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lottiecrabie · 6 months

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anatomy – matty healy

matty is supposed to tutor you in biology, but there’s another subject you’re much more interested in…

or tutor!au <3

tags: 18+, oral sex, unprotected sex, dry humping, dom/sub undertones, choking, cumplay, virgin!matty, freaky little loser guy

6802 words

You sit on top of the sheets of your bed, ankles crossed. You pop your bubblegum, flipping boredly through your Cosmo. Lipsticks, perfectly preened women, and the top ten sex tips flip in front of your eyes. You halt at the horoscope, indulgently checking yours. You’re not superstitious: it’s just that anything is better than this godforsaken lesson.

“And, you see, the specific shape of the active site of an enzyme enables it to function,” Matty drawls on, unfaltered by your clear disinterest. Maybe he doesn’t see; his nose is pulled tightly in his book. “It’s— It’s really a simple understanding of 'lock and key'. You can think of enzyme activity as molecular collisions resulting in the formation of enzyme-substrate complexes.” All the terms blur together in your mind. In one ear, transformed and decorated by the pretty pink things on your page, then out the other.

You almost feel bad for Matty, pushed into your room by your parents with pleading, desperate eyes to make you learn something. He sits at your desk while you distract yourself with whatever is more interesting which, as it so happens, is almost everything. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t say much to you other than hey and a string of jargon you don’t care to understand. It’s not like your bitchy, unimpressed stare is very welcoming.

Matty has this nervous, twitchy energy about him. He stutters through half of his sentences, pushing his glasses up his nose, searching for the fixed point in his book he lost. He swallows thickly, starts again. An awkward, limby thing.

Really, it’s a shame he wears all those nerdy shirts and drowning clothes, as well as those horrendous thick, square glasses. If you assess him objectively enough, he could be quite pretty. He’s lean, with a cutting jaw, and adorable curly hair. Girls would look away a flutter of red flags if it meant birthing kids with those traits.

You sigh, pushing the Cosmo off your bed, rolling to your belly. You rest your chin on your crossed arms, eyeing Matty. He gives you a look at the shifting noise, rounding his eyes as they fall on the stripe of skin your loose lounging shorts have revealed in the crossfire. It’s barely a few centimeters of your asscheeks, but Matty blushes all the same, flipping back to his book as though burned. You smirk. Interesting.

“Matty,” you trail lightly, the cadence of a song.

You found your bright new, shining distraction. Your smile is vicious and dangerous, ready to bite, to gnaw to the bone.

Matty looks up at you, incertain. You rarely address him during your tutoring lessons. You’re not even sure you’ve said his name before, at least not to him. “I’m bored with biology,” you declare, artfully pouty and dejected.

“Oh,” he says. He swallows thickly. Flips through his book. His nervous tics make him all the more tantalizing to you. Some cruel need to toughen him up. “Um—”

You lick your teeth, grinning. “I want to study anatomy.”

Matty laughs, pushing his glasses up his nose. “That’s not in the syllabus.” There’s something about his total misunderstanding of your line that makes the need frizzle inside of you. An innocent little thing, to pick and devour through.

You sit up, resting your weight on your heels. Your knees part suggestively, the loose shorts riding up your thighs. Your crop top sits up your ribs. Belly button piercing winks at him. Matty takes in the sight, face pale. You grin, victorious.

“I didn’t mean that anatomy,” you say, teasing. You rest a hand loosely on your leg, purposefully dragging his stare down to it. Your pink nails flash against your skin.

“Oh.” He swallows thickly, hypnotized by the soft flesh of your thighs. “I—” He shakes his head, as if to draw himself out of the daydream. “I, um—” He repeats, then laughs, “What?”

You sigh, kneeling up and getting off the bed. Your bare feet wiggle in the fuzzy, pink carpet. You prowl to him, predator-like. His breath hitches in his throat, right where you want it.

“Matty,” you sing, and he chokes at the sound. Just his name drives him wild— good to know. You get close enough to lean on the desk, to tower over him. He blinks up at you, robbed of speech. You flutter your eyelashes at him. “Are you a virgin?”

His lips part in surprise, but he doesn’t answer. Not that he needs to; the fucking sight of him is enough to know. It’s about the fun of watching him stumble, stutter, push his little glasses up his nose, telltale signs you revel in.

You sit on the desk, bunching his careful notes. You trail two fingers up his shoulder, that awful cheap plaid. You almost resent the feel of it on your skin, if not for the way he shivers.

You pout mockingly at him, stopping where the collar of his shirt meets the skin of his neck. “Are you gonna answer me?”

“Yeah— yes.” You run your fingertips on his neck, a grazing touch that has him staring up at you in devotion. You smirk.

“Have you ever been touched like this?” You run your thumb to the other side of his neck, a strong path. You want him to feel it, until your hand stretches over his throat, possessive.

He swallows under your palm, Adam’s apple bobbing on your fortune-telling palm lines. “No,” he admits quietly. You feel it resonate more than you hear it.

You hum, silently thrilled. “And have you ever been kissed?” You whisper.

Matty stares up at you. He waits a second, two— takes his time. “No.” You smirk. You pick your gum between two fingers, pressing it into the corner of his notes. Perfect.

It’s a little awkward, of course, because you’re perched on the desk and he’s sitting all the way down on his chair, gripping its arms. But, still, you bend down and kiss him square on the mouth.

He gasps against you, freezing there. You’re undeterred; you kiss and kiss him, smearing your strawberry lipgloss, until he snaps into action and kisses you back. It’s a rhythmless, artless thing.

He doesn’t know how to kiss.

What he lacks in technique, he makes up in eagerness, opening his mouth and licking a wet tongue into yours. You giggle a little, taste the Sour Patch kids he nervously ate from his bag between two scientific words you purposefully didn’t remember. You press at his throat, just so he’s as breathless as you are. He moans against your lips, panting.

Matty doesn’t dare touch. His body is fixed to the desk chair, letting himself be kissed, taking only what you are willing to offer. He sits there like you are breathing life into his mouth, eating and eating and never asking for more. It’s what makes you want to give him more.

You pull away from him, straightening like a queen taking her throne. Under you, the pages wrinkle and ruffle, and he doesn’t even care. His lips are swollen and pink, shiny from the lipgloss. Breaths puff out from there, pulling attention.

“You’re kinda pretty,” you admit lowly, like a secret he should know.

“Thanks,” Matty flushes.

You release his throat, wiping your pink gloss off his lips. They part instinctively. You smile, slipping your thumb inside. He sucks the strawberry, warm tongue on your fingerprint. Power loosens your head.

“Do you want me?” You ask, as though his mouth drooling around your thumb wasn’t indication enough. You want the words; you want the worship.

“Yeth,” he says, choking on your finger. You smile, taking it out and drying it on his cheek.

You don’t make a big show of taking your shirt off. Your hands are at the hem of your baby tee, then it’s off your shoulders, thrown on the pink carpet. Matty whines, surprised and overwhelmed, throwing a furtive glance at the cracked door of your bedroom.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, taking his hand. Soft and weak; he hasn’t worked a day in his life. It’s slack between your fingers. He lets you puppeteer it to your breasts, lets you grope yourself with him as an instrument.

He makes another small noise from the back of his throat, staring at the fucking sight like he can’t quite believe it truly is his own hand. “God,” he mutters to himself, and it’s exactly how you feel.

“Say thank you,” you taunt him, because you know he will.

Like clockwork, Matty revels, “Thank you.” Growing bold, he rubs a thumb over your hard nipple, a tough callus you didn’t expect on the tip of it. It makes you moan; a crack in your spotless armor, but he doesn’t even notice. Too preoccupied with playing with your tits, pawing at it greedily.

“Can I—” He flushes, shaking his head.

“What?”

“Can I lick them?” A drop of heat strikes through you. You clench your thighs, arching your back into his readied palm.

“Yes.” He leans in before you’ve finished the s, sucking your abandoned nipple into his mouth. He licks and rubs and pinches, raw skill pulling at your sensitive skin. You bite back groans, breathing harshly. Your chest rises and falls into his mouth, but he’s just as diligent.

You rake a long-nailed hand into his hair, scratching his scalp with every particularly delicious lick. He moans at that, vibrating on your sensitive nipples.

He sticks his tongue out, panting like a dog, dipping down to the valley of your tits and pressing a kiss, then climbing up a new breast. He bites gently, and you jump, surprised by his boldness.

“Sorry,” he whispers. You don’t like this little switch-up in power. He’s supposed to be purring for you, enthrallment shining in his eyes. You tug on his hair, making him look at you.

Matty stares up, dutiful. He doesn’t care about the power game; hasn’t even realized you were slipping. He takes what you give.

You soothe away the sting of his hair. “Pretty boy,” you coo. Matty beams at that. “I want to hear you scream.”

With this, you jump off the desk, and kneel under it.

“Oh,” Matty says, eyes wide as he watches you fumble with his pants. You unbutton and unzip, fast and knowledgeable, dipping into his boxers— “Wait.”

You look up at him, inches from your goal. You cock your head, frowning. “What?”

“Just—” He pants, staring at you. “Just give me a second.”

You hum, grazing a finger on the faint happy trail of his stomach. His belly sucks in. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” he says. “Yes. I don’t know.” He laughs. His hands still grip the armrests, white-knuckled. “Why are you doing this?”

You shrug. “I want to.” You tip your head, kissing his soft hand. “Do you want me to?”

“Well, yeah.”

You grin. “Relax.” Finally, your hand slips under his underwear, and you wrap around his hard length. He gasps, cold fingers against hot skin, fingers against him.

His hips jump into your fist as you draw him out. Another nervous glance to the door, still half-opened. Your parents are somewhere in the house, pretending not to exist. You lick your lips.

You lightly scratch your pink nails against him. You run a thumb on his tip, smearing precum. He hisses, turning into a moan as you slowly drag your hand down. He’s frozen and tense, almost afraid of moving, as if that would make you go away.

“Teach me,” you say.

He blinks at you, dazed. “Huh?”

Your eyes vaguely look up to the desk you hide under, biology notes in his scratchy writing laying wrinkled. “Biology. My parents are paying you for a reason, aren’t they?”

“Oh—” He flushes, embarrassed. Pushes his glasses up. “Right, right.” His hands let go of the armrests, searching through the pages. You choose this moment to kiss the tip of his cock. He whimpers, shutting his eyes in pleasure. “Fuck.” You giggle, all too happy.

He struggles to find where you disturbed him, biting his lip in comical concentration. You tease him, enjoying all the little breaths he chokes on, the soft sounds he tries to hide. Your hand pumps up and down, twisting at the wrist.

You wonder how often he’s done this on himself, who he imagined between his legs.

From now, it’ll be you. You’ll make sure of it.

“Um, right, so,” Matty starts, out of breath. “In some reactions,” he continues arduously, “one substrate is broken down into multiple products. And—” Devilishly, you lick a stripe up his length. He groans, twitching on your tongue. “Shit,” he mutters. It’s funny coming from him; the swear rings wrong, like a costume.

He drags his stare down, pulling away from his notes to watch you. You indulge him, parting your lips and wrapping them around his tip. You suck on it gently. His face wrinkles, a moan breaking from him. You pull your head down, swallowing him. He clutches at his papers, scrunching them himself.

“Oh, God,” Matty says, trying to catch his breath as you bob your head. “I’m— Shit.”

You let go of him with a wet pop, stroking him quickly. “Shh,” you tease him. “My parents.” Again, he throws a nervous look towards the door.

Saliva and lipgloss and precum already lube him, but you keep your hand at his base as you spit on his cock. You drag it down his length. Matty’s eyes snap towards you. “Do that again.” He wants to see you.

You smirk, tilting your head to leave wet kisses up his cock, then lick his tip. You spit on it, and a low groan resonates from him. His hips rise up into your hand, but you push them down with your claws.

“Fuck,” he whimpers from the back of his throat, melting on the chair. He likes it messy. You grin, peppering little kisses over his cock, smearing him in strawberry lipgloss.

“What’s the other thing?”

“Huh?” He blinks, tying himself back to reality. “Right, um, substrates. It’s—” Again, you choose this moment to push him down your throat. He loses speech, mumbling incoherent syllables, some broken version of your name.

Though your head bobs quickly, pulling further and further down his length, twisting a stroking hand all the same, you pinch your nails at his hip. He jumps, struck out of the daze of pleasure, blinking down at you.

“Yeah, it’s— The other reactions are—” You let go of his hip, pinching your own nipple instead. Matty whines, losing his train of thought. “You’re not being fair.”

You laugh, spitting him out to catch your breath. You grope yourself and he watches, not sure which hand to focus on. His cheeks are tinted red, maybe from effort, or adrenaline, or shyness. It’s cute enough to bite.

Wonder shines in his eyes. He can’t believe this is happening; he’s eternally grateful, as he should be. As they all should have been, those faceless men you’ve blown in the bathrooms of parties for attention and a momentary stop to complete boredom. They stayed quiet, almost afraid to make noise, to show they enjoyed it, until they shook and spilled inside your mouth. Matty’s not afraid to moan.

Your brain rushes, sticky happy. You pant on his cock, trailing a finger down your stomach, then dipping in your shorts. Matty’s eyes widen, straightening to catch a glimpse. You smile, catching a pool of your arousal.

You come back up, fingers sticky and wet with your slick, and smear it on his cock. Matty scrunches his face, whimpering, shaking under your hands.

“You’re trying to kill me.”

“Only because it’s easy,” you mock, jerking and twisting your two hands in rhythm, wet sounds ringing in the room.

You free his cock, gripping the armrests of the chair instead. You wrap your mouth around it, and bend down until your nose touches the faint smatterings of dark hair on his belly. You gag on him, and he strangles the edge of the desk trying to kill his moans.

You pump him in your mouth quickly, feeling him twitch and rise to meet you. He remembers himself, falling down on the chair dutifully, not even burying a needy hand in your hair, as though afraid that would be asking for too much.

You drag up, making him hit the inside of your cheek, before releasing him. You spit the precum on him, blinking up through teary eyes. He doesn’t have any words, red swollen lip bitten raw.

“I taste great,” you say, and then offer up your still-wet fingers to him. He’s eager, sucking them into his mouth. He bobs, imitating you, and the sight and feel makes hot desire drip inside of you.

You want to squeeze him until he pops.

You take his hand, pulling it into your hair. He grips instinctively, pushing it out of your face. “Don’t push,” you warn, serious. He nods frantically, and you trust him to mean it.

