” 

“Bunnies are cute, aren’t they?” he says, his voice hoarse, opening his eyes slowly. 

“Sometimes.” 

He smiles lazily at you. “Did you sleep well?”

“Fine, I think.” 

“I slept more than fine. That sweet ass was right against my dick, keeping it warm.” 

You shake your head with a sigh, although there’s an obvious smile on your face. “You start early.”  

“I just never stop.” 

He was inches away from your lips, so it’s not a stretch or a surprise when he steals a kiss. You think you must look terrible, smell foul, but he clearly doesn’t care. His tongue slips into your mouth, curling against yours, and you can’t help but arch your back, wriggling closer.

“I have a question,” you breathe. 

“You start early,” he teases. 

“Your scar,” you ask. “What happened?” 

He gives you a long look, but his smile doesn’t go away. 

“It’s a long story, Trouble. I’ll tell you around a drink.” 

You nod in agreement. 

His hand leaves yours, slipping down your chest to grab your breast, teasing your nipple above the material. You shudder against his lips, breathing heavily, forgetting everything about what you should be doing. You love lazy morning sex, and Minho is offering you just that. 

“When I came to bed last night,” he breathes, his other hand sliding inside your underwear to caress you. You hiss, bucking your lips. You hadn’t been particularly aroused, but his touch is making quick work of it. “And saw you there in my bed, your hair a mess, that sweet mouth of yours parted…” He slips a finger inside of you, tentatively, and you moan. “Fuck, I wanted to slide between your legs and wake you up by devouring you.” 

“Minho…” You’re breathing hard. Your hand cups his ass before you start to stroke him above his boxers. He’s still soft, but you feel him harden against your touch. 

“Maybe we can try it sometimes?” he pants. 

“Yeah,” you agree, moaning softly. 

“Or would you prefer waking up with my dick caressing you instead of my tongue? Once you’re awake, you can moan for me, and I’ll fill you.” 

You’re hazy with sleep and your hangover and his words are making you lose control. He has a few fingers inside you now, and you’re soaked and in need of him – and so is he, by the way his length throbs in your hand. 

“Do you have –” 

You weren’t safe the other day – but this morning you need to be. 

“As you wish, doll,” he nods. 

He rolls over so he lays above you, sitting up to reach inside his bedside table drawer. He slips on the condom, raises one of your legs, and enters you. You gasp softly, your body adjusting, and he starts to roll his hips. 

His bed is very noisy, but you hope it’s early enough so that his roommates won’t be bothered. You’re too into the moment to really care, anyway, your arms around Minho’s neck, his breath mingling with yours. 

“That’s so good,” you whisper. “You fuck me so good.” 

“Tell me, baby doll,” he sighs. “Tell me how much you like it.” 

You do, in his ear, against his neck, around his lips. His thrusts are deep and measured, hitting you in all the right spots. His bed is like background music and you feel your mind unravel. You’re so close to coming, and you tell him not to stop. He grabs your chin, more gently than he has before.

“Look at me,” he whispers. “Open your eyes and look at me as you come around me.” 

You’re lost in the daze but you manage to open your eyes, finding his wide open – they catch yours and hold you there. You can barely moan anymore, your breath caught in your throat. 

Minho lifts your hips slightly, angling your body so he can go deeper, and that finishes you – you come like a roar of thunder after lightning strikes. 

“God, that feels good,” he groans, slowing down just to accelerate again. His breath hitches, and he pulls out, stroking himself as he comes. 

You let your head sink further into the pillow, your mind completely empty. Minho falls beside you, kissing your shoulder. You need a shower, you need to go home. But you just want to sleep again – and you do, just for a while, until the sun is bright and warm. 

It’s a quiet life you’re living. 

You wake up alone, go to work, come back to your apartment, and go to sleep alone. 

Seungmin still doesn’t talk to you. Your dad and you avoid each other as much as you can. Only Hyunjin still feels like your friend, but you’re scared it’s just to keep an eye on you – so much you barely go to Rossi’s anymore. 

You haven’t seen Minho in a while. 

You heard he’s busy. The pick-up driver Changbin put in the hospital decided to press charges, another police department behind his back – apparently the beat-up happened out of Temperance lines – and it’s a whole mess. 

Changbin is in jail, temporarily, until everything is figured out. 

You don’t want to bother anyone. 

But you’re worried. 

About Minho. About Changbin. About all of them. 

You hate the feeling. 

Never were you supposed to get attached. 

One night, you’re in tears, your body trembling from confusion and loneliness. You’ve inhaled some weed but the smoke just made it worse. You wander in your apartment but you grow too restless and can’t stare at the walls anymore. So you grab a hoodie and your keys and you seek refuge outside. 

You want to see Seungmin. You want him to tell you, with this steady voice of his, that you’ll pull through. But your friend is out of reach. 

So in the fog of self-doubt, your feet lead you to Hyunjin. You’re ashamed, but you still go. It’s late, and you look terrible, with your red eyes and your tear-stained face. You don’t care. 

Hyunjin opens his door, wearing a tank top and boxers. From the state of his hair, you’ve pulled him out of bed. He rubs his eyes, frowning. 

“Y/N?” 

“Hey,” you say, voice breaking. “I woke you up, right?” 

“It’s fine. Seo-ah is still asleep, though.”

You nod. “I’m sorry, I just…” You sigh. “Fuck, why am I here?” 

You shake your head. You’re high, you feel sick, and you can’t stop crying. Hyunjin puts a hand on your shoulder, pulling you inside his apartment. 

“Did something happen?” he asks, his voice tense. 

“No, I just… I don’t…”

You let out a whimper, falling against his shoulder.  

“I don’t feel so good, Hyun.” 

He doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arms around you. 

“I’m so sorry,” you sob quietly. 

“Why are you sorry? C’mon, don’t be silly,” he asks, stroking his hair. “Sit down.” 

You listen to him, and he sits with you. Instantly, you feel better - you just need someone to hold you. 

After you calm down, he heats some food up for you, like he knows you haven’t eaten correctly in a while and talks with you as you eat. His eyes are stable. His presence is soothing. He calms your tears just by being here, and listens to you as you tell him everything. How you’re ashamed and not at all, how you miss Minho and not at all, how you wish for Seungmin’s forgiveness and not at all, because you don’t deserve it.  

Hyunjin strokes your hair as you cry and tells you you’re not a bad person. 

You wish you could believe him. 

It’s only noon, and you have nothing to do. 

Your father is taking care of the shop this afternoon, and he’s insisted you go home because you look tired. You didn’t have strength to argue with him, so you agreed. 

Now you’re walking around town aimlessly, not wanting to go home, trying to resist going by the clubhouse to see if anyone’s there.

It’s been a while. Weeks.

You’re not sure. 

As you walk, you inhale deeply, the sun warm on your face. You decide to stop and get yourself an iced coffee, and it helps with the headache – but it soothes nothing else. 

You decide to head home for a nap when you spy blue hair ahead of you on the sidewalk. 

Your heart clenches in your chest. 

“Jisung!” you call, accelerating your step.

He keeps on walking, seemingly not having heard you, and he’s quick, so you have to speed up. 

“HAN JISUNG,” you yell out, and finally he slows down and you’re able to catch up with him.

“Oh, Y/N,” he says. He’s not wearing his cut, which is odd. Just a white shirt and jeans – he looks strangely normal. 

“Are you okay?” you ask him. “I haven’t seen you around in a while.” 

Any of you, you bite down.

“Right,” Jisung says, blinking excruciatingly slowly. “It’s been a little busy.”

“I heard…” 

Jisung gives you a smile. “I have somewhere to be, but if you want to meet up later we can. I really need to get high.” 

“You and me both,” you sigh. “Come to my place?” 

You make plans for later, and although the knot in your stomach remains, it feels a little looser. Before you head home, you go to the grocery store, grabbing beer and snacks. You take a shower, change, and start pacing. 

Jisung, of course, arrives 48 minutes later than the time he gave you, but you’re relieved to see him, to have company, you don’t even bring it up. 

You sit on your couch, music playing in the background. He starts to fill his glass pipe and you munch on Cheetos.

“How is he doing?” you ask Jisung when he mentions Changbin. 

He shrugs. “Okay, I think. Jail is no joke but we have friends there. Vice’ll be fine.” 

He lifts his eyes to give you a smile. 

“I’ll tell him you’re thinking of him. That ought to help.” 

You slap Jisung’s shoulder so hard some weed spills on the ground. 

“I swear if you say anything, Han Jisung…”

“Careful with the weed, dude,” he just chuckles, continuing his task. 

You bite your lip. “What about Minho? He’s not in town, is he?” 

“No,” Jisung says, shaking his head. “He’s laying low.”

“Like in a safe house?” 

“Something like that.” 

You moan, wriggling on the couch.

“C’mon, Ji, give me something.” 

“If it is a safe house, then telling you about what would defeat the purpose, right? You ask too many questions.” 

“Tell me about it,” you groan. 

“He’s fine, Y/N,” Jisung grins. “Think about it this way. When he comes back, the distance will just make the sex better, right?” 

You scoff at him, shaking your head. 

“What happened to you, Ji?” you say. “Where have you been all those years? Will you ever tell me?”

“I would, but I barely remember it myself.” 

You know he’s half-joking, but you decide not to insist. You don’t need to know, anyway - and you find it’s an enthralling thing about him for his past to remain a mystery. Instead, you start talking about random things, exchanging the pipe to take your hits. The weed is very good quality, so you feel yourself drift away quickly. 

It’s a night of snacks, laughter and smoke. 

You wake up the next morning, still on the couch, Jisung sprawled on the floor. He looks like a baby when he sleeps. You shake him slowly, just in case he has somewhere he needs to be. He sniffles, mumbling something about an appointment, and he leaves your apartment with his eyes only half open.

The next day, someone walks in the shop looking confused. It’s a delivery driver, and he’s holding a single rose. You recognize the name on his baseball cap - it’s a flower shop from a nearby town. You arch an eyebrow at him. 

“Can I… help you?”

“Are you Y/N?” he asks, glancing at his phone. 

“Yeah,” you say. 

He shrugs, like he gives up on trying to make sense of the situation, and hands you the rose. 

“Delivery for you.” 

“You’re delivering flowers to a flower shop, you know that, right?” 

He shakes his head. “Just doing my job.” 

“Right. Thanks.” 

You take the rose. It’s the color of blood, so dark it almost looks black. Its thorns are sharp. You glance at the label. 

Heard you were worried.

Cute.

Don’t cause too much trouble without me. 

You can’t hold back your smile.

It’s a beautiful night. A light breeze, an indigo sky. 

You arrive in front of the Vices’ house. It’s as you remember, except all the lights are on, and you can hear faint music coming from inside. You walk slowly to the door, feeling strangely nervous. 

Jisung wrote that morning. 

Vice is getting out. We’re back. Party at 10. 

It’s been weeks - and they almost feel like a dream. But you’re just happy to see them again, thrilled at the idea of being a little less alone. 

You miss Minho. All of them, even. But mostly Minho.

You’ve dressed up a little for him. Fishnet tights, a black dress. 

You’re pretty sure he’s going to like it. 

The door opens on Jisung, who hurries you inside. 

“We’re getting the cake,” he explains, guiding you into the living room. People are chanting something like happy you-got-out-of-jail-day and you find yourself joining them. You catch Minho’s eyes from across the room. He looks tired but happy. Relieved. 

Changbin has a smile on his face when they place the cake in front of him – you’d never see him smile before and you think it really suits him. He looks even more tired than Minho, his hair is longer, the circles under his eyes dark. But he’s smiling. 

There are no candles on the cake. Apparently Felix stole them all one night for an experiment and forgot to buy more. 

Changbin chuckles, applauding with the rest. Then he looks up at you, and you give him a warm smile. He echoes it with a nod, eyes sparkling. 

The crowd breaks around him and you just laugh with Jisung, who gets you something to drink, and you promise to share a few hits later. You stand there quietly, a few minutes later, when Minho walks up to you. His grin is mischievous. 

“My little Trouble,” he says. “It’s good to see you.” 

“How do I look?” you say, turning around to show the outfit you’ve carefully selected.

“Like a fucking treat.” 

His hand slides across your thigh, softly stretching the fishnets you’re wearing. 

“I can’t wait to rip those later.” 

You laugh, and he throws an arm around your shoulder like you’ve seen each other only yesterday. You want to ask about the past weeks, but they are clearly in mind to celebrate, and you don’t want to ruin the mood – so you just let yourself be carried away by the festivities. 

You drink a little, not too much – you want to keep your senses close to you. You still get a hit with Jisung as promised and then decide to cook mac and cheese with him, but you both forget to turn on the stove and the saucepan is quickly forgotten. 

You’re squeezed between Felix, who is whispering to a giggly Cherry, and Minho. You mostly listen to their conversations, feeling both out of place and like you belong there. It’s an odd feeling, but you’re soothed by it. 

Changbin is right in front of you. 

There’s a new tattoo on his arm. 

He keeps smiling. 

You can’t help but stare at him. You don’t know what it is, but you’re hypnotized. There’s just something about him tonight you can’t get enough of. 

It might be the way he’s holding the girl next to him, stroking her thigh.

You look at his fingers, the rings he has on them, and you suddenly imagine them in your mouth. Focus. The weed must be getting to you. You let out a giggle and try to focus on something else. 

Time passes and you find yourself glancing at Changbin again – he and the girl have started making out. You’re just in time to see him grabbing her head and swirling his tongue inside her mouth, and you have to clench your jaw to stop your whimper from escaping your lips. Discreetly, you cross your legs, applying just a little bit of pressure. You’ve been a little touch starved, but damn. You need to get yourself together. 

Luckily Minho never lets out of his grasp for long, either stroking your hair or softly caressing the skin inside the little squares of your fishnets. You have to promise you’ll be right back when you stand up to go to the bathroom. 

The house is not too big so it’s easy to find your way around. You find the bathroom and grip the door’s handle – but you stop. Since the music is quieter here, you can hear faint noises coming from another room. You glare at said door. It’s unmistakable – the sighs, the moans, the thumping. People are fucking. You remember Changbin grabbing the girl’s hand and leading her away. Oh.

Oh. 

You shouldn’t – you really shouldn’t, but fuck it, you still do. You approach the door on tiptoes, although you’re convinced they’re not going to hear you by all the noises they’re making. Well, her, mostly – but it seems like you can hear muffled groans that are more masculine than feminine. You put your ear against the door, listening. Faster, Vice, she says, and you bite your lip like your life depends on it. 

You can’t resist. You listen. 

She tells him to go harder. He slaps her skin – you can only guess where. When her moans start to annoy you, they suddenly get muffled, and you imagine Changbin’s hand around her mouth, quieting her. You close your eyes, your fingers going between your legs to just press your sensitivity. 

“Really, Trouble? I didn’t expect you to be a voyeur.” 

You spin around, both of your hands going on your hips, your face on fire. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “I’m not,” you scoff. “I was just…”

Minho raises an eyebrow, approaching you slowly.

“…making sure no one was getting killed in there. Noises were weird.”  

“Hmm, hmm,” he nods, stopping an inch away from your face. 

“Turns out, she’s fine. Just fucking,” you chuckle. 

Minho just stares at you, and you scowl. 

“Fine,” you snarl. “So what? I was just curious.”

“Our Vice certainly seems to have caught your attention, doll,” Minho says. “Did something happen between you two? You’ve been thirsting on him all night.”

“Wha – I have not been –”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you eyefuck him,” Minho sighs. “Pressing those little legs together. Your cheeks have been red all night.” 

You slide your tongue against your inner cheek, but your shoulders roll back. It’s no use with Minho anymore. “Was I that obvious?” you admit in defeat. 

“Not to the casual observer,” he shrugs. “But I keep a very concerned eye on you. I haven’t seen you in a while.” 

You play with your fingers, biting your lip. 

“Does it… bother you?” 

“That you’re interested in him?” 

“You have cockblocked me twice before,” you sigh. “You said nobody touched what was yours.” 

Minho laughs, pushing away a strand of your hair. He smells like burnt wood and whiskey. “That doesn’t apply to Vice. He’s the only one I can share with.” 

You arch an eyebrow. “Really? Why?” 

“No particular reason. It’s just like that.” 

He leans towards you, starts kissing your neck, and you close your eyes although your mind is elsewhere. You could say you’ve forgotten how soft his lips feel against your skin, but that would be a lie. “So you… You wouldn’t…”

“Mind if you made a move on him? No, doll. By all means. I’m sure he’d oblige. We have similar taste in women and I caught him staring at your ass several times tonight.”

You sigh softly, leaning into him, your hands sliding against his waist to pull him closer. Then you realize what this could sound like, and you blush furiously, putting a finger on his chest to push him away – just enough so you can look at his face. 

“Not that I need your permission to do anything,” you precise.

“I would never think that about you, doll. You’re like me – you go get what you want. So if you want Vice, go for it.” 

“Maybe later,” you breathe. “Right now I need a fucking drink.” 

“I wish you didn’t say that last word.” 

You give him a slap on the chest. “Maybe later,” you repeat. “Besides, what are you doing here? I said I needed to pee.” 

“I thought you might want company.” 

“Jesus Christ, Minho, you’re like a cat. Leave me go to the bathroom alone.” 

He moans, pouting slightly. He grabs your head, biting your shoulder. You gasp at the feeling. “I’m starving for you, doll. That body… those moans through your lips.”

His hands slide over your body. 

“I want to fuck you over the bathroom sink.” 

You shudder. You have to admit the noises coming from the next room have turned you on – and you haven’t seen Minho in a while, let alone had any action. Also, the thought of fucking right next door to Changbin excites you even more.

So you open the bathroom door and whisper to Minho to follow you inside. 

“It’s, hm… It’s good to see you.” 

You instantly regret opening your mouth, but it’s too late. Changbin raises his head to look at you from the other side of the table, his spoon hanging above his bowl of cereal. He’s not smiling anymore, but he feels less threatening. Maybe it’s because you’ve spent enough time with him – but you’re still scared. Even with his hair all over the place and his eyes not yet rubbed out of sleep, he looks like he could snap you in half and not blink. He just has that energy about him. 

“Right,” he lets out eventually, but his voice sounds uncertain, like he didn’t know what to say. 

You smile awkwardly at him, taking a bite from your toast. “You must be happy to be home.” 

You have no idea why you’re trying to make conversation with Changbin of all people, but here you are. 

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Much better than jail.” 

You can’t help but chuckle. “I can imagine.” 

“Can you?” 

You stare at him, frozen. He’s said it in such a low voice, almost threatening, and you’re terrified you’ve just said the worst thing possible, because of course you can’t imagine what he’s been through, or what jail is like, so you stammer – and then Changbin winks at you. 

“Just fucking with you,” he states. 

You close your mouth, which had been stupidly opened. You scoff. “Jerk.” 

You’re not looking at him so you can’t be sure, but you’re pretty sure you spy a smirk on his lips – which he hides by taking a spoonful of cereal. 

“I heard you asked about me.” 

You feel your cheeks redden. “Who told you that?” 

“Jisung.” 

“That son of a bitch, I swear…” 

“A part of me was expecting a visit.” 

You eye him, arching an eyebrow. “Woah there. Wouldn’t go that far.” 

“What are you doing tonight?” 

He’s put down his spoon, his elbows on the table, and is looking at you like he’s two seconds away from killing you – but you’re starting to understand that’s just his face. 

“I – nothing. Why?” 

“I have to drive next town over for a spare part for my dad’s bike,” he explains. “You want to come with me?” 

“By drive, you mean…” 

“Have you ever seen me drive a car?” 

You must admit he’s right. 

“Sure,” you answer. “Why not. I close the shop at 6.” 

“I’ll pick you up there.” 

You open your mouth to tell him no, that you’ll meet somewhere else, because you don’t want people to see you, but you stop yourself. It’s useless, anyway. Not only are people going to find out anyway, but everyone already knows. 

Once you’re done with breakfast, you head outside and walk back home. It’s a long way but you don’t mind – the sun warms your face, the breeze airing your neck. You've borrowed – well, stolen, you’ve decided – a t-shirt from Minho, so it doesn’t feel at all like a walk of shame. You’re just going home. 

Home, with your heart strangely full.

When you step out of the shop, later that day, the breeze is gone and it’s just hot. You instantly start to sweat because of the humidity, and you’re grateful to only be wearing shorts and a light t-shirt. You turn to lock the door, making sure everything is secured, and as you do, the roar of an engine fills your ears. 

Strange, how it no longer fills you with spite. 

It almost makes you smile.

It almost soothes you. 

Changbin slows down and stops his bike in front of you and you almost faint at the sight of him. Your throat dries, your legs wobble. 

The arms. 

Because Changbin is only wearing a tank top underneath his cut, his arms are entirely visible to you. Stretched on the handles, you can trace the lines of his muscles, lifelines dug into his skin. They outline the curve of a bicep, the angle of an elbow, and swerve all the way to his hands. You stare at his fingers, gripped around the handles, his usual rings shining in the sun. 

His helmet covers his black hair. He’s wearing sunglasses.

And, for the love of heaven, he’s wearing leather pants. 

Is he trying to drive you mad?

Because it’s working.

“Hi,” you say pathetically. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Is he chewing gum?

How can chewing gum be so attractive?

Is this a trap? 

“Yeah,” you answer, your voice a little high-pitched. 

“Do you have your sunglasses like I told you?”

“Yep.” You take them out of your bag and slip them on.

He tells you to put your stuff in the saddles and you do before you get on the bike. Your legs are shaking and you’re sure you’ll fall on your ass, but you make it there. Behind Changbin. Against him.

“Tell me if you need a break,” he says, and you nod. 

You used to dislike motorcycles for the sake of it, because they were how the Vices drove around, because they reminded you of them. Now, you’re not so sure, because when Changbin says that, you think to yourself, I could stay here all night. You could drive me to the stars and back, and I’d never let go. 

Changbin’s got his spare part, and you’re driving home. The night has fallen, the sky deep black. You’re driving on a scenic road, so there’s not much light except for the occasional streetlight. The asphalt trails alongside the mountains, and it smells like leaves, like wind, like leather. You breathe in tranquility, your cheek against Changbin’s back. Your hands are crossed around him. Sometimes you catch a glimpse of him in one of his rearview mirrors. He looks so peaceful. 

He slows down suddenly and stops at a viewpoint, which is just a patch of unpaved road at a curve. He stops the engine, and you take the cue, getting off the bike. You shiver a little, because it’s colder now that the sun has set, and Changbin lays something heavy on your shoulders. 

His cut. 

You glance up at him in shock, but he doesn’t say anything - so, neither do you. You slide your arms through it. 

You expect disgust, or even just a shudder, but there’s nothing. 

The both of you walk to the rail, staring at the distance. There’s no noise except for the sound of the wind in the trees. 

“Look up,” Changbin says to you, pointing to the sky. 

You do - and as a cloud rolls away from another, you see a patch of pitch black, covered in tiny stars. It’s so beautiful it steals your breath, and you stare in awe. You’re silent for a few minutes. 

“Puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?” he simply states.

You find yourself nodding. “It really does.” 

You turn to him, looking at his profile. He let his bike’s lights open, and they set dancing shadows upon his face. You’re so entranced, you forget to be reasonable, and soon he glances back at you. You don’t look away, though - you really can’t. He’s so different from Minho, and yet so similar. They’re like two sides of the same coin, you think to yourself. The arrogant and the angry. 

The talkative and the silent.

You think about what Minho said. 

We have the same taste in women. 

A spark passes in your eyes. Changbin catches it. 

His hand slides on your cheek. His rings are cold against your skin. You lift your heels to meet him halfway. 

His lips are warm. You shiver against them, his other arm hugging your waist to urge you closer. Your hands grip his shoulders, and you sigh in his mouth as his tongue teases yours. 

He leans you against the rail, but you’re not afraid of falling. 

He’s holding you tight.

Your fingers drift on his arms, on his chest. His trace your ass. Your hips. 

His mouth leaves yours. He breathes heavily. 

You open your eyes to see him, jaw clenched, shaking his head. 

“Is everything okay?” you ask in a small voice.

“Yeah,” he says. “Sorry. Let’s not do this.” 

He steps away, walks back to his bike. He doesn’t look angry, so you don’t ask if it’s your fault. You don’t feel like it is. You hope it isn’t. 

You follow him carefully, taking the helmet you left on the seat to put it back. 

“Now,” he says quietly. 

“Huh?” 

“I mean now. Let’s not do this now.”

You look at him, registering the words. It takes you a second, your heart faltering, before you put a prudent hand on Changbin’s arm.

“It’s okay,” you say softly.

He gives you a surprised look, then softens. After you give him a smile, he nods, and you drive away without another word.

He gets you home, and you thank him for the evening. Before you go, you put a kiss on his cheek. 

It’s an extremely slow day at work, and you’re in no mood to be productive, so you’re on your phone scrolling at memes when Minho enters. You don’t even have time to welcome him, he just strolls to your counter, flashes a smile, and tells you he needs a modest but tasteful bouquet – and he’s in a hurry.

You show him to ones you’ve prepared. He takes the first, hands you a few bills and walks out without another word. You stare at his back, shaking your head. He’s exhausting, and you’re a little pissed he hasn’t asked you how you are, but your stupid face can’t help but smile. 

Later that afternoon, you get a text from Seungmin and raise an eyebrow. 

Mininie 

Are you busy tonight? I need to talk to you

You

?? Sure. You want to get a drink?