You take him into your mouth for what you know is the final time. You’re certain he won’t last long, droopy and moaning and twitching, hissing every time your tongue runs on him. You bob with skill and precision still. He tugs at your hair, both hands in now, trembling in the mess of it. He never pushes, or fucks his hips up; trusts you to undo him yourself.

He swears and curses and whimpers, head falling down and back, vacillating between the sky and your red, puffy face. The sink is heard from faraway, but you don’t think he can even hear it.

“I'm dreaming,” he whispers to himself, sounding wild. “I’m gonna wake up. I’m gonna be— I’m gonna—” Matty cries, slapping a hand over his mouth, and comes down your throat. He shakes, loud moans hidden in his palm, eyes shut and forehead wrinkled.

He lets go of your hair with a fucked-out sigh, panting. His eyes never leave you, disbelief written all over it. You pull him out of your throat, and smile at him.

You’re about to swallow when he touches your arm, unsure of where he’s allowed to now. “Wait, can you—” He grows embarrassed, blushing. “Can you open your mouth?”

You part your lips, showing off his white cum still sitting on your tongue. He whimpers at the sight, fingers digging into your arm. His breathing turns irregular, cheeks reddening, eyes darkening. He’s so strange.

Still, you stick your tongue out, putting his load in evidence, making a spectacle of it. He looks tortured, enthralled.

You stay long enough that you feel it run down, long white rope hanging from your tongue, then dropping on your breast.

“Fuck,” Matty whispers to himself. Seemingly without thinking, he runs his thumb on your breast, catching his cum and sucking it between his lips.

You smile, slurping the cum back into your mouth, and swallowing it. You flash your red tongue at him. “All clean.”

“Thank you,” Matty says. “I— I’m not sure why you did that, but— I, you know, appreciate it.” He’s so polite. You’d laugh if he wouldn’t snap back into that little head box of his.

“I’m very thankful for all those lessons,” you wink.

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.” Matty’s finger rubs the skin of your arm, that strangely tough callus, and it has you leaning into his touch. “Though, this has been my favorite lesson.”

“God, I couldn’t even get a word out.”

“Hence why.”

Matty snorts and he offers you a hand. You grab it to manœuvre out from under the desk. You push your sweaty hair out of your face, then wipe the leftover stickiness from your breasts.

Matty, of course, follows the movement to your tits. He swallows. “Do you, um,” he pushes his glasses up. “Do you want, like, something back?”

You arch an eyebrow, incapable of holding a small giggle this time. “Do you know how?”

He stares into your eyes. “I could try.”

And, again, there’s just something about his eagerness, his willingness, his open devotion, that has you saying, “Yeah, I guess you could try.”

You tiptoe to your bedroom door, looking left and right into the hallway, before quietly shutting it. You turn around to a displeased Matty. “Oh, so you get to have it closed?”

“‘S more fun when you’re struggling,” you shrug, devilish. You run to the bed, falling on the pillows, fluttering your eyelashes at him. “Come here, pretty boy.” He practically trips out of his chair to find you. He’s three steps in when you stop him. “Take your clothes off.”

He grows shy under your gaze. Staying in place, fingers shaking, he starts to unbutton his plaid shirt. He kicks off his sneakers and his baggy jeans until he stands there in his boxers. He’s as scrawny as you imagined him to be. You smile.

Matty crosses his arms. “Can I see you, too?” He whispers.

You shimmy your shorts off your legs and throw it beyond the bed. Matty’s stare stutters on your pink thong, wet patch where your desire pooled.

You draw a hand towards him and he takes it, falling over you on the bed. He doesn’t waste time, giving you a sloppy kiss before mouthing at your neck, your collarbones, your tits. He laps at them first and you wonder if he’s trying to get the last lingering taste of his cum. He catches a nipple next and sucks it.

Gaspy moans leave your lips. You part your legs instinctively and he buries between them, already hardening. His cock hits your thigh and he sucks and pinches and plays until you start thinking he might really be able to try.

Your hands descend down his back, freckled under your nails. You grip his small waist, pushing at his hip, the hem of his boxers. Matty understands, leaving you long enough to kick them off. He pants in front of you, leaning back already, wet, swollen mouth parted.

Matty lays over you again and his hard cock presses into your need. You scratch your nails up his back and he jerks, bucking into you. A moan leaves both your mouths. He tries again, artless, just off your clit.

“Oh,” he whispers, mostly to himself. He does it again, building and building heat inside of you, yet never relieving.

You huff. You sneak a hand between your bodies, moving your thong aside until he slips under it.

Another boy would have taken the opportunity, would have buried inside before you even had time to nod, but Matty doesn’t even think of it.

He humps your wet cunt, tucked tight under your underwear, hem pressing his length. Matty moans every time, quickening, desperate. He tilts his hand to better see as his cock bulges the cloth, a wet patch forming where his precum stains.

“Fuck.”

And it’s better; he’s faster, and firmer, and mostly there. He follows your little puffs of shameful breaths, staying where they transform into slack moans. Pleasure starts waking up inside your belly, sickly warm.

But you’ve had boys hump at you before, had them bucking between your legs. You know it’s not what will get you off. You need your mind stimulated, to be so thoroughly hot and desperate you finally let yourself go.

You pinch the nape of his neck, making him look at you. A slack, messy smirk lays on your lips. You tease, “Have you ever thought of me during our tutoring sessions?”

Matty’s hips stutter. He looks away. “Like…”

“Yeah, like, on my knees.”

Matty blushes. “Well, yeah.”

You grin, too pleased. A deadly smile, hunting. “When?”

“I don’t know…” He mutters. You scowl to yourself, and maybe he senses that, because his chin grazes your shoulder and he admits shamefully, “When you ate that popsicle. And you licked and you slurped and you sucked and, just— I’m a guy. I had visions.”

“I had visions.” You imitate, mocking. You tsk, “You're such a nerd.” You roll your hips back against him and a whimper buries in the skin of your shoulder. “Was it how you imagined?”

“Better.” He nods fervently. “So much fucking better. I actually died, I think. Still unsure whether I’m dead or not.” Pride and power makes your head loose, makes pleasure ripple through your flesh.

You claw at his skin, warning dangerously, “Tell anyone and you will be.” All it does is make him moan, bucking faster against you. Your toes curl. You breathe in his ear, “Tell me more.”

“I, uh— Shit.” The tip of his cock burrows in your underwear as he slides, wet and slick from you. He shivers over you. “I’d think about— bending you over the desk.”

Your smile ghosts your face, grazing his soft, fresh cheek. “Really?”

“Just, you know, when you wouldn’t listen. And you’d pop that chewing gum, and you’d ignore me, and you’d be mean.”

You smirk, clicking your tongue. “So you wanted to, what, toughen me up? Take your revenge?”

His cheeks redden. “No.” His lips brush your shoulders, and he kisses, opposite. “I don’t know. I wanted you to pay attention.” He licks your neck. “I wanted to make you scream.” Mouths at your jaw. “I wanted to fuck you. Or for you to fuck me— I wanted you.”

You can’t believe you’re now the one blushing. You pant, glad he’s buried in your throat, that he can’t see. A moan slips from you as he nips gently at your skin. Your eyes roll in your skull.

“You like when I’m mean to you?” You tease meanly, out of breath. You scratch his back, burying your hand in his hair, and tugging until he looks you in the eyes. “Gets you all bothered?”

Matty shivers, whining, “Fuck, please—”

You push him onto his back, rolling over. Two hands press into his chest, and you might very well concave his ribcage. You stare him down, divine. “You wanted me to fuck you?”

His messy, unbrushed hair falls around his head like a halo. He’s sweet enough to make your head spin. He watches you openly behind the glass of his specs, breathing, “Yes.”

You trail your fingernails on his hard cock, down to his base. “And now?”

Devoting, “Yes.”

A rush of thrill fills you. You kneel up, shimmying your underwear off. Matty gasps at the sight, raking a hungry gaze up and down your body. He holds the sheets of your bed with white-knuckled fingers.

You waste no time, rocking your cunt against his tip once, twice, before slowly lowering yourself on him. You inhale at the stretch. Matty’s eyes shut, whining. “Look at me,” you order, and he listens.

His eyes flash open. He blinks at you as you bottom out. His head rolls, shaking. “Oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” You go to move up, but he holds your hip down. He takes deep breaths. “Can we— Just, this is—”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, taking his hand and placing it over the regular beating of your heart. He thumbs your nipple while he’s there, breathing in sync with your pulse. You slowly roll your hips on him.

Matty moans, gripping the flesh of your thigh. You let him adjust to the feel of it, rocking softly, dragging your clit on his pelvis. You bite your lip raw as pleasure blooms inside of you. Your thighs ache to go faster, harder, but you maintain the delicate pace for him. Just that has him shaking under you, and you once again grip his hand over your heart to ground him.

“Sorry,” he says with an embarrassed laugh. “Fuck,” is immediately added when you circle your hips, his eyes rolling. “Fuck, sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” you order. “What are the other reactions?” You say, attempting to drag him out of his anxiety-filled head. He frowns at you. “Of enzymes.”

His lips part. “I didn’t know you knew that term.”

You roll your eyes, then your hips, euphoria fizzling under your skin. “I listen to you.” His unconvinced look betrays him. “Sometimes.”

“They’re, um— Shit. They come together to create one— fuck, one larger molecule or—” You finally rock faster, angling your hips to have him bury inside you right where you need him. You moan, chest rising and falling quickly. Your legs grow desperate; you chase that sickly pleasure.

“Yeah?” You encourage him on, seeing his own pleasure resonate in his face. He bites his lip, pawing uselessly at your thigh. “Or?” You’re out of breath.

“Or swap pieces,” he finally finishes between two moans. Chuckles, “Actually, pretty much all biological reactions you can think of probably—” Your hips fall harsher on him and he loses his train of thought, overwhelmed. You smile, setting a wild pace, completely unfair.

“Probably what?” You say, teasing, “I’m always thinking about biological reactions.”

“Don’t tease,” he pouts, and you slow down your thrusts just to spite him. He whines, pressing his short fingernails into the skin of your thigh.

“Come on.” You make him look you in the eyes, mocking, “Educate me.”

“They all have enzymes,” Matty finally finishes. You reward him by reaching down and pinching his nipple. He whimpers, cursing your name. “Why have you suddenly decided to be a good student?”

“‘Cause you’re adorable when you’re struggling to find words,” you answer honestly. You hold your weight up on the hand pressed into his chest, angling your hips until your clit rubs and rubs his pelvis. Your eyes roll, fucking him quicker. “Fuck. I love when I can make you all stupid for me.” The power in changing up his DNA composition, making a smart boy incapable of remembering all the jargon you yourself don’t know, is addictive. Undoing him block by block until he’s putty in your hands. Matty just moans, not arguing.

Sweat pearls his forehead. The white sheets make him angelic. He breathes your name, fluttering his eyelashes at you. “Can I try on top?” Maybe it’s because he looks so reverent, so innocent, that you nod.

Matty doesn’t push you and roll you over, instead staying there, as though waiting for it to just magically happen. You giggle to yourself, unmounting him and falling back on the mattress, legs parted. He swallows thickly, laying over you.

His glasses fall down his nose and you laugh, grabbing them and carefully placing them on your nightstand. He blinks, adjusting to the blurry sight.

His hand shakes as he grabs himself and lines up. He misses once, twice, until you rest a soothing hand on his and guide him. Matty moans in your hair as he slides in. He stays in your wet heat for a second, catching his breath, before he thrusts.

And it’s bad, of course. He doesn’t have any rhythm, bucking blindly inside of you. It’s a strange pace, irregular and powerless. He certainly can’t find any type of mindnumbing spot. Pleasure simmers lowly in your belly, heat turned off almost to nothing if it weren’t for the pretty moans that bury straight in your ear.

You grab his hip, making Matty look at you. “Start slow,” you instruct, guiding him. He follows the movements of your hand, rocking back and forth, slow but regular. “There,” you nod, arching your back. “Just, tilt—” He repositions himself, eager to learn, and you shudder. You call his name, syrupy with moans.

He’s a fast learner, following diligently the guidings of your gripping hand. He fucks into you slowly, but surely. Your toes curl. Pleasure wakes up again, coiling in your belly. “Like this?” He breathes. You nod, encouraging him on.

“It’s like I’m tutoring you,” you remark, chuckling to yourself. Matty snorts. “I like being the smart one for once.”

Matty frowns. “You’re always smart.” He says it without thinking, because he means it. Something wet chokes your throat, tugs at your lips. “You just don’t listen.”

“Would you like me to?” You say, tone taunting. A self-destroying instinct, telling you to hurt, to ruin. “Make me your little pet? Be all obedient? Have me sucking your cock while you tell me all about biology?”

His eyebrows furrow. “Do you want me to do that?” All your bullets don’t land. He’s unconcerned on what he wants. You huff.

Instead of reckoning, you order, “Faster, now.” Matty nods against your cheek. He obeys, thrusting quicker. You let go of his hip, climbing up his back just to rake your nails down it. His hips snap faster, harsher, endeavored. You grin, licking his jaw, kissing the bone.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, catching your lips and kissing you. You wrap your arms around his neck, trapping him there as he ruts between your legs. You swallow all the sounds he makes, kill the swears you think of saying. Euphoria washes you.

He leaves your lips just to smack wet kisses over your face, again and again. On your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids, your chin. He mouths down your throat, starts sucking and nipping at the side. You bury a hand into his hair, pushing him further down. “Not the neck,” you explain, breathy.

Matty finds the side of your tits and he buries there, sucking at your skin. You arch into his mouth, pleasure rushing up your side at the pinpricks of pain. He moans against you, bucking faster. Your mind spins and spins. “Matty.” Again, he speeds up, harsh and wild. “Fucking hell, Matty.”

You tug at his hair and he releases you, lips wet and swollen. He pants over you, eyes dazed with pleasure. A new wave of heat strikes you just from the sight of him, unmade and wild. You sneak a hand between your bodies. You find your clit easily, rubbing.

Matty’s head drops to watch you. He whines, seeing where he disappears inside of you, over and over, where your pink nails swipe at you.

He leans his weight on one arm, joining his own hand with yours. You’re surprised at the act, at the willingness of involving himself in the complicated business of your pleasure. Your fingers stop, resting up on your stomach.

He paws blindly at your cunt, just a little off where you need him. You grip his wrist, angling him at the right place, gently circling and swiping with his finger. The callus presses on your clit and it’s a delicious sensation. You roll your eyes, crying out, then slapping your palm over your mouth. Matty grins proudly, continuing to rub at you.

“This is good, right?” He whispers, pretty eyes all vulnerable on you.