Mininie

Rossi’s at 9

You agree to the plans, feeling both confused and anxious. There was no way Seungmin would’ve done that if it wasn’t important. You rack your brain, trying to think about what mess you’ve made recently, but there’s nothing that really stands out. You haven’t talked since the last time – you’ve left him alone like he promised. Should you have reached out? Is he mad you haven’t? 

You groan, exhausted of yourself. 

When you get to Rossi’s, Hyunjin is alone behind the bar. He nods towards a booth to his left, and you spy Seungmin’s brown hair. You approach him slowly, biting your lip. 

“Hey,” you say once you’re standing in front of him.

He glances at you and you can’t read him and it’s making you nervous.

“Hey,” he replies. “Sit down.” 

He waves at Hyunjin, pulling two fingers up. 

“Two pints, Hyun.” 

The latter nods and then gives you a glare – don’t fuck up, he seems to tell you. You want to pull your tongue at him but you feel that might be a little impolite to do in front of Seungmin. 

“Min, listen, I know I should’ve…” 

“Did you tell them something?” he says, cutting you off. 

He doesn’t sound mad, but he doesn’t sound happy either. Your heartbeat accelerates. 

“What? Tell who?” 

“The Vices. Have you talked to them about my mom?” 

You feel the blood drain from your face, and you stammer. “Wha – why are you – did something happen?” 

“They visited her today. At her house.” 

“What?” 

“She called me as soon as she saw the bikes because she was scared,” Seungmin explains. “When I got there she was having tea with Lee Minho, a huge smile across her face.” 

You try your best not to burst out laughing. “Tea?” you repeat.

Seungmin nods. “Tea.” 

You bite your lips really hard, but you can’t hold it back. You can’t. It doesn’t help that even Seungmin seems seconds away from bursting out that loud laugh of his. A snicker escapes your lips, and you close your eyes, inhaling slowly. 

Hyunjin appears right then, setting down two full beers on the table, eyeing you both for a few seconds before he quietly turns around. 

You breathe out.

“She said he came to apologize,” Seungmin says after taking the first sip of his drink. “That he had never wanted to scare her, and they felt terrible about it. That they just wanted her to feel safe and protected – that it was the whole point of them being around.” 

“Oh.” 

“I thought to myself, it could just be a sudden change of heart, but he’d brought a bouquet of flowers with him, for my mom,” Seungmin adds, arching an eyebrow.

“What does that – oh. Oh.”

Seungmin nods. “So you see why I wanted to talk to you.” 

You shake your head. 

“Min, I swear. I never asked them to do that. I’m just as confused as you.” 

It takes you a few seconds to gather your thoughts. You’ve only mentioned Seungmin to a handful of people, because you needed to talk about your falling out. Hyunjin. Jisung, a little. Where did it come from, though? You can’t be sure.  

“I let him sweet talk my mom,” Seungmin says, his voice a little softer. “But I followed him outside and we had a little talk before he left.” 

“Oh?” You ask, trying not to sound too interested – but you are. 

“He’s completely insane, Y/N,” Seungmin sighs, shaking his head. “You can’t trust someone like that.”

“I never said I trusted him,” you mumble, but it’s a weak retort. 

“But he made some good points.” 

You glance at Seungmin, who shrugs. 

“I’m not saying I like him. I definitely don’t. But remember when you said they were not like you imagined? I kind of get that.” 

“You do?” 

Seungmin gives you a pointed look. “I’d never hang out with them like you do, I couldn’t, but talking with him… I see how you and him could hit it off.” 

You don’t know what to say, so you can’t help but be a little arrogant. 

“Aw, Minnie, are you giving me your approval?” 

He glares at you and sighs deeply. “Like I just said. Two reckless shit stirrers.” 

You chuckle and gently nudge his arm. 

“Seriously, Min,” you say. “I’m really sorry. I was an idiot.” 

“You still are,” he points out, and you have to agree.

You raise your pint towards him. “Cheers to that.” 

“I heard when you spent some time with Vice.”

You and Minho are laying on your bed, the sheets tangled around your limbs. He’s beautiful, almost glowing, entirely naked except for the silver chain around his neck. You play with his silver hair, twirling strands around your fingers. 

“Yeah, a little,” you say. 

Minho pushes your hair out of your face, putting his arm behind his head to support it so he can look at you better. 

“Did you make a move? He wouldn’t tell me.” 

You pout. 

“C’mon, now, Trouble. Don’t get shy on me now. Two minutes ago you were riding my dick.”

You roll your eyes. “We kissed. He stopped it.” 

You must be making some sort of face, because Minho lets out a laugh. You hit in on the chest as hard as you can – of course, he barely budges. 

“Don’t fucking laugh at me.” 

“Don’t despair, Trouble. He likes you.” 

“That’s what I thought, too,” you sigh in annoyance. “But he’s been avoiding me since.”

You give him a glare.

“Not unlike someone I know.”  

Minho raises an eyebrow. “Have I been doing that?” 

“Yes. Am I not interesting anymore because you’ve fucked me?” 

“I wouldn’t put it like that…”

“Like what, then?!” 

“Don’t get anxious, doll, there’s still a number of things I plan to do with you. I was just leaving space for Vice.” 

You arch an eyebrow.

“I knew you wanted to try him. And him you.” 

You scoff. “You should tell him that.” 

“I told him to go for it, that he’d have a good time. But when I mentioned fucking you, he said something about you not just being a piece of ass.” 

“He… what?” 

The words surprise you - and yet they don’t. Let’s not do this now, he said. You thought he meant it was the wrong moment, but it might be something else. 

“Don’t get excited, it’s not like he’s secretly romantic and soft hearted,” Minho sighs. “But he is less of a whore than me.” 

You decide to bring up the fact that Minho just called himself a whore later.

“What about the other night? The girl?” 

“Guy spent weeks in jail, you expect him not to want some pussy? He didn’t want it to be you, though. I guess he was too frustrated that night. So you can expect him to take his sweet time with you once his mind is made up.” 

You smack him lightly. “Jesus fucking Christ, you talk like I’m going to let him do anything he wants to me whenever he wants it. I’m not just a fuck toy, you know. What if I’m not in the mood?” 

“Then he’ll wait,” Minho answers, laughing. “But let’s face it, doll. Vice walks into this very room right now with his dick hard and his eyes all over you, would you really say no?” 

You stammer slightly. “If I didn’t want to, yes.”

“But what if you did?” 

“Tssk. Why are you so invested in this?” 

“Because he’s my oldest friend, and you’re my favorite girl.” 

You sigh, shaking your head. Minho sits up, his fingers grabbing your chin gently. His face hovers yours. 

“It’s not like we’re in love, Trouble. I just want us all to have some fun while we’re young. A day without your exquisite body getting venerated is a day wasted.” 

“Tell him that, then,” you blurt out. Quickly, you shake your hands. “I mean fuck, no, don’t tell him that.” 

Minho squeezes your ass in response, a smirk on his lips. “Have I told you I fucking love this look on you? It’s a very “slut just got rammed” look.” 

You bark out a laugh. “Did you just call me a slut?” 

“Apparently.” 

“Careful, I just might start to call you whore.” 

Minho barks out a laugh. “Gladly.”    

Being with Changbin is easy. 

Almost too easy. 

You glance at him from across the convenience store, his brows slightly furrowed as he tries to decide which brand of beer to buy. You see his face reflected in the refrigerator windows, his head tilted. With his back to you, you can take in the sight of his wide shoulders and his cut. 

You’ve been spending more time together - most of the time, he takes you for rides around town, finding excuses to run the engine for a little too long. You’re grateful for it because when your arms aren’t around him, holding tight, the rumble of the motorcycle under you, you almost miss it. 

Eventually he makes his choice and you walk back towards him, holding two bags of potato chips. You surprised him when he came to get you earlier. While you’re wearing one of your usual sundresses, you paired it with a new jacket - a leather one. His crooked smile had been instant - and he gives it to you again as you stop next to him. 

“You sure you don’t want anything else?” he asks.

“Yeah.” 

One of his hands is holding the pack of beer - his other arm he settles on your shoulders, keeping you close. As much as Minho makes you feel like you’re standing on the edge of a precipice, Changbin is already at its bottom with his arms wide open. 

He walks with you to the cashier, telling you about some stupid thing Jisung has done lately, and you listen to him, enthralled with the sight of his smirk, of the rare spark in his eye. You’re so focused on him you don’t notice the guy in front of you, who is standing there, taking up all the space in the aisle so you can’t walk forward. 

Changbin does. He stops, tightens his hold on you. 

“Seo Changbin,” the stranger spits. “Surprised to see you put a toe outside Temperance knowing the price on your head.” 

Changbin arches an eyebrow. “I thought you’d be smarter than to listen to rumors, Santiago.” 

“Not just rumors, man. A lot of people want you dead.” 

“Then they should line up and take their shot.” 

The guy chuckles before giving you a long look. 

“Cute. A shame, really.”  He looks back at Changbin. “It’s nothing personal.” 

Changbin tenses. “Do what you gotta do.” 

You look up at him. The man walks away, drawing his phone to his ear. Changbin puts down the pack of beer.

“Leave it,” he whispers in your ear. “Quickly.” 

You leave the bags and follow him outside. In a matter of seconds, you’re back on his bike and you’re driving away. He’s speeding, you can feel it - his hands are gripped around the handles so hard his joints are white. Your heart is beating fast, and you’re not sure you understand what is happening - just that it’s bad. 

Changbin burns a red light. 

“We need to get back to Temperance ASAP,” he tells you. “No one can touch us there. Don’t be scared. I got you.” 

You swallow and nod although he can’t see you. You grip him tighter. 

You’re close to town when you hear the deafening noises of multiple engines. You look around nervously - and then they appear. A few motorcycles, four of them, approaching you very fast. In the darkness you can’t see too well, but you’re sure they’re wearing cuts too. They are not friendly. 

Changbin accelerates and you watch the movements of the other bikers. They’re fast, and they make a lot of noise. In the rearview mirror, you see one of them take out a gun. 

“Changbin!” you shout. 

He’s already seen it, though, and swerves sharply in a nearby street to avoid the gunfire. It’s like you can’t breathe, as Changbin guides you through narrow streets. The other bikers aren’t far behind, but Changbin is good. He knows the area better, perhaps, because he takes his turns at the very last second - and soon you can only see two bikes behind you. 

Changbin heads for the main road again, and your eyes are full of tears. Temperance is right there, and when you pass the town border, Changbin suddenly breaks. He turns his bike to face your pursuers, lifting his visor to stare at them. 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he snaps at them. 

The next seconds are tense - they stare at each other, anger emanating from every inch of them. You can only watch and hope for the best. Fortunately, the other bikers relent. They turn and drive away - on their cuts, you can read Skulls. 

Changbin breathes out. “Fucking pest,” he spits. 

“What’s going on, Bin?” you ask. 

“Just people thinking they own everything outside Temperance.”

“That never happened before.” 

“They’re trying to prove themselves,” he sighs.

After a few seconds of silence, Changbin relaxes, rubbing his eyes. 

“C’mon. Let’s get you home.” 

“No,” you say, putting your hand on his arm. “I want to stay with you.” 

You can’t see his face well, but he nods. 

“Okay.” 

He drives away. You expect him to go to the clubhouse or the house the Vices share, but instead he drives a bit further, down a street you don’t know very well. You look around in confusion as he enters a driveway. The house in front of you is small and looks abandoned, like no one has lived in there for years. 

Changbin pulls out his phone and activates something on an app - in front of you, the garage door opens. He parks inside it, closing the door behind you. 

You disembark, taking off the helmet, still a little shaken from the pursuit. 

“Where are we?” you ask.

Changbin leaves his helmet on his bike and you do the same. “I’ll show you.” 

He takes your hand, guides you inside the house. It’s not as decrepit inside as you would’ve imagined it. The house is empty except for a few pieces of furniture here and there. It smells a little stuffy but it’s clean. 

“It was my father’s house,” he explains, putting his hands in his pockets. “It’s mine now. I don’t want to sell it.” 

“Why not?” you ask, taking a few steps in the main room, heading to the kitchen in curiosity. 

“I’ll live here one day. Make it mine, with my old lady.” 

You turn to him and give him a smile. “So you’re the type, huh?” 

He nods, and you find it endearing. You wouldn't've thought it - Changbin always looks so withdrawn. That he eventually wanted to have a family, to raise it in the house where he grew up - it was beautiful. 

“I can see it,” you say with a smile. “A big table. Curtains floating in the summer breeze. Kids running around the yard.” 

“Yeah?” 

You turn to him and smile. “Definitely.” 

You walk closer to him, staring at him. Adrenaline is still pumping in your veins from earlier - it would be lying to say that a part of you didn’t enjoy it. 

The danger. 

The risk. 

Minho would love to see you like this. 

“Are you asking me something?” you tell Changbin in a low voice. Slowly, you sink your hands in his pockets, covering his hands with yours. 

“What if I am?” 

“Fuck, Changbin,” you sigh. “You haven’t even touched me yet.” 

“I don’t need to,” he whispers, leaning his head forward. His lips graze your cheek. Your ear. You breathe heavily. “I already know.” 

“What?” 

“That you’re what I want. What I need.” 

He kisses your skin. Your earlobe. You shudder. 

“I want you to be mine.” 

“Changbin…” you breathe. “You can’t say shit like that.”

“Why not?” 

“Because I’m… What if I’m…” 

You chuckle nervously. You put a hand against his chest, pushing him slightly, raising an eyebrow at him.

“What if I’m terrible in bed?” 

His chuckle is low. “I know you’re not.”

“You can’t know that.” 

“I can. Minho told me.” 

At the sound of his name, you tense slightly. Changbin smiles.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not asking for you to just be mine. I know you by now. We can share. And he’ll never settle down. I will.” 

He kisses your neck. 

“I can make you happy, Y/N. I can make you whole. Please let me.”

All you want is to say yes. All you want is to give yourself to him - but can you? Will you? Giving your entire being to a person? You’re not sure. But you know it’s not really what Changbin is asking. His words and his eyes tell you you’ll always be free. Your heart won’t have to be constrained. It can just breathe - it can love as fully and widely as it wants. 

“Don’t answer now,” he breathes. “Just wanted to be clear with you. About what I want. What I see. I’ll take you as you are if you’ll have me.” 

“So politely asked,” you chuckle, your hands traveling up his arms. 

He laughs against your skin, then steps back to look at you tenderly. “Can I kiss you?” 

You snort, shaking your head. “Dude, you basically just asked me to raise a family with you. And now you ask permission to kiss me? You’re so weird.” 

He just shrugs, and you giggle. 

“Yes, you lunatic, you can kiss me.” 

His lips come in contact with you, sucking them around his, tasting every inch. He kisses you so well you forget everything but the fire inside you, and you wrap yourself around his body to deepen the kiss. He nibbles on your lip, rolls his tongue around yours. 

“Fuck, you’re such a good kisser,” you breathe, and he smiles. 

You desperately need him to touch you. 

“Changbin…” 

“Hm?” 

“Can I take your hand?” 

“Hm.” 

You gently align his fingers with yours, and you guide his hand in between your legs. You bring up your dress, and slide his fingers against you. You gasp at the contact, and he groans, curling his fingers. 

“Can you feel it? How wet I am for you?” 

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are closed, his mouth open. You hear his heavy breathing, you feel his tense muscles. 

“There’s just something about you, Changbin,” you whisper, slowly moving his hand. “Don’t you know the effect you have on me?” 

He opens his eyes, then, and they are so dark, you can only plunge head first in them. “I don’t think you have any idea of the effect you have on me.” 

You can only stare – because he’s moving his fingers on his own, in all the most delicious ways, and your legs start to feel weak. 

“Minho got to you first because he’s a sweet talker and I’m not,” Changbin hisses. “But the moment I heard you in the flower shop, I knew I wanted you.” 

He pushes a finger inside of you, and you gasp in the darkness of the empty house. 

“You know me and Minho had a few drinks, that night? And you know what we said?”

You shake your head. 

“How delightful it must be to get you to moan our names.” 

“Tsk. I don’t believe you,” you taunt him.

He smirks. “It’s true though. The fire inside you…” He inserts another finger, and you grip his shoulders. “Made me want to be consumed by it.” 

You sigh as he accelerates his movements, letting out a whimper. He bites your earlobe, sucks it in his mouth.

“I wanted to wait a little,” he breathes. “Get to know you, see what kind of person you were. That just makes it all better, I think. When you know the person – when you finally understand what makes them tick.” 

You wish you could hold up your end of the conversation, but you’re lost in the haze. You clench around him, ready to come. 

“Minho had his turn. It’s mine, now, right?” 

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Tell me.” 

“It’s yours, Changbin. I’m yours.” 

He suddenly removes his fingers and you groan in frustration. He ignores your complaint, lifting you up and pushing you against the nearest wall. He devours your lips again, his hardness pushing against your legs. You moan against his mouth, your body shaking under his touch. 

“Fuck,” he groans. “I need to feel you around me.” 

“Please, Changbin,” you sigh. “Please fuck me.” 

“I’ve made you wait, haven’t I, beautiful?”

“Too fucking long,” you groan. 

He smiles. “I have an idea.”

Almost too easily, as if you weighed less than a feather, he wraps you around him, your legs secured around his waist, and starts to walk back to the garage. 

“Where are -”

“Just wait.” 

Once in the garage, he walks over to his bike, and you stare at him with wide eyes. Oh. He chuckles at the look you give him. 

“What is it? You don’t like the idea?” 

Gently, he sits you on the leather seat of his bike, and you kiss him hard. 

“I think I like it a little too much,” you breathe.

He takes off your panties and unclasps his belt. As he takes off his pants, you sprawl yourself more comfortably on the bike, opening your legs wider for him. He gives you a dark look.

“A fucking sight,” he lets out.

You chuckle and you help him with his buttons, reaching in his boxers to stroke him – he groans, immediately grabbing your wrists to put them on each side of your body, pinning you in place.

Well that reminds you of someone.  

He takes another step forward, his length pressed against you, and the pressure makes you shiver. You’re dizzy from desire, and you barely register as he guides your hands. He puts one around one of the handles of the bike, the other around the edge of the seat. He hovers over you, grinning. 

“Hold on tight.” 

He enters you slowly, and you roll your eyes back at the feel of him. He pushes all the way into you, and stays there to take a long breath. He’s taking all the space, and it feels almost too natural, like he belongs there, and you wish you had the words to tell him. 

“You’re so warm, fuck,” Changbin sighs, and you feel your breath against your hair. 

“God, Changbin,” you breathe. “Fuck me.” 

So he does. His thrusts are measured, not too fast, but each is enough to bring out a moan from between your lips. You hang on to the bike, who trembles at every move – but the sight of Changbin fucking you on his bike is too much for you to really worry about it. He looks like a storm, his sweet lips parted, his muscles contracted. He’s big and strong against you, and you pull him closer. 

Your breath accelerates as the same time he does, pounding into you, and you’re clenching around him, feeling your orgasm all the way to your toes. Your nails sink into the leather of the seat. 

“Oh, fuck, that feels good. You feel so good coming around my dick.” 

“Holy shit, Bin…” you whisper, feeling your body relax. 

But Changbin shakes his head, placing his fingers on you, circling your sensitivity, making you tremble.

“I want to make you come again,” he whispers. 

“I don’t… I…” 

“Don’t slip away from me. Stay right there. I’m so close.” 

He never stops fucking you, and your mind is in a daze – his fingers are grasping at the last remnants of your orgasm, assembling them into a new knot ready to unfold. You almost whimper against him, feeling your skin in flames.  

You open your eyes to look at him – like you, he’s sweating, his hair wet, and the sight is enough to send you on the edge. He grunts, holding you tight, and he comes inside of you. You follow him, gasping, your legs shaking. 

It takes a while for you to recover – you’re not sure if it’s minutes or seconds. Changbin is panting, his forehead against yours, and you never want to move. 

You want to cover him in kisses. You give him just a few, but it feels like enough. 

“So?” you ask, mischievous. “What is worth the wait?” 

“Every second,” he sighs. “Fucking the woman of my dreams.” 

You shake your head, biting your lip, smiling. “Well, I will say this,” you say, your voice hoarse. “It’s my first time fucking on a motorcycle.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Changbin says with a smirk. “Did you like it?”

“Fuck yes.”

“Then let’s do it again. I need that pussy to drip on that leather so much it’ll leave a stain.” 

You bite your lip. “That was filthy, Changbin.” 

“I’m not sorry for it.” 

You grab his face by the chin and kiss him. “You better not be.”

The next night, you go over to the Vices’ clubhouse for a party, and there’s a cake waiting for you. It reads “congrats! you finally fucked” – and Minho howls in laughter when he sees the look on your face. 

“Really?” you sigh.

“I’m just proud of you,” he says, stroking your hair. 

You look for Changbin, and easily find him – he’s smirking not far behind. It’s not that you didn’t believe Minho when he said he wouldn’t mind you fucking his Vice, but it’s a relief to see it’s actually true. The two even seem closer than before, playing a friendly game of Texas Hold’em together, testing each other’s poker faces. 

You find yourself talking to Chan’s old lady a lot, and she tells you a few stories about the club, about her first months around them, and you’re laughing so hard there are tears in your eyes. She’s hilarious - and you catch glimpses of Chan looking at her adoringly. 

After a quick run to the bathroom, you want to take some air - you go through the garage, which is the quickest way from there, and you open the door of the office on Felix making out with Cherry. 

“Oops. Fuck. Sorry.” 

You peck your lips, trying really hard not to laugh.

“No worries,” Felix smiles brightly before he cups Cherry’s cheek again, sinking into her arms, kissing her deep. 

You stay for a second too long because Felix looks like an amazing kisser but you eventually close the door, giggling hysterically. 

“So that’s where he is, the little fucker.” 

You turn around, jumping at the voice behind you - to your surprise, it’s Hyunjin. He’s tied his hair back and is wearing a leather jacket. How on theme. 

“Told me he’d meet me outside. Guess he forgot.” 

You gape at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

“Felix invited me. Said you were having a party. I brought a guest, too.” 

You glance behind his shoulder, expecting his girlfriend, but it’s Seungmin you find standing there. He looks a little embarrassed to be there, staying back, as if afraid to come closer. 

“Min,” you mutter, advancing towards him. 

“I know what I said.” He raises his hands. “I just, I was alone, and I wanted to check up on you, and…” 

He stops talking when you collapse in his arms. It feels so good to have your friend here. All your people here. Your heart could burst with happiness - and it has nothing to do with the few drinks you’ve had. 

“I still don’t like them,” Seungmin mumbles into your hair. “But I heard the parties were pretty cool.” 

“Let’s get you a drink, then,” you say, clenching his hand. 

Hyunjin smiles fondly at both of you. 

“Adorable. Can I get a fucking drink for once?” 

You grab Hyunjin’s hand as well, smiling widely, and lead them inside. Everyone is happy to see them - Minho welcomes Seungmin with a smile, and Changbin goes behind the bar to prepare shots for you three. You take them a little too quickly, laughing. Seungmin takes some time to unwind, but you let him - you understand his reservations more than most. You’re just happy he’s there. 

You know he’s being your friend.

And you want to be his. 

You play darts together as Hyunjin, Changbin, and a few others take over the pool table. Felix and Cherry are nowhere to be seen - Minho starts a game of Mario Party with Jisung, who is just sitting there with the controller in his hands, not even playing. From the vacant look in his eyes, he’s stoned out of his mind. The atmosphere is relaxed, the music not too loud. 

That’s when you hear the police sirens. 

At first, they sound faint, buried under the sound of music and conversation - but soon the blue and red lights shine through the windows and no one can ignore them. You see Changbin tense, but Minho stays calm, sitting on a couch, legs sprawled. Changbin walks over to them, utters a few words in his ear, and they both nod. You catch Minho’s eyes - he winks at you. 

You grab Seungmin’s hand. 

“What’s going on?” he asks you in your ear.

“I don’t know,” you reply nervously.

A few police officers enter the clubhouse, led by their sheriff. Jeongin is among them, but he’s not smiling as he usually is. Instead, he looks around like he’s going to spit on the floor in disgust. His colleagues are the same. 

Changbin waves towards the bar, and the music gets cut off. 

The silence is deafening. 

“Having a little party, are you?” the sheriff says, looking at Minho, who still hasn’t moved. “Celebrating something?” 

Minho smirks. “The pleasures of the flesh,” he replies smugly. “I’d offer you cake, but there isn’t any left.” 

“How about a drink, then?” 

It’s like time is slowed for a few seconds, as the sheriff and Minho stare at each other - you look at Jeongin questioningly, and he winks at you. Oh. 

“Prospect,” Minho says. You notice Felix has just arrived in the room, his hair dischevelved, his lips swollen. 

“Yes, boss?” 

Cherry is hiding behind him, giggling silently. 

“Get a drink for the sheriff and his friends, will you? The good stuff.” 

“Right away, boss.” 

It’s then that the sheriff breaks into a wide grin, walking to Minho to shake his hand. The music starts again, and the other police officers disperse around the room, their serious looks completely gone. 

“What was that all about?” Seungmin breathes, shaking his head. 

“Must be some inside joke,” you reply nervously - it has unsettled you, too. 

“Holy shit, is that Kim Seungmin I see?” 

Jeongin barks out a delighted laugh as he walks towards both of you, pulling Seungmin into a hug. He ruffles his hair, Seungmin sighing deeply. 

“Turned to the dark side, have you?” 

“No,” Seungmin retorts, pushing Jeongin away. “Just… playing darts.” 

“Don’t tease him, Jeongin, will you?” you tell the officer with a glare. 

Jeongin raises his hands. “Cross my heart, hope to die.” 

“Tssk. The last time I heard you say that was at the town barbecue after you promised not to flirt with my cousin and you ended up flirting with my mother,” Seungmin says darkly. 

“Well she wasn’t your cousin, was she?” 

Still, Seungmin looks like he has relaxed again, and the boys start to move towards the bar - but you feel a hand on your waist, sliding from your back to your stomach. Minho spins you around this way, his eyes digging into yours. 

“Missing some Trouble,” he breathes against your lips. He smells like vodka and gasoline, and it’s intoxicating. 

“Don’t you have enough of that?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at the sheriff, who is currently doing shots with the club’s secretary, whom you’ve found out is Chan’s uncle, one of only ones from the old generation who is still alive. 

“They always do that,” Minho chuckles. “Their little show. Try to act like they’ve still got any kind of authority around here.”

“Hm. But you’re it, aren’t you?” 

“You know it, Trouble,” he growls, embracing you in a deep kiss.

It feels a little embarrassing to do so in the middle of the room where there are so many people you know - Hyunjin, Seungmin, even Changbin who days ago was fucking you on his bike - but you don’t push him away. It’s not like they don’t know. Everyone is too busy drinking and partying to care, anyway. 

So you kiss him back, hungrily, and he squeezes your ass. You slap his chest in response. 

“You know what your nickname should be?” you squint your eyes at him. “Greedy.” 

“Greedy and Trouble. We make a good pair.” 

You chuckle. Something flashes in Minho’s eyes, and he grins. 

“Sparkle some Vice in there and you’ve got one hell of a party.” 

You stare back at him, eyes wide. “You mean…” 

“Wouldn’t you love it, Trouble?” he mutters, his soft lips grazing your jaw, your neck. You shiver against him.

“The two of us, just for you. Two mouths to kiss you. Two tongues to lick you up and down,” he continues, kissing your neck. You close your eyes, not even caring about how exposed you are. “Four hands to worship all parts of you.” 

He comes back up to kiss your cheek, his lips then grazing your ear. 

“Two hard dicks to fuck you until you can’t breathe.” 

You gulp, indulging in the fantasy - the tension between your legs is almost unbearable, and you have to breathe out slowly to calm yourself. 

“That sounds a little overwhelming,” you say, opening your eyes to look at him. 

Of course, he looks particularly happy with himself. “Oh, don’t worry. We can go slow. Ease you into it. But I think you’d like it. Have you ever done it?” 

“A threesome?” you ask. When he nods, you shake your head. “No.” 

Minho smiles. “Then think about it.” 

He laughs. 

“Although I think I already have my answer. You’re soaked, aren’t you? I can smell it on you.” 

You slap his chest again, and he keeps laughing, but he’s not mocking you. 

“Wait for me in my office,” he says. 

You nod as he walks away. You head for the bar, and get yourself a shot. Minho is talking to Changbin, who glances at you. Is this happening tonight? Oh God. You’re not prepared for this. Still, you can’t stop it. You won’t. 

You are shuddering in advance. 

You look for Seungmin, because you don’t want to just disappear on him, but he’s in a deep conversation with Jeongin. His smile is calm and sincere, and he looks happy, so you’re not too worried. You head for Minho’s office, closing the door behind you. The sound coming from the main room is faint, and the sudden calm acts like a cold shower. 

What the fuck are you doing? 

You really should stop. It’s getting out of hand - but you can’t bring yourself to. You know the second Minho will walk in, you won’t be able to say no. He has a hold on you - a delightful, heavenly hold. And Changbin. Changbin, you feel, has become a part of you, settled into your heart without difficulty. It’s just easy with him. You know you can’t have them both. Not for more than a few hours. 

You still want to. Your heart is in their hands. 

You’ll have to let them go at some point.

Both of them. 

You’ll have to see them with other partners. You’re not jealous. 

But you’re a little possessive. 

You’ll have to keep living your life. How, you’re not sure. You feel yourself bound to the club now. Too many ways in.

No way out. 

Lost in your thoughts, you jump when the door opens. Only Minho walks in, though, and he doesn’t leave you any time to say something - he just grabs your face in his hands and pulls you into a kiss. You moan against his mouth, pushed against the desk, burying your hands in his hair. 

“Such good memories from this room,” he chuckles after kissing you for so long your lips feel raw. He bites your lower lip, inciting a little whimper from you. “I can barely get any work done here anymore, I just keep thinking about it and get hard.” 

You laugh, maybe a little too enthusiastically. “Really?” 

“That makes you happy, doesn’t it?” he chuckles. 

“Well. I’ve dreamed about ruining your life for some time now,” you admit cheekily. 

He slaps your ass. “My little Trouble. Except it hasn’t exactly gone as planned, right?”

“Hm. You don’t know that,” you admit, kissing his cheek, his jaw, the corners of his lips. 

“You’re telling me it’s all part of your evil plan to fuck not only one, but two Vices?” 

“Going down the hierarchy,” you say. “I’m gonna burn it all down.” 

Minho laughs and kisses you again. 

“Let’s fuck some sense into you,” Minho breathes. “After tonight you won’t want to leave.” 

“I already don’t,” you sigh before you can think about what you’re saying. Minho stops for a fraction of a second, but soon kisses you again, even more feverishly. You swirl your tongue around his, grinding your hips against his. 

He kisses you slowly and deeply, and you’re so lost in the moment you don’t hear the office door opening and closing. You faintly hear the sound of a lock, and suddenly there’s another pair of hands on you, fingers pushing away your hair, lips kissing your neck. 

“Sorry, Vice,” Minho says. “We got started without you.”

“That’s fine,” Changbin breathes. 

You’re pressed between both, feeling your thoughts already wander off. Your throat is dry, your chest in a tight knot. You turn to Changbin, because you need to see him. He’s looking at you, softly, hungrily. 

“Hi,” he mutters. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you. You look beautiful tonight.” 

It’s a bit hard to focus because Minho is pressed against you, his lips not leaving your skin. 

“Changbin,” you breathe, sliding a hand on the back of his neck. “Are you really okay with this?” 

“Are you?” he asks. 

You nod, although a little timidly. 

“Then yes,” he says, leaning towards you. 

He steals your lips. Minho caresses you, grabbing your breasts to massage them, and you moan in Changbin’s mouth. Then it’s Minho you’re kissing, Changbin breathing hard on your skin. It feels like a dance, and you are swept away, letting your body relax. You can trust them. 

You’ve only been kissing for less than a minute when someone knocks on the door. You all tense, like you’re kids getting caught, and Minho leaves you in Changbin’s arms to answer the door. He envelops you, devouring your lips, and you desperately want to rip off his clothes to see him better. 

You faintly hear Chan’s voice on the other side of the door, catching a few words - Felix, fire, the sheriff - and when the door closes, you know it’s over. 

“Sorry, Trouble,” Minho says. He looks good with his hair ruffled by you, his lips bright red. “Felix has apparently set fire to a car outside, so I need to take care of that before he gets arrested. Vice, I need you to talk to the sheriff, he’ll only listen to you.” 

Changbin lets out an annoyed sigh. “That fucking kid, I swear…” 

Minho gives you a smile. “Don’t worry, doll. Minor setback. We’ll have to do this another time.” 

“That’s okay.” 

He kisses your cheek, and Changbin your forehead. They leave the room, and you’re left there, frustrated but slightly amused.

Hello! Thank you sooo much for reading. I hope you enjoyed the second part of this story. Let me know what you thought with a comment if you can, it's motivation fuel, and who knows, it might help me post the rest faster. Lots of love xx

#changbin x reader #changbin x you #changbin x y/n #lee know x reader #lee know x you #lee know x y/n #seo changbin x y/n #seo changbin x reader #seo changbin x you #seo changbin smut #changbin smut #lee know smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz x you #skz x reader #skz x y/n #stray kids x you #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x reader

[violetmenace62]

Changeling, Non-Refundable

When I died at age seven you tried to hide the fact and push it away but the reality is that I’ve never been the same since.

When you sunk your knife into my chest you didn’t pierce the blade into my heart, you made clean cuts around it like a surgeon with his scalpel. Still thumping in your hand you put my heart in a tupperware box like a display case to store on your shelf for your personal viewing.

When you kiss me on the head and make a point to wrap your arms around me tighter in the lobby of our flat than you do when we’re inside. When I call you on the phone you make a point of saying “naughty girl, you promised you would call me three times a week”.

What’s worse than knowing someone you love doesn’t love you back is knowing someone loves a version of you that you don’t remember. Every video from your Facebook, every photograph dad sends in our group chat I see a stranger I’m supposed to recognise.

Mom, you tell me what a good girl I was. Angel’s little angel in pink sunglasses and Hello Kitty socks. When you reminisce I feel like a changeling who’s never been returned. Somewhere out there the real me is stuck in a faery ring waiting for you to burn me with a brand of hot iron.

Sometimes I wish it was clear how I should think of you. You stab me with a kitchen knife but you kiss the puncture wound. Your tears drip from your face onto mine and I can’t tell where yours start and mine ends.

I want to strip myself of my skin and show you who I really am. There’s no question of how you’d react— you’d scream, cry, beg, break down into the mess you were in junior year. I’d say “this is me mom” and you would take it as me, blaming you for how I turned out. The pride I feel for myself is nothing. It's wrong and twisted. Maybe I’m no man but I’d contort my body and gut myself over and over just to be your good girl again.

When you told me I don’t love or care about you my life ended for the second time. The world came crashing down, down, down. My throat went raw from my last breath’s scream and I sunk to my knees, an unimaginable low.

Some things you just inherit from your mother, generational hurt our unspoken family heirloom. From your mom you got the mask you wear to pretend it never happened. From you I got the sting on my cheeks from the habit I picked up from you.

#poetry #writers and poets #poem #poems #writers of tumblr #pleakley's poetry #confessional poetry #cptsd #mommy issues #mental health #trans poets on tumblr #trans experience #trans boy #emotionally immature parents

[poisoned-peppermint]

take these to try and help heal the damage Wilbur Soot has dealt upon us

~~~~~~~

Bad: *smiles seductively, while swirling a glass of red wine* I am severely emotionally unstable.

~~~~~~~

Dream XD: My house has a stained glass window and I am a slut~

Foolish: Pope Francis?!

~~~~~~~~

Hannah: I love calling myself a bitch but if a man calls me a bitch I’m gonna step on his throat an snap his neck

~~~~~~~~

Sneeg:You know what really gets my goat

 Ranboo: el chupacabra

~~~~~~~~

Skeppy to Bad: Hey bro I just found this awesome thing called kissing me right on the lips wanna try.

~~~~~~~

Ranboo: *ordering cake over the phone* 

Store attendant: “And what would you like the cake to say”

Ranboo: *covers phone to ask Tubbo*

Ranboo: Do we want a talking cake?

~~~~~~~

Bad: Sometimes your body isn’t meant to run on starbucks hot chocolate and glitter lip gloss, but then again life is about challenging the status quo.

~~~~~~~

Sapnap: Soon as he unblocks me the wedding is back on!

~~~~~~~~

Ranboo: Hawaiian shirt+dark bags under eyes is a good look….it says yeah I would really love to be carefree and relaxed right now but certain circumstances have made that impossible.

~~~~~~~~

Sam to Ponk: girl…I saw you shrieking in the middle of the forest to summon terrifying creatures.

Can I get your number?

~~~~~~~~

Velvet to Ant: Your talking mad shit for a guy within kissing distance

~~~~~~~~

Tubbo: If god isn’t real then why does the palm of man fit so perfectly against the throat of a goose

Ranboo: How have you acquired this info while still being alive?!

~~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Can you take off the corset? I can’t breathe

Bad: Well if you’d stop laughing for one second, you will admit it looks great on me.

~~~~~~~~

Wilbur: I’m covered in blood for sexy reasons 

Wilbur: Also I just got stabbed

Wilbur: don’t suppose there's anyone willing to tenderly clean, stitch and bandage my wounds while calling an idiot in an exasperatedly fond tone of voice is there?

~~~~~~~~

Tommy: Got my fangs sharpened and claire’s

~~~~~~~~

Tubbo: *Blushes and points gun at you*

~~~~~~~~

Tubbo: Do bugs even take fall damage? 

Ranboo: What are you smoking?

~~~~~~~~

Tommy: When I say I’m “feral” it doesn't always mean I'm angry. Maybe I’m stupid and if you give me food you’ll earn my trust and I’ll follow you around.

~~~~~~~~

Quackity: I am very handsome. Sometimes I look in the mirror and think to myself “I’ve committed horrible acts”

~~~~~~~~

Skeppy: What’s your deepest kink?

Techno: Idk. I’m a romantic. So I guess committing murder together.

~~~~~~~

Eret: Am I a boy? Am I a girl? It doesn't matter. I’m going to burn your house down.

~~~~~~~

Sam:You’re under arrest for being so darn cute! Haha! Just joking, we know you killed that man.

~~~~~~

Bad: Today my diet consisted of 5 guys and popeyes so I’m probably going to live forever.

Foolish: you…. ate 5 whole people……

Bad: 6 counting popeye.

~~~~~~

Puffy : Bro stop chanting in dead languages you’re scaring the hoes

Skeppy : I’m summoning the hoes you fool

~~~~~~~

Wilbur: Petplay but I dress like an opossum and scream at you till you hit me with a broom.

~~~~~~

Tommy:Do I believe in romance…not sure. Am I obsessed with it…absolutely.

~~~~~~

Wilbur: I can’t mansplain manipulate manwhore my way out of this one boys

~~~~~~

Ranboo at 3am: *crying*

Tubbo: omg what’s wrong 

Ranboo shaking: nothing…

Tubbo: it’s ok just say it

Ranboo: idk i just feel like if we were born worms you wouldn’t like me…would you even marry me? whatever, just forget it.

~~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Nobody cares.

Bad: Be silent, keep your forked behind it’s teeth, I have not passed through fire and death to exchange words with a witless worm.

Skeppy: blow me

~~~~~~~~

Bad: ‘Mobsters are part of a ‘mob’. And so you'd think ‘lobsters’ would be part of a ‘lob’, but ohohohhohoho, life just isn’t so simple!

~~~~~~~~

Eret: *uses their thumbs to lift his bra straps like an old timey political man would with his suspenders* I’m the mayor of titty city, bitch.

~~~~~~~~

Bad: sure, I’m a little stupid but that’s like 80% of my charm!!

~~~~~~~

Skeppy: yeah he says he loves you but would he unleash cosmic horrors beyond mankind's comprehension on the world for you?

~~~~~~~

Bad: I think making sense is optional, sometimes I just be talking.

~~~~~~~~

Gumi: Go ahead and get into the pond since you wanna act like a silly goose 

~~~~~~~

Tubbo: What a great nap, I feel totally disoriented and I’m frothing with hate

~~~~~~~

Bad: [pulls out a knife] 

Foolish: How many of those do you have?

Bad, pulling out more: How many do you need?

~~~~~~~~

Bad: Could a depressed person do THIS!!

[he says at 12:15am as he folds his laundry that came out of the dryer six days ago]

~~~~~~~~

Techno: Due to personal reasons I will be named an enemy of the state.

~~~~~~~~

Wilbur: I was born for politics. I have great hair and I love lying.

~~~~~~~~

Bad: If I'm really as evil as you say I am, then have the gods strike me down where I stand.

*Lightning strikes Bad*

Bad: Ha! Nice try, Muffin head! Next time, give it your A-game!

~~~~~~~~~

eat regain your strength for we have much more lore ahead

#dream mcyt #incorrect quotes #mcyt incorrect quotes #dsmp #badboyhalo #dsmp bbh #dreamxd #foolish gamers #hannahxxrose #dsmp incorrect quotes #skeppy #sneegsnag #ranboo #sneeg my beloved #sapnap #poor poor sapnap #bad is still emotionally unstable #have you seen what he's doing to foolish #absolutely feral behavior #awsamdude #PONK MY BELOVED #dsmp tubbo #tubbo is unhinged and i love him #antfrost #velvetiscake #dsmp wilbur #tommyinnit #quackity #technoblade #skephalo

[sweetpxxches]

I got time. [Hank x AFAB Reader]

Contains: Smut, fluff, mild blood stuffs.

The reader is AFAB but goes by gender neutral pronouns. 

The first fic I post here and it’s just me being a simp for Hank as of late my lords above don’t look at me and my shame but enjoy it anyway LMAO

Somewhere, in Nevada, settles a group of mercenaries that managed to crawl their ways into a hideout where there was a scarce amount of grunts and guards that were on the hunt for them. You were there, laying flat on a worn down couch breathing lightly, though wincing through your teeth every once in a while as Sanford was bandaging a gashing wound on your back. You cursed under your breath unsure of how long the pain was going to last, the feeling of your skin burning was unbearable, but alas it finally was over when Sanford lightly patted your hip and getting off of you with a “You’re good to go,” and turning over to Deimos who was asking for a smoke. It’s been a rough week, with Hank going solo in most of his tasks there wasn’t a lot to hope for at the end of the day. But knowing him, he’s certainly doing just fine and if more, having the time of his life doing what he loves most. Sometimes you wonder if he even thinks about you. “Hey, Mercenary.” Deimos called out to you. You sat up grumbling, rubbing the now bandaged wound as you turned to gaze over Deimos, who was slumped by a window, legs spread apart on a chair puffing smoke out to the direction of the open window.

“Yeah?” Was all you could say. Deimos held his cigarette in his mouth, using his hands to gesture out the window. With that silent statement was all you needed to know that Hank’s finally made his way back to his crew. You sprung up only to pause midway from the stabbing pain you forgot existed, and held your side to keep going forward. “Settle down, hot shot. I’m sure Hank’s coming in on his own.” Deimos snickered, puffing the smoke through his mouth as he tips his hat over his eyes, leaning back to relax. You pouted at him, but your head jerked back when you heard the door open, Hank standing there to see his crewmates doing just fine. Immediately, you rushed over to hug the behemoth of a man who you could only level at his chest. Because of the tough muscle, it didn’t really make Hank budge much from you just practically attempting a tackle-hug on him. “Hey, you.” Hank simply stated, ruffling your hair as he closed the door behind him. “I haven’t heard from you in a while, but that’s what I’d expect since I’ve been fucked over a few times from those grunts.”

“Good to see you back, Hank.” Sanford welcomed, who was cleaning his hook by Deimos. “Anything new?” “Just a few files of past conversations between Sheriff, Jebus, and the Auditor.” Hank held up folders, tossing them over to Sanford as he slumped into the couch you sat on before, stretching back and leaning his head back. “I’m starting to wonder where these fuckers are making their planned dates these days, just seeing them talk all that talk and yet have their dogs do all the dirty work annoys me.” Sanford huffed, looking down at his weapon. “Yeah well, it keeps them busy being idiots while we find more about what’s going on behind the scenes with them. How’s the conditions with everyone?” Hank asked. “Deimos nearly lost a leg, but he’s recovering, Mercenary’s back got gashed but I handled the wound, nothing too extreme. I did fine so far.” Sanford replied, though Hank looked over to you. “Shit, you getting rusty with the whole ‘look behind’?” Hank teased, poking your head as you puffed your cheeks.

“Don’t start playing with me, it’s bad enough that I’m hurt as it already is.” You retorted, settling back down on the couch, cursing under your breath once more as you felt the stinging. Though you couldn’t help but personally scoff at Hank’s obvious worries being plastered as banter. He’s not really the type to show his worries over anyone, even to his closest comrades. Deimos hummed, looking over to Hank. “Hey, you think we can call this a small break for us all? I’m beat.” You sighed, nodding at his response. “Yeah, Deimos is right, I’m exhausted, and I ain’t going to run around with this back ache.” It wasn’t long until Hank lazily waved off of the statements. “Alright, alright, I’m sure we can call this a night for us all.” With that, the group sighed in relief. “Thank God, in that case I’m gonna go call it a night, I ain’t gonna miss this opportunity of sleep.” Deimos stated, hopping off his seat as he burned out his cigarette, flicking it off to the floor. Sanford watched him leave, and began to sit up himself. “I’ll be spectating the area, that way in case anyone gets too close I’ll take them down and give you guys the que.” He stretched, grabbing his hook and a rifle in both hands making his way out the door. Deimos went upstairs, and Sanford was outside. Which then left you and Hank.

It was kind of awkward at first, you weren’t sure what you wanted to say or even do, but Hank looked over to you. “What about you? You’re the one that’s been complaining all night.” He smirked, and you lightly shoved him. “Oh, shut up. I don’t have time for your uncalled for bullying.” You joked, but he seemed to be watching your every move. You weren’t so sure if this was just him taking the joke too seriously, or there’s something going on his mind. But he shrugged it off, leaning on the other side of the couch, hands behind his head. “You talk too much sometimes, you know that, right?” “Look who’s talking.” You crossed your arms, raising a brow. Where was he even going with this? You weren’t sure. Or were you overthinking things? Then again, just look how he’s behaving, it’s almost as if...

“Hey, eyes up here.” Hank tilted his head, raising a brow back at you. You snapped out of it, cheeks flushed. “Hey, shut up!” You didn’t even know what to say for yourself other than you may be looking at Hank a little more than you should. It was a moment of silence, you looking away and leaning on the other side of the couch, ignoring Hank’s curious gaze. His red tinted glasses shined, and he sat up. “Hey, you’ve been acting pretty weird as of late. What’s going on in your mind, Mercenary?” He asked. You turned your head to him, “Nothing! I’ve just been stressed and exhausted from all of this, don’t you know how tiring it is at times? Actually, don’t answer that. You’re never tired.” You then turned back, but Hank scoffed at you. “Someone’s feisty. Listen, I can get a good guess as to why you’re acting this way, and it’s because you missed me, wasn’t it?”

Oh, you hated how right he was. With a furrowed brow, you eyed at him, but not turning completely just yet. “What’s it to you?” You simply put, and he knew where this was going. “Listen Merc, I know you hate my guts whenever I turn away from you, but I promise ya it isn’t because I want to, it’s just I’m a busy guy.” He placed a hand on your shoulder, and your tension let loose immediately. “I know Hank, but it’s just it’s hard to do things without you.” You then turned completely to him, who was already close to your face, and that caught you by surprise. “What, can’t do things on your own, sweetheart?” Pet names. He’s giving you pet names now. May Jebus save your soul now. “It’s not that, it’s just...”  “It’s just what?” He continued, fixing a strand of your hair behind your ear. You couldn’t even make eye contact to hose red tint shades. “It’s just... I miss you too much to last without you for that long, Hank.” You finally admitted, sighing in defeat. Hank lifted your chin, and tugged you close. “Babe, it’s okay. I promise you that’ll be the last time I keep you away.”

“For now, isn’t it?” You replied.

It was silence at first. “Yeah. But it’s the thought that counts, right?” Hank said, and you couldn’t help but chuckle lightly, even if it hurts to know he might do this again eventually. But that’s later, and this is now, and you can tell Hank is thinking the same way. It wasn’t until he tugged his bandana off his chin, revealing that grotesque zombie-looking metal jaw. But to you, you found that the best thing about him. “How about I’ll make it up tonight with something special?” Hank brushed his nose against yours, feeling your soft breath against his. “... But aren’t you going to be busy?”

“I got time. Take that armor off, Mercenary. I’m gonna make up those days I missed you.” Did he just admit he missed you just as much?

You couldn’t even process that, because Hank immediately filled the gap to give you a somewhat sloppy kiss, of course with him lacking lips, you couldn’t really make way with it, but that’s not what he had in store, it was that tongue he holds. You shuttered as you felt it glide across your lips, wanting to get into your mouth. You didn’t hesitate until you began unbuckling your hefty armor, letting Hank take over. You gasped as he slid his tongue passed your lips, his drool dripping onto your chest but you couldn’t care, the mess wasn’t gonna get any cleaner anyway. His massive figure mounted above you as you leaned back onto the couch, letting his large hands gently caress your sides as you wrapped your arms behind his neck. However, despite it, you flinched at the wound causing you pain, but Hank knew he had to be careful with it. He didn’t want you to hurt throughout, so he decided to keep his hands gentle on the grip of your sides. 

His tongue reached every inch of your mouth, circling it with your own tongue as you grew desperate for him to touch you further. You held your head back as he began to bite down on your shoulder, hands beginning to venture more around your body.

“Hey, you won’t be getting just war scars now, huh?” Hank joked. “Just shut up and fuck me up, Hank.” You ordered. That hit a certain spot in Hank, making him want to do just exactly that. He didn’t hesitate any further, grabbing your bottoms with a swift tug down, letting you move your legs to take them off. He wasn’t the type to take off his own clothing, but when it comes to his partners, that’s a different story. He kept one hand on your hip as the other made way under your lower garments, large digits gently caressing your slit as he kept his head nestled between your neck and shoulder, enjoying your scent as well as your soft sounds. “Didn’t take long for you to get that wet, huh? Just how long have you been thinking about me? About this? You’re a wonder, Merc.” Hank teased, biting your ear as his two fingers spread your slit open, making you gasp as his middle finger lightly rubbed your clit. He wasn’t the most experienced, but when it comes to trying to find the right spot, he does it well. The feeling of your lower hips jolt as he kept a caringly pace with rubbing your clit had him wish he could devour you whole, but patience was what he needed. 