You nod frantically. “Yes. It’s good.” You melt on the sheets, parting your legs further. “It’s really good.” His cheeks flush at the compliment. You wrap your hand around his throat, resting there with silent ownership. “Did you ever think it’d be me?”

Matty chokes on a laugh and a moan. “No. I never thought you’d ever even give me a look.”

You hum, pleased with the answer. He realizes it’s a privilege. You grin, pressing your fingers on the sides of his neck. His hips stutter, then snap even faster, a broken cry leaving him. His lips part in quiet ecstasy. His eyes shut, rapid movement behind his eyelids.

You grin at him. “Say thank you, pretty boy.”

You release him, at least giving him a chance. He falls into your shoulder, taking deep inhales, shaking. “Thank you,” he says, mumbly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You rake through his hair, soothing. “Aw, fuck, I’m gonna—” He twitches inside of you.

“Not inside!” You shout. Matty gasps, thrusting out of you. He cries as he comes on your navel and cunt. He catches his breath, blinking himself back to this reality, still shaking.

“Sorry,” he says, shortwinded. A pang of disappointment hits you. It’s not like you’ve ever come with someone else before, but it had felt really close this time.

At least Matty tried.

Matty watches his cum painted over your skin, catching your piercing, mixing with the slick of your cunt. He moans to himself, then bends down between your thighs.

You rest on your elbows, frowning. “What—” He licks a stripe over your cunt, tasting both your juices. Euphoria strikes through you. Your back hits the mattress as you fall back, legs shaking. “Matty.” He hums, faraway, licking and licking to clean you all up. You bury a hand in his hair, grounding him in place.

He finds your clit, rubbing it with the tip of his tongue, circling then sucking it. You jolt on the bed, biting back a scream. You frown to yourself, tugging on his hair, fire boiling inside your stomach. What the fuck.

He laps at you, moaning every time your nails scratch his scalp, the sound vibrating against you. A hand wraps around your thigh, keeping you open for him. He devours you eagerly, hungrily, until you’re a mess melting into his mouth.

“God, Matty,” you cry. You have to actually hold back another one with a slap of your hand, shocked at yourself as you scream into your palm.

Matty stops, breathing harshly, and you throw a glance down in question. He climbs up your stomach, lapping at your skin, cleaning the last of his cum. You whimper at the dirty sight, desire drumming down your limbs.

He throws you a hot look. Tongue out, full of white cum. He goes back between your legs and buries it in your cunt, fucking it in. You jump, cursing to the ceiling. Matty laughs, greedily tasting you.

You roll your hips into his face, hitting the tip of his nose on your clit. Every strike has ecstasy resonating in your bones. You feel light on your bones.

His lips wrap around your clit. He sucks, grazing a tongue, swiping and circling like you showed him. You recognize the same pattern, recognize the rhythm. Of course he’s a fast learner.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chant, choked by your hand. You raise your hips into his mouth, silently begging. Your legs shake, desperate. Pressure pushes at your belly. Your eyes roll. “Don’t stop.”

He mumbles something in your cunt, probably a promise or a praise, dutifully not stopping. He laps and eats and fucks until your brain melts into your skull, dripping down your spine.

“Oh, fuck, I’m—” Your head shakes fervently. “Just stay— Shit, Matty, just— I—” The pressure snaps and you come on his readied tongue, screaming. Hot white flashes in your vision. Relief washes you, dipping to every crevices, relaxing you. He moans against your cunt.

Matty continues to lick you, mission-bound, until your lungs are on fire and you physically push him away. He smiles up at you, chin sticky and wet and red. He wipes it, kneeling.

“Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?” You say, shortwinded, shocked to your bones. You stare at him like he’s grown a second head.

It’s the first time someone other than your knowing hand made you come. And it’s fucking Matty Healy. You blink at him.

“What?” He laughs, falling beside you on the bed.

You gesture vaguely downwards. “That.”

“Oh,” he blushes. Shrugs. “I don’t know. I researched it once.”

“You— Oh, my God.” You stare at the ceiling in disbelief. “Oh, my God. You’re such a nerd.”

Matty grins, cheekily proud. He gently grazes the bruise he left on your breast, the splotch of red that will darken, be a leftover trace of him.

“Thanks,” he says simply.

“You’re welcome.” You shift your legs, feeling the wetness still between them. “Thanks to you too, I guess.” He grins, hiding in the white pillows.

He gives you a look. “Will you listen when I tutor you now?”

You smirk mischievously. “Maybe if you have my fingers in your mouth.”

“Oh,” Matty says, eyes wide. “Will you— Will this happen again?”

You make a noncommittal shrug, though a more definite answer hums in your heart. “Maybe if you’re really good.” You smile to yourself. “Or really boring, and I need to shut you up.”

“You can shut me up any day.”

“I know.” You linger in that moment for just a second more, eyes locked together, smiles tickling your lips. Then you sit up, reaching for your underwear. “Session’s almost done.”

Matty nods, lips thin. “Right.” He pats the nightstand for his glasses.

You dress yourselves, wiping away sweat and cum, brushing wild strands. You give an awkward goodbye, incertain, and Matty slips from the room. You don’t follow him to the door. You never do.

Downstairs, you hear your parents thank him and give him a crisp 50 dollar bill. You giggle to yourself and fall on the bed, bone-deep exhausted.

#happy Day after me show day<33 #tutor!au #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #matty healy #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty healy imagine #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fic #smut #writing #imagine

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thescribblesofreverie · 1 year

Text

WIP Excerpt - Aaron Hotchner x teen!reader

I thought I would share just a little snippet of a project I'm working on. It's a series about Aaron meeting a teenager on a case who ends up being involved, and there's just something so familiar about her...

Reader does use she/her pronouns.

Everyone had that one touchy subject that seemed to bring back memories of events and cases past. Everyone knew that J.J. was the one who was affected by cases involving children.

But this time it was Hotch who felt his chest restrict with each new fact presented. With every body found the pressure of solving this case felt ten times heavier on his shoulders.

On his nightstand, the alarm clock’s neon blue numbers read 3:22 A.M. He was pacing around the hotel room, mind racing a mile a minute. The facts and theories of the case were incredibly confusing. Everytime the team got close, something drastic changed and they were at square one.

Four young, innocent girls were dead, and a fifth was going to be soon if they didn’t shape up.

Hotch glanced out the window of the third story room to see a small diner in the plaza across the street. On its left there was a tobacco store with big yellow block lettering covering the window pains with advertisements promoting vapes and discounted cartons of Mavericks. To its right there was a laundromat, with a few letters of the sign tilted from rusted out nails crumbling away instead of holding it fast. The glowing blue and pink sign on the diner read “open 24 hours”, though it flickered out every few seconds. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he sighed.

Nothing was getting done in this small room, and the diner would have coffee. He had heard before the coffee from 24 hour diners was always better. He doubted that to be true, but at least it would be caffeinated.

He grabbed the coat off of the chair in the corner of the room, and quietly left, locking the door behind him.

It was a short walk across the street. He pushed open the door, and a bell jingled.

Soft sounds of 70’s music filled his ears. His eyes found a pastel yellow and mint green jukebox in the corner. It was your typical retro themed diner. Checkerboard flooring, blue and pink booths and tables, milkshake decals on the wall, and a long bar that a waitress was cleaning with a rag. With the typical 50’s decorations and colors, but 70’s music playing and newspapers from the 80’s on the wall, the establishment seemed to lack a general knowledge on what decade it was supposed to be emulating. Nonetheless, there was a pot of coffee sitting behind the counter, and it wasn’t like this was the strangest 3 A.m. experience he had ever had.

Hotch looked away and sat at the counter, waiting patiently for the waitress to meander her way over to him. She finished wiping down the section of counter she had been working on and dropped the rag in a basket beneath the counter. Finally, she looked over at him.

20-24 year old girl, medium build, round face, brown eyes, umber skin, and dark black waves of hair. She shouldn’t be working alone at night, he thought. Not with a killer on the loose.

“What can I get for you?” She asked, all but rolling her eyes. Her name tag said “Marisa”.

“Just a coffee please.” He said quietly.

“Black?”

He nodded.

As she went across the room to fill up a mug, he took a moment to revel in the peace he rarely got to feel while on a case.

The soft lighting and low music was almost comforting, in an odd way. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

Marisa set the mug of steaming coffee in front of him. “Just brewed a new pot, so you’re lucky.”

“Thanks-”

The jingling of the door interrupted him.

“Marisa, darling!” A feminine voice cooed.

The waitress had a look of annoyance flash across her face before she quickly covered and plastered on a smile.

“Julie, welcome in. Go ahead and take your usual booth. I’ll get you a coffee and… I’m so sorry sweetheart, what’s your name again?”

“Y/N. I’ll have orange juice, please.”

At the mention of her name Hotch looked over his shoulder. Y/N was dressed in a pair of plaid pajama pants and an oversized hoodie. Her shoulders were hunched and as she sat down in the both, she immediately curled into the corner, like it was supporting her. Dark circles hung under her eyes and as he watched, she put a hand up to her mouth to hide a yawn.

It was early Thursday morning. And unless there was something going on that he didn’t know about, she had school in four hours. What was she doing up?

#aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch x daughter!reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner x daughter!reader #aaron hotchner x teen!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #thescribblesofreverie #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds x teen!reader #criminal minds x reader #bau x teen!reader #bau x reader

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anonymouspuzzler · 9 months

Text

silly little doodle page i've been chipping away at the past few months! what if Habits in an Outfits...

[Full image description under cut!]

Image ID: A full page, black-and-white, digital ink drawing of Boris Habit from the game Smile For Me, wearing various outfits. There is an off-white paper texture in the background. Going roughly clockwise from the top left corner, the drawings are as follows:

A full-body drawing with an outfit consisting of a knee-length dress with a pointed collar and pleated skirt, a loose striped tie, a long open coat with a pointed collar and trim along the collar and inner edges, knee-length socks, Mary Jane style shoes, and a beret with a pom-pom. Habit's hair is tied up in a loose bun, with his bangs loose. He is smiling and looking off to the side, posing with one arm to the side and the other holding up a lily, one leg crossed over the other as if mid-twirl.

A half-body drawing (from roughly hips up) with an outfit consisting of dark pants, a turtleneck sweater with a large lily flower and stem embroidered on the front, and a kitted hat with a large pom-pom. Habit's hair is loose under the hat and he is standing with his hands in his pockets, looking off to the side with a casual expression.

A half-body drawing (from roughly hips up) with an outfit consisting of dark pants and a sheer, long-sleeved blouse with a frilly collar and cuffs, and embroidered daisies patterned all over. Habit's hair is down and has a flower tucked behind one ear. He stands with his hands braced in front of him as if leaning against a counter or table, and he is looking off to the side and winking with a goofy grin.

A half-body drawing (from roughly stomach up) with an outfit consisting of a low-cut shirt, a dark collared blazer, and a long simple scarf. Habit's hair is also braided, with the bangs loose. A bit of chest hair is visible over the collar of the shirt. There is wind blowing in his face, sending the braid and scarf blowing back behind him. He is braced against the wind with his eyes closed and a big goofy grin with his tongue sticking out.

Two three-quarters-body drawings (from roughly knees up) showing the same outfit from the front and back. The front view shows Habit leaning back as if sitting on a surface, with a wink and goofy grin with his tongue sticking out. He is wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a large, sideways winking emoticon printed on the front. His hair is down. The back view shows him standing with left arm to his side, pulling his hair over his right shoulder, revealing the same shirt with a sideways surprised emoticon printed on the back.

A half-body drawing (from roughly hips up) with an outfit consisting of a blouse with elbow-length sleeves and a Peter Pan-style collar with scalloped trim, a loose, sleeveless flower-pattern top over it, round sunglasses, and a large floppy sunhat with flowers lining the brim. Habit's hair is loose under the hat, and his mouth is open as if in the middle of talking. He has one hand roughly at his hip, and the other is holding up a glass with an icy drink and a little paper umbrella decoration.

A three-quarters-body drawing (from roughly knees up) with an outfit consisting of a sleeveless collared blouse, jeans, a belt with a square buckle, and a small ascot tied around Habit's neck. His hair is tied in a ponytail while his bangs are loose. His hands are held behind his back and he looks off to the side with his mouth slightly open, as if in the middle of talking.

A half-body drawing (from roughly stomach up) with an outfit consisting of a frilly, off-the-shoulder, flower-patterned blouse that is tied into a bow on the back. Habit is slouched forward over a table or counter with his head peeking out over his folded, hairy arms, with his loose hair spilling forward. He is looking up curiously, sticking his tongue out.

A three-quarters-body drawing (from roughly knees up) with an outfit consisting of jeans and a printed sweatshirt with a graphic of a football, reading above the graphic "FOOPBALL", and below, "AMERICA'S SPORNT". Habit's hair is tied back in a ponytail with his bangs loose. He is giving double thumbs-up and has a silly expression with dot eyes and a big, open-mouthed smile.

A half-body drawing (from roughly stomach up) with an outfit consisting of a dark, baggy top slipping off Habit's shoulder, as seen from behind. Habit's hair is tied up in a big, sloppy bun with the bangs loose, and he has very light, patchy stubble on his face. He is looking off to the side with a sleepy expression, as if he's just woken up.

A full-body drawing with an outfit consisting of a long, open coat with thick frilly trim along all the edges, a low-cut top tucked into flower-patterned bell-bottom pants, and chunky platform boots. Habit's hair is tied up in a messy bun with the bangs loose, and he is wearing round sunglasses. A bit of chest hair is visible over the edge of the low-cut top. His legs are crossed and one arm is swinging behind him as if he's in the middle of dancing, and he is smiling wide with a little cat-mouth grin.

A small drawing of the puppet Habit. He is seen from behind with his hair tied in a ponytail, looking up and smiling wide.

A three-quarters-body drawing (from roughly thighs up) with an outfit consisting of very short, roughly cropped jorts and a similarly roughly-cropped tank top reading "HAIRY JEWISH GUY HOOTERS", with the last word being the Hooters restaurant logo. Habit's hair is down and quite a bit of body hair is visible on his arms, tummy, and chest. He is posing with one hand on his hip and the other in a V-sign, leaning forwards, with a silly expression with dot eyes and a big, open-mouthed smile.

A full-body drawing (from roughly ankles up) with an outfit consisting of denim overalls with cuffed legs, and a ringer-neck t-shirt with cuffed sleeves. Habit's hair is tied back in a ponytail and he looks off to the side with a neutral expression, standing with one hand at his side and the other at his hip.