Hank leaned back, moving himself down to position himself between your legs, your gaze almost begging for him to continue, and it wasn’t long until he took your beckoning as his long yet slender tongue made way to press against your cunt. You held your head back, keeping your volume low so you don’t get Deimos’s attention. But with the feeling of Hank’s wet tongue circle around your clit more efficiently than his fingers did, it was hard to keep it to yourself. It was a little bit of a hassle knowing there’s really nothing there you could get a hold of on his head, with a lack of hair and all, but there was an attempted to hold his head down, making him grunt as he knew what you’re asking for. His tongue slid down, pressing itself inside your cunt. The feeling of it made you quiver, Hank feeling your walls shutter from the tension his tongue was giving. This man was practically spoiling you, feeling your toes curl as you raised your hips at Hank, but he held you down so he can do most of the work. A fair share between you two, and you were already getting at your limits. Hank noticed your body shaking up, and he held back himself once more only to hear you whimper. Gods, he loved how sweet you could be. “Easy there, I’m not gonna leave you hanging.” Hank settled himself between your legs once more, this time he was unbuckling his belt and proceeding to unzip his pants. You bit your lip as you saw his large girth of a cock was pulled out, it was obvious he was growing impatient. He settled your legs around his hips, of course keeping mind about your wound. It was adorable how caring he can be with you.

He leaned over, his head pressing against yours as he began to position himself against your wet entrance, you didn’t even know what to say. Just seeing him above you, his muscular figure taking hold of you and taking what is yours his own, it drove you crazy. But he wasn’t being selfish with his affection, he knew he needed you just as much as you did. You held onto his shoulders, embracing it as his cock head pressed against your cunt, then slowly and surely, it broke way inside you. You winced, his hands on your hips to keep you put. “Are you doing alright there, Merc?” Hank whispered in your ear. You could only nod, and by god you didn’t want to speak any time soon. If you opened your mouth, you’d be gasping and moaning, and it’s already a chore keeping it down. Hank’s chuckle was heard, a low rumble in his chest as he began to move his hips slowly and carefully. You kissed his neck, feeling yourself stretch from his large girth, it was surprising you could of even managed to handle it this well. Hank could hear your small moans, and he hoped the volume will get louder, not caring if the other mercenaries could hear them. “Come on, Merc. I know you have a lot more in you, don’t have to be shy.” Hank cooed, his hands brushing up to give your breasts a soft squeeze, you looked away, trying to ignore him. But this just gave him a challenge.

“Merc, come on.” He spoke up, his hands now sliding under your shirt to fondle your breasts better, your cheeks flared up with a crimson red as he began to pick up the pace. The wet sounds of his body meeting against your own was growing loud, the sheer lewd sounds was driving you both wild. You couldn’t help but hold your head back, a moan escaping your lips. “That’s it, just like that. C’mon and do it louder.” Hank retorted, as his hands went back to your hips, moving your body against his, letting his whole shaft reach the ends of you. Your eyes widened, a loud squeak was heard out of you, and it made Hank laugh. “Good, that’s what I wanted.” Hank snarled, his pace now getting vigorous and desperate. He wasn’t slowing down for you, and you tried to grab his back, clawing at what you could. Now it’s finally reaching it’s point, you began moaning like no tomorrow, your volume was loud and you felt Hank became balls deep inside you, your walls tightening as he kept up the rough pace. “H-Hank, holy fuck Hank, calm down!” You plead, but he didn’t seem to hear you, the sound of the couch creaking as the hard wet slaps continued, you were seeing stars at this rate. But he wasn’t done, feeling himself get close, he placed one hand down to your clit, rubbing it as he continued to thrust. You groaned, feeling yourself beginning to come undone. “Cum for me, baby.” Hank requested, and you did what he told you to. Your body jolting as you reached a climax, but as you did so, Hank slammed himself deep inside you, releasing his thick warm ropes of cum inside you, the amount was overwhelming that it spilled out of you, your moans being muffled with Hank’s tongue making back way into your mouth.

It was a few moments, and Hank held his head and body to see his work. You were dazed, staring at the ceiling. “Seems like I overdid it, huh?” Hank asked, but you just weakly held up a thumbs up, simply saying “You did great.” As you grew limp, exhausted. Hank scoffed, slipping his cock out of you and watching the excess of cum leak out of you. As he pulled his cock in and zipped his pants, he scooped you up to take you upstairs. Settling your sleeping body on a bed, and he turned over to see a Deimos, disgruntled at them.

“Can’t you two be more fucking quiet next time?” Deimos stated, laying back down on his own bed. Hank could only chuckle at him. “Guess I’ll get louder next time just to spite your ass, Deimos.”

Meanwhile, Sanford outside could only be unsurprised at the fact you and Hank had fun while he was out drinking and keeping check of the area.

#hank x reader #Hank x you #hank wimbleton #fanfic #madness combat #smut #smut warning #Sanford #Deimos #thisis my first post and it's hank railing you #yeah that's how it be #JIURHGFIURHIUGR #hope u enjoyed!

[ashintheairlikesnow]

We Keep Going, That’s All

@whimpers-and-whumpers , this is for you. Hope your surgery goes well today!

CW: Aftermath of near-death, hospital whump, recovery whump, survivor's guilt, alcohol use, referenced drug use

Ryan shows up to the hospital with Coke bottles full of liquid that absolutely is not Coke - or not much of it, anyway - and Nate doesn't refuse the gift.

He twists off the plastic cap and takes a drink, wincing at the burn down his throat. "Jesus, Ryan, this is m-m-more Jack than Coke."

"Yeah, well. Figured we could use some relaxing." Ryan gives him a slight smile, and the bruising that's been along his jaw - the obvious press of fingers - is finally starting to fade. Off-white bandages ring his neck, hiding from direct view the deep, slowly healing gashes rubbed in by the iron collar he'd worn for a year.

There are other wounds, Nate knows, underneath the lightly-draped black t-shirt Ryan wears, under his effortlessly casual, perfectly-on-trend jeans.

There are deeper wounds still entirely underneath his skin, inside his head. Nate knows those even better. He doesn't begrudge Ryan the need to find some way to fuzz out the edges of what must be written in stark, bright blood in his memory.

Nate spent a year and a half doing the same, after all, before Bram came back for Danny again.

"How is he?" Ryan asks, settling into a hard wooden chair with plastic back and cushion in a dull pastel mauve. "Any different?”

"Then y-yesterday?" Nate exhales, slowly, rubbing at his unshaven jaw. The stubble prickles his fingertips, itches a little as it grows in. There's a razor in the private room's little bathroom, but he doesn't have the energy to use it. All of Nate's energy now is focused entirely around staying right here, being right here, for the rare moments that Danny is both awake and himself.

"Yesterday wasn't... great.”

"No, it wasn't." Nate sighs, leaning over in the chair he sits in, next to Ryan, reaching out with his good left hand to gently nudge a bit of wavy red away from over Danny's face.

The love of his life - the man he's killed for, twice, and would kill for again - lays on his stomach with his head turned to one side. The hospital blanket is pulled up nearly to his chin, hiding from view the fact that nearly all of Danny seems made of bandages these days, bandages and tubes and wires. He breathes slowly, a drugged deep sleep to let his body rest and try desperately to heal itself around the nearly-fatal place the knife went into his back.

He sleeps, more than he's awake. But Nate makes sure that when his eyes open, someone is here for him, every single time.

"Today has been a little b-better, I think," Nate says after a moment's though. He brushes a crumb from the corner of Danny's mouth. "He ate a l-little, this morning. Just Jell-O and a little bit of cereal, but...”

"But something." Ryan nods, takes another drink, looks out the window. Outside, the day is bright and sunny, with a cloudless blue sky. The courtyard below is full of visiting families and patients taking walks through the landscaped flowers, all of them in brilliant bloom. "Have you even left this room since we got here?”

"No." Nate doesn't bother to lie.

Ryan looks over at him, and smiles very slightly. "Remind me to bring you by some multivitamins do you don't die of Vitamin D deficiency.”

"I'm f-fine." Nate takes another drink, feels the warmth slowly spreading through his shoulders, relaxing the knots and tension that have been slowly building day by day. The 'bed' he has here is just a visitor's couch built into the wall, lumpy and hard, with exactly one flat pillow with a scratchy pillowcase. But he'd rather be here than anywhere else. He'll be here for every single second Danny needs him. "I eat oranges for breakfast every d-d-day. No sc-... sc-... scurvy for me.”

"Didn't we joke about scurvy once?" Ryan asks, slightly faintly, looking up at the ceiling. "After Danny came home the first time?”

"M-Maybe. Don't remember. Why do you c-care if I feel good, anyway?”

“My brother can’t fuss over you right now,” Ryan says with a casual shrug. “So someone has to. He’ll never let me live it down if anything happened to you while he’s here. I’ll get chewed out if you get so much as a headcold and we both know it.”

“I d-doubt-”

Danny shifts a little and both men go silent, watching him move in the bed - just an inch or so to the right, his eyes tightly closed, body tensing as even the slightest movement brings a wash of pain.

"It's okay," Nate whispers, and Danny's eyelids flicker, slowly open. The blue in them is hazy and clouded, but not empty. This time, at least, it's Danny who is looking at him, and not the other one, the one that Nate knows only as someone else. The one who runs Danny's body when Danny can't do it any longer.

"Hey," Danny says, in a hoarse whisper. He tries for a smile, and it's faded and wobbly, but it's there. Then he lifts his head a little, looking over to see Ryan. "Oh, you're both... here. How long was I asleep?”

"Four hours or s-s-so," Nate says, standing up - ignoring the twinge of pain in his bad knee - and moving the pillow under Danny's head to still support him even as he moves. A hint of freckled shoulder shows, with its swirling trace of scars from Bram's knife. There's a star carved into the back of his left shoulder that Nate did, at Bram's command, once.

Ryan's gaze be damned, Nate leans over to kiss it, and to kiss one by one the carved letters that are still there, faded, in the back of Danny's neck. A. D. N.

He tries not to feel the guilt that twists in him at the ownership Bram had meant to make obvious, there. His own first initial with Bram's initials, his own... his own culpability.

“How do you feel?” Ryan asks, leaning over close to Danny. 

Danny’s nose wrinkles. “You smell like a liquor store.”

“Yeah, well. When your big brother scares the shit out of you by getting himself stabbed almost to death because of you, maybe you need a little pick-me-up now and then.” Ryan manages a half-cocked smile, but it’s fragile, and they both know it.

With a hiss of pain, Danny moves his hand up the bed, offering it to Ryan, who takes it without hesitation, leaning over so his forehead rests gently against Danny’s. 

“I’m okay,” Danny whispers.

“No, you’re not,” Ryan whispers back. 

Nate moves to sit back in his chair, then stands again, restless. He doesn’t want to sit there but he doesn’t know where he does want to be... until he looks at Danny, thin and dwarfed even by a small hospital bed. He sets down the mostly-jack-and-a-little-coke and climbs into the bed without hesitating, laying down behind Danny on his side, letting his good hand rest just next to a swirl of Danny’s hair on the pillow. 

Danny’s smile widens - not that Nate can see that, from his vantage point. Although Ryan can. “I’ll be okay,” He corrects himself, watching his brother. “They said there’s no sign of paralysis. I’ll walk, I’ll probably even run after a while.” He tries moving and hisses again. “A long while. It’s going to be okay, Ryan.”

“You always were way more optimistic when you were high as balls,” Ryan whispers, and he and Danny laugh, until the action makes Danny whimper at a new spike of pain. “What do we do now, Dan, huh?”

“Keep going,” Danny says, voice low, barely audible even to the two men on either side of him. “That’s all. We keep going.”

“I keep thinking I should’ve died back there, ten times over,” Ryan murmurs. “But every single time, you took the pain for me. I should’ve died-”

“Nah. You’re my little brother. I need you here.” Danny manages to keep the smile, then, and his blue eyes are warm. “If you feel so bad about it, sneak me some of that booze next time, yeah?”

"Dan, I am not going to help you mix IV drugs and alcohol-”

“Just leave it in a really easy-to-reach place and I’ll help myself.”

“Danny. No.”

“Danny yes.”

“Daniel Michaelson-”

“Ryan Niall Michaelson-”

Nate’s rumbling laughter interrupts them. It’s such a rare sound that both of them go immediately silent when they hear it, and Danny even tries to look over his shoulder, gritting his teeth through the ache to see the smile on Nate’s face. It’s slight, nearly private - a smile barely noticeable by anyone who isn’t looking for it.

But Danny is, and through the fog of the painkillers still coursing through his system, he sees it. 

“What?” Ryan says. “What’re you laughing at?”

Nate lays a hand over the star he once carved into Danny’s skin, and moves to rest his nose, just lightly, against the warmth of Danny’s neck, breathing in the scent of him under the hospital-smell that surrounds them. “Nothing,” He says, and Danny shivers a little as his lips move against the curve of the D at the back of his neck. “I’m j-j-just... realizing I’m g-going to listen to you two do this for the r-rest of my life.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Ryan’s voice is dry. 

“No,” Nate says, eyes closed. He can almost feel them in the cabin, like this, just the two of them on days Bram was gone. Lying in the bed wasting the whole morning being warm, just them together. Warm and safe. It feels like being in Danny’s apartment during their year and a half of freedom, the way sometimes when Nate couldn’t get out of bed Danny would just stay with him, holding him, until the pain inside of Nate had lessened enough to let him stand. 

Now it’s his turn to hold Danny. 

-

@tiddiroki @whump-it @bleeding-demon-teeth @finder-of-rings @whumpywhumper @endless-whump @18-toe-beans @pumpkinthefangirl @goneuntil @swordkallya @astrobly @evermetnotforgotten @whumpiary @card-games-and-pain @raigash @whump-tr0pes @orchidscript @wildfaewhump @doveotions @eatyourdamnpears 

#daniel michaelson's story #hospital whump #recovery whump #recovering whumpee #referenced stabbing #referenced drug use #alcohol use #caretakers #caretaker and whumpee #whump #aftermath whump #the bad arc #injured whumpee #survivor's guilt tw

[macaroonkitti]

Can I have some headcanons for a pretty pink boy, pretty please? Legend is my absolute fav and I love hearing stuff about him.

I have a few!

He's got so many scars. Beamos burns, moblin stab wounds, lightning burns, you name it, he probably has them somewhere. All the fairies in the world can't get rid of them, the wound's already healed

Speaking of fairies, he's very good at sensing magical creatures. Fairies and minish (even if he can't see them), for example. He can almost always find fairies if they're nearby. Catching them is another matter

A common one, but Fable is his half sister! He sometimes has to go on diplomatic meetings with her and hates them, dressing up isn't fun. But he has a room in the castle where he stores his stuff

#not necessarily lu #but it works for lu legend too! #ask #headcanons #alttp #legend

[nikkywrites]

Fool, King of Sea (Ocean's Heart Side Story)

Summary: Amphitrite has never seen a divine fool enough face constant rejection for a domain they do not seem to like. Poseidon is, though, the greatest fool she's ever met. And Calypso is a great friend, when she's not being irritating.

*****

One thing that is of short supply in the ocean is good fun.

It can be made, of course, games built around redirecting ships to wrong ports, seeing who can sneak unaided by divinity into captain's quarters, who can race from Crete to Corinth the quickest. Games that are not made for one.

Calypso is good fun when she wants to play, is a challenge Amphitrite loves to play with. They toss their wins back and forth, banter in barbs they only laugh at. Calypso is a great companion, when she is around.

But there are times when she is not.

Alone, Amphitrite gets bored all too quickly, aimlessly searching through the water. She'll rest with her creatures some days, care for them like the pets they all are, but some days she wants excitement and no one is around to deliver.

Then comes something rarer than excitement -- a divine looking to be king.

It is obvious at a glance that this man does not belong. He is tall with thin hips and too much rage boiling in his bones. He must be some sort of new, thinking he can demand ocean to let him rule. It chooses who it will.

Watching this godling try to force himself upon her home is amusing. It remains cold, rejecting and rejecting him. What a fool, to keep trying.

He slinks away eventually, face pinched and muscles coiled tight. There's a rage boiling in his blood, rage the water rejected without hesitation. Amphitrite laughs at his retreat. It is little wonder her domain does not want him. He is entirely too hot for the cold waters. He will boil her home to steam or it will shatter him.

Ah. Well, it was nice while it lasted. Divines did not handle rejection. He would not face the humiliation again, however amusing it would have been to watch. She feels Calypso's call below, from the deep that is more home to her than Amphitrite, the deep that even she finds too chilling. She watches the point of shore the young god had been standing on and turns to go find Calypso. The call is purposefully untraced and it is a call to find her before she rises to air.

The young god's defilement of her home slips from her mind.

-----

Calypso can look awfully disappointed when she wishes to, can arrange her features in a way that niggles even at her. There is something about the arch of her brow and the curve of her frown and the angle of her eyes that stabs at Amphitrite in a way it shouldn't. It is a look of too much divinity towards something that cannot bear it, but Amphitrite can bear Calypso's divinity just fine. It is a trick.

"What?" she asks eventually, a bite to her words that would make a mortal faint.

Calypso turns her gaze elsewhere, to the seaweed curled up beside them, curled above in a little bubble as the water outside churns them away somewhere else. She stares at the weaving. "Nothing," she says in a too-friendly, too-simple tone.

Amphitrite narrows her eyes. Calypso has her ways of haggling for everything she wishes, from whoever she wishes it from. She recalls the moment she'd learned how Calypso had earned her tentacle-swarmed form. Calypso has never hungered for something she did not get and that nettles at her.

It was not fair.

"Don't play your games with me," Amphitrite warns. "I do not hold patience for them today."

Calypso lifts a cool shoulder. The move is infuriating. "Alright."

The silence burns.

Nothing should be burning under the water, in the deep cold of the sea. There is not allowed any warmth. Certainly not heat.

Amphitrite's glare burns hotter. "You are playing," she says.

Calypso's gaze slides over. Her body language is all relaxation and distance. She is at ease but there is something in her expression, something churning in her mind. "How so?"

That was the question. Then, the answer comes.

"You are trying to nettle me," she says, feeling the answer is right but not knowing why. What reason could there be for Calypso to want her angry?

"Maybe you shouldn't be so easily nettled, then."

Amphitrite's lip curls at the accusation. "What ill is in you today?" she asks. "You're being sour."

Calypso seems to consider the words, rubbing her lips together, She shrugs. "I am not sure." Her eyes flick over nothing. "A passing mood, I think. I want to stir trouble but it's too dreary a day for mortals to be out."

She snorts delicately. "Right. Warning, next time. I warn you."

Calypso's smile looks empty. There is nothing wrong with its shape but it looks false. "Sure. Apologies for wounding your ego."

"As if."

The smile shifts, looks more real, more like a smile that belongs on Calypso's face. "You may barb me back," she says, "if that would ease the sting of your pride."

Remaining bits of Amphitrite's anger fall away. She laughs and Calypso joins in.

"Shall we travel for a mortal?" Amphitrite offers. She is all too aware of these moods of Calypso's, times where she is reaching for something that does not quite exist. She had murmured the word chaos once, describing it.

With all the things she represents, all she is and the price of it -- Amphitrite does not think it worth it. There is an emptiness to Calypso sometimes, like the bottomless abyss that leads to the Underworld, that only knows to soundlessly call. That wrongness. It must be her price, for being the face of too many things.

In her rare moments of softness, Amphitrite worries over how it will cause her trouble one day.

"No, this is fine."

Fine. Because nothing can please her now.

It's her curse. The burden of being all the ocean is.

Amphitrite is grateful that the burden is not hers. The deep is enough for her, the cold and the creatures. She could not imagine more.

The seaweed begins to part. They both gain a sense of being in a different section of ocean, placed anew by a combination of both their powers ordered to drift them away.

Amphitrite looks over at Calypso. Her eyes are terrifying, sometimes. They look as if they can see through all. Laying secrets to the sun.

"You should take a mortal," she suggests. "I know how highly you think of them, but having one is quite fun."

Calypso's eyes churn. She gazes out at the water. "Mortals bear much misfortune by our hands," she says. "I see no reason one needs to bear the misfortune of me."

Amphitrite sighs. "Ready, then?" One day, she would convince Calypso to get a mortal. She didn't understand Calypso's protection over them. She spoke for them when opportunity drifted by, but when she wears her other shape, she swallows them like a fish. No remorse. No guilt. No regret. How can she advocate for them so and have their blood dripping in her soul?

It was not right. Many things weren't with her. It was why she was so fun.

"Am I ever not?"

Amphitrite grins. "Go, then."

They race, power folded under their skin, to find the place they had started at.

-----

The god fool returns.

Amphitrite does not seek his appearance, but the backsplash of his untethered divinity beating against the water reaches her. She comes not from the boredom, this time, but the fun she knows will be there.

The god -- Poseidon, the ocean hisses at her as she travels, one of Cronus' rebelling children -- is just as entertaining as she remembers.

He thrusts his sad excuse of divinity over top the water, steps his foot into the splash of shore, growls his place like it is something he can demand. "I am Poseidon," he says, putting too much force in each syllable, "god of the sea."

Amphitrite's laugh is a soft thing her domain swallows. How foolish.

"I will," he speaks with bared teeth like a roaring beast, "be king of you."

Her laugh bursts. The waves splash with it.

Poseidon -- the fool king -- pulls his head back like he's insulted and a tantruming child. "I am son of Cronus and Rhea," he tells her, unknowing she is there. "You will obey my will."

Amphitrite rises. "I think it will not," she informs him, lips pulled in an effortless grin. To him, it probably appears smug and demeaning. It's not her fault he's made it so easy to humiliate him. "The ocean listens not to those it does not care to. You're best finding a domain somewhere else, little god."

He glares at her. It should be some degree of terrifying, since he aided in the capture and downfall of the Titans, of Cronus, but he is unclaimed and she is in her home.

His glare is about as scary as a baby jellyfish.

"I will be king of the sea," he says.

She sighs. "We have many monarchs already. What need is there for you to be another?" Her eyes rake over him, judging. "This is not where you belong. Go tie yourself somewhere you fit."

His lips lift into a sneer. "I will take this for my domain whatever I must do."

Amphitrite lifts her brows and starts to sink under. "Your lost time, little god." She goes back to her depths. What impudence in that one. The world would not bend to his wiles just because he ended an era of tyranny. He would have to come across a place to store his divinity somewhere else. The ocean would not bend to him. Others have tried.

None succeeded. Becoming patron of the sea is as easy as being accepted by it. If you are not, you will never be.

Simple as that.

-----

"Fool," she scoffs at a whale, running her hand over its flesh. "Why must all new gods think themselves kings of things already claimed? There are plenty of other things they could tie their divinity to."

The whale echoes a call. Amphitrite rubs it soothingly.

"I know." She flicks her gaze to where the fool had been. "Impudence. May the Primordials never let his name be known."

Her hand flexes.

"It is undeserved."

-----

Poseidon is apparently stubborn, alongside his foolishness. Perhaps when this doesn't pan out, he will be god of screeching fools. It suits him much better than the sea and was unclaimed, waiting for him.

He's also screaming for her.

She crests with impatience, shooting him a look packed with all the cold of her domain. He has the sense (not a complete fool then) to fumble some of his confidence. "I told you the ocean would not be yours," she says, "and yet you returned."

"It must be mine," he replies. His eyes dart to the sky, something uneasy flashing across his face. "There is no choice."

She scoffs. "Hardly. There are a thousand unclaimed things you can leer your power over with hardly any struggle at all."

"I will take the sea or have nothing."

Amphitrite tips her chin up. "Enjoy the emptiness then, little god. Try not to let chaos swallow you. She loves the unclaimed."

"I am not unclaimed," he frowns at her. "I choose the ocean."

"Yet it has not chosen you. Take the rejection and find something else."

His lips part. His teeth are flat and unsuited for the blood of ocean living. "I will be patron of the sea no matter what it takes."

"Find a way for it to take you, then. Be a fool. It's amusing."

He strikes at her with divinity her ocean diverts for her. It has little patience for this imposter and his greed, is fed up with his demands. "I am no fool."

"You're demanding gifts like a petulant child." She looks down her nose at him, haughtily lifts her chin to look elsewhere. "I thought you fought in the war."

His chin flies up, features hardening. "I did."

Her lips curve up. "So where is your power? Tell me, great one, what domain is yours?"

His face flushes. She thinks that if she was on land, he'd tackle her. He's apparently not fool enough to dive in the water for her. Unfortunate. It would have been a fun sight. "What is your domain?" he redirects.

"I am Amphitrite," she tells him. Defeat causes his eyes to darken. He recognizes the name. "I am goddess of the deep and the creatures that dwell there."

"A sea patron," he clarifies, lip thrusted out.

One corner of her lip rises without consent. "Yes."

He wrinkles his nose at her reply, staring petulantly at the sand under his bare feet. He drags the ball of his foot against the sand. "So you mock me," he grumbles. "I am just searching for what you have."

Amphitrite laughs. "I belong to the sea," she says, waves lapping against the deep gills slashed on her throat, curling over her collarbones. She looks like her creatures, like a thing of the ocean. It is of no question that she belongs. It is of every question that he does. "You do not. It is as simple as that."

"That will change."

"And I will enjoy your attempt," she promises.

-----

Calypso frowns at her. "You are encouraging him," she accuses.

"What?" Amphitrite lifts her brows and doesn't let her movement to sit beside Calypso lag with the shock. She settles on the sea floor easily, a jellyfish coming to drift by her shoulder. She wraps one of its stinging tendrils around her finger. "I am doing no such thing."

"You are toying with him like a mortal." Calypso continues on unfettered. Little is capable of doing that, if anything is. Amphitrite has not seen anything that is. "Like you're planning on taking him."

Amphitrite shoots a cold look at the other goddess. What accusations. "It is harmless fun."

"He is a god with power yet unknown. It is not wise to taunt what may yet be stronger than you."

"He is a fool," Amphitrite waves her hand. It will not matter. He is determined to take the sea and he will not. He does not fit and does not have the making to force himself to. He seems bound to be a sea god and she thinks he is foolish enough to try until time's end. He may be a strong god, but unclaimed, she will always be more powerful. Such is how divinity works.

Calypso expels a short breath out her nose. "As are you."

"When are you ever wise?" she bites out, cutting the words into blades with her teeth. "You lurk in parts of the sea not yours. You claim to love the sailors you eat. What wisdom is that?"

"Lack of wisdom does not make me a fool," she replies, unbothered by Amphitrite's harshness. "And I am sea patron just as you are. There is no place not fitting me."

"I am queen of the deep." It is hers by her divinity.

Calypso flicks her gaze over. Her face is composed, unflushed, and she looks bored by the conversation. “You never go that deep. No one does. It borders the land of the dead. Do not try to lay your claim over things you do not want.” Her eyes slide away and her mouth purses with a slight twist. Anger? Disgust? Annoyance? “And where I dwell goes deeper than the deep. It is the abyss and you are not goddess of that.”

“It’s the principle of it.”

Calypso laughs. “As if you care for principle. We are both gods of something already claimed. Let details flutter where they must. They are not worth bickering for.”

Amphitrite clicks her tongue. Her sharp fingers dig into her flesh. “Yet bicker you do.”

“You are the one trying to claim what is not yours.”

Amphitrite’s face pinches. “You are irritating, today.” She pushes up, gliding away. “I do not wish to be in your presence.”

She feels Calypso lay back. “As you wish,” she says. “Do think before you flirt with the god. He is trouble.”

Amphitrite snorts as she calls a stream to carry her away. She was not flirting with the fool. She was toying with him. Laughing at his idiocy. In what domain was that flirting?

She was not looking for a husband. She was content with how things were. And even if she wasn’t — she doesn’t wish to wed a fool.

That would be foolish of her.

-----

“Amphitrite,” he calls her by name. She has felt his presence at shore for hours, but did not rise to tease him. Calypso’s words turn in her mind.

She was not looking to court this god. But did it appear that way? Despite the accusation, Calypso was clever. She had sharp eyes.

She would not speak untruths like that, but her honesty can grate. Who was she, to tell Amphitrite what her claim was? Did their domain blessing her with a second form fill her head over capacity? Amphitrite could make her own choices. She did not need a goddess, friend or not, telling her what her intentions were.

She did not need others telling her what she was.

She crests over the waves with her blood pounding hot in her veins. It makes her heart glow, a ruddy red that pierces through her translucent skin, pulsing with the beat of her heart. “Fool,” she spits out.

Poseidon lifts his brows. Something like concern passes over his face. It vanishes just as fast. “I require assistance,” he says. It looks like the words are difficult to say. They should be.

She barks a laugh. He flinches at the sound, like she’d flung a spear of divinity at his head. She throws her head back. She pulls in a breath with a grin that stretches her cheeks. “How does your pride taste?” she asks.

She’s being cruel, she knows, but Calypso thinks she was flirting. She thinks that there was enjoyment here. She wants to control Amphitrite? To tell her the reason she is doing things?

Let her see that she’s wrong. Let her see how her pride tastes when she takes it in her teeth and swallows it whole. Let her realize that sharp eyes and a clever head did not make her all-knowing.

The fool widens his stance, squares his shoulders in a vain attempt to look powerful. His divinity is but a babe in his chest, young and fluttering. “What?”

“You’re eating your pride.” She tilts her head. “Not all of it, apparently, but some. I asked how it tasted.”

“You—” he stabs a finger at her face. “You are rude.”

She chuckles, subdued. “And? What reason is there to be kind?” She rises to her feet and steps closer to the god, the ocean still thinly under her feet, tugging at her ankles. She tilts her head and looks up at him. “You are not anything to fear, little god. Not as you are now.” She steps closer.

The water bids her return. She ignores it. She is not flirting. She is not making an enemy, she is making a point.

Let Calypso see this.

“Anyways, you called me here. It is a blessing that I answered. Are you willing to let rudeness send me back without getting what you were hoping for, whatever it is?”

“No.” His hand makes to reach for her but freezes. His fingers twitch. He lowers his arm. “I— forgive me,” he grits, jaw tight with tension. Is he angry with her? Good.

She hums, not denying or accepting the apology. “What did you call me for?”

“Assistance.”

Amphitrite scoffs. “Of course. You have already said. What assistance do you seek?”

“I,” he takes a breath, “I wish to know how I could become a god of the sea.”

She stares at him, waiting for the joke, the laugh.

It does not come. Right. He is not like Calypso with her sharp humor that is often not humorous at all. He is being serious.

Truly, how did he expect to be a god worth fearing if he has to ask how to gain power?

She sighs, pressing the tips of cold nails to her cheek. “I’ve already told you.” She bends her fingers and presses the bend of them to her cheek. “The ocean must take you in turn. It is not a decision yours alone.”

“How do I… get it to take me, then?”

She considers his question.

“Please it or find a patron to take you instead. It will work as well as the domain taking you itself.”

His eyes spark and his hand lifts again.

“No.” She steps back in the surf. The water rushes in around her. “It takes much strength to take another god and farm their divinity. I have no reason to take that burden for you. Find another.”

“You are the only one I have met,” he explains, an undercurrent chopping his words too close together.

One corner of her lip pulls to the side. “Meet another, then. I will not do your dirty work for you.”

His eyes flash up at the sky as a boom rattles through the air. “I do not have time for that,” he tells her gently, eyes flicking between gray clouds and rust-green eyes.

She looks at the sky and shrugs. A storm. Why does that make him flinch? “That is not my bother.”

She turns on her heel. The ocean welcomes her back, tugging her close. It splashes Poseidon’s feet when he takes two strides after her. His fingers brush her shoulder. “What price would it take?”

Amphitrite rolls her shoulder out of his reach. “Pardon?”

“For you to take me.” She turns to look at him. “What price would you accept?”

She purses her lips. “We would have to wed,” she warns. “We would bound unlike any other.”

His breath shakes. The set of his brow stiffens. “What would it take?” he repeats.

Amphitrite taps her fingers against her mouth. He is desperate enough for this? To bind himself to her for the rest of eternity? “It will not be able to be undone,” she says. “And I do not see you with anything worth paying that price.”

He looks at her, beseeching. “There is no time.”

“So you have said.” What a broken record he was. No time, he must be a sea patron. On and on. Why did she think him entertaining?

Because he humiliated himself and seemed blind to it? It was amusing to watch, at first, before he dredged her in, trying to make a prisoner of a settled goddess. For her to take him in a way that gives him hold over the sea, her own weakens. She loses while he gains.

What could he have to make that trade — that loss — worth it? She did not like him as a god or a man. She liked her domain and her creatures.

It was not worth it, to humor him and his fear.

He drops to his knees. The damp sand caves under the blow. He lowers his head to her. “Please,” he asks. “I will do whatever you require. Anything you ask. I need to be made king of the sea.”

Amphitrite settles, folding her legs beneath her. The water surges and recedes around her collarbone. She takes in a considering breath. He was a son of Cronus, a brother of Zeus. There were tales that they were building a place for gods and something like that would surely be quite powerful. If she aids in his endeavor to be the sea’s face there, perhaps she will be face, too. It could not hurt to have an ally among a leader god, a— what did Calypso tell her that one time? A throned god? There were to be twelve, she thinks and they were to be honored by mortals as no god has before. “Convince me.” She tilts her head and weighs his every twitch in her mind.

Desperate gods are not all that different from desperate mortals. Not if the god is a fool, which this one has proven to be.

He will sacrifice more than he is comfortable to pay if she makes him squirm enough. He will offer enough that the deal goes in her favor.

Amphitrite has always been good at making others uncomfortable.

-----

Calypso’s divinity is an easy thing to bear, when they are in the deep, where Amphitrite is most powerful. When they are closer to shore, it twinges something in her. It makes itself a burden difficult to shake.

Calypso’s fury is a tame thing. Her acts of wrath are not sunken ships and slain sailors. Those are calculated, are not done on whim, is not something she does out of anger.

The only thing her anger does is temper her words into silver blades. She is most eloquent when she is furious.

“You are a fool to be told,” she says, dismissing greeting. The cold bite in her voice sinks into Amphitrite’s chest. Her eyes — do not look furious. She does not look angry at all. Not like Amphitrite expected when she settled her deal with the Olympian and took back to her water.

She looks sad.

The cold thing Calypso placed in her chest pulses. “What do you mean?” She lifts her chin, trying to look unaffected. She does not want to have this conversation so close to the surface, where Calypso’s divinity slips in through her gills as easily as water.

It is too distracting. Too— too easy to succumb to, especially if it with sadness that Calypso confronts her and not anger.

“You struck a deal with the Olympian.” Her eyes drift lower, focused on the joint of her collarbone, the little divot where Calypso’s divinity always rests. “It was not a wise deal to strike.”

Amphitrite waves off the words with a scoff. “However do you mean? I know how to bargain things in my favor.”

Calypso purses her lips out. Her eyes lift. They are sadder, now, and Amphitrite glares to keep them from pulling her in. Calypso’s reasoning was always wise but not always wisest. There were other perspectives that occasionally offered wiser things. This was one of those times. Calypso did not know the deal she struck. How could she? Amphitrite shielded both of their words from sinking in the water and Calypso was not near enough to wriggle around it. “Do you.”

She does not say it like a question.

“Yes,” she affirms anyways, her eyes reshaping into a frosty glare.

Calypso’s brow lifts. “Right.” Her eyes sink towards the ocean floor.

Amphitrite propels herself back. She speaks with a lifted lip. “Do not patronize me,” she warns. “I know what I’ve done.”

Their eyes reconnect. Calypso’s gaze is like an anchor, dragging her down. “I doubt that,” she whispers. “I really do.”

“You don’t know,” Amphitrite says, a steep edge to her words. She doesn’t know. She can’t. But that gaze, that sadness — she clearly thinks she knows something. But what?

“For your sake, I hope I don’t.” She bows her head and does nothing as Amphitrite pushes herself forwards and sinks back to her domain. The water pulses with Calypso’s sorrow. It coats Amphitrite’s teeth until the cold of the deep freezes it out and even then, it lingers.

-----

“You are a fool to be told.”

“You struck a deal with the Olympian.”

“It was not a wise deal to strike.”

Calypso’s words have bad habit of festering in Amphitrite’s mind. She tries to brush them off, to leave them to float at the surface, but they sink right alongside her, anchored with steel to her throat. It is a chained collar of worry.

“Do you.”

“I doubt that.”

Patronization that is actually worry. Amphitrite has never known Calypso to needlessly worry.

The words she speaks are always anchored with truth. Weight. Her words never float because there is reason behind each syllable.

Her nails dig into her palms, seeping the water in divinity that will only be hers alone for precious little time. Was Calypso right to be concerned?

An eel skims over her shoulder, curling around to brush against her arm. Amphitrite strokes it with the hand not bloodied in divinity. “What do you think?” she asks. She lifts her other palm and stares at the dull gold. “Was it a mistake?”

The eel swims away.

Amphitrite’s ankle twitches. “What help,” she says. She closes her fingers over her palms, shoulder jolting with the pressure.

What help indeed. What mistake did Calypso see in the deal she made? What flaw was she being blind to?

The dark curls around her. The deep embraces her in its chill and its emptiness. No matter how poor a deal she made, it will still be here whenever she needs it. Her domain will not disappear because she’s abandoning it. It will not abandon her in equal turn.

That is not what it wishes to do.

It chose Amphitrite as a queen and it has little choice but to respect her decisions. If she wishes to deal herself to an Olympian, to bend herself in the way that bends her domain — then it has little option but to obey. Their queen has commanded.

It may be her last order.

-----

"Little king," Amphitrite greets, tilting her chin.

Poseidon’s eyes glint. He looks pleased in a way that worries her, now. Before, she had thought it was just satisfaction at getting what he had spent sun-turns cajoling for.

Had he played her? Had she stepped into his trap? Was he wise enough to set one?

Was she foolish enough to fall for it?

The concern must be showing on her face, because Poseidon’s mouth twists into a grin. Easy and proud, like a king’s.

She was making him king.

He was getting everything he’d asked for. What was he sacrificing to her, to even the field? A few promises a wise man could eventually wriggle his way out from? Some words that could be torn apart?

Words unsworn on the Styx?

Her chin dips as she swallows. Her eyes do not leave her future spouse. The companion she’s going to swear her future and her divinity to.

Calypso had her reason to worry, did she not?

No. Yes.

Poseidon may not be the fool she thought. That much is becoming true. But she is no less wise. The deal may be skewed, but it is not one-sided. It is not unfair.

Amphitrite would never swear herself to anything that could be turned upon her. She does not make a habit of underestimating an enemy enough that she bares her belly to them, that she leaves herself entirely at their mercy.

Poseidon thought her a fool, and struck his bargain on that option. Amphitrite thought him a fool, and struck a deal that could work even if he turned out to be wise.

She does not nest all of her creatures in the same section of sea.

-----

It is not painful.

It feels like it should be. Ripping one’s divinity from their blood should be an excruciating thing. But it is painless.

Her divinity slips from her body like her blood had earlier, when she cut her palm in her heightened emotional state.

It is simple, in other words. So very simple.

Her creatures lurk around them both in the ceremony, netted above them like an elaborate trap. As if either of them could decide to switch their mind now.

Deals have been made. Divinity should not turn back on their blatant word.

“Careful with your words, little god,” she warns, tilting her head as she examines him. He is nice looking, she supposes, though she doesn’t think him nice enough to warrant wedding him. But there are worse looking things she could tie herself to.

As if that was consolation, but it was nice. Her heirs, at least, would have chances to become more.

He lifts his chin at her before tucking it back into place. He is taller, technically, though Amphitrite keeps her feet off the floor so their eyes are level. The sea feels far more frigid than usual.

Is it her domain, mourning what she used to be? Is it mourning her choice to make this god it so obviously rejected its king?

Is it her almost-wedded, already controlling what is all around him?

No. Her domain would not grant him his gifts until it was due.

The vows, too, feel as if they should stick in her throat or come out bubbling in electrified acid. But they, too, are easy. They slip out like the fine silk donning them both, silks dyed matching shades of blue.

The color suits her well. It offsets her hair. It does not suit him. It is not ill-suiting, but it does not suit him as well as the color of the domain he’s to control should. The color should, when worn, appear as if it is the only color that would do him justice. It should be the only thing that fits the divinity humming under his skin.

On him, it is just a color.

A nice color and nothing more.

It was not what it should be. He was a false king. His divinity was not made to churn the tides and her domain was not made to crash under his order. She was not made to be bound like this and he was not made to be bound to her.

After, when her divinity is raw in her chest, glowing heart pulsing weakly behind glass ribs, she takes his hand. “I hope you find this worth it,” she says, looking at him through her lashes.

He squeezes her hand and pulls his back. “Of course it was,” he replies.

She wonders if he can feel the strings wrapped around his joints. If he can feel the pull over him she has knotted in his chest. He made her swear to him the rights of her divinity, the capability of making ocean obey his command.

She made him swear his devotion to her will.

Can he feel that? Does he know the depth of that vow? That they were more than words and that as her divinity is bound to him, his is bound to her similarly?

It was, as Calypso said, an unfair deal. But it was unfair for them both. Painful like stabs and broken bone. Like horse and cow. Weak comparability.

They were both losers. That was unquestionable.

It was silly of Calypso, though, to think that Amphitrite did not know what she was doing.

She was no stranger to making deals.

-----

“So it is done.” Calypso is lying on the floor, observing the sharp points of nails she isn’t bothering to blunt. She doesn’t like to bother with shedding all the features of the predator she is, especially right after she’s taken a ship to sate her appetite.

Amphitrite never bothers to look mortal. It is not the form that is natural, like it is (more or less) for most of the divine. She is queen of the sea and she looks the part. She is of the sea and one could tell at a glance. “Yes,” she replies, digging up sand with her fingers.

Hers are sharper, technically, as Calypso’s aren’t really nails. They’re more akin to the suckers that line her arms when she is Kraken, just lengthened and enlarged to fit the rough anatomy of human fingers. If she gets them in something, there is no getting them out.

They are dangerous in a different way.

“Have the effects settled yet?” Calypso lifts her chin and the movement allows Amphitrite to see the thick bob of a swallow. As if she was uncertain. Concerned.

Amphitrite thought they were done with that. The deal is done. Calypso does not know better.

“What effects?” she asks, though her bones throb with the fragility of her lessened divinity. She’s been weak, since she wed the fool king, but it is strengthening slowly. She will be back to normal. It may take some decades to be back completely, but that is nothing to her.

Calypso’s breath bubbles up. “Of gifting away your divinity.” She tilts her head and slides her gaze over. “How fares your hold on your domain?”

“It is fine,” Amphitrite defends instantly. She pauses. Is it? Usually, she is approached and surrounded by the wildlife she rules over but that has been absent. It is an effect of her weak divinity. When that is back, so will they.

The sailor goddess hums, noncommittal. “I would be wary of each irregularity.”

“There has been none.”

Calypso’s eyes roam the empty water around them. It looks casual enough, but this is Calypso. She is making a show of looking, turning her head when there is no need. “Right,” she says. “Still. Do not say I did not try to warn you of the danger you enrolled for.”

“It was not dangerous.”

That, Calypso does not answer.

-----

Poseidon is building them a castle. He is insisting upon it. “What kind of rulers would we be,” he says, his hands clasped around her arms too tightly, “if we did not have a throne?”

Amphitrite pries her way out of his grip. “No rulers at all,” she replies. She looks at the construction, at the rising architecture of gems and coral. It is a beautiful thing, already, not even half built, but she is beginning to be aware of the dangers Calypso spoke of.

Her divinity is tied to her husband and he is, in turn, binding it to this castle. To the throne that will be hers. He has not admitted as such, but her divinity hums in the desire, the attempt. She would point it out, would fight, but there is little point to. She cannot undo what is done. She will have to live with her vow and attempt to find some other way out.

“It is beautiful,” she tells him, because he wants to hear it and it will do no harm to be on his good side.

He beams, watching the construction with pride. “Is it not?”

No, her domain whispers in her ear, monotone and sad at once. It does not have emotion like the living, but she can feel its mourning all the same. When it had accepted her as a patron, it was not for this. It is not.

Her domain sympathizes, in the only way it can. It does not offer help. It could, she believes, shatter their deal if it wished, but. The ocean takes after its namesake. Oceanus does not care for what happens in his home and body and neither does the ocean. They are, in fact, one in the same.

Amphitrite holds her eyes shut a moment. “You can go to Olympus,” she tells him.

His head whips over, a fight brimming on his tongue.

“That construction is more important for you to oversee. I can handle this.”

He squints.

She laughs, tilting her head mischievously. “Do you not trust me, husband dear?”

His mouth parts and he bites the words back with a click. “No,” he says. But, all the same, he turns to join his brothers in the making of a place for gods.

She smiles at his retreat. It looks like silver.

The new husband is so hungry for recognition, he’ll want to spend his days on the throne that matters. There was no glory in being a sea king, if you were searching for masses of mortal worship. The ocean would not provide that.

So she had the mercy of knowing he would not be a constant fixture at her side. She could pretend everything was sparkling, in his absence. That her throne was hers alone.

Despite the horror it took to get it — she’s liking the idea of a palace. Of a throne. Of the comfort of knowing her place in mortal’s mind is secure. She can lounge, now, and still be remembered just the same.

Tension leaks from her shoulders.

She thinks she could learn to like this. She did, after all, gain more than she gave.

What was a little divinity, in the end, for a palace and memory steadfast?

-----

Calypso is… displeased is the kind way to put it but neither of them are kind. She is appalled in a wrathful, furious way. That still feels too kind. Calypso feels more Kraken than goddess.

“Pardon?” she asks, sharp teeth snapping around the word.

“You heard me,” Amphitrite says, leaning back against a wall of her new palace, rubies studded around her in a bloody halo. “Do not feign deafness.”

Calypso laughs. There’s a wildness in the gesture, a feral sort of energy to it that raises Amphitrite’s guard. “I must be going so,” she says. “Because surely I did not hear you right.”

“You did,” Amphitrite confirms.

Calypso looks at her like. Like she’d just admitted to relinquish her divinity for a mortal child. Like the very idea is too wild even for them. “What ill poisoned your mind?” she asks. Her arms gesture around to the glimmering castle. “This was not worth the price. It is a thing. You could have done this yourself if you wished.”

Amphitrite watches the outburst languidly. She has never seen Calypso so active. Even when they are racing and she is enjoying herself, there is a relaxed sort of grace to her movements, a backing of calm that permeates through anything else. Even when she is worked up, there is still sense about her. Amphitrite cannot find any now. “You wouldn’t understand. Not with your mind pried shut.”

“He fooled you.”

“He did no such thing. I am aware of the deal I made.”

Calypso scoffs. “Then you are the foolish one. You may not understand the gravity yet, but this choice will grow to haunt you.”

“Sure it will.” Amphitrite looks down her nose. “I fail, though, for the record, to see how this,” she wiggles her fingers outward, gesturing to the palace, “could ever be something I’d regret.”

Calypso’s mouth parts. She bites her words back with a tense jaw. “I suppose we will just see then,” she says, voice back to its typical distanced tone.

Amphitrite nods. “We will.”

Calypso nods back. She does not look pleased, still and that is not entirely a surprise. She is so rarely pleased, when things do not go the way she thinks is best. But she is not entirely displeased, either, which is an accomplishment alone, even if a miniscule one. She eyes the walls of coral and gems, mouth twisting down as she takes in the opulence of it.

It is about the reaction Amphitrite expected. Calypso’s tastes are simple and this is anything except. But that was fine. The palace was not for Calypso nor would she reside there. So it did not matter if she liked it. It was to Amphitrite’s taste and it was to be home.

A place easy to pin. There were perks to having a place to settle and Amphitrite fully intends to take advantage of them. Having mortals on hand was one. She’d always wanted to keep one long term. Her chance for that had come.

Calypso’s eyes drift back to Amphitrite. There is something in her gaze that tries to tug at Amphitrite’s divinity. It has weight that Amphitrite has never felt, not when she is this deep, in the heart of her domain. She swallows it down.

“So we will,” Calypso repeats.

Amphitrite knows she is right. This castle is to be a kind of prison for them both, her and her new husband. There was no worry in that. Calypso did not know details and she was assuming the worst. It was a sweet thought. Her fault for not believing in Amphitrite’s cruelness, however. She knew how to deal herself sweetness from a bitter fool.

Still, to be a good sport, she nods.

Time will prove one of them wrong.

*****

This is still all drippingmoon's fault. Hope you liked what I created.

Tags: @caffeinewitchcraft @super-writer-gal @drippingmoon @blindthewind @notwritinganyflufftoday @mel-writes-with-her-dragons

#writeblr #writblr #creative writing #writing #greek myth retellings #greek mythology #amphitrite #poseidon #calypso #nikkywritesstories #my writing #wip ocean's heart #wip oceans heart #this is such a bare bones way to tell the story and i am undecided on if thats a good or bad thing #i could totally go into this more though #so if you want more. send asks? ill rant happily #i think its the tone i find off though. its a little different from how i usually write. probably why i have mixed feelings on this #or i hope thats why at least

[kotas-dump]

There’s something about the crescent moon that seems mocking as you stare up at it through your bedroom window. Perhaps it’s the dagger in your chest, just shy of your heart but making every breath a painful one. Or the body of your human lover Emilia drapped over your naked chest, hands still wrapped tightly around the hilt of the dagger. It could even be it’s light glinting off your sword, imbuned with magic and bound to you that hung above your head, dripping her blood on your cheek.

There was pain, a lot of it from your chest, but you knew you’d heal just fine from the physical wounds. Still the tears burned in your eyes. It had only been months ago that the two of you were swearing the rest of your lives to each other as you brought down your kind’s hold over the humans. You swore your allegiance to Emilia, the strongest of the vampire hunters. You helped her slay your own family for the future of humanity, for the hope that you’d have a future with her. A bastard of a vampire and a vampire hunter would set the example for the rest of the world...

And for what?

You sat up, her body slumping down into your lap as you pulled her dagger from your chest with a grunt. The wound started to close and you tossed it aside. How had it ever come to this?

You weren’t sure of the time that passed as you lifted her up into your arms and laid her down in your bed. Leaving to go wash yourself of the overwhelming scent of her blood.

It was there, in the moonlight of the river you felt the moon mocking you the most. It was waist deep in icy water that you broke down and howled like a wounded beast. Naked and hurt standing in a river in the dead of night. Ashamed at yourself for not letting her just kill you.

The moon was setting by the time you reached your mansion of a home. The icy water numbing you to what you must do next.

You posted her corpse up outside, hanging from chains over your archway as a warning. As the rising sun stained the sky red you scoffed and retreated back into your home.

—

Time had passed since Emilia’s death but you still found yourself talking to her on your steps in the dead of the night. Her body had long since fallen and scattered by the wild animals. Living in isolation like you did you wondered how long before you too were just some wild beast. You should have let her kill you. This wasn't living.

You had taken up walking and ventured into the nearby village at dusk and only for spices and things you couldn’t get yourself. Even after closing the woman selling the spices talked to you. She was nice...for a human. But you never stayed any longer than a handful of minutes. It had become a ritual on every full moon to check on your nearby village and make sure they were safe.