A full-body drawing (from roughly ankles up) with an outfit consisting of roughly-cropped jorts and a spaghetti-strap tank top. Habit's hair is tied up in a ponytail, and he is also wearing simple round stud earrings. He is seen from behind mid-walk, one hand on his hip, leaning his head back to look over his shoulder with a big smile.

A small drawing of the puppet Habit. He is sitting on the ground with his hands splayed at his sides, wearing round sunglasses with frames that makes them resemble flowers.

End ID.

#anonymous puzzler art #smile for me #long post /#(just for the image description under cut but just in case since tumblr can be Silly)#tw suggestive #not to much but again just ta be safe LOL #walk walk fashion baby!!!

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sunnynwanda · 25 days

Text

Something Blue

Warnings: I assume none, but if you notice something, let me know! Light angst romance, basically. Heavily based on/ inspired by VOILÀ - Something blue.

The wind is harsh against Villain’s face, prickling his skin with each cold blow. The crisp air bites into his lungs, filling them alongside the deep-settled tightness. When Villain reaches the central square, the sun is high in the sky, but the air lacks the warmth expected from a spring day. She hates it when the noons are this chilly.

The square is already full to the brim, a good half of the city there to witness Hero’s wedding. She’s always been a crowd favourite, and the groom being the mayor’s son only brought more publicity to the event. And Villain… Villain would never be good enough. He hisses at the annoying voice in the back of his head to quiet. The same voice that prompted him to leave before she could, to let her go before he got hurt. He takes in the grandeur of the cathedral, its enormous oak doors decorated with flower arrangements. It looks magnificent. She hates big weddings and magnolias.

It doesn’t take much time to round the square and sneak into the cathedral through a back door. The reality of it all seems to hit Villain much harder once he steps inside. Coming here today was a bad idea. Villain’s fingers curl into fists, his breathing coming out in frantic huffs as he climbs the stairs. A part of him considers turning around right this instant, but he doesn’t allow himself to. Not today. He won’t be a coward again.

He walks past several ajar doors before coming to a halt in front of the only closed one. With a deep breath, Villain pushes it open. Hero is standing in front of a full-length mirror, and she looks stunning. His breath hitches in his throat, every single thought leaving his mind the second his eyes lock onto her form. She doesn’t seem to notice him yet, so he shuts the door behind his back, careful not to make any noise as he steps closer. She keeps fidgeting with the hair framing her face in soft brown waves. She hates having her hair up.

Villain stops behind her, his mind racing. He rakes a hand through his hair, brushing the dark strands back from his forehead, and before his brain can comprehend what he’s doing, his arm wraps around her middle, pulling her back against his chest.

“You look beautiful,” his voice murmurs against her ear. Hero shudders, her eyes flying up to meet his gaze through the mirror. Her lips press into a thin line. Don’t do this to me. Villain’s arm tightens around her. “Absolutely ravishing.”

“Don’t lie,” Hero leans back into him, allowing her head to rest against his shoulder. “White was never my colour. Good thing I don’t own this dress.” She shrugs, her tone a tad too impassive for his liking.

Villain lets out a light chuckle, yet his sharp eyes remain pained. He wouldn’t give a damn what she wore if only it was him with her. “It’s something borrowed then?”

“What?” Hero tilts her head to look at him, still wrapped in his arms. Her eyebrow raises quizzically, when he doesn’t loosen his hold. She hates the way his body fits against hers so well.

“You know how that thing goes? Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.” Villain lists, not registering when his thumb starts rubbing soothing circles into her forearm.

She laughs, but it doesn’t reach her hazy brown eyes. Villain’s chest tightens as he watches her expression. He loved how her eyes would shine, and her nose would scrunch when she laughed with her full heart. How she laughed with him.

“I'm the old, and he's the new,” he explains, pausing to swallow the lump of emotions in his throat. “And since he gave you the borrowed dress, I figured it should be me that gives you something blue.”

Hero’s heart slams against her ribcage with a savage force. She wants to push him away, to yell at him, to demand for him to leave and never show his face again after how he abandoned her for idiotic reasons. Instead, her teeth sink into the inside of her cheek. “Oh?”

“Remember the time when I bought you a locket in the flea market?” Villain recalls, watching her breathing pattern go from frenzied to still. Hero goes rigid in his arms, her irises blown wide, not daring to take a breath in for fear of losing it entirely. “Where did it go?”

“I- I must have lost it,” her voice is small, words tumbling off her lips almost unconsciously.

“Feels symbolic, don’t you think?” Villain’s hands leave her body as he pulls the locket with a blue stone embedded in its ornaments out of his pocket. He moves her hair to the side and fastens the clasp, his fingers brushing against the side of her neck in a tender touch. He gulps, his darkened eyes locking onto the reflection of her watering ones. “Like losing your love and having to watch it.”

He can’t stop himself as his head dips into the crook of her neck, eyebrows furrowing when his lips leave a lingering kiss against her bare shoulder, sending a chill of goosebumps along her spine.

Hero lets out a shaky exhale, averting her eyes from the mirror. She hates that he is here. She hates that he’s wearing a black suit with a white shirt. She hates that he looks dashing, too. She hates how perfect they look together. She hates how he could… “It’s cold for a wedding, isn’t it?”

Villain withdraws despite his reluctance, his fingers twitching to take hold of her again until he wraps his arm around her waist. “Are your feet getting cold?” He attempts to sound lighthearted, but the quiver of his voice gives it all away.

Hero shakes her head, her dejected expression wrenching Villain’s heart in a way he didn’t think possible before. “They were never warm in the first place.”

He doesn’t know how to take that. He doesn’t know how to take any of this anymore. It feels like the sky is shattering over his head, burying him alive.

“There's something I must confess,” Hero whispers as if saying it louder would mar the sanctity of the cathedral walls. She disentangles from Villain’s arms, stepping towards the door as Canon in D begins playing. “I wish it was you instead.”

She offers him one last glance before stepping out the door, a trembling hand clasped over her mouth to keep the sobs raking through her body from escaping.

Her words echo in Villain’s mind like a tocsin as he rushes through the doors, only to catch a glimpse of her as she begins walking down the aisle. He walks in, remaining at the doors as she reaches the altar. He knows he should wait on the priest to give him the time to speak, but his stomach is in knots, adrenaline rushing through his blood like a fire ready to burn the damn church down.

Dearly beloved, we're gathered here today…

“To watch a big mistake,” Villain’s voice booms through the nave of the cathedral, reflecting off of the vault and spilling down onto the guests’ heads, which snap to stare at him as he steps forward.

“I'm not gonna hold my peace,” Villain meets Hero’s tormented gaze, her throat closing in as she sees his face contorted in a mixture of pain and desperation. “I’m not gonna…” He pauses, his breath hitching when the flames reach his chest, burning a hole through his lungs. “What I mean to say is, my feelings haven't changed.”

Hero’s blood runs cold. She’s frozen in place, watching him approach her with an unreadable expression while her groom growls something in her ear with a displeased expression. For better or for worse, Villain can’t hear what he’s saying to her.

He knows coming here today was a bad idea. Watching Hero today was supposed to desecrate whatever was left of his heart, to wreck the shrine of her in his chest, to utterly and wholly rip him apart.

But...

But then she takes his hand, meeting his pleading gaze as tears brim her eyes. Villain brings her hand up, pressing it to his lips before pulling her towards him as they sprint down the aisle. He leads her out through the same back door he came through and along narrow sidestreets away from the crowded square. By the time her groom stops throwing a fit, Hero is in Villain’s car as he drives them out of the city, his hand still clutching hers tightly. He brings it up to his lips again, turning to look at Hero, cast in the afternoon sun. She looks otherworldly with her hair down, playing in the wind.

“White is absolutely your colour,” he mutters softly, his eyes darting down to his shirt on her, her dress left somewhere along the road.

Hero snorts, shaking her head as she shifts closer, leaning her head on his shoulder, her hand in his tight hold. He still can’t wrap his head around the events of the day, but he can lace his fingers through hers. He can kiss the tip of her nose and make her scrunch it as she giggles. He can kiss her smiling lips over and over again. He can pull her into his chest and hold her close to his heart.

Villain will be damned if he lets go again.

Masterlist

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy @alltimelowing @lateuplight @surplus-of-sarcasm @betwist @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers @miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon @burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney @thiefofthecrowns @crow-with-a-typewriter @qualityrabbitsoup @stargeode @villain-life @villainsblood @whumpifi @glassthedumbass @silviathebard @misskowe @ayeshaturnedtoashes4444

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months

Text

I’ve been dreaming of the Spearman of Spades.

The journey was tough, and the battles tougher. At the height of his success, he's his own worst enemy.

With this spear and his strength, he will dutifully serve his sovereign.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

Deuce hardly recognizes the young man in the mirror.

It's him--it's very obviously him: navy bangs, aquamarine eyes, the spade mark on his left eye, Heartslabyul uniform--but it doesn't feel like him. Not the same stiff, awkward first year that had stumbled onto Night Raven Campus, all his rough edges still not sanded down. The time had flown by, rounding him out.

Second year Deuce is different. Built studier, packed with more muscle from track meets. The wild glint in his eyes is tamped down, shielded by a certain seriousness.

It’s still me… right?

Deuce swallows, anxiously fidgeting with the brim of his hat. It's a keepsake passed down from his senior.

"I won't be needing this for my internship. It's yours now," Trey had told him. "Wear it well, okay?"

"... Do I deserve to?" he mumbles to his reflection. Me?

"Of course you do, idiot. Quit doubting yourself."

Deuce startles--but calms once he feels an arm sling around his shoulder, and a familiar cheeky face joins him in the mirror. Ace hangs off of him easily, the two troublemakers peas in a pod.

"Hey. Nervous?" his friend asks with a smirk.

"More than ever," he confesses. His breathing is shaky, despite his best attempts to wrestle control of it.

"Well, don't be." Deuce rolls his eyes at the simple, snarky response. Very Ace of him. "I don't care what anyone else says, you'll kill this." A pause. "If you don't pass out before then, that is."

"Thanks for the encouragement." The sarcasm is palpable.

"Don't mention it!" Ace replies cheerily. "Where would you be without me, huh? Better put in a good word on my behalf."

“Can’t guarantee that.”

“Ah, come oooh! Cut your buddy some slack here. I’ve been behaving myself recently, I deserve something nice.”

“Being nice should be its own reward.”

“Bro, you sound like the headmaster,” Ace remarks, wrinkling his nose. Clearly, not a compliment.

Ding!

Deuce lifts a brow. “Is that…”

“Huh? Oh—it’s my phone.” Ace whips out his mobile device, checks his messages, and groans.

“Something up?”

“Yeah, uh… It’s a special guest we’re receiving. You know! For today’s ceremony. They got lost in the hedge maze, so they told us they miiight be running late for this very important date.”

Deuce frowns. “We’re starting in a few minutes and Rosehearts-senpai can be really strict about punctuality.”

“Don’t worry about it!! I’ve got it covered. All you gotta do is go to that ceremony and soak up all the praise.”

Before Deuce can protest, the fanfare of distant trumpets meets their ears. It is a victorious song, one ushering in new beginnings. He shares a look with Ace, who grins wickedly.

"Aaaand there's your cue. Talk about timing.” He aggressively smacks Deuce on the back. "Go ahead, everyone's waiting for you. I gotta go help out our special guest, but I’ll be in the crowd! Catch ya later!"

"See you…” He has barely finished speaking, but Ace is already gone.

Deuce sighs and fixes his posture, shoulders squared and head held high. He runs a hand through his hair, letting his locks fall back into their natural place. His gaze is deep, contemplative—an ocean wondering whether to let a wanderer sink or swim.

A generous gulp of air for his shaky confidence.

Out with the old and in with the new.

With that, he steels himself and makes a bold stride into the gardens.

Heartslabyul students stand at attention, making way for his entrance. Their best tablecloths and decorations are set out, and a band is in full swing. Even the rose trees seem celebratory today, letting loose a scatter of petals dancing in the breeze.

The sunshine, a solitary spotlight illuminating his path.

All eyes on him.

Deuce follows the road paved for him by a crimson carpet. His dorm leader, in all of his finery, awaits him at the other end with a scepter and a stern smile. When he reaches Riddle, the redhead clears his throat.

At once, the trumpets cut off. The song, at its end at his command.

Deuce immediately lowers into a kneel. His eyes are kept trained on the ground, both to steady his stance and to keep from being ill on the spot.

Riddle looks to the waiting crowd, his authoritative voice projecting outward. “Students of Heartslabyul! We are gathered here today to witness the ascension of one among you: Deuce Spade.”

“Yes, dorm leader!”

“He has proven himself worthy countless times over,” Riddle continues, glowing with pride. “Deuce entered this institution with a crude attitude and barely comprehending basic mathematics—but with time and rigorous study, he has risen from delinquency to the ranks of the honor roll.

“What’s more, Deuce has demonstrated immense honor and strength of character. Countless times has he held true to his own moral convictions, defending the weak and the downtrodden. His goodness is immeasurable—a model for us all to follow.

“Deuce Spade wholeheartedly embodies the spirit of strictness extolled by our dormitory. I can think of no better man to have as our next vice dorm leader.”

Riddle gently brings his scepter down upon Deuce. First on the right shoulder, then the left.

“You may rise.”

He does, newly knighted.

“Heartslabyul!” Riddle lays a hand on Deuce’s arm, spinning him around to face the audience. “Your new vice dorm leader!”

The students erupt into applause and cheers. Card suits of all kinda, gathered to celebrate him.

How far he has come.

“Congratulations, Deuce! Congratulations, vice dorm leader!”

“Th-Thank you!” he manages. His nerves are still in control, and his next sentence seize in his throat.

“Any words for them?” Riddle asks quietly. “Something to inspire confidence.”

An acceptance speech?! Deuce completely locks up. I-I didn’t prep for this…

“Um, I’m not sure if I…”

But he sees the eager faces of his peers, thinks of the expectations places on him. His eyes frantically search, seeking another way out, another answer. Then—

In the corner of his vision, figures darting out from the rose maze.

It’s Ace, sprinting as fast as his feet will take him. His cheeks are cherry red from exertion. He falls in line at the back of the crowd, doubling over, hands on his knees, and gasps for his breath.

Ace is followed by a woman, her bobbed hair streaked with blonde and navy—a navy not unlike Deuce’s own. She is dressed modestly, her cap and jacket stamped with a white rabbit logo, aquamarine eyes piercing through the shadow of her hat. Her lips painted a golden brown, a spade dangling from an ear.

Their special guest.

Mom?

"Deuce!!" she calls out, waving an arm at him. "I wanted to be here--to see you on your special day! I'm not too late, am I?"