Today was no exception. She talked as she bagged up your items. Commenting on your good skin despite the dry fall air. Sweet as ever you smiled and nodded. Reminding yourself to keep your distance.

“Just this tonight?” She wonders,taking your money and holding out your change. As you went to take it she grabbed your hand. “Is your husband hurting you?”

The question shocked you, took you by surprise. “I..I’m not married.”

“Oh.” She released your hand and leaned back. “I’m sorry.. I thought.. I mean.. You always look so sad... and you always leave in s hurry... Well there I go sticking my nose where it don’t belong.” She smiled as her own husband came out from the back.

You watched with a forced smile as he wrapped his hand around her waist, chuckling. “She giving you trouble? I keep telling you not to bother the poor girl. We can’t afford to loose our best customer.”

She slaps his chest and scoffs. “I ain’t troubling no one. I was just chat-“

Turning you quickly mutter. “It’s getting late I’ll be going now.”

“Now wait a minute there little lady.” Her husband calls.

Little? You hadn’t been called that for almost 300 years. “I really can’t stay..”

“I won’t keep ya. We were just wondering. Wouldn’t it be easier to get these things delivered to ya? I mean you must live a ways a way what with you coming so late at night and all... so I could deliver em to ya so ya don’t have to make the trip.” He offers. It’s intriguing enough that you stop. “Ah see I knew that would get your interest. Just give us the directions and I’ll make weekly delivery’s.”

Would save you from leaving the mansion..and the trouble of travel. You sigh and quickly write it down. “I’m leaving now..thank you.”

“Thank you! See ya soon sugar!” The woman waves and you nod and quickly make your way home.

The weekly deliveries were nice and kept a better supply of fresh spices in your pantry even if you met them on the edge of your property. But one week they were late. It was well into night and they still hadn’t arrived. So you went out and started walking.

Most vampires and werewolves knew better than to venture onto your territory but mountain lions didn’t really understand. You felt foolish for worrying but when you saw a horse laying dead on the side of the road you froze. that wasn’t a good sign at all.

Rushing over you could see claw marks and bites all over the horse.. the faint scent of the shopkeeper still clung to the warm carcass. Following it you ventured far into the forest. The stench of blood overpowering you as you close to a thick set of brush. A feral looking vampire looked up, soaked in blood and growling you sigh.

“You...complicate things.” You snap, grabbing their throat as they lung and throwing them into the trees. “They don’t make them like they used to.” You sigh, grabbing a branch and snapping it from the tree. “Didn’t your master tell you not to go near -“

“Richard? Honey? You out here?” A familiar voice.. the WIFE?! Snapping around the vampire makes a run for the voice.

“I swear to fuck shit... get back here!” Chasing after them you tackle them to the ground.

“Honey?” She calls, venturing toward you.

Not good not good. You look up and the slippery vampire throws you off and runs for her. It’s to late, the lantern light she carries catches their eyes and you tackle them to the ground as they lunge for her.

“Oh my god!” She gasps, covering her mouth as you two fight.

This was to complicated the smell of blood wasn’t helping either. It was making your stomach turn. They claw at your face, your shoulders and the stench of the blood only gets stronger. Pinning the feral vampire down you stab into their chest with the branch, piercing their heart as they scream in pain.

Breathing a heavy sigh of relief you stand up and brush yourself off. Blood covered your face were the feral monster had clawed you, dripping onto your shirt.

“That was...” The woman is shaken, the light bouncing in her quivering hand.

“It’s fine. You’re safe.” You try to give her a reassuring smile but she recoils and screams.

The lantern clatters to the ground as both of her hand fly to her mouth. “V-V-Vampire!” Turning she quickly ran back the way she’d come.

“That went well don’t you think?” You ask the rapidly disintingrating vampire. Snatching the lantern you set it upright and head back home. It was only a matter of time before the pitchforks and torches. “Fuck me.” You groan. All you could do was hope they had better aim than Emilia.

You’d gotten your door baracaded and a collection of wine on your table. If you were going to get angry mobbed you needed at least one bottle of wine in you. But.. there wasn’t one. You’d stayed up all day expecting it. Going through half your store of wine before giving up and heading to bed.

Even in the days that passed the mob never came. You ventured back into the village to see how they faired, passing by the spice merchant’s home only to hear her sniffling sobs. You knew that pain... well... kind of. So you gathered a bunch of wild flowers and left them on her window sill.

It became your new ritual, leaving flowers, sometimes money, for her every night. Even in the winter you managed to leave her gifts. After a while though you stopped. You weren’t sure why but it just seemed.. wrong to keep doing it. Having gifts from a vampire probably wasn’t comforting when that same creature was the one that killed your husband.

Instead you didn’t bother going into the village at all. You made your rounds, watched from the dark shadows of trees as she learned to smile and joke again. Good. She’d be fine. She was older now, maybe mid thirties? But she still ran that little spice shop. Every now and again she’d look out around sunset like she was looking for someone but only flipped the sign to close and turned off the lights.

You stopped visiting the village. It was painful to watch the humans age and it only made you envy them more. Mortality. Tonight was a clear and calm night. Not exactly a night you’d expected a knock on the door.

No one knocked on your door.

Curious you get up and open it. The spice woman standing there in her shawl wrapped tightly around her. “He-“ You slammed the door. This wasn’t... no. Opening the door again you expected your age to be playing tricks on you but no.. she still stood there, eyes slightly wider than before.

“It’s not polite to slam a door in someone’s face.” She chastises.

“I- what?” She’s indeed older now. Small wrinkles beginning to form at the edges of her eyes and nose. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting any visitors.. I uh..”

“Well with the skeletons outside I’d assume not. It’s not very welcoming.” She smiles and you just stare. Dumbfounded. “May I come in..?”

Right! Manners those were a thing. Opening the door you motion her inside. Suddenly regretting not dusting the last.. 10 years. “ Tea? I mean.. would you like some.. tea?”

She looks around before her eyes settle on you and soften. “That would be lovely.” Crossing her hands in front of her she raises her brows. “Are you alright sugar?”

You’re staring again. There's a faint scent of blood on her and it's a bit distracting” What? Oh! I’m fine. I’ll get that tea.” You rush towards the kitchen, setting the kettle onto the stove.

“You really haven’t aged at all.” She says as she steps into the kitchen.

You’re not really sure what to say to that. Why was she even here?

She sits down at your small table and watches you. “I’ve been meaning to come talk to you for a while. I just.. I couldn’t find the courage after that night I had been so shaken..”

Again, you’re not sure what to say so you just nod and glare angrily at the kettle hoping it would heat faster. “I- I am sorry about your husband.. I mean your loss. I’m sorry for your loss. Losing a love one.. must be hard.” You wouldn’t know you killed all of yours. Argh did your brain ever shut up? The kettle started to scream and you quickly grabbed it and poured the hot water into a cup for her. Placing it in front of her you catch her gaze and look away. “Right. I have some cookies around here somewhere..”

As you’re rummaging in the cabinets she laughs and you turn, old cookies in hand. You hadn’t been to the village in years so the last time you’d bought cookies.. You threw them back into the cabinet and shoved the door shut as things crashed inside. “Probably not good anymore anyways.”

“You seem scared.” She says, swirling her tea in her cup. “Hard to think I’d scare a vampire.

Well.. not you but the angry mob yes. Also why do you smell like blood? Well I guess you are full of it.. “Ah.. I don’t mean to come off that way. I just... Well the only guest I’ve ever had was Emilia and well..” I murdered her when she stabbed me through the chest in an extra spicy lovemaking session.” She’s gone now.” Clearing your throat you sit down across from her. You can’t help but notice all the dust everywhere.

“I don’t blame you for Richard you know.” She says softly, taking a sip from her tea

Who? oh right. Dead husband. Well you actually hadn’t killed him so you didn’t feel guilty there. “That's...good.”

“I figured you felt bad you didn’t save him from that other vampire.. the one you killed that night?” Her voice was so soft and she sounded like she wasn’t trying to upset you.

You hadn’t felt guilty though. Was that bad? You’d killed more significant people than the spice delivery man. “I...should have gotten there sooner.” You say, rolling with it. Not exactly like you could admit you didn’t care.

Setting her cup down she took your hands. “I know you left those gifts. No one else would have. You don’t have to be scared of the village. I didn’t tell anyone what happened and they ruled his death a moutain lion attack.”

Oh god she was touching you. How long had it been since you felt the warmth of another’s skin? Oh that’s creepy you’re being creepy. Pulling your hands away you chuckled. “That’s good." You said that already. Clearing your throat you try again. " I uh.. was worried you hated me for it.” Not really though I watched you for years. If you were going to rat on me you would have done it. Looking away you wring your hands, you could still feel her fingers.

She sighs. “I suppose I should but to be honest I don’t know why you saved me that night. Why you never came back to the village. I always figured you’d been punishing yourself for not being able to save him. I mean compared to other villages we’re much safer, we don’t have as many animal attacks or any other attacks. One person in 10 years is rare for a village...” Looking over she glances over to you and you quickly look away. “It must be lonely though.”

Lonely? You shoot her a confused look, “Why would I be lonely...?”

She shifts but smiles. “Well.. you stopped coming to the village,-“ not true. Ok kinda true. “You killed that vampire so you must not get along with your own kind-“ Okay that was true but for a whole different reason,”-and you live alone. Doesn’t that become lonely?” Her eyes are piercing and you turn away again.

Laughing you shrug. “I never really thought of it that way..” I mean i killed everyone I loved so it seems fitting I’d be alone. “I guess? It doesn’t really bother me often.” Only on you know, every major holiday. “I got used to it. I mean it has been...” When did Emilia die again? You shrug. “ It’s been a long time.” You force a smile and glance over to her.

There’s tears in her eyes and she wilts like a flower. “You poor thing. I’m so sorry. Here.” She pulls out a handkerchief and hands it to you.

Taking it you give her a confused look.

“You’re crying sugar.” She gives you a sad smile and takes it from your hand to wipe at your eyes. “I never meant to bring up any bad memories. I’m sorry.”

“What?” You rub at your eyes and take a deep breath. “That’s embarrassing.” Laughing you wipe at your eyes again.

“Everyone always talks about vampires like they’re beasts but.. you seem more human than any beast.” The woman dabs at her own eyes and takes a sip of tea. “I never imagined how they lived. I kind of assumed they lived in pairs or families.”

Right. “Most do. I uh.. Don’t have any. It’s not sad though. I-“ Killed them myself? “Made that choice myself.” Nice save. “It’s better for me to be alone.”

She nods. “I envy your strength. I keep trying to tell myself that. I still miss him though. It’s scary being a woman on her own. Having powers must put your mind at ease.”

Was that what this whole thing was about? Well she’d be heartbroken to hear you wouldn't turn anyone. The sterile mule of the vampire world. No kids no minions just eternity. “Ah well. I envy your ability to die.” You mutter. The silence that followed made you realize you’d said that..out loud. “I mean. Eternal life Isn’t something I’d give away even if I could. This isn’t really living.” You force a dry laugh and clear your throat. “Like you said I’m always alone and even if I wanted a family I could never have one so it’s not really...”You cough. “Living. More tea?” You stand up quickly but she catches your wrist.

She’s staring at you, eyes piercing into you. “Is that why you always look so sad? You’re cursed to be alone...forever?”

You bite your cheek. This was not were you expected your night to go. “I look sad?” She’d mentioned that before, years ago but to bring it up now? “It’s not like I’m not used to it. Just how i imagine you humans live knowing you will die one day. I live knowing.. i will be alone. it’s just.. how things are. No use being sad over it right?” You can feel your eyes watering again. “ Ah my eyes again. This is embarrassing. I never have this problem.” You laugh and turn away but her grip only tightens. You don’t have the heart to pull away even as her chair squeaks across the floor and she stands.

“Would it be so bad if for one night you weren’t so alone?” She whispers, arms wrapping around you. “If for one night you were loved again?”

You fold in on yourself and your jaw clenches. Her body is warm against your back, her heart loud in your ears. You wanted to. Oh how badly you wanted to. She wanted to, you could smell it as her hand pulled you into the other room, through the foyer and down onto the dusty old couch. Did you trust her? Not really.. but your sword was nearby should things so south. But to be honest... would it be so terrible if the night ended up like your last night with Emilia?

Her lips crash onto yours and your brain shorts out. Warm hands roam your body, pulling at your shirt and untucking it from your pants. It’s up and over your head, tossed carelessly across the room. You never wore any sort of binding undergarment so she’s got free access to your breasts and she’s taking advantage of it.

If your heart beat you were sure it’d be racing faster than hers. She wasted no time pinching and playing with you, only venturing down when she herself got bored. You were at her mercy. Off your pants went, and she was back on you. Her fingers teased your folds and you arched into her hand so hard it made her laugh. She toyed with you and made every lewd noise spill from your lips before finally slipping her fingers into you. It didn’t take her long to have you writing, nails tearing into the cushions as you whimpered and moaned.

“You don’t have to hold yourself back. Cum already we have all night.” Her breath is hot on your ear and it tickles your neck. Your mouth opened, a growling moan escaping into the air as you came right on her hand. She didn’t stop there, she kept going until you were jerking and wiggling away from her hand. “Oh no no. You don’t get to stop there. I scratch your back you scratch mine.”

You were to high off your own climax and the scent of her to care. Blood and desire was one hell of an aphrodisiac So when she pulled you on top of her there wasn’t any shyness as you pushed her skirt up, yanking her underthings off only to throw them to the floor. You dove in face first only when your tongue met her folds did you understand why the scent of blood was more prominent than before. You had forgotten humans did this. Still, you didn't find yourself complaining but when you looked up she just gave you a sly smile.

It had been years and your tongue wasn’t as agile as it used to be but her hand tangled in your hair all the same. Keeping you in place as she grinded helplessly against your face. You pulled moan after pleasured moan from her until she was gasping for breath, her grip painful as you sucked and licked her clit. She gasped, tensed and you kept working until she cursed and pulled your head up like a trophy. Cheeks and mouth covered in a lewd mix of cum, saliva, and blood.

She laughed and you smirked with her as she threw you backwards. Climbing over you she wiped your face roughly only to lick up your neck. She kissed her own way down your front, stopping when her lips hit the scar near your heart. Her eyes caught yours and she kept going. Leaving that for later.

And later it was. You kept going until she practically begged you to stop for the night. Now the two of you laid naked, sweaty, and tired on top of one another. Her check rested on your chest and she traced the raised scar as a shiver raced down your spine. “What happened?”

It wasn’t exactly a story for pillowtalk. Even you knew that much. “I got stabbed. Terrible aim though.”

She looked up you could feel her looking at you and refused to meet her gaze. “Your face isn’t scarred though... When the other vampire attacked you...your face was all bloody. “

You frowned. “It wasn’t a normal blade. Do you really care to know? It’s not exactly a happy story." Snorting you close your eyes.

She snorted. “I doubt you have many of them sad eyes.”

“Sad eyes? What happened to sugar?” You huff, stroking her hair. It was nice to have the warmth. Even if it wouldn’t be here come sundown tommorrow.

She hummed, eyes closing. “More fitting to call you sad eyes.”

You kept petting her until her heart slowed into a steady beat and your own senses faded

—

When daylight began to fade you woke with a start. Still surprisingly warm. A blanket had been thrown over you. Groaning you shuffle towards the kitchen and pour water into the kettle for some morning tea. Your hair was a mess, no doubt her doing with all that pulling and tugging. Running your fingers through your hair you turn to sit at the table, A piece of paper catching your attention.

Picking it up you scanned over it. “Dear sad eyes, I’m sorry for prying last night but I had a lot of fun. I hope you did too. I'll see you next month? P.s. You sleep like the dead. ” Clicking your tongue you shook your head. It wasn’t love...but it had been fun. Looking out the kitchen window you grinned back at the crescent moon. "Next month? Pfft." You break out into laughter as there kettle starts to scream.

P.S yes I did write a story based on what the lesbian said to her vampire gf joke. Hope you liked it and as always if you know how to put a read more on mobile let me know.

#vampire #my writting #terato #lemon #tw:depression #tw:blood #angst

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

Too much said

A/N: This was requested by an anon, I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! If anyone has any requests please let me now! 

Summary; After a long and terrible day for Richie, he gets into a fight with Eddie, worsening his day. 

Warnings: a lot of curse words. 

The fight happened so fast and unexpected that Richie was left blindsided. Sure, Eddie and him have their arguments from time to time, but never have they been so cruel and vile before.

It’s honestly Richie’s fault, both for starting the fight and pursuing it, and there’s no excuse that he can give obtaining why he did that.

See, Eddie has this gift where he sees straight through Richie, past all the layers of defense and deflection until he comes across the real, raw Richie, and most of the time Richie loves that about him. But at times, it unnerves him too. The amount of layers he manages to surpass baffles Richie, no number of walls stopping him from getting to the truth.  He scratches and tears to uncover everything about him, leaving him torn open for the world to witness. That’s how it feels at least, and Richie can’t help but want to scurry away from it sometimes.

No one has ever cared about him enough to do something like that, most noticed his overload of jokes and his overly outgoing personality and walked, no ran, away as fast they could. Richie was fine with that, as he was only able to see his negatives anyway and figured they were all right for doing so, but Eddie proves to him everyday that he is worth it. The anxiety in his mind and Eddie fight each other every day, thankfully with Eddie victorious, but the days Richie does succumb to his fears, give way to bad moods and even worse decisions.

The fight started with a simple question on Eddie’s part, an innocent inquiry that had no business leading up to the brawl it did.  

‘Hey Richie, you okay? I haven’t heard you spout a joke all day.’ He says with a teasing smile, yet the corners of his lips a tad too low to genuine, a strong indicator that he’s faking the chaff, and worry is hidden behind it.

And that’s the loaded question isn’t it? A question that so many answers can be given too, either truth or lie, and a query that no is able to verify anyway. Today sucked for Richie, from waking up late to blowing his interview with the board directors and spilling water over his computer causing it to crash and delete all the documents on which he wrote his new material.

During the day Eddie texted to ask if he wanted to go out shopping for new suits that are required for Ben and Bev’s wedding. ‘You can’t wear a Hawaiian shirt to my wedding Richie. I’m a fashion designer.’

Richie agreed, not that he was jumping on the opportunity to go in and out of stores, but solely for spending time with Eddie, but then he got the text message. That god-for-saken text message highlighted the terrible day. He refused to mull over that now though, so while he adjust his smile to appear naturally, he nodded to Eddie.

‘I’m fine Eds, why wouldn’t I be?’

Eddie’s brow twitches, then stills and smooths out again. He’s suppressing his telltale of wary that Richie points out time and time again to taunt him.

‘Are you sure? Cause I have never heard you in my life say no to fast-food,’ he pushes.

Richie sighs inaudible, and walks over their liquor cabinet in the living room, pulling out a bottle of red wine, the only kind of alcoholic drink Eddie likes.

‘Like I said Spaghetti, I’m fine, tired but good.’

Grabbing two wine glasses by the stem, per Eddie’s requests, he uncorks the bottle and pours plenty of the drink into it and offers one to Eddie.

Eddie takes it with a small ‘thank you’, and shuffles over to their couch, patting the seat next to him to invite Richie over.

Too obvious, Richie’s mind hisses at him, use a joke, do anything to distract him from your mood so he doesn’t asks questions.

‘We’re not eating McDonalds’ right now because I wanted to cook you spaghetti, Spaghetti’, Richie explains with a grin, watching as Eddie works himself up again. During a party where he was highly intoxicated, Eddie entrusted Richie that he cherishes the nickname ‘Eds’, but he still absolutely despises the nickname Spaghetti.

‘Fuck you’, he responds with so much conviction that Richie blanches for a second, a stab of sadness straight to the heart, until he sees Eddie’s own teasing smile.

‘And anyway, you’re going to cook? I would love to be able to have a kitchen. Remember how you burned an oven pizza when we were kids?’ He adds dryly.

‘Oh Eds, you wound me. I was ten.’

‘Old enough to read a clock then.’ While chuckling, they both take a sip of their drink.

They fall back into their old pattern of ribbing and mocking, and Richie believes for a moment that he got away with his behavior. He’s not that lucky.

When the chuckling subsides, Eddie fixes Richie with a stern look, his hand falling on top of Richie’s knee.

‘Rich, you hate cooking. Tell me what’s going on so I can help you.’

He knock the glass of wine back completely to the last drop, gulping it down in an effort to get drunk. ‘Will you get off my back already?’

That was a mistake, Richie never talks to Eddie that way, especially not for something so insignificant.

Eddie’s face hardens, not angry or upset, but determined, and that tells Richie that he’s not backing down now, it’s not in his nature.

‘Now I’m sure somethings wrong. Was it Steve, did he push you again to go on tour? You declined that once before, he needs to accept it.’

Richie slams the glass on the coffee table a little too harshly, while knocking Eddie’s hand of his knee and scrambling up from the sofa to pace up and down.

‘It’s not Steve, drop it Eddie I mean it. I don’t wanna talk about it.’

The lack of jabs is disturbing, so Eddie is not giving up, following Richie and attempting to hug him. Richie rejects the hug, and huffs as he storm through the backdoor into the yard to cool himself off.  

The last thing he wants is to upset Eddie, but he has to be alone to get his mind in order, and maybe to wallow in self-pity.

Eddie trudges on the patio behind him, not allowing him to gain a second of peace. All traces of teasing disappeared and any underlying worry is now visible on the surface. Richie lights a cigarette, something he distanced himself from as soon as Eddie returned in his life, his fingers trembling harshly making it hard to light it.

A scowl is omnipresent on Eddie’s face, his lips tilted in distain, waving away the smoke with his hand despite Richie not having even lit it yet. Tears tingle to escape but Richie stubbornly fights then, but even he can tell that Eddie notices them. He loathes crying in front of others, Eddie not being an exception, and now it’s even worse because he’s striving to pretend that he’s good.

‘Come on Rich. What’s wrong with you today?’ Eddie questions, itching to grab the cigarette from Richie and disposing of it.

‘There’s nothing wrong with me. What’s wrong with you?’ Richie begins hysterically. He wishes Eddie would let him be, so that he’s blind to all of the bad things that make Richie Richie. His mind is firing solutions to the situation, and way that he can change the subject.

‘Jesus fucking Christ, you’re acting like your mother, following me around all the time, demanding to know what’s wrong with me, I can have some free time of my own you know?’

The moment the words fly out of his mouth, Richie aches to swallow them back in. He hankers to beat them to dust, set them on fire and then bury them so deep that no one ever lays eyes on them again.

Eddie’s face turns, the scowl evaporating and leaving a defeated face in it’s wake. The tears that were building a minute ago dry up too, and the cigarette falls uselessly to the ground. ‘Eds, I’m so so sorry’, Richie tries, his nails digging in his palm at his self-hatred, his trash-mouth once again getting him in trouble.  

Not looking at him, Eddie stares at a far away spot near the back of their garden, silent and still. Richie briefly considers begging on his knees for forgiveness, and spout out a one-liner, or explaining what got him so bothered, but none of that comes close to the apology Eddie deserves.

‘Fine, fuck off then’, Eddie mutters, turning on his heels and disappearing in the house, banging the patio door shut in rage.

Richie sniffles, feeling stupider than he has ever felt in his life. He inhales deeply to stop the tears, having no right to cry himself now, and scurry’s to catch up to his boyfriend.

The house is silent, no Eddie anywhere in sight, and his shoes are missing too. When Richie checks the cabinet where all their keys reside, he observes that the front-, and car-keys are missing. Eddie left, and Richie is clueless as to where he is.

‘Shit’, he says, the panic building and building until every pore of his being is filled with a negative energy.

The urge to hit himself over the head is astounding, but he resists it in favor of grabbing his phone and calling Eddie.

Ironic, considering the reason Richie got pissed off was because Eddie gave him no space. The phone rings three times before Richie realizes that the ringing is coming from inside the house, placed on the kitchen counter top, odd since Eddie never travels without it.

Most likely Eddie put it there to show Richie there’s no point in calling him, and Richie nearly screams in frustration. He’s so fucking stupid.

He decides to try Bill instead, scrolling trough every contact until he finds it, and then stops. Bill might be Eddie’s best friend, but there’s no way Eddie would pay him a visit or discus this with him. He’s an a grade idiot about relationship, and anyway, Eddie only has conversations about his mom with one person.

Richie clicks out of Bill’s contact and seeks out Bev’s, the picture of her smiling face with sunglasses on greeting him. He’s in for an earful with Bev he knows, but if it helps him find Eddie, Richie is willing to endure it.

She answers the phone after the second dial, her breathing heavy yet she’s laughing too.

‘Ben hold on one second, it’s Richie.’

‘Hey Bev’, Richie maffles, leaning his back against the wall and tilting his head upwards. If only the day would start over.

‘No Nicknames? Okay what did you do?’ Bev asks him straight to the point, no beating around the bush.  

‘I messed up.’ Richie confesses, holding his breath to wait for Bev’s answer. She halts for a second, then says; ‘Honey, you’re kind of an idiot, I’m going to need more information than that.’

‘Badly. I told Eddie that he was acting just like his mother.’ Repeating the words only hammer in Richie’s head how much he fucked up, how asshole of him it was to say such a thing.

‘Oh Richie. Why did you do that?’

‘I was upset, and I don’t know. There’s no excuse. But he ran off and took the car and I don’t know where he is, has he called you?’, he begs, a mantra in his sounding ‘please, please.’ He will never forgive himself if something happened to Eddie and it was his fault.