"Mom...!" his voice rings out, carrying across the garden and to her. "Of course not. You..."

You're always there for me.

Deuce straightens, his courage gathering. He is a flower, freshly watered and reinvigorated as he addresses the onlookers.

“For a long time, I thought I was a bad kid... that I would always be a bad kid, no matter how much I tried. But I'm here. I've made it."

Deuce glances around the assembly. At Ace, at his dorm leader, at Riddle, at the spaces once occupied by his upperclassmen.

"So... thank you very much for giving me a second chance...! For this opportunity! I promise, I'll keep doing my very best from here on out and get better and better every day!"

He bows.

The audience is uproarious. A sharp whistle--from Ace. Riddle nods approvingly.

His tears well in spite of himself.

When he at last raises his head, he sees his mother is sobbing too.

So proud of him.

#twisted wonderland #twst #Deuce Spade #Riddle Rosehearts #Ace Trappola #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #Trey Clover #twst anni #twisted wonderland anni #twisted wonderland anniversary #twst anniversary #I’ve been Dreaming…#twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twst countdown #twisted wonderland countdown

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sterekbros · 5 months

Text

ornaments and traditions by Winchesterek

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski (Teen Wolf) Additional Tags: Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Fluff, Christmas Tree, Christmas Decorations, sterekfest winter 2023, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Stiles Stilinski is a Nice Thing, Derek Hale is a Softie, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale, Future Fic, Deputy Derek Hale For: @sterekbingo square (Christmas) ornaments, @sterekweekly dinosaurs, @sterekfests 'it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas', and @seasonaldelightsbingo winter square ornaments Summary:

“You’re looking mighty sexy today, Deputy Hale.” Stiles chuckled, even as Derek rested his arm on the door frame above Stiles’ head and leaned in to kiss him. It was so hot that Stiles felt like if he were ice, he’d be a puddle on the floor.

A gust of wind made Stiles shiver, shaking the few remaining leaves from the trees around him to the ground and blew them under his feet. He walked quickly, pulling his coat tighter and tucking his face into the collar. He didn't think he’d ever get used to the weather changes, especially because he lived in California.

People thought it never snowed here, but it did. And he hated it. Every year. At least, he hated when he couldn't be inside warm with his mate by the fire.

His ears were cold, even with the beanie on his head. He really needed to invest in earmuffs with how quickly those things flew off the shelf as soon as it dropped below sixty. He’d be a millionaire by now. The same goes for gloves. Because every year, sure enough, he always lost his gloves.

It never failed.

Which was why he didn't have gloves on right now.

He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and grumbled under his breath at the puddles in the street. How dare it be cold enough to freeze, but warm enough for it to melt before it became ice again. He really hoped they would be able to pick out a tree at the lot today.

Stiles reached out to grab the door handle and pulled it open, the bell jingling above his head as he entered the police station.

“Hey, kid,” his dad said, looking up from where he was looking at some files at the front desk.

“Erica go home early?” Stiles asked, shaking the snow from his beanie as he took it off. It wasn't snowing too hard yet, but it was enough to make the walk terrible to visit his dad.

“Yeah, she said she had to finish up some work for school so she went home early. It’s almost winter break and I hear there are finals soon,” his dad replied, closing the file. “Derek’s in his office.”

“Thanks, Dad.” He clapped his dad on the shoulder and headed off toward Derek’s office.

When he reached the door, it was already opened and he smiled, leaning on the frame as he looked his mate over. “Hey.”

Derek looked up, a smile spreading across his lips. When it reached his eyes, it made Stiles’ heart melt. He loved the little wrinkles at the corners of Derek’s eyes when he smiled. It meant that Derek was genuinely happy, and he deserved all the happiness in the world.

“Hey,” Derek replied, standing and rounding the desk.

It sent tingles through his entire body as he smiled into the kiss and wrapped his arms around Derek, kissing him back. “Whew. If those get any better I might be arrested for public indecency.”

“Ha-ha. Don't get any ideas,” Derek replied with a chuckle, giving Stiles another peck and then wrapping an arm around him. “Cold out?”

“Yeah, it’s getting a little chilly. The ice melted but it’s getting cold again so I’m sure it’ll be freezing tonight. And that’s if we don't get snow again on top of what’s already on the ground.” Stiles sighed, conveying just exactly how he felt when they were not quite in winter weather yet and stuck in the middle. It was a strange place of being freezing and unhappy there was no snow. Ice just wasn't as fun.

“Well, if you’re not up to going to the Christmas tree lot—”

“I didn't say that,” Stiles said quickly. “The plan for today is to get the Christmas tree and then we’re going to be decorating late into the night.”

Derek laughed. “Such a tradition,” he teased and then gave Stiles a gentle kiss. “Let me get my coat and then we can go.”

“Perfect.” Stiles’ favorite tradition was picking out their Christmas tree and decorating it.

It didn't take them long to get Derek’s things together, say goodbye to his dad, and make it to the Christmas tree lot before they closed for the night.

Stiles looked between the trees as they walked through the array of greenery. There were different species of trees, which Stiles never really understood. A Christmas tree was a Christmas tree, right? But they’d always gotten a Douglas Fir since he was a kid. So it was just the tree that Stiles always bought.

They loaded the tree onto Stiles’ Jeep, which Derek often took to work during Winter, and headed home. When they got there, Stiles was giddy with the idea of finally getting their tree set up.

Derek unloaded the tree and placed it in the living room while Stiles got the ornaments from the attic. When Stiles returned, he set the box down on the coffee table.

“We really should buy some new ornaments,” Derek replied, opening the lid and looking in.

“We can, but what we have is perfectly fine. Plus, I’ve been using most of these since I was a kid.” Stiles grinned and fished out an ornament, showing it to Derek. It was an ornament of a dinosaur. A raptor. Stiles’ favorite.

Derek laughed. “Well,” he pulled out a little wolf and fox. “We’ve been adding over the years…I thought it just might be nice to add some more this year. Maybe some gold and red glass ornaments?”

Stiles put the raptor onto the tree, then took the wolf and fox Derek handed him, placing them next to each other. “Sure… and maybe in a few years, we can buy a baby wolf ornament.”

He smiled softly as he glanced at Derek, then his gaze returned to the tree. Derek’s arms wrapped around Stiles from behind and held him close. “Maybe…if we’re lucky enough. But if we don't, you know that you’re all that I ever need, right?”

“I know,” Stiles whispered, his hand trailing along Derek’s arm. “Kinda the whole point of mates.”

Derek chuckled and kissed Stiles’ neck. “Well, I’m glad we have forever.”

“Me too.”

And tonight, they wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon because Stiles wouldn't rest until their tree was decorated.

It was the kind of thing only someone who loved him would entertain.

Stiles leaned back against Derek, turning his face to brush his nose against Derek’s cheek. “I love you, Derek Hale.”

“I love you too, Stiles. More than anything.”

It was the kind of love that Stiles knew would survive anything. That people wrote sonnets about. A love that would last forever, even long after they were dust.

“Let’s finish the tree.” Stiles pecked Derek’s cheek and drew away from him.

“You got it. But then, sleep.” Derek sorted through the box of ornaments.

Yeah, they’d be okay. Even if they only had each other for their next forever.

It was more than enough.

It was everything.

#sterek #derek hale #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #eternalsterek #sterekbingo #sterek bingo #sterekweekly #sterekweeklydinosaurs #sterekfests #sterekfestswinter2023 #sterekfestsbeginning #mine #my fic

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chic-a-gigot · 2 months

Text

Le Petit écho de la mode, no. 10, vol 23, 10 mars 1901, Paris. 4. Toilettes de ville. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

I. Corsage en soie glacée bleu ciel de Nice. Ce délicieux corsage est composé de plis creux montés sur un empiècement carré en satin blanc recouvert de grosse guipure Cluny encadré par une patte entourée de petits galons d’argent. Cette patte se termine à gauche par un bouton fantaisie. Les plis sont réunis à la taille sous une ceinture en étoffe pareille; entre les plis, petites pattes en velours même ton. Manches plissées sur crevé de velours garni d’un parement rayé de galon d’argent.

I. Nice sky blue ice silk bodice. This delicious bodice is made up of box pleats mounted on a square white satin yoke covered with large Cluny guipure framed by a tab surrounded by small silver braid. This tab ends on the left with a fancy button. The pleats are gathered at the waist under a belt of similar fabric; between the folds, small velvet tabs of the same tone. Pleated sleeves on velvet trimmed with a striped silver braid facing.

Mat.: 4 mèt. de soie, 0m50 de velours, 0m60 de guipure.

—

II. Costume tailleur en drap jersey coque de noix. Jupe souple non doublée, garnie au bas d’une bande piquée, formant des dents, des pattes piquées plus étroites garnissent le haut. Boléro court avec revers. Col et pattes piqués. Manches unies avec revers piqués. Gilet croisé en soie mauve surmonté d’un col droit rabattu. Ceinture ronde en drap. Toquet en taffetas noir orné de plumes noires. Gants blancs.

II. Tailored suit in walnut shell jersey cloth. Soft, unlined skirt, trimmed at the bottom with a stitched band, forming teeth, narrower stitched tabs garnish the top. Short bolero with lapels. Stitched collar and legs. Plain sleeves with stitched cuffs. Purple silk double-breasted vest topped with a straight turn-down collar. Round cloth belt. Black taffeta hat decorated with black feathers. White gloves.

Mat.: 5m50 de drap, 1m50 de soie.

—

III. Toilette en crêpe de Chine gris étain, velours cerise, satin blanc et guipure. Jupe plissée par groupes, montée sur un empiècement découpé en velours entouré d’un entre-deux de guipure. Boléro bouillonné encadré de guipure et d'un dépassant de velours. Ce boléro, très ouvert, laisse voir un gilet de satin blanc croisé sur un plastron de guipure surmonté d’un col droit en guipure et de petites oreilles de velours. Ceinture en velours. Manches bouillonnées. Fond de jupe séparé.

III. Ensemble in pewter gray crepe de chine, cherry velvet, white satin and guipure. Skirt pleated in groups, mounted on a cut-out velvet yoke surrounded by a guipure insert. Bubbled bolero framed with guipure and a velvet overhang. This very open bolero reveals a white satin vest crossed over a guipure bib topped with a straight guipure collar and small velvet ears. Velvet belt. Bubble sleeves. Separate skirt bottom.

Mat.: 11 mèt. de crêpe de Chine, 1 m. de velours, i m. de guipure.

—

IV. Costume en drap léger bleu toile, velours même ton et mousseline de soie. Jupe plissée à petits plis sur les hanches donnant l’ampleur au bas. Tablier plat devant. Cette jupe est montée sur un fond de jupe. Corsage-veste plissé à plis lingerie très fins formant une petite basque bordée de velours. Le haut, décolleté en rond, est garni d’une berthe en velours terminée par un nœud; petits nœuds retenant les devants. Chemisette plissée en mousseline de soie blanche avec col rabattu en velours. Ceinture en velours. Manches ouvertes du bas sur un petit bouffant en mousse line de soie serré par un poignet en velours.

IV. Suit in light blue canvas cloth, same-tone velvet and silk chiffon. Pleated skirt with small pleats on the hips giving fullness to the bottom. Flat apron in front. This skirt is mounted on a skirt base. Pleated bodice-jacket with very fine lingerie pleats forming a small basque lined with velvet. The top, with a round neckline, is trimmed with a velvet berthe finished with a bow; small knots holding the fronts. Pleated white silk chiffon shirt with velvet turn-down collar. Velvet belt. Sleeves open at the bottom to a small bouffant in linen silk foam tightened by a velvet cuff.

Mat.: 6 mèt. de drap, 1 mèt. de velours, 1 mèt. de mousseline de soie

—

V. Costume en cover-coat « café », velours même ton et guipure. Jupe avec tablier plat, garnie de petits plis prenant des côtés entourant le bas. Corsage-blouse plissé en travers croisé de côté sous un revers fantaisie en drap recouvert de velours. Le haut ouvert laisse voir un gilet en guipure surmonté d’un col droit. Cravate de soie noire. Ceinture ronde en velours. Manches garnies de grands revers de guipure.

V. Suit in “coffee” cover coat, same-tone velvet and guipure. Skirt with flat apron, trimmed with small pleats taking from the sides surrounding the bottom. Bodice-blouse pleated crosswise crossed on the side under a fancy lapel in cloth covered with velvet. The open top reveals a guipure vest topped with a straight collar. Black silk tie. Round velvet belt. Sleeves trimmed with large guipure lapels.

Mat.: 6 mèt. de drap, 1 mèt. de velours.

—

VI. Costume en lainage bleu militaire. Jupe ronde unie doublée de soie ou d’alpaga. Corsage-blouse ouvert devant sur un gilet de satin blanc. Le haut du corsage est garni d'up col fantaisie entouré de petits galons d’or. Coi droit garni de galon d’or. Ceinture ronde unie. Manches avec revers garnis de galon d’or. Petit bouffant en satin blanc retenu par un poignet rayé de galon d’or. Chapeau en paille maïs, orné de plumes blanches, soie maïs et roses roses.

VI. Military blue wool suit. Plain round skirt lined with silk or alpaca. Bodice-blouse open in front over a white satin vest. The top of the bodice is trimmed with a fancy high collar surrounded by small gold braid. Right side garnished with gold braid. Plain round belt. Sleeves with cuffs trimmed with gold braid. Small white satin bouffant held by a cuff striped with gold braid. Corn straw hat, decorated with white feathers, corn silk and pink roses.

Mat.: 6 mèt. de lainage, 1 mèt. de satin. 10 mèt. de galon.

#Le Petit écho de la mode #20th century #1900s #1901 #on this day #March 10 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #panorama #description #Forney #dress #suit #devant et dos

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vettelsbitch · 5 months

Note

Hellooo, hope you're doing alright!! I wanted to check in and ask if you think Bez and Cele in the kidfic universe would go to a Christmas market?

Either pre relationship with Bez's hands being cold and Cele warming them up? Or post getting together when Matteo is walking with both of them holding one of his hands? Or mix it all together and Teo is the one with cold hands and needs both of them close to him and each other?

Thanks in advance, and don't feel pressured!!! <3

Bestie, babe, I HAVE thought about this, I think Xmas time can have such potential for a kidfic AU. And of course this is no different.

At first I was going to answer this with a series of thoughts and ideas about what could happen, but then it started growing and growing. So I went for a blurb... that also grew and ended up being 2.5k words.

But, merry christmas and happy holidays, there you go, enjoy this unbetaed mess (and as always thanks to @dobbiamo-capire for helping me keep it italian enough)

....

Marco stops for a second in his walk down the building stairs, Matteo in his arms, his eyes drifting to Cele's closed door a little ways down the hallway. They haven't seen each other quite as much, and Matteo has started asking about him. Well, more than usual. He wonders if they should walk up to the door and knock, but what would he say? 'Hey, Teo has been asking about you, and I also miss you a lot'. So instead he just keeps walking down, Cele is probably studying for his exams.

Marco had asked for the day off at work so they could go walk around the Christmas market a week ago. But the mechanic shop was very busy with people wanting to make sure their car was ready for long trips home or up the mountains for the holidays. So it took a bit, but finally, they are on their way to spend a whole day walking around.

When they get to the street, Marco lowers Teo to the ground. He readjusts the backpack on his shoulders, full of juice packs, sandwiches, and some of Teo's favorite snacks, and drops to one knee in front of his kid.

"You have to put on your hat, Teo," he says, reaching for the lump of knit fabric in Matteo's hands.

"I don't like it, papà!"

"It's cold, and your ears will fall off if you don't use it," he says, tugging one of his small ears, prompting a giggle out of Teo. Then he brushes Teo's curls back to make sure they don't get in his eyes when he puts the hat on, tying the little ear covers under his chin and fluffing his scarf so his cheeks get some coverage from the chilly wind too. "How excited are you for the market?"

Matteo throws his arm open and his hands as far apart as he can stretch them. "This much!"

"Wow, that's a lot."

Marco stands up again, offering his hand for Matteo to grab onto, and they start walking slowly towards the city center. His little gloved hand in Marco's big one makes him smile, excited to see him enjoy the holiday spirit that covers the city.

…………………

They reach the market twenty minutes and a juice pack later. It's filled with people chatting and laughing, looking at the stands offering anything from sweets to Christmas decorations, and Matteo seems to fill back up with energy at the sight of it all, pulling on Marco's hand to go to the closest stall and look at the wooden toys in it.

Every vendor is nice, and the whole square smells of wood and spices. An old man with gray hair, big round glasses, and an apron with a chocolate bar printed on it gives Matteo a little chocolate candy for free, and that makes sure his smile stays firmly in his face while they walk between wooden stalls.

Marco recognizes one of the girls tending the coffee stand, she had brought her car to his job to get a bump fixed not long ago, and she strikes up a conversation while still helping customers, which is quite impressive if you ask him. She's telling him how she can't go back home this year when he feels Matteo pulling his hand insistently. He looks down to see him pointing somewhere in the distance, throwing an apologetic smile at the girl.

"Papà, look, 'ele!"

Marco's eyes snap up immediately, looking towards where Teo is pointing. Between the rows of people having a good time, he can see the archway that serves as an entry to the ice rink, and next to it, in another of the wooden winter stalls, there's Cele. If Matteo hadn't pointed him out, it could have taken Marco a second to realize it was him, his long black curls hidden by his hat. But it's clearly him. Matteo tugs at his hand again.

"C'mon, papà, let's go see 'ele."

Marco smiles at him again, letting himself get dragged away from the coffee stall. He turns around to wave to the girl, and she just smiles back at him quickly before turning around to the next person in line. Teo walks in a straight line, his little hand tight around Marco's fingers. He can see people entering the rink, but Cele seems to not be busy when they get to him, he's talking to another young man next to him. Both of them have the same jacket on, with the university logo on the chest. Marco goes to clear his throat to catch his attention when Teo beats him to it.

"Hi 'ele!"

Marco feels his heart skip a beat when Cele turns around, his nose and his cheeks are flushed red. He's smiling immediately, looking down at Teo and then glancing at Marco. His eyes are crinkling, and his irises are so dark that they reflect the light hanging around him.

"Hey guys! What brings you here?" He says, dropping to his elbows on the stall to look down at Teo more comfortably.

Marco pats Matteo's head, the hat warm against his cold hands. "I promised to take him to the market some time ago, and we finally managed."

Matteo steps closer, rising on his tiptoes to put his hands on the edge of the wooden table. "Look, Cele! I've got Spiderman gloves!"

Cele bends over further, getting close to Teo, and Marco feels like his lungs are on fire for a second, seeing him smiling at his kid, his face soft and open, immediately praising his gloves. He puts his hands in his pocket before he does something dumb, like caressing Cele's cheek.

"Do you guys want to try the rink? Skating is pretty fun," Cele says, pointing at the archway.

Marco looks at the mass of people skating around and then at the list of prices for the rented skates, feeling Teo turn around. Cele must notice because he speaks up. "Friends and family discount, of course," he says with a wink. Marco almost chokes on his own breath.

"Can we papà?"

Bez looks down, patting his head again. "There's too many people, Teo, and you're small, it can be dangerous."

Matteo pouts, his bottom lip pushing forward and his big eyes looking up at him, and Marco knows he's doomed. He can never say no to his kid when he pulls the puppy eyes; even at three years old, he knows it. He looks up to Cele, looking for help, only to be faced with his crooked smile and big eyes filled with twinkling lights. And before Cele can fully open his mouth to speak, he is really doomed.

"I get my break at around 13, in less than an hour, if you guys wait until then, we can all go in, and then there are fewer people since it's lunchtime," he says, tilting his head a little for the full puppy eyes effect.

Marco sighs, shaking his head, the curls poking out under his beanie bouncing with the movement. "Okay, we'll keep looking around and come back then. Thank you, Cele."

"Thank you, 'ele!"

…………………………………

After another walk around the market, a sandwich, two juice packs, and a trip to the bathroom in the mall next to the market, they make their way back to the rink. Cele is no longer standing behind the wooden table, a blonde girl is in his place. Marco is about to walk up and ask when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"You're here, guys, just in time," he says, dropping to one knee to talk with Matteo. "Are you ready to skate?"

Matteo nods quickly, his smile a little tight with equal parts excitement and nerves. Marco feels nervous himself, butterflies causing a ruckus in his stomach when Cele looks up at him.

"Okay, I need your shoe sizes for the skates," Cele starts walking towards the wooden stall as soon as Marco stumbles through telling him the two numbers.

When they reach him, he's struggling to carry three pairs of skates to the bench next to the archway into the rink. It's cute, how excited he also looks to be skating with them, and the butterflies in Marco's stomach start dive-bombing once again.

"Wait, I haven't paid yet," Marco says, helping Teo onto the bench, his legs a bit too short to jump by himself.

Cele shakes a hand in front of his face. "Don't worry about it, friends and family discount, remember," he says as he turns back towards Matteo, kneeling in front of him to help him get his shoes off and the skates on. When he tickles his little socked toes and they both giggle, Marco feels his chest burst with affection.

He's still standing, his skates waiting for him next to Cele's, so he sits down to put them on before he says something dumb. Or incriminating. Like how pretty Cele looks with his cheeks pink from the cold.

Once they're all skated up, their shoes safely back in the hands of the blonde girl, Cele gives them some quick pointers with the ease of someone who's probably been doing it for some days already. When he's done and asks if they have any questions, Matteo raises his hand. Marco can see Cele's mouth tighten to contain a giggle.

"Cele, papà doesn't have gloves!"

Marco feels his cheeks heat up under Cele's gaze. He shakes his head, opens his jacket, and starts digging around in the pockets of the hoodie he has on underneath.

"Well, that can't be, right, Teo? The good news is I always carry extra because I also forget them all the time," he says, pulling another pair of gloves, dark gray like the ones he's wearing, from his pocket. "So I can lend them to your papà while we skate."

Marco grabs the gloves, immediately putting them on under the focused gaze of his kid. They're slightly warm to the touch, probably from Cele's body heat, and feel like heaven going over his freezing-cold fingers. He wiggles his fingers, they're a little big for him, and they look snug on Cele, but he has a bit of extra room at the tips of his fingers. His brain floods with the realization that Cele has bigger hands than him. He's never cared about that, and now his eyes keep glancing at the other's hands.

When they're fully ready, Cele guides them through the archway carefully, Matteo gripping their hands tight to stay upright on the suddenly much more slick surface. The rink is much emptier than before, some couples and one group of teens are the only ones skating around. They start slowly, Cele giving pointers to their form, and quickly enough they're skating around, Matteo grabbing their hands with a huge smile on his face.

Marco looks over at Cele, on the other side of his kid, and mouths his thanks. He swears he sees Cele's cheeks flush darker, but that's probably from the ice underneath their feet.

"So, Teo, have you written your letter to Babbo Natale already?"

Matteo nods, sliding a bit with the momentum but catching himself easily with Cele's help. "Yes, papà is helping me, writing is a bit hard."

"It is, you're right there, Teo."

Matteo starts going on about what he's asking for, and what he's sure he will get because everyone says he's a good boy. Marco feels warm all over—the swirling lights around them, his kid's hand in his, soft gloves, and softer eyes across the ice.

"Cele," he says in a lull of their conversation. "How is it that you're working here? Don't you have exams?"

Cele nods, smiling. "I do, but I can revise here easily, that's why I asked to be at the front instead of in here. Also, the extra cash is nice, I'm not going home until New Year's Eve, so I had the time."

"So you're here for Christmas?"

"Yes, this year is a bit complicated with scheduling, so I can't get up there until afterwards. But it's okay."

Marco knows what he's going to say before he can reel it in and stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. "We're going to Rimini for Christmas, you could come with us and spend the day together," he says. "If you want, I don't want you to be alone."

He can see it hit Cele, the moment the words sink into both of them, at the same time as he loses his footing on the ice, sliding backwards. He lets go of Matteo's hand, not wanting to bring his kid down with him, but it's too late for himself, his limbs flying, trying to catch himself, and Cele moving towards him to try to help.

One second later, he's flat on his back, his ass sore from the fall, the warm, solid weight of Cele on top of him, and his dark eyes worried. "Are you okay, Marco?"

He wants to bury himself in the ice, let the embarrassment pass, he wants to pull Cele closer, he wants to run away. He's stalling until Matteo's laughter next to him brings him back. Teo's sitting down on the ice, giggling up a storm at his dad's fall.

Cele moves back, getting up, and Marco has to stop himself from tugging on his sleeve, so he lays on top of him again. The cold is starting to seep into his back, so he should get up too.

With the help of Cele, they all get back on their feet and skate slowly back to the entrance. There was nothing other than a sore butt and a dent in his cool persona to cry about. When they get their shoes back, Matteo's legs are a bit wiggly from the change back to solid ground, and he starts imitating his dad falling on his ass and laughing loudly.

"Yes, yes, I fell. Very funny," he says.

Cele has been a bit quiet since the fall, so he turns towards him, grabbing his arm and squeezing. "Hey, the offer stands, I think Matteo would really like to have you there, and you shouldn't be alone for Christmas."

He sees him stutter, looking down at Teo, before nodding with a shy smile on his face. "Okay, if you insist, thank you, Marco."

The blonde girl at the stall calls Cele's name, his break is up.

"I had a great time with you guys, I need to go back now."

"Oh, right," says Marco. "Thank you, Cele, we had a lot of fun."

Matteo hugs his legs, thanking him too. Cele's hand comes down to ruffle his head through his hat. Marco finds himself unable to shut up again. "We're going to walk around until they turn on the lights if you want to go see them with us later. When do you get out?"

Cele's smile widens. "My shift ends at 17, and I'd love to go with you guys," he says, walking backward towards the stall.

"We'll be here," Marco says, letting Matteo tug him back to the market.

He squeezes his kid's hand, his chest feeling raw with emotion, and his brain is busy thinking about how he's going to tell his mom that she needs to add another plate to Christmas lunch. He's still wearing Cele's gloves.

#bezz/cele #bezz/cele kidfic AU #bezz has a kid and Cele is his neighbor AU #but make it xmas themed #motogp rpf #mine #kidfic anon

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spideystevie · 2 years

Note

what are we: secret smiles + friends pointing it out

angel!!! thank u for the request bff, i hope u enjoy <3 (0.7k)

secret smiles + friends pointing [it] out [request a what are we prompt]

Steve’s house is a sight for sore eyes. Balloons scattered on the floor and helium inflated ones rising up to the ceiling in the corners. Streamers and blue crepe paper decorate the walls and the doorways. A big happy birthday banner stretches out on the empty wall near the kitchen.

His eyes had nearly popped out of his head when he opened the door to everyone’s cheering and smiling. His own grin was threatening to split his face in half, a gooey warmth swarming in his chest.

He’s pulled into the festivities almost immediately, letting a much younger Steve take control as he takes in the decorations littering the house. He’s not sure he’s ever felt so loved and cared for on a birthday.

Robin and Steve pose beneath the banner and a flash momentarily silhouettes them when Eddie snaps a picture, the square polaroid sliding out of the slot seconds later. You catch Steve’s eyes across the room as he lets Robin snatch the polaroid out of Eddie’s hands, your body immediately feeling warm. Twin smiles lift your cheeks and you dip your chin, tucking it into your shoulder to keep it hidden like a secret.

“You guys make me sick,” Max's voice startles you, your head whipping to the right.

“What?”

“You and Steve. Always smiling at each other like that, it’s gross,” she doesn’t really mean it, in fact she thinks it’s kind of sweet though she’d never admit it. It was annoying that neither of you did anything about it though.

“Gross? I don’t,” you stammer. You feel like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Max sighs and crosses her arms over her chest. The green party hat on her head shifts when she shakes her head at you.

“You guys are so hopeless,” and then she’s off, stepping into Lucas’s side and slipping into the conversation happening with Dustin effortlessly.

“Hey,” Steve’s voice is a soft whisper in your ear. You blink, turning to look up at him. He’s got a blue party hat on his head, forcing a few tendrils of hair to sit on his forehead. He looks so boyishly charming, happy, at ease. Pretty. You have to press your hands into your sides to refrain from reaching out and touching him.

“Hey. Having fun?” you ask, though you can tell the answer just by looking at him. His eyes are bright and full of mirth.

“So much,” he says, leaning into your space again. “Thank you for doing this. I..birthdays are…” he clears his throat. “This means a lot.”

“Of course, Steve. Would do anything for you, you mean a lot to me,” you smile, nudging him with your shoulder. He smiles back, different from the one you’d shared from across the room. It’s softer on the edges, reserved just for you.

Your little bubble of a moment is popped by Dustin.

“Can we do cake, now?” he asks, looking between you and Steve. Your eyes find Steve’s and you nod, looking back at Dustin.

“Yeah, can you get everyone rounded up? I’ll go light the candles,” you say, excusing yourself to head into the kitchen. Steve moves to follow, drawn to you like a magnet. Dustin grabs his arm, halting him.