‘No he hasn’t’, Bev groans. ‘Make this right Richie, you know how sensitive a subject this is.’

‘Yeah I know, thanks Bev. I’ll talk to you later.’

‘Oh hey Richie, maybe you can check out the lake? I think he jogs there.’ Without thanking her, Richie abruptly ends the call, rushing for their other car. Of course the lake, how did he not think of that?

Barely bothering to close the car door, Richie is already speeding away, until he drives on the main road. Traffic is jammed in L.A, moving an inch in 15 minutes, as it often it, unconcerning about the hurry Richie is under.

He bangs his hands against the steering wheel, and allows himself one yell in the confinements of his car, to let all the frustrated energy out, the scream galloping in the vehicle. A woman’s head whirls his way from the car beside him,  a perfectly trimmed eyebrow raising.

Richie laughs awkwardly, gesturing his hands in front of him. ‘Traffic, what can you do huh?’ He mouths, The woman merely breathes through her nose and returns her attention to the cars in front of her, ignoring his antics as best she can.

It remains embarrassing between them up to the intersection where they split up, Richie taking a U-turn. The five minute drive from there to home took him twenty minutes today.  

The lake-park in question is one that Richie only tagged along for once, back when he promised Eddie to jog along side him every so often, but after that first time and Richie not being able to move for a day, he gave up that idea.

Still, he locates it fairly easy, a small lake surrounded by trees and walking trails with a huge parking lot attached to it. Seriously, Richie bets that the parking lot is bigger than the actual park.

Richie misses the car Eddie occupied, but since it’s such a large space, that means nothing, and so he parks, and sets out to find him.

A cold breeze washes over, causing him to shiver and clench his jacket tighter over himself. He hopes Eddie took a jacket as well.

After an intensive search, Richie finally descries Eddie, sitting on the park bench that he covered in his overalls. Forgetting the situation for an instant, Richie chuckles, the whole thing so Eddie that his heart soars and sings.

The grass crunches under his feet as he approaches, loud enough apparently that Eddie is alerted and glances Richie’s way. He doesn’t smile or states anything, he just monitors Richie and what he does.

On the way here, Richie’s mind was so occupied that he forgot to think of what to say when he saw Eddie again, and now he’s coming up blank, the only words that mull in his head are related to an apology, and proving to Eddie that he knows he fucked up.

‘Eds, I’m so, so sorry.’ Richie tries, still two steps away from where Eddie is seated, unsure if he’s allowed to come any closer. He balances himself from the tip of his toes to the ball of his foot, rocking back and forth. He would love to humor Eddie, but that might not go down well, and another fight, no matter how mundane, is the last thing they need right now.

‘It’s not enough of an apology and I know that I’m just so sorry and I wish I would have never said it.’

‘She didn’t care about me you know?’ Eddie interrupts him, starting a whole new conversation that Richie did not expect they we’re going to have.

‘Sure, she loomed over my shoulder at every turn and asked how I felt every fucking day, but she didn’t care. What she cared about was being portrayed as this godsend and a way to do that was by making me ill, but if I died she would have been fine with that, that’s another to way to gain attention.’

Richie inches closer, dropping down next to Eddie but refraining himself from touching him, because he uncertainty loomed in the back of his mind.

‘I love you Richie, even when you’re a fucking asshole, and I’d rather you didn’t die, even though right now I’d really like to yell at you. I’m not her.’

With a startle chortle, Richie nods his head in agreement. ‘I’d let you, I deserve it. ’ Eddie rolled his eyes, pushing Richie lightly, not enough to hurt or push him off the bench, no more like a friend type of punch.

‘No you don’t. You’re a dumb ass sometimes and can be absolutely infuriating, but I shouldn’t have pushed you so much in the first place.’

‘I cherish that you care so much about me Eds, I wasn’t ready to talk, but that gave me no right to say such a thing You’re nothing like her, you don’t even resemble her at all, not even if you tried. I was bottling shit up again and I avoided the subject, but really I needed to be honest with you. I hope you can forgive me.’ Eddie merely shrugs, the small smile playing on his features when he looks up at Richie again giving him away.  

Tentatively, Richie adds; ‘I guess I’m usually that pushes I you know what I mean, both in our relationship and me and your mother’s.’

The joke strikes the jackpot, Eddie snorting a hearty laugh, shaking his head in disbelieve. ‘And I assumed your jokes couldn’t get any worse than those you performed when you started.’

‘Rude.’

‘You know what’s rude? Your boyfriend turning you into a laughing stock at Saturday night live, I know your moves bitch, and I’m onto you.’ Eddie jabs back, his bite and fiery spirit back on board.

Their lips connect, Richie pouring all his feelings and emotions into, conveying the many apologies he hadn’t spoken out loud. Eddie reciprocates enthusiastically, his hands sliding up in Richie’s hair, winding around a curl and tugging until they separate.

‘You ever say something like that again and you won’t get away with it that easily okay dumb ass?’ Eddie baits, waiting for Richie’s agreement.

‘Oh, and also, I get tv privileges, I want to decide what we’re going to watch, when we’re going to watch it.’

‘Agreed’, Richie relents, so happy that they’re well on their way to making up, that he would say yes to anything.  

‘Now lets go home, my ass has been sitting here for way to long and it’s freezing off.’ Eddie states, standing up and seizing a hold of his cardigan.

‘Oh no, not my Spaghetti’s ass, what ever would I do without it?’

Entering the house again when they make it home, Eddie clasps his phone in his hands, frowning at the missed calls Bev left him.

‘Hey, why is Beverly calling me?’

‘Yeah, I don’t think we’ll be able to go visit for a while, I may or may not have ended the call without saying goodbye.’

#reddie #reddie fight #hurt comfort #making up #My writing #richie tozier #richie tozier imagine #Richie x Eddie #eddie kaspbrack #eddie kaspbrak imagine #it chapter two imagine #it chapter 2 #mentioned Beverly Marsh

[clownhara]

I've been following you for a while but I dont know all that much about your OCs so how about a big resume of them all?? :DDD

I haven't really posted much about them on this account until recently so that doesn't really suprise me 😅 but yeah I absolutely can! Warning though this is going to be unbelievably long

I guess I should start off with Zensuke because he is THE gay purple cat. I named this blog after this guy. I made him when I was probably like 12-13 or around there so he had all the things you'd expect a repressed edgy kid's of to have. He was basically a demon who managed to get out of thier world's equivalent of hell and instead of doing anything evil he just made cake and got married to the guard who was supposed to kill him. I don't really do much with him anymore but I still love him very much.

Corbinian is probably the character I talk most about and he's the one I edit to fit into different worlds the most. He was a normal doctor but he got his memory wiped by robots and ended up working as an executioner for the robotic mafia, but eventually got caught and had to hide out in Lobotomy (he was originally a Lobotomy Corp oc) where he discovered he can extract abnormality dna and with some altering the dna can be injected into humans causing a variety of different mutations and effects. He's usually very heartless and manipulative, but does have a soft spot, usually for anxious, soft spoken people, who subconsciously remind him of his brother (who is a friends if so I can't really get into him). He also was given a variety of nicknames by the higher ups, like Corb, Corn chip, Corb on the Orb, or just Corn. Je

Corble is the result of Corb trying out human cloning. He has the same general appearance as Corbinian, but with purple hair (hence the name, because he's porble corb) that's styled differently. Since the experiment was technically a failure Corb was going to kill him, but Corble was really sweet and innocent and Corb basically went "well great guess I adopted my clone then". Corb stopped messing with cloning but adores Corble.

Might as well get all of my Lobotomy ocs out of the way. Oliver is the first Lobotomy oc I ever made, which is funny because I may or may not constantly forget that he exists. Oliver is basically a five year old kid in an adults body, and I mean that literally, because his parents basically locked him in a room and ignored him so his mental age is basically that of a kids. He's very mischievous and loves pulling pranks on people, most of which are harmless. Unless it's Corb, whom Oliver gates with a passion. Then it's thinly veiled murder attempts disgusted as pranks. He loves Fairy tales, and only works with fairy tale abnormalities because he panics with any other kind. Only one person in the entire facility can even put up with him, and that's Mabel.

Mabel is trans lesbian who can find the good in almost anyone. She's optimistic, bubbly, and has a great sense of humor. She tends to get really flustered around women though. Is it obvious I kinda projected onto her a bit? Because I did. If she wasn't in Lobotomy she'd definitely be a streamer. I'm just now realizing I basically made snapcube before I knew who that was. Whoops.

Up next is Adam! Adam is quiet, nervous, and honestly just prefers to not be noticed. Their ability to almost seamlessly blend into thier surroundings is astounding. Most people (me included) tend to just forget they exist. Which honestly is funny because they end up dating the loudest, most cocky person in the entire facility. Adam loves horror movies and spicy food.

Kieth is the loudest, most cocky person in the entire facility. He's the adopted son of a sephirah and the leader of the Rabbit team so that much is unavoidable. He's quick to anger, blunt, and tends to underestimate other people. However, he's also loyal to a fault, and willing to back his friends up no matter what. He feels like his mom's are expecting him to live up to expectations that he can't (and that they don't have but he doesn't realize that), so he's constantly throwing himself in harm's way to desperately try to prove to them that they made a good investment by adopting him or die trying. His two passions in life are collecting weapons and tending to rabbits, two of which he managed to train to sit on his shoulders and attack people. Despite being total opposites he loves Adam very much and will endure any horror movie with them, even if he's a huge scaredy cat.

Damien doesn't gave that much development, unfortunately. He came from a very religious household, moved out, and frequently gets possessed by an abnormality who makes him act like a cryptid. Totally normal stuff. He also went to law school.

Zephyr is a very, very serious individual. They've got a completely monotone color palette, speak either in short, blunt sentences or long, fanciful paragraphs with no in between, and tend to come off as cold and stiff. They're completely devoted to work, which is how they managed to become a captain. Despite this, they're very kind and caring, but unfortunately rarely get to show that side of themselves unless it's with Jamison, thier partner, both in crime and in the romantic sense. They also have a love/hate relationship with Owen, basically openly hating his guts but also enjoys thier banter and would hate if anything genuinely awful happened to them or his family.

Jamison is the complete opposite of Zephyr. He's an open book, very colorful, and tends to slack of when Zephyr isn't looking. Not on purpose, he just tends to get distracted most of the time. He's quite popular because he's very cheerful, which is rare in the higher ranks of Lobotomy. He'd absolutely die for Zephyr, and us usually the one who patches thier wounds. He really doesn't like Owen and thinks thier a pain in the ass, but keeps that to himself most of the time.

Owen is..... Interesting. I kinda went buck wild with him not gonna lie. He's one of the oldest son's of the God of Nightmares and Fire, an absolute agent of choas, and a campy fashion nightmare. But... I love them. They're both unbelievably obnoxious and also very caring. He's the kind of character you'd love but also hate at the same time. He also ended up becoming the God of Death in one timeline. If he wasn't God they'd probably run makeup guru/cursed amsr YouTube channel. Honestly he'd still run those as a God though. Also gender is a toy store and Owen is a kid who broke in after dark and is running along pushing all of the assorted genders into a cart while laughing maniacally (they use any pronouns but I stuck to just he/him they/them for this little snippet)

Alright, Lobotomy ocs done. Up next is.... Ugh... Octavious. He's originally a Danganronpa oc, the shsl gossip, and he was made to be a villian and by God does it show. He's the most fake, back stabbing, two faced character I've ever made. He's also the most one dimensional, which was actually intensional. He has no personality beyond being a petty, lying bitch, so when he runs out of lies and rumors to spread he goes into an existential crisis about how he has virtually no identity until he makes some new lie up about some random person. He's also abusive towards his younger sibling Aspyn, whom he has both physically and emotionally scarred. And, the icing on the "fuck this guy" cake, he's incredibly obsessive over his "wife" Melissa, who wants nothing to do with him and never even dated him, let alone married him. Basically he's a horrible, lying, abusive stalker. He also dresses exclusively in eye burn pink since the most poisonous bugs are usually brightly colored. Fuck Octavious, all my homies hate Octavious.

Next is Melissa, who honestly wasn't much better before her arc. She was raised to believe that in order to truely succeed in life, you have to ensure others fail. She, unfortunately, took that advice to heart. Get arc consisted of learning that we all can succeed together and that actively fucking other people over just made her an awful person, so she changed her behavior and tried to help people from then on out. She's incredibly meticulous, organized, and really smart. She still has issues trusting, but she's getting better. She has a crush on Octavious's younger sibling, but absolutely despises Octavious.

Aspyn is a quiet, caring individual who has no confidence both due to Octavious and just how they were raised. They are an incredibly skilled doctor, however, managing to perform amazingly in several different fields. They are, however, very defensive about thier passions, quick to insult anyone who questions them, mainly due to Octavious. They have a huge crush Melissa, but is to afraid to ask her out. Also they wear an eye patch because Octavious messed up one of thier eyes.

Hooo boy where to start with Edward. He's really inconsistent between universes, but the main constants are his power (he can trade bodies with people), him and Max getting together, him being a huge bookworm, and somehow he usually ends up being my self inserts dad???? Hos other aspects tend to change. Sometimes he's a power hungry megalomaniac who's trying to take over the world and will crush anyone and everyone who gets in his way or isn't useful to him, using his power evily to stay young forever by trading bodies with his kids and killing them when they're in his body. Other times, he's a fairly calm, if not a little cold, man whos biggest crime is the occasional tax evasion, who's power is more of a curse, causing him to stay alive forever through a series of unfortunate coincidences. Either way he's fun to write

Max is one of my favorite characters. He loves baking, his friends and family, he isn't too bright but no one holds that against him. Unfortunately, no matter which side of Edward it is, he's hopelessly in love with him, which can lead to his downfall. He's very protective of his cousin Heron, and tries to protect the innocent, which he usually doesn't end up doing thanks to evil Edwards manipulation. I also somehow failed to mention he's a plant man and flowers sprout wherever he walks and he can control plants but I couldn't find a good way to fit that in naturally.

Heron is half a plant man, in the worst possible way. He has rose vines instead of blood, which feels exactly how you think it would. Magic keeps his alive luckily, but it's unbelievably painful. Most of him and Max's family died when they were young, and unlike Mac who ended up on the streets, Heron ended up in an orphanage, where he learned at a young age that he shouldn't get close to anyone because if he does, they'd die. He genuinely believes that, and the only person he thinks is immune, is his cousin Max, who he even still expects to drop dead. Heron mainly fights by breaking his skin so his vines will grow rapidly and trap and kill his attacker, which looking back is uh. Kinda symbolic. I didn't do that on purpose but it fits

Eden is an angel, who was outcasted from heaven after being framed for a crime they didn't commit. They don't understand how humans work, but is trying thier best to fit in. He's one of the few beings Heron trusts, and even still Heron doesn't trust them much because of Eden's ability, being able to control holy flames. Eden is stoic and aloof, with an odd sense of humor. He insists that him baking using his holy flames is a form of training. Despite them claiming to be above human emotions, they very much are not above them and he is actually quite emotional.

Avocado is one of Herons old friends, who fell victim to Herons "luck" (aka they died). They are a drider (basically spider centaur) who came from a large family of drider thieves. They are very quiet and kind, which they use to thier advantage, since one would thing they'd steal small objects from people's houses or pickpocket them, which Avocado very much does. While they're fairly weak in combat thier thieving skills are not to be underestimated.

Grape is Avocados older sibling, and they are very serious and quite rude. Grape wants to kill Heron to avenge thier sibling, but ends up getting caught robbing the wrong person and ends up having to join the person's kids adventuring party.

Apple is the oldest drider sibling, and ends up taking a motherly role for all of the younger kids. They had to grow up incredibly fast, and has to make all of the hard decisions in place of thier dying father. Desperately needs a break.

There's more spider siblings but there isn't much info on them

Both Sherry and Theodore Poser are mainly just there because I have them really fun designs and don't really have a personality. Sherry's kinda hard to draw though

#this took forever but oh well #im also not tagging every individual oc lol #asks #aki no nyo #gay purple ocs #gay purple posts #long post

[spookyboywhump]

@inky-whump​ your comment on this post made me want to write another short thing and oops it’s almost 2000 words

 Tw for suicidal thoughts and mentions of assault and drug use

 Zander squeezed his eyes shut and bit back a whine as he was dropped on the floor of his room, landing on his chest, the movement further disturbing his newly broken rib. His wrists were still bound painfully behind him, and Cain crouched down, easily slicing through the rope- and one of his wrists- with his pocket knife. His arms fell limply at his sides, almost numb from being twisted behind him so long.

 “Clean yourself up, mutt, you’re fucking disgusting.” Cain said as he got back up. “And here, you can keep these.” He tiredly opened his eyes as he dropped something in front of his face, the two teeth that had been knocked out of his mouth. 

 “Feeling generous, huh…?” He mumbled, even though Cain ignored him as he left the room, locking him up before returning to his guests. The room was almost dead silent, sound proofed, so he couldn’t even hear his footsteps retreating. All he could hear was his own shallow breaths, he finally felt safe, safe and completely alone. 

 He laid still on the floor for a few moments longer before finally forcing himself up, first on to his knees, and then rising to his feet, his legs shaking and threatening to give out at any moment. Thankfully it was only a few feet to the bathroom, he leaned against the counter for support as he turned the faucet on, cupping his hands under the running water. He rinsed his mouth out first, he was still bleeding after all this time, probably the cause of his dizziness.

 He didn’t want to even look up to his reflection, blood smeared and dried around his mouth and down his chin and neck, deep lash marks crossing his chest. He was thankful there were only five. There were deep rope marks crossing his arms and wrists, red and irritated, he was bound to scratch at them the rest of the night.

 He didn’t have time to worry about that now though, he needed to take care of himself. He rinsed the taste of blood from his mouth as best he could before slowly kneeling down, holding on to the edge of the counter to keep from falling before he was settled on the floor. He wished he could just lay on the cool tile floor, wished he could get some relief from the stabbing pain that shot through him each time he breathed, but he had other wounds to take care of.

 He didn’t have to spend long digging in the cabinet under the sink, pulling out the first aid kit so very generously provided to him. For Cain’s purposes, he was better off being in the best shape he could possibly be in, which meant his injuries needed to be tended to, however he had no interest in taking personal care of his dog. He at least had the sense to give him the materials to do so himself, and Zander preferred it that way, he didn’t need somebody else’s hands all over him. 

 “Clean the wounds first… it’s going to hurt but it has to be done…” He murmured, talking himself through the steps. He started with the new cut on his wrist, Cain hadn’t meant to- or, maybe he had- but he cut deep, he wondered if he should try stitching himself up. He decided against it, pouring the disinfectant onto a clean rag and carefully cleaning the cut. At first he bit his lip but that just hurt more, and since it was just him he allowed himself to whine out loud, the disinfectant stinging as if burning into him.

 “If it stings that means it’s working, right mom?” He mumbled to the empty room, his mother’s words echoing in the back of his mind, every time he got a scraped knee or an accidental cut and she had to sit him down and tend to the injury. It didn’t matter if he was seven or seventeen, she would insist on patching him up and following it up with a kiss on the forehead. Even when he complained and pretended he was too old for that, it always made him feel loved. He missed that feeling every day.

 He made sure to clean the whip marks next, he knew better than to ignore them after suffering a horrible infection from one. Clean the wounds, then came the bandages, he started with the wrist since it was easier. He was hesitant to bandage his chest, the movement would irritate his rib and he wasn’t sure if even the slightest compression would be a good idea, but ultimately he decided to go for it, it wasn’t his fault if he didn’t know how to treat a broken rib, Cain could take him to the doctor if it became an actual problem. Might as well stick to the things he knew.

 He found the bottle of painkillers in the box, pulling the cap off and pouring four into his hand. He’d have to remember to ask for more soon, he was only given what he needed, never enough to even attempt to overdose with. They were strong too, if he actually wanted to he could store them away and get enough to go through with it. He never did that though, just swallowed them dry, one at a time. The only thing left of use to him in the kit was an ice pack, the kind that would get cold if he snapped it just right. He hardly had the energy left to do that much but he grabbed it anyway, dragging himself out of the bathroom.

 He caught sight of the two teeth still on the floor, thought about it for a moment before picking them up, going over to his bed and kneeling down, wincing as he bent down to pull a small box from under the bed. Cain allowed him so few personal possessions that he kept most of them hidden here, a few pictures he’d been gifted when he began to forget his parents faces, newspaper clippings about his “disappearance”, an earring that had been ripped through his ear during his first week in this place. There were so few things he could call “his” that no matter how small or odd he felt the need to keep them, hide them away so at least he had something that couldn’t be stolen from him.

 “You’re so fucking weird.” He sighed, dropping the two teeth into the box. It wasn’t the first couple of teeth he’d lost here, but he hadn’t been able to keep the last ones. Even if it was weird, he didn’t see why it mattered, he was completely alone here. This cell, this room, it was the closest he had to a safe place, Cain rarely hurt him here, Vanessa had never assaulted him here, he could be alone with himself and his thoughts and until the next time that door opened, he could feel safe.

 He pushed the box back under his bed before forcing himself up, sitting on the edge of the bed so he could focus on the ice pack, hoping it would help the aching pain in his ribs. Once he was sure it was cold enough he laid back, crying out loudly as he did so. The pressure from the bandages was making it so much worse, maybe he shouldn’t have done that, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do though. If Cain expected him to care for his own injuries the least he could do was give him a little bit of an explanation, but he couldn’t even have that much.

 “You’re smart, Zander, you can figure it out on your own…” He said to himself, sighing with relief as he finally pressed the ice pack to his ribs, the cold digging into him and almost numbing the pain. “Even Cain said so, you can be smart…” He closed his eyes, finally relaxing. The painkillers must’ve been kicking in, or it could be the blood loss and general exhaustion. No matter what it was, he allowed it to take over, his body relaxing, his mind finally at ease as he drifted off to sleep. 

 ***

 He stared in the mirror, prodding at the false tooth with his tongue despite Cain’s insistence he leave it alone. Four false teeth total now, he wondered how long until all his front teeth were fake. 

 Cain was too focused on appearances, he only let two days pass before dragging him to that awful place, for once not to fight but for treatment. He said he looked horrible without the teeth, and Vanessa wouldn’t want to even look at him without them. He wished he could have refused the replacements. Two teeth were replaced and he was finally seen by an actual doctor, his rib only seemed to be getting worse. Cain’s favorite doctor, Andrew, chastised him for bandaging his chest and compressing the injury, said he risked pneumonia by doing that. He’d have to remind himself to wrap his chest tighter when he inevitably broke another rib, pneumonia sounded like a good long break from his usual activities. 

 All he could give for the injury was stronger pain killers and a stern warning to Cain to leave him alone for a few weeks, maybe even find it in his heart to give him an ice pack every now and again. He doubted he would be that generous, but hoped he’d keep up with the painkillers, he’d grown to almost love that hazy, sleepy state they put him in, unaware of the pain he felt or anything around him. Cain could smack him around as much as he wanted and he’d just stare blankly at him, which meant he was no fun and Cain would either leave him alone or hold back the drugs. Zander would beg for the drugs if he had to, anything for a brief escape from this hell. 

 Sometimes he hoped that Cain would get careless, give him the wrong dose, that it would kill him quickly and peacefully in his sleep and he could finally just rest. Death wasn’t his first option or his favorite option, but when the idea presented itself he could never ignore it, even when he knew it wasn’t what he really wanted. He wanted out so bad, but more than that he wanted to just survive, which was the only thing keeping him from a serious attempt. Another day, another week, another year, he just wanted to live. He could contemplate his own death all he wanted but he knew he would never go through with it, he’d made it too far. What harm could it really do to push through one more day?

  The answer was, apparently, not enough to make him give up.

#whump #my writing #my oc's #Zander #Cain #self caretaking #caretaking #cleaning wounds #bandages #tw suicidal thoughts #tw suicide #tw drug mention #tw assault mention

[in-the-name-of-the-manga]

Burning Bridges, Building Confidence Prologue

When Marinette's life starts going downhill from the machinations of a liar, she's never felt more alone.

However, a familiar face reappears in Marinette's life after nine years, an event which shakes the situation up, both in and out of her mask. With a new player on the field, friends become enemies and some enemies become friends.

With her new friends at her back, Marinette begins to learn that to move on, some bridges just have to burn. And the match is being lit.

Updates Bi-weekly. Special thanks to @bigcheeseyboi for being my beta reader on this, especially with how long some of these chapters are.

AO3 Link

Marinette felt something off about the air as she wandered down the halls of her school. It felt like an eternity for her to get to the end of the hallway. At the end was the only light coming out of any of the classrooms, accompanied by voices. Her feet seemed to move of her own accord, using an energy her mind and body seemed to lack.

“Thank you so much everyone!” A voice said. Where was the voice from? It made her gut twist and her hairs stand on end. She got to the room and pushed the door open.

The room wasn’t a classroom, it looked like a fairytale wedding venue. Marinette felt a spark run up her spine and saw her clothes had become some mixture between a traditional Chinese wedding dress and a gorgeous trumpet gown, white accented with red; pink and black appearing in the details on the skirt. Her hair felt longer, pulled halfway up in a bun with apple blossom decorations. Thankfully she still felt the energy of her miraculous in her ears.

She stepped into the room, wary of touching anything as she picked up her skirt just enough that she could walk gently. Joy washed over her body, this was her day, the day she’d marry the love of her life. This was her happy ending, the stress of Hawkmoth was behind her and she was marrying someone that loved her completely. She noticed her name on a stray invitation, but she couldn’t read the other name, her eyes couldn’t seem to focus on it. Returning the invitation to the table, she wandered around the area.

Beautiful apple blossom decor mixed with gorgeous white, gold, and black decor. Sometimes she’d see a burst of red in the form of roses or blue in the form of tulips. They both stood out and blended with the deep applewood walls and the cream colored walls. As Marinette studied the cake, one of her parents’ handiwork no doubt, and the custom figures on the top were likely hers, the voice came again.

“This is my happiest day, I’m so glad you could join me on my wedding day!” The voice wasn’t hers. Marinette moved as quick as she could to the large doors that the voice came from, noting the beautifully done makeup on her reflection as she passed. She turned back and noticed the door had vanished. Picking up her dress she wandered inside, hearing a cheering crowd.

She spotted several familiar faces in the crowd, but there were some she couldn't find. Where were her parents? Her Nonna? Uncle Jagged and Aunt Penny? Where was Chloe? The crowd shifted and she could see the couple in the center. Adrien looking wholly uncomfortable and not acting like the groom his ill fitted suit. Next to him, clad in an atrocity that no one with eye would ever consider a dress, let alone one for a wedding, was….

Lila.

The Italian looked like she'd just sauntered in off the streets in a wedding dress made of dime store materials and hatred, gaudy makeup like an 80s Barbie, that hideous mop of sausage hair completely unchanged, and was that orange lipstick!?

Marinette wanted to vomit.

“To the bride!” They cheered. “To the groom!”

“What?” Marinette breathed, bluebell eyes wide. This couldn’t be happening. This was her wedding day, Lila shouldn’t have gotten anywhere near the venue, she wasn’t even invited, and Adrien looked too poorly dressed to be the groom. Where was her other half? She spun around, skirt flaring as she tried to find someone, anyone , who could give her answers.

“Marinette quit looking for attention and come cheer on the newlyweds!” Alya yelled, glaring at someone just over her shoulder, in the glaringly opposite direction of Marinette herself.

“Alya what are you doing!?” Marinette yelled, not noticing how distorted her voice sounded. “I’m right here! My name’s on all the invitations! Can’t you see it isn’t their wedding!? Lila’s lying again!”

“Marinette don’t be selfish!” Kim called, again not in the direction of the actual bride. “Just be happy for them!”

Marinette ran around the group, trying to get their attention. Each time she called out, they spat some insult or admonishment about how she should be celebrating the false bride at the true bride’s wedding. Finally she yelled,

“You’re not even looking at me!” She heard a sob, two sobs, a whole symphony of sobs. The true bride spun on her heels and ran toward the noise. Suddenly it all became clear.

Her mother, dressed in a gown similar to those of the rest of the bridal party, a soft pink with an apple blossom ornament in her hair, sobbed on the ground. Her father embraced his wife, drowning her in his large form, large tears rolling down his face. Nonna was crying, comforted by her grandfather, while Uncle Jagged and Aunt Penny were crying too.

“Mama? Papa?” Marinette approached warily. “Nonna? Uncle Jagged? What’s wrong? What’s going on?” Her shoes clacked on the flooring as she approached, only to screech to a halt as she saw what they were crowded around.

It was her. Face ashen and dress covered in blood splatter. Her nails were bloody and broken, while her eyes looked sunken. Right over her heart was what had to be the result of several stab wounds, spreading the blood off her still form and across the floor.

“Can you believe Marinette?” A voice called over her shoulder. “Faking a stab wound for attention, bet she got her entire family in on it.”

“What the hell is wrong with you people!?” Marinette yelled. “I’ve been stabbed! I’m dead! Oh my god I’m dead at my own wedding!”

She ran to the crowd, anger boiling under her skin. She shoved past Nathaniel and Alix, bursting into the center around the false couple. “What are you people doing!? There’s a dead body over there and they’re clearly NOT the people getting married today! That liar is wearing cheap dress that looks like it came from a halloween store and she,” Marinette spun on her heel only to stop. “She killed me.”

Lila, seemingly the only one able to see the true Marinette standing in front of her, stood proud, her cheap dress covered in blood splatter, a still gorey knife in the place of a bouquet. An evil grin was stretched across her face, “I’m so happy that everyone I love could join me on my wedding day.” She said, as if it were the truth. A blood red string wound it’s way around from her fingertips to the joints of those around her. The guests were no longer people, they were puppets, strings held by a liar.

“I told you you’d lose everything,” Lila sneered, glaring at the bride. “Your life will be in shambles, because no one will love you, no one will be at your side.”

Before Marinette could react, the faux bride slammed the knife into the bride’s chest.

~~~~~~~~

Marinette awoke with a yell, bolting upright. Her eyes jolted around the room, scared she’d find a lying Italian with a knife in her room. Tikki was at her side in a moment.

“Marinette breathe,” She urged. “It was just a dream.”

“It was horrible Tikki,” Marinette said, shaking like a leaf. “I-I was at the school, then it was my w-wedding. But Lila was there, acting like it was her wedding. Everyone was telling me I was causing a scene, but I wasn’t even there! They were talking to my dead body in a corner, Lila had killed me, her dress was bloody and everything, but they thought I was faking. T-then, she stabbed me and I woke up.”

Tikki frowned, wiping tears from her chosen’s eyes, tilting the girl’s head up with a paw. “Marinette, I promise you, nothing like that will ever happen, not on my watch. As long as I’m kicking, she will never be able to come after you like that, no one will.”

“Thank you Tikki,” Marinette sniffled. She wiped her eyes again and looked over at the clock, it was a little past three thirty, and she needed as much sleep as she could get. “I’ll try to go back to sleep, good night Tikki.”

“Good night Marinette,” the red kwami kissed her chosen’s forehead, leaving a bit of magic glowing on the spot. “Have some good dreams this time.”

As Marinette drifted off to happy memories and the feeling of flying over the Parisian night sky, Tikki settled down next to her, angrier and more determined than ever that things needed to change.

~~~~~~

Elsewhere in Paris a car pulled up to a more upscale multi-floor abode. The doors opened and a teenager stepped out. Nodding their thanks to the driver, they got their bags out of the trunk of the car, allowing the driver to leave. The teen checked their phone’s address book.

“This is the place,” they said in English. They lifted their bags over their shoulders and moved up the steps. When they got to the door they knocked boldly. The light flickered on in the living room and the door clicked before opening.

Standing before them was a woman with the same brown hair and green eyes. Wrapped in a bathrobe and wearing slippers, tears sprung into the woman’s eyes.

“Hi Mom.” The two collapsed into a hug, neither afraid of the tears running down their cheeks attracting any akuma. They were tears of joy after all.

#marinette dupain cheng #marinette dupain-cheng #ml salt #ml salt fic #oc #anti lila #lila rossi gets no rights #salt fic #BuringBridgesBuildingConfidence #the first part was a dream sequence BTW

[alabasterswriting]

William

Summary: The abuse explained a lot about Billy, but it did not excuse him. Will Byers was not impressed. 

William Byers was not so out of it as to not notice the bruise blossomed around Lucas’ neck. It was an ugly, molted thing, all purple lumps painting a dark hand around his friend’s flesh. The fingers were thick and obvious, four on one side with the thumb closest to his jugular as if his assailant had gotten some sort of perverse pleasure out feeling Lucas’ pulse die. Will had seen such marks before – on his mother, his brother, and even himself when Lonnie was particularly angry. He knew how much they hurt. It was a wonder Lucas could even speak. 

He didn’t ask about it; he got the feeling Lucas wouldn’t tell. Will knew he never did.  It wasn’t until later that night, after the celebrations had died down and most of the party had fallen asleep, that he pulled Mike aside. He asked, with some hesitancy, what had happened, and Mike, with equal hesitancy, answered back.

“It was Billy,” Mike whispered in an undertone.

Will filed the name away.

~*~*~*~

William Hargrove was Max’s stepbrother. Everyone called him Billy. He was taller than Jonathan and bulkier than Steve and walked around as if Hawkins was a particularly disgusting bug to be squashed beneath his feet. The only time he smiled was when he was hurting somebody and it was always tinged with the razor-sharp quality of a predator. To Will Byers, he was the human equivalent of a Demogorgon.

It was January when Will first noticed another bruise. This time it was on Max. It peaked out from under her shirt, a large discoloration that would have looked out of place if her sweater weren’t as purple as the injury. A strategic choice if Will had to guess. At a quick glance, anyone looking would have assumed it was just a trick of the light.

Max caught his eye over the lunch table and blanched. She pulled her sweater down to cover the bruise and returned to her sandwich, determinately not looking at him. Will lowered his eyes, polished off his apple, and said nothing.

~*~*~*~

Steve had a black eye that February. It was plump as a plum and made him a celebrity at the high school for all of one morning before people learned it was because he and Billy had a fight and Steve was on the losing end. Then, it just made him a target. He scoffed and walked Dustin home that day only because the eye made it impossible for him to drive. No one knew what the fight was about.

Will watched Steve as he walked extra close to Dustin, one hand on his shoulder and good eye glaring at the mass of students. He was like a sentry, guarding the younger boy from harm. Every so often he would steer Dustin in a slightly different direction from normal, covering it up with a jab or a shove. Will was grateful.

He liked Steve, but he would rather the older teen bruised than Dustin dead in a ditch.

~*~*~*~

One day El and Max hated each other, the next they were best friends. Will didn’t understand girls, much less girls like Max and El, and he wasn’t about to start trying. It was just nice to see them getting along. Still, when Hopper brought El over to the Byers’ place for one of her rare visits he couldn’t help but notice the new figure that had joined Papa in her so-called “revenge pictures.”

“Big brothers are bad,” she mumbled, stabbing the new figure with a red crayon.

Will bit his lip. “Not Jonathan,” he said, as he took the red back and brought it down to color the sky. “Or Lucas.”

The girl tilted her head in thought. She paused in her drawing for a split second before plucking the red out of his hand. “Not them,” she agreed, the words but someone hanging between them. Will hummed.

El finished off her picture by adding a leather jacket and black Camaro. 

~*~*~*~

Max stabbed Billy with a syringe. She then used Steve’s bat to threaten his family jewels. Will didn’t learn this until April when Dustin finally spilled the beans. His friends had tentatively started telling him about what happened during that too long week he was possessed, moving in fits and starts as if afraid doing otherwise would break him. It was never much, and only when they were all feeling particularly giddy, lest it spoil the mood.

Will liked hearing it from their perspective. It helped drown out the itch in the back of his head and the whispers that still clouded his mind on particularly cold days. Mike was the best storyteller, but Will preferred Dustin and Lucas’ tale if only because Will had few memories of it. Mike’s was still a little too close to home.

They had yet to tell him why Max stabbed Billy; Dustin had sort of danced around the subject. It wasn’t until Lucas’ fingers twitched towards his neck that Will made the connection. A shadow in the back of his mind roiled at the thought and Will hid the growing darkness with another question about Max’s heroics.

Apparently, she threatened him. She warned Billy off from her friends.

Will thought of the bruise under her sweater and Steve’s black eye and pushed the darkness down further.

~*~*~*~

Will had never actually met Billy and he hadn’t been in a rush to fix that. He knew him only by reputation and the quick glances he managed to glean as Max jumped into his car. There was something not right about him, something that made the hairs on Will’s neck stand on end. He was quite happy to keep Billy at a distance.

It was unfortunate then, that on the first day of summer vacation Will and Lucas were the only ones free. El was still stuck in the cabin, Mike was visiting relatives, and Dustin had left for camp. The only one left to join their group was Max, but she still hadn’t managed to raise the money for a Supercom and Lucas wasn’t suicidal enough to knock on her front door. Naturally then, it fell to Will to invite her out to play.

Lucas hid behind a tree as Will approached the house. He knocked – once, twice – and wondered if it were possible for anyone to hear him with the music blaring inside. When no one answered, he tried again. And again. And again. Until the door swung open and he was met with the furious visage of Billy Hargrove complete with a darkening handprint struck across his face. It was swollen and thick and far too large to belong to a woman.

Billy sneered, and Will only managed to squeak out a quick, “Max,” before the suffocating ugliness that surrounded the teenager gave way to allow his sister through. He glared at them and shut the door with a bang, catching Max on the back of her shoes. She stumbled and grumbled under her breath, and quickly dragged Will from where he’d frozen on the porch step.

“Hurry up, Byers!”

He thought of the bruise on Billy’s cheek and bit his lip till it bled.

~*~*~*~

Billy Hargrove was full of hate. It blazed inside him like an inferno, always one step away from getting out of control. Will hated being around him. As if their first meeting was some sort of signal, Will now saw Billy everywhere. He was at the store and the park and the abandoned lot. He was both actively avoiding Max and stalking her, to the point that Will had taken to avoiding her too. It hurt, because Will liked Max, but the festering darkness inside her brother made it hard for him to think.

He was a canvas of wounds. They oozed resentment and rage and a sort of buzzing electricity that Will found both familiar and sickening. Whispers flittered across Will’s mind every time they crossed paths, raspy little voices urging him to get the pain out in any way he could. Will always shook the whispers away. They sounded like Him. Him, and Lonnie, and Will Byers himself, all mixed together.

Will always ran after that, but never before he caught a glimpse of Billy smoking a cigarette and glaring at the world as if all he wanted to do was watch it burn.

~*~*~*~

Billy became a lifeguard at the community pool over the summer and Will noticed the way he shied away from the other men that frequented the area. He would flinch, minutely, and move closer to the gaggle of women tittering over how handsome he was. Billy thrived around women. He ate up their attention and charmed them with platitudes he didn’t mean. Will almost felt bad for them; they couldn’t see the cruelty under his skin the way Will could.

Electricity sparked between them – those women and Billy – both completely different and yet disgustingly similar to the electricity Dustin was always going on about. Will didn’t think it was the same thing. Nothing between them felt like love.

It hurt. It wasn’t the warm buzz he sometimes felt between Hopper and his mom, nor the passionate zing between Mike and El. It wasn’t even the playful jolt of a joy buzzer that always cropped up whenever he was around Lucas and Max. Billy’s electricity was searing. It was like standing in the middle of a storm, where only the lucky ones would escape unscathed and everyone else would be struck dead.

Billy was like lightning; beautiful at a distance, but never up close.

~*~*~*~

Will never met Neil Hargrove, and unlike Billy that didn’t change. He only knew his name because Max liked to curse it under her breath. She hated Neil in a way Will never could Lonnie, and resented him in a way Will could.

Neil was everything Lonnie had been and everything he could have become. He was abusive and cruel and controlling, and left wounds on his children that no amount of time could ever erase. Neil was a black stain. He brewed fear and loathing in those he should have cared for, and he created a monster when he should been creating a man.

It certainly explained Billy, but it did not excuse him.

~*~*~*~

William Byers hated William Hargrove. He hated the bruises on Max’s skin, the hurt on Lucas’ face, and the threats made against his friends. He hated the darkness and the whispers and the rage that seeped from every pore. He hated Neil for his cruelty and Susan for her inaction, and he hated whatever woman had seen fit to give Billy the same name as his own.

Two Williams; boys born at the bottom of the barrel. 

He wondered, sometimes, if he hated Billy for everything he had done, or because he had the audacity to be so intimately familiar. Did he hate Billy for Max’s bruises or the fact that he’d left them when he knew how much they hurt? Did he hate Billy for Lucas and Steve, or for Jonathan and himself?

There was a conglomerate of names. Sometimes they all rolled into one and sometimes they screamed strangely out of synch. Lonnie and Neil and El’s Papa. They’d each inflicted enough pain on their children to create monsters. Where was Billy’s excuse when there were people out there like Jonathan and Max and El who only strove for kindness?

William Byers hated William Hargrove. He hated the abuse he wore as an excuse. He hated the way Billy spat on every other person like him who had made the conscious decision to be better. He hated the way he spread that abuse when he knew how much it hurt.

But most importantly, William Byers hated William Hargrove for being so much like himself. It was like looking into the Upside Down and seeing what he could become.

Two Williams. Two monsters.

No wonder the Mind Flayer took him.

#stranger things #stranger things 3 #will byers #billy hargrove #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #mike wheeler #steve harrington #dustin henderson #eleven #el hopper #jane hopper #neil hargrove #abuse explains billy but it does not excuse him #will byers meets billy hargrove and he is not impressed #they really are mirror images of each other #like it's almost creepy #stranger things fanfiction #will byers has powers

[weartirondad]

Broken China Made In Walmart

Prompt: “I’m gonna take a guess and say that’s broken” Tony finds Peter next to an age old vase, that was gift from his aunt Peggy, broken on the ground, with water and flowers everywhere.” ( @itsallratherstrange )

FF.net I ao3

“I’m gonna take a lucky guess here and say that’s broken.”

As soon as Peter looked up he knew that that had been the wrongest thing he could have possibly said. Who the hell had trusted him to look after a kid?

The boy was crouched on the floor next to the smithereens of what used to be a vase, his pants drenched with the water that was pooling around him. The tulips his maid had gotten just two days prior were strewn across the floor, a mess of pollen and petals and mushed leaves.

None of that truly registered with Tony, though, because there was blood, too. Peter’s hands were covered in blood where he was propped up on the floor from bracing his fall. The shards were embedded in his skin and the older man’s stomach coiled at the sight. He had never had a problem seeing blood but apparently he had very many problems seeing this particular kid’s blood.

“I’m so – so s-sorry, Mister- Mister Sta-Stark, sir,” the kid stuttered through trembling lips, glassy eyes still locked on Tony who was getting increasingly worried by the second. “I- I didn’t- I didn’t mean to b-break it. I –“

“Shh,” he shushed, squatting down next to Peter, glad he was still wearing shoes when he heard the glass crunch under his soles. He reached out, mirroring his movements so he wouldn’t scare the kid who looked more and more like a frightened animal. Once he had a hold of the boy, he pulled him up with him and lead him a few steps away.

An undertaking that was a lot easier said than done when you were trying to move a shell-shocked super-teen.

Gently he pried Peter’s hands from where he was grabbing the fabric of his pants and inspected the injury. The blood had certainly made it looked worse than it actually was but he doubted the shards in his hands were a lot of fun either way.

“It’s not that bad,” he told the muted kid with an encouraging smile even though he still felt sick just looking at the blood. “We’re gonna pull them out and clean you up and with your super-healing you’re going to be good as new in no time.”

When there was still no reply he started pulling him towards the kitchen and the first aid kid he stored there. Peter followed without problem, stumbling a little when they came to the halt but never actually making a sound. It was the longest he had ever gone without at least making some kind of noise ever since Tony had met him. He couldn’t help but worry the longer it went on.

Only when he had manhandled the kid into a chair and made sure he wasn’t going to slip out of it before getting a pair of tweezers and some disinfection to clean the wound, did the kid open his mouth.

“B-but what about the vase.”

Tony looked up from cupboard he was rummaging through and frowned. “What about it?”

“It’s – it’s broken,” the kid gasped and it sounded like he had to put everything he had into not breaking out into a sob.

Frankly, it broke Tony’s heart.

“Yeah, I figured that,” he agreed softly, lowering down onto his knees in front Peter and gently turning his left hand who had taken the blunt of the glass. “It’s just a vase, buddy, they break,” he told him, trying to convey with his eyes that he really couldn’t care less about some stupid ceramic as long as Peter was still bleeding.

“I’m going to pull out the shards now. It’s going to sting a bit but we don’t want anything stuck in there when you start healing, alright?”

When the kid didn’t reply and simply kept staring he squeezed his knee with his free hand and repeated. “Is that okay, kid?” Only when he got a shaky nod in return did he start to pull out the pieces one by one.

Peter winced but otherwise didn’t show any sign of pain which made the whole procedure a lot more bearable for Tony who felt a stab through his own skin with every piece he cleaned.

“You told me it was a gift from your Aunt Peggy.” His voice was barely more than a whisper and immediately after the words left his mouth he bit his trembling lip, obviously still forcing back a sob. “And- and I- I bro-broke it.”

He was shaking at that point, tears leaking from his eyes and mixing with the dried blood on his cheek from where he had tried to wipe his eyes with his hands earlier. “I’m so – sorry, Mister Stark.”

Tony shushed him again, surprised how paternal the sound made him feel, how he instinctually reached out to brush the tears away and lowered the tweezers to concentrate on the kid’s distress instead.

“I don’t care about you breaking the vase.” And, surprisingly, he didn’t. Yes, it had been a gift from Peggy Carter but that was so far down on his lists of priorities right now, it didn’t even make the first page.

“I’m going to tell you a story about my Aunt Peggy and that vase,” he decided, settling his hand on Peter’s knee again and waiting until he met his eyes again. “But first you’re going to tell me whether you’re crying over that vase or because you’re in pain. Because you are allowed to cry when you’re in pain but you’re not allowed to cry over a stupid vase.”

That managed to tickle a giggle out of the boy and albeit wet and shaky it was music in Tony’s ears. “Doesn’t hurt too bad,” he sniveled, “but I didn’t wanna make you sad.”

“Then let me get out these shards while telling you about my favorite aunt and I’ll be the happiest. Deal?”

Peter nodded and Tony went back to work.

“Aunt Peggy was my godmother,” he began, “it was my dad’s idea. I think he wanted to have people around his firstborn son who loved Steve Rogers as much as he did and who wouldn’t let him forget his biggest creation. It was,” he swallowed, “hard sometimes to grow up with a dad who was always looking for more than you could give him but Aunt Peggy wasn’t like that at all.”

A smile stretched across his face remembering the fierce redhead who had never minced her words, especially not for Howard Stark.

“Peggy loved me a lot.” It was one of the few things he was truly certain of. “And I think he hadn’t planned for that. For her actually wanting to spend time with me and not comparing me to a dead super soldier and their relationship went downhill from there.” An understatement if he’d ever heard one.

“Peggy didn’t like the way Howard acted and how he treated me, so she told him as much. Frequently. Protected me from his wrath more than once when I broke something of value. She did her best to drive him up the walls of our fancy mansion and she was the best at it. That’s why she got him that vase for Christmas one year.”

“Sorry, buddy,” he grimaced when the boy winced and a solitary tear slipped from the corner of his eye. “We’re almost done. Do you want me to stop talking?”

“Nuh uh,” he shook his head, smiling bravely, bottom lip tugged between his teeth, “I wanna know about the vase.”

“Okay, kiddie.” He concentrated on plucking another shard from his right hand now before continuing.

“Howard loved everything fancy,” he explained, “Everything was better when it cost a lot of money and things were only really worth having when they had a name everyone knew. The house I grew up in looked more like a museum than anything else and it was equally frightening to just walk through the rooms.”

“He also prided himself on looking like a good guy to the rest of the world.” Key word being look like. “So when Peggy Carter, prominent agent and Co-founder of S.H.I.E.L.D. presented him with a cheap no-name vase during the annual Christmas gathering, basically in front of the whole world or at least in front of everyone who mattered, he had to accept her gift with a big smile and cheek kisses. He was livid.”

Tony chuckled quietly, pulling out the last piece of ceramic and picking up the disinfection.

“This one’s gonna burn a bit but we don’t want any dirt in there once it’s closing,” he warned, “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” came the tight- lipped reply, “Why did your dad keep the vase if he didn’t like it?”

“Oh, believe me he would have loved nothing more than to throw it out,” Tony said with a grin that turned into a sorry grimace when Peter hissed. “Sorry. It’s almost over.”

“He actually hid it in some secret chamber never to be seen again until there was another function and Peggy openly lamented over how she had never actually seen the vase she had gotten him for Christmas and there were a lot of questions about why he wouldn’t want to set it up where everyone could see it.”

“So, whether he liked it or not, Howard had the vase put up on a small table right at the entrance with the order to always keep it clean and to always keep the flowers in it fresh. It was the first thing you saw when you set foot into the mansion and it was a sign of Peggy’s stubbornness and her love to defy the likes of men like Howard. It was the only thing I kept of Howard’s.”

Peter frowned at him, looking frustrated. “So the vase was important to you even though it wasn’t very expensive. I’m really sorry Mister Stark.”

“Sure it was,” he agreed easily, reaching for the gauze to bandage the now clean wound, “But the thing Peggy taught me was that people are always more important than stuff no matter how valuable you think the stuff is. She took off her engagement ring because she accidentally cut my cheek with it one time. Said being engaged wasn’t worth hurting me and started wearing it on a chain around her neck from then on.”

He had finished wrapping the kid’s hands and pulled out a tissue to clean off the residue blood from his wrists and face.

“My point is,” he said, wiping at Peter’s cheek until the red came off, grinning when the boy scrunched up his face in indignation, “she would’ve banned all vases from the house the second someone got hurt because of them. And, yeah, it was a nice token to remember my Aunt Peggy by but I’d rather have you happy and healthy and tell you about her than some stupid old vase that she once touched.”

“So,” Peter cocked his head to the side thoughtfully, “You’re not mad?”

“Nope,” he shook his head and pushed himself back up, cringing when his joints creaked. “You know how much old people love telling stories. And I got to tell one of my favorite stories about Peggy Carter so really I’m glad you broke it. Not so glad you got hurt, though.”

The kid grinned happily, jumping up from the chair, tears and broken vase forgotten. “You are old,” he agreed with a laugh and then, a little more hesitantly asked, “Do you want to tell me more about her?”

“More stories about Aunt Peggy? Gladly, buddy.”

#irondad #iron dad #irondad fic #iron dad fic #tony stark #peter parker #peggy carter #as tony's godmother #1k prompts #1k followers celebration #I'm gonna take a lucky guess here and say that's broken. #itsallratherstrange #josis fic #broken china made in walmart