“You’ve got it bad, Harrington,” he says and Steve’s cheeks immediately flare. He shakes his head, tries to tousle Dustin’s hair best he can with the red party hat he’s wearing.

“I do not,” he protests, though it’s in vain. His eyes are seeking you out as he speaks. Dustin rolls his eyes.

“I’m serious. Are you gonna do something about it or not?” he disappears into the room, garnering everybody towards the wall with the banner. Steve follows behind him, shoved to the middle of the wall beneath the happy birthday.

You come out a couple of seconds later, sheet cake in your hands with candles lit and flickering, leading all your friends in singing to him. He grins at you over the candles, his heart inflating so big he thinks it might pop and leave him dead. Your eyes meet when the song ends.

“Make a wish!” Steve thinks you’ve never looked prettier, face illuminated by the birthday candles and smile big and eager. He closes his eyes and blows out the flames. Tendrils of smoke billow up and everyone cheers.

“What’d you wish for, Harrington?” Eddie calls out. Steve’s lips lift into a crooked smile and he shrugs. Nobody misses how his eyes briefly dart to you.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington blurb #📝: a writes!

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danger-xylophones · 1 year

Text

Blood and Darkness (Maul x reader)

warnings: violence, swearing, blood, I gave the reader a nickname

masterlist | sith

"Let's dance, motherfucker." You grit out, squaring your stance.

The man in front of you sneers, a twisted expression that warps the burn scars decorating his cheeks. He makes a fist and rears back. Planting your feet, you make a show of not retreating until he swings.

You duck left and go in for a punch of your own as the man recovers. The punch doesn't land and your forced to jump back as another punch is thrown at your side. But as you boost away, you kick your foot out and connect with your opponents knee which buckles in, throwing your opponent off balance momentarily.

Your opponent staggers and twists around, hands reached out to snag you and unfortunately he does. His hand twists into the fabric of your shirt and he brings you back into hitting range with a harsh tug.

You bring your elbow up and down into his bicep again and again as he drags you around. You have to wriggle to get your other arm into position to nail him in the stomach but you do manage to hit him just not as hard as you would've liked. Your opponent grunts and brings his knee up into the dip of your hip.

It's enough to double you over and open your back up to a well aimed dig from your opponent's elbow.

You have to bite back a hiss at the sharp ache that races across your back. Before he can do anything with his other arm though, you grab it and throw yourself to the ground. It hurts your back when you make contact but you can't pay attention to it. Kicking your legs up, you make contact with the man's chest as he stumbles towards you.

He wheezes and you bend your legs in preparation to launch him back. He's not fast enough to recover and you're able to send him stumbling back, giving you enough time to get to your feet and rush him. Using his earlier move, you fist his shirt and reel your other hand back in to bring your fist to his face again and again till your knuckles start to ache.

With a hard shove, you push him to the ground and follow him down. Your legs straddle his torso and you bring both hands back to rain blow after blow down on the writhing man who desperately tries to get out of dodge.

At one point he manages to score you across the face. Pain blooms from your nose and you can feel blood start to drip out of your nostrils but you don't stop. Raising both hands you cup your hands and bring them down on your opponent's ears. He jerks his head and goes limp, his hands rushing to his ears the second you remove them from his head. His eyes screw shut and you still, chest heaving as you wait for him to make a move.

When he doesn't, a bell sounds and you stand up. There's a clamor from outside the ring - a din that had been present throughout the fight that you'd tuned out in favor of focusing on the fight. Patrons are exchanging money and already placing bets on the next fight.

With a harsh scrub at your nose you make your way to edge of the ring and climb out in search of your sponsor.

The large trandoshan man is leaning against the bar, his arms crossed and posture unwelcoming but his eyes are alight with ill-concealed delight. "Well done, Scrap." His hissing voice praises. "Mighty impressive round, that." With a bow of his head, he gestures to the ring you just left where your opponent is being collected by his own sponsor. "You did me proud."

"Thanks, Ib." You huff, wiping your nose again. "What's the catch?"

Ib lets out a hearty laugh that bounces his shoulders. "Always so distrustful, Scrap. Good. That'll keep you alive." Calming down, he reaches out a clawed hand to hold your shoulder and look into your eyes. "But, there's no catch this time. You earned your portion - here." From his pocket he produces six shiny gold credits and your quick to snatch them out of his hand and pocket them yourself. Ib laughs at your eagerness but spares a comment this time. "I've got another fight to watch. Keep your head down, Scrap."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Ib." You bid goodbye and with a pat to your head, the yellow trandoshan boosts off the wall and starts to cut his way through the crowd.

You don't watch him go and immediately flag down the bartender. The droid wheels over to you and after giving it two of your recently earned credits, hands you a small meal that'll keep your belly full for the night.

You eat in silence, occasionally wiping at your nose to clear the blood that steadily drips out of your nostrils.

When you were younger and new to fighting, you'd be in a scramble to staunch the flow and clean your face in case a patron wanted to talk to you. But now you had Ib to sponsor you. And if anybody else wanted to talk to you about earning a couple credits they'd just have to deal with the sight of blood.

People ignore you, the patrons of the underground fight club know the drill. You only talk to the fighters if you've got business with them, otherwise you act like they don't exist. It helps keep up the anonymity of the whole thing and keeps talk of the club low so the Republic minds its own business.

But occasionally you get one dumbass that doesn't know how your world works.

Like right now.

You catch movement out of the corner of your eye as someone sits down next to you.

"Good evening." A voice like liquid sin purrs from your right. You spare the person an appraising glance. He's a zabrak, bright red in color with black tattoos criss-crossing his sharp face. His horns are shorter than most's but it suits him well.

He's too good looking for this crowd and he holds himself too regally for your lot.

"If you're looking for a hooker, the strip club's a block over." You huff, shoving some mashed up root vegetable in your mouth.

He laughs, a noise that churns your stomach with it's dark tumbles. "That's not what I'm after, my dear."

The petname makes your temper flare and without thinking you turn on your mystery guest, fork pointing at his throat. "Call me that again, I dare you." You grit out, your eyes flicking up to his. But you falter. His eyes are unlike anything you've ever seen before. They glow a bright yellow but they seem so dark - like the blackhole at the center of a galaxy.

The zabrak grins, revealing stained teeth as he reaches up to take your wrist in hand and lower the fork. "So much passion, no wonder you are an effective fighter." He shifts his grip to put his thumb on your ulnar nerve. With a firm press, he makes you release the fork into the awaiting palm of his other hand.

"You saw that, then?" You ask, eyes tracking your fork as he props it on your plate.

"Oh, yes." He hums, shifting his grip again to run his thumb over your bruised knuckles. "I was rather impressed." He lifts your hand to his lips and presses a feather-light kiss to the back of it.

With a snarl, you rip your hand from his grip. "I already told you - if you're looking to get your rocks off, I ain't your girl."

"No, no you're not." He laughs again and you grit your teeth and the fluttery feeling in your stomach. "Allow me to introduce myself." He places a hand to his chest and bows his head to you. "I am called Maul. May I ask your name?"

You eye him carefully. "You can ask but I won't give it till I know what you want."

"Your weariness is admirable but unnecessary." Maul smiles again, his grin crooked. "Are you familiar with the Black Sun?"

You snort. Is he an idiot? "I should hope I would be considering they basically own my ass." Tentatively you return to your dinner.

He doesn't so much laugh as he huffs. "Indeed. And are you aware of the recent changes in their leadership?"

"No?" your eyebrows pique in time with your interest. "Xomit finally drop dead?"

"Precisely." Maul purrs and you feel your eyes go wide.

"You're kidding."

"I'm afraid not. I saw it myself."

Alarm klaxons ring in your brain. "Who are you, exactly?"

He doesn't answer immediately and instead leans in close - so close in fact that you can feel the heat rising from bis body and detect the faintest whiff of something alluring. "I am Darth Maul, ruler of Mandalore, the new head of the Black Sun, and leader of the Crimson Dawn." You can feel your blood freeze in your veins. He isn't an idiot, he's a threat. "Will you tell me your name now?"

You have to swallow a lump in your throat to speak. "Why are you here? What do you want from me?"

This time he does laugh. "Are you frightened?" you don't answer and he grins. Slowly, he raises a hand to your face and wipes some of the sticky blood off of your nose with his thumb. "I am not here to harm you." His voice is a siren call, barely above a whisper as he draws you in. The same way he draws his thumb to his lips and swipes the blood off the pad of his glove.

"Then why are you here, Maul?" You ask again, unable to take your eyes off his lips and unsure what to make of how his actions were affecting you.

"I sensed a presence, a silver call on this planet that has led me right to you, my dear." This time the petname ignites your blood in an entirely different way. "You have untapped potential that is wasted on petty fights. You are already a living weapon but I could make you a force of nature."

"How?" You ask, subconsciously leaning into him. He's so close. If you just pressed a little further you could kiss him.

"Join me, my dear." His hand lands on your thigh, strong and heavy, the weight is comforting. "Come with me back to Mandalore and let me train you." His hand creeps a little higher and he brings his nose to yours. "And let me call you mine." Maul's eyes are half-lidded, obscuring their strange glow just slightly and you find the sight utterly enchanting.

"I've never told anyone my name." You don't why but you feel the need to whisper.

"May I be the first to know it?" Maul's voice is sultry and you can feel the last bit of your resistance snap.

You surge forward and connect your lips to his in a fiery kiss that tastes like blood and darkness and makes you feel like the god of the universe. And in the space between your lips, you let him know your name.

#maul x reader #darth maul x reader #maul #darth maul #star wars x reader #star wars #x reader

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takeyourcyanide · 3 months

Text

Repulsion (original)

Chapter 2: Issues

Notes: I am just about done with the re-do, I just have to finish the second chapter of it. They both take very different approaches to this topic. Also, the very last portion of this was written days after the first half, just in case it seems a bit off in some way.

……

“You’ve got a nice little place here, Marie,” Stein complimented Marie’s quaint apartment, looking around.

The two had managed to make it back to her place by the time the sun had gone down, sleepily slipping out of the sky.

Marie had two small, white, and soft-looking loveseats placed opposite to one another and facing one another, separated by a coffee table. The little wooden table happened to of a lighter color, a cream sort of shade. Said table held a gold vase with a crimson rose nestled within it.

Marie also had a tiny, round dining table tucked away in a corner, the kitchen a few feet away from it. The walls of the apartment were white, an oddly specific white with a light pink tint to them. Stein wasn’t much of a pink kind of guy, but he did have to admit that it looked quite nice. Said walls were decorated with pleasing paintings, filling in some of the empty spaces rather nicely.

“Thanks. I tried my best,” Marie glanced over at Stein, looking around her own living space.

“Let’s head to what is now your room, I’m tired of caring this heavy computer.”

Marie walked quickly to the mostly empty bedroom, a mildly pained look on her face. Stein trudged closely behind the blonde, suitcase in hand.

Upon entering the bedroom, Stein noticed a few marks of both thumbtacks and tape on the wall, evident of old decor.

Marie, setting down the boy’s computer on the decently sized desk by the twin-sized bed, noticed Stein’s curious face, pointed directly at the residue on the walls.

“Oh, yeah, those are from my old meister’s poster,” Marie informed, swinging her finger quickly towards the unappealing residue.

“Figured. Still haven’t found another one?” Marie shook her head, appearing slightly disappointed.

Suddenly, her eyes widened, a fascinating twinkle in them as she audibly gasped.

Stein, taken aback, stared at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Why don’t you be my meister, Stein? We’ve both been ditched by our previous partners, we’re kindred souls!” Marie exclaimed, her last statement intended to be sarcastic. The girl exaggerated that element of sarcasm by theatrically flailing her arms outwards, grinning mischievously ear to ear.

“Are you sure about that, Marie? Do you really trust me? Personally, I thought you were pushing it by even letting me stay here,” Stein prodded the weapon in question, a confused expression painted across his tired face.

“Well, I can’t find another partner… And I have complete faith that you will not try anything funny. And I’m not as dumb as Spirit, I’ll beat the shit of you,” Marie playfully teased both Spirit and Stein, smiling. Stein chuckled in response, focusing on unpacking.

Stein lifted his head up, looking at Marie with a pitiful expression on his face, an over-exaggerated pout on his lips as he said, “You’re only settling for me, Marie?”

Stein purposefully began forcing his bottom lip to quiver, pretending to wipe tears.

Marie grabbed the square pillow on the bed, throwing it at Stein’s head.

The meister’s hand went to rub his head, feigning a glare at Marie as he laughed.

“I’ll let you unpack. If you need anything, just holler. Make yourself comfortable,” Marie said, leaving the room as she gave Stein a small smile.

“Thanks.”

Stein continued taking his clothing out of his suitcase, opening the teeny tiny closet by the door, and hanging them up.

Stein sighed to himself, about ready to collapse on the bed, of which was tucked away in the left corner of the room. It had a dark blue comforter and pillowcase set. The sheets were of a plain white.

Stein, after finishing with his clothes, bent down and picked up the soft pillow Marie had chucked at him, situating it nicely on the bed.

He looked around the humble room, questioning what he was even doing here.

So many years of learning the art of self control, only to end up kicked out and in Marie’s cutesy-ish apartment.

His impulsivity was one of his greatest weaknesses.

His hedonism was, too, one of his greatest weaknesses.

Stein was ripped away from his thoughts, focusing again on unpacking the rest of his items. There weren’t many, so it wouldn’t be too difficult.

He only needed to take out and organize his medical supplies and beakers and such. Then he’d take care of his computer.

It was as though Stein was starting all over again.

Time, yet again, to learn how to be a human.

———

Spirit laid painfully in his bed, staring up at the white, empty ceiling, the back of his hand resting upon his still pounding forehead.

His eyes hurt, exhausted and desperate to shut. Spirit frowned at seemingly nothing, recalling his memories of the past few hours.

He shook his head, sighing heavily.

What the hell even happened?

Spirit mind raced back and forth, from Stein to Kami, Stein to Kami, Stein to Kami.

Spirit felt utterly at a loss for what to do.

He wanted to speak to both of them, wanting to discuss with Stein about how to proceed forward, among other things. He wanted to apologize to Kami, and he trembled at the mere thought of it. She was undoubtedly furious with him, and if she found out that he was even considering speaking to Stein, she’d go ballistic.

Spirit hoped helplessly that Kami would cool off overnight, and that he could have a proper conversation with her. He wanted to explain his side, Stein’s side - listen to her side.

Spirit groaned, maneuvering his blanket out from underneath himself, wrapping himself up tightly. He rolled over on his side, long hair falling gently onto his nose.

He allowed for his eyes to shut gently, desperate for rest.

He figured that he deserved it.

——

Stein had long since finished unpacking, having left what had become his bedroom, moving to sit beside the reading Marie.

“What are you reading?” Stein inquired, Marie shifting her book up towards him in response.

The front cover read ‘What Evolution Is’ by Ernst Mayr. The book Marie had seen him reading.

“I didn’t know you were interested in evolutionary biology,” Stein raised an eyebrow, an amused grin on his face.

“Well, you seemed to enjoy it a lot, and I thought I’d give it a shot,” Marie smiled right back, attention soon returning to the book.

“You like it so far? What chapter are you on?” Stein asked, leaning a bit over in order to observe at the pages.

“I’m on chapter three, and yeah, it’s pretty interesting, actually,” Marie replied, nodding her head slightly, placing a floral bookmark inside of the book.

“You sound surprised,” Stein prodded in a teasing tone.

“Well, science is more of your thing,” she shrugged her shoulders, placing the book on the coffee table.

“Is there something you wanted?” Marie’s curious expression amused Stein as she stared at him expectantly.

“No, I was just bored.”

“Oh, okay, then.”

Stein leaned back onto the loveseat, a sigh once again rattling throughout his pale frame as he groaned in annoyance.

“Is something wrong?” Marie gently interrogated.

Stein’s head fell onto the back of the loveseat as he stretched out his lanky limbs.

He shook his head twice in disbelief, eyes narrow and almost confused-looking. His mouth repeatedly opened and closed, searching for a response.

“I’m not looking forward to this coming Monday. At all. What’s going to happen? What’s going to happen to me?” Stein contemplated aloud, staring thoughtfully at Marie.

“At least it’s still Saturday, I guess. You’ve got, like, another day or so,” Marie spoke, shaking her own head.

“God, I need a cigarette,” Stein huffed out, closing his eyes.

Marie rolled her eyes, slapping his playfully on the shoulder.

“That’s not good for you, you should stop that,” his apparent weapon scolded.

“Hopefully it’ll kill me by the time I’m thirty,” Stein smirked, knowing that would get under Marie’s skin. He knew she’d especially not like it because of the fact that she knew he meant it, even if only to a minuscule degree.

Marie slapped the back of his head, saying, “Don’t talk like that, Stein.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

Stein’s smirk never once faltered.

Marie sighed, rolling her eyes once more.

“I’m gonna go get some sleep. You coming?” Marie stated, standing up.

“Yeah, sure,” Stein followed suit.

The meister walked a few steps behind her, continuing to take in his new surroundings. It reminded Marie of a curious pet, discovering its new home and meeting its new owners.

Once Marie had made it to her bedroom, she stopped in her doorway, turning back towards Stein.

“You gonna be all right in there?” She asked, giving him a “tell me the truth” sort of look.

“Yeah, why?”

“Don’t experiment on yourself or anything - or me! I will end you,” Marie wagged her finger back in forth, narrowing her eyes in a playful, suspicious manner.

“But it’s my body,” Stein pouted, pout purposefully exaggerated.

“And you’re the one who didn’t stop me from bringing my supplies.”

“I wasn’t paying attention. And ff I even see even one new stitch or scar, I will harm you.”

“Sounds counterproductive.”

“Die.”

“Okay!” Stein beamed sarcastically.

Marie stared at him with a falsely annoyed expression, turning towards her bedroom as opposed to Stein.

“Goodnight, Stein,” she said, eyes softening.

“Goodnight, Marie.”

Stein entered his new bedroom, changing out of his day clothes and into pajamas.

After he finished changing, he tiredly walked towards the bed, lifting the blue blanket and slipping his body underneath it.

He laid on his back, staring intently at the ceiling.

He could hear every thought possible spiraling around inside of his head, so loud they were audible, detached from the confines of his brain, practically living their own little lives.

He, however, despite the sound of thinking within his skull, was not necessarily thinking about anything.

His head felt simultaneously empty and yet overcrowded.

His eyes assumed a twinkle of emptiness, his typical twinkle.

Was it all his fault? Was it Kami’s?

He couldn’t find it in himself to even care.

That’s what always gets him into trouble.

He is unable to care.

The only thing he truly cares about is science - what it stands for, what it is.

The only thing he cares about is satiating his curiosity - fulfilling his own desires.

Sometimes he wished so desperately - simply out of curiosity - to be normal for a day.

He wanted to see what it was like.

Perhaps his life would be easier.

No, not perhaps. It would definitely be much easier.

The lives of those around him would surely be easier as well.

——

Stein stirred, eyes begrudgingly opening at the loud disturbance that was the ringing of his cell phone.

He outstretched his sleepy arm, grabbing the phone and sitting up.

The caller ID read as “Spirit,” simultaneously confusing Stein and peaking his curiosity.

“Spirit?” Stein spoke groggily, not quite awake yet.

“Aren’t you mad? Why are you calling so early?” Stein looked over at the rectangular alarm clock sitting on the wooden bedside table. The large numbers ‘7:32’ flashed brightly, Stein squinted his eyes in response. He forgot to put on his glasses, ultimately exacerbating the spread of the red light, and making it mildly painful to look at.

“Yeah, I am. But I wanna speak to you, Stein. I have some stuff I need to talk with you about. Could you meet me at the park in like 15 minutes?” Spirit replied, sounding entirely exhausted.

“I mean, yeah, I guess. But won’t that make Kami even madder?”

“Probably. But she doesn’t need to know - at least not yet.

“Ok.”

“All right, then, thanks, Stein. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Stein put down the phone, staring at absolutely nothing within the dimly lit room. He shifted, placing his feet down onto the floor below, and putting on his glasses.

He grabbed his favorite turtleneck, pants, and shoes, changing out of his pajamas. He also grabbed his toothbrush from out of his suitcase, preparing to head to the bathroom.

He was curious as to what all they’d discuss, though he was able to guess some aspects of the upcoming conversation.

Stein promptly left his bedroom, entering the dark bathroom. He was attempting to remain quiet as to not disturb Marie, a small way of thanking her for giving him a place to stay. Maybe not the greatest way, but it was Stein, and he knew Marie would pick up on it and appreciate it.

Stein didn’t turn the bathroom light on, not wanting to be blinded at that moment. Even in the dark, he could appreciate Marie’s knack for decorating - something she clearly enjoyed. Everything was incredibly organized - another thing he could certainly praise her for. The shower curtain had a giant printed swan in the middle of it, causing Stein to grin in amusement. The hand towel by the sink was pleasingly soft, and seemingly of a yellow color from what he could see in the particularly dark room - the only light being what flooded in from his bedroom window, of which was covered by blinds, dark blue curtains having been pushed off to the side.

Her former partner really liked dark blue, evidently.

Stein placed his hand on the left handle of the faucet, sticking his electric toothbrush under said faucet. While soaking his toothbrush, he looked around for some toothpaste, eventually finding it in the top right drawer of the sink.

Stein observed his face as he brushed his teeth, staring intently and without hesitance. Even in the dark, he could see the bags resting underneath his eyes.

He heard Marie’s door open, as well as her light footsteps down the hall. She stopped directly in front of the bathroom door, rubbing her eyes and squinting.

Stein spit the toothpaste out of his mouth, cleaning his brush, as well as his mouth.

He glanced over at Marie, teasingly stating, “You’re hair’s a mess, Marie.”

And it most certainly was - various strands going every which way. She adorned a black, slip dress-like nightgown, and pink rabbit slippers.

Once Stein noticed the cute little slippers, he chuckled, pointing directly at him. Marie walked into the bathroom and nudged him away, taking out her hairbrush and running it through her hair.

“Your hair’s pretty messy, too, you know,” Marie sleepily responded, placing her hand in his hair and rustling it, making it look much worse than before.

Stein gave her a small pout, yanking her hairbrush out of her hands and running it mildly through his own hair.

He returned her hairbrush, leaning in front of her to grab some deodorant he spotted.

“You’re certainly borrowing all of my things,” Marie playfully teased the boy, smirking at him.

“You told me to make myself comfortable,” Stein shrugged his shoulders, returning the mocking smirk.

“Where’re you going? You’re already fully dressed,” Marie’s expression switched quickly to one of curiosity, similarly to the night before.

“Oh, why? Would you rather see me fully undressed?” Stein’s smirk grew exponentially larger as Marie slapped him on his shoulders.

“Just answer the question.”

Stein sighed, placing the deodorant on the counter as she shifted his body to fully face the girl beside him.

“Spirit called me actually,” his smirk was wiped off of his face, expression returning to his typical indifferent one.

“This early? And wait - why?”

“He has some stuff he wants to talk with me about, apparently. And yeah, he woke me up. He said we’d meet up at the park.”

“Oh, okay. Tell me what happens,” Marie said, staring up at Stein, of whom continued to simply stare at her right back.

“Is there something else?” Marie questioned, tilting her head.

“In order to leave and subsequently tell you what happens, I’m going to need you to move, Marie,” Stein plainly stated.

“Oh! Sorry!” She swiftly pushed herself up against the counter, giving him more than enough room to leave the bathroom.

——

The walk to the park was a rather peaceful one, though plagued with the screaming of Stein’s thoughts. They swirled in his head as incoherent ramblings, each attempting to get their own turn to make it to the forefront of Stein’s brain.

He peered up and admired the gray skies. It wasn’t sweltering like it typically was either. Stein preferred this sort of weather. It helped to clear his thoughts, even if only a tiny bit.

Stein fiddled with the ends of his soft, black turtleneck as he approached the park, walking upon his final cobblestone.

Spirit was already there, sitting on one of the brown benches by the entrance of the park, evidently a little nervous as he was biting incessantly at his nails, bouncing his leg repeatedly.

The redhead heard Stein enter the park, feeling his intimidating presence and just barely sensing his soul wavelength, whipping his head around to view the boy.

Stein noted how pale and exhausted Spirit looked, dark circles sleeping under his eyes where they usually were not.

“Did you get any sleep last night, Spirit?” Stein curiously inquired.

“Barely,” Spirit plainly answered, turning his head back to the ground.

Stein waltzed over to the bench, sitting down next to Spirit, being sure to maintain a safe and comfortable distance.

Stein sighed, moving to face the fire-haired male, just before asking the question of the hour:

“What did you want to talk about?”

“God, man… A lot of shit,” Spirit responded, fingers making circular patterns on his forehead.

“Still have a headache?”

“Unfortunately.”

The two were submerged in a brief silence, Spirit frantically grabbing at any semblance of coherent thought, attempting to put all he dragged Stein out here to discuss together in a cohesive manner.

“How are we gonna tell Lord Death that we are no longer partners, first of all? What’s the plan for Monday?” Stein broke the awkward silence, deciding upon a topic of which he figured Spirit wanted an answer to, as well.

“Wouldn’t Kami want in on that discussion?” Stein raised a valid question, a valid point.

“This is between us. Not us and Kami. She can stay out of it,” Spirit stared very seriously and determinedly at Stein.

“Good,” Stein replied, just as seriously as Spirit.

“So, I was thinking we can get to school early and head to the death room,” Spirit began.

“Yeah, obviously. But what are we going to tell him?” Stein wondered.

Spirit’s expression turned into one of simultaneous care, anger, and sorrow.

“Stein. I don’t want to get you jailed. We’re going to lie,” Spirit stated, staring intently into Stein’s confused eyes.

“You’re going to lie for me?”

“Stein, no matter how betrayed by you I feel…no - no matter how much you betrayed my trust, I still care about you. I don’t want to see you get severely punished. It doesn’t matter how furious at you I am.”

Stein’s eyes widened significantly. He could hardly speak. He didn’t understand it. But he appreciated it. It created a nice warm feeling within him - that feeling mixing with the confusion and the shock.

“Really?” Stein managed to choke out. He was utterly fascinated by this, obvious by the spark of childlike curiosity in his eyes.

Spirit had a sudden glint of pity in his own narrowed eyes.

“Stein, you live in an entirely different world than everyone else. And I’m sorry. I understand you do, I swear. But you can’t keep up with your behavior. It doesn’t only hurt others, it’s going to eventually screw you over, too.”

Stein averted his gaze, his whole body away from Spirit in response.

“I know. It already has, Spirit,” Stein emptily mumbled, sounding utterly pained and dead on the inside.

“Then why don’t you stop?” Spirit asked exasperatedly.

Stein looked up at him with shallow and miserable eyes.

“You don’t get it, do you?”

“Not at all, so, please! Explain it to me!”

Stein looked down at the ground, remaining silent.

Spirit tilted his head, exclaiming, “Stein, I know no one else wanted to hear you out, but I do! Tell me! I want to understand!”

“I can’t stop. And even when I try to, even when I attempt to be as sweet as everyone else, I am still miserable and unchanged. I’ve tried acting empathetically, but I don’t feel empathy. I’ve tried to have morality, but I failed each and every time. I’ve tried to be one of you, I’ve tried, Spirit. I was still miserable - possibly even more so, given the fact that I was unable to indulge in some of my few pleasures in life. Do you see now? I’m horribly miserable either way. But at least if indulge in my own sadistic hedonism, my own morbid curiosity, I’ll feel some sort of spark of something - it’s an addiction, it’s like a drug, because I never feel anything other than boredom. Don’t you understand how addictive curiosity is? How addictive sadistic pleasure is? Do you, Spirit? I can never be myself, I cannot exist, Spirit, I simply cannot,” Stein explained almost entirely with one breath, staring at Spirit with such wide eyes that it genuinely frightened Spirit. It felt as though he wasn’t speaking to something entirely human. Stein’s upper body leaned creepily closer to Spirit’s as he spoke, visibly passionate in what he was saying, despite sounding and appearing so utterly empty.

“Stein, you’re chasing after short bursts of fun. Ripping things apart won’t ever fill the void inside of you - that fucking black hole. It will always want more. If you choose to simply fulfill your desires, that’s your choice, but you’re only going to end up completely alone and probably on the run. You cannot run from yourself, Stein, nor can you ever hide,” Spirit replied, lifting his hand to pat Stein on his shoulder, leaving said hand resting upon his slumped shoulder.

“But I want..” Stein lifted his hands, staring down at them.

“What do you want, Stein?”

“I don’t know. But I want something. What do I want, Spirit? I can’t find it - the answer,” Stein sounded utterly breathless.

“I’m going to lie for you, Stein. Do not do some shit like you did to me to another student again - at least not until I’m not mad anymore. And scared, honestly.”

Stein only nodded his head, mouth slightly ajar, eyes like beady saucers.

“How will you lie? We worked well, so you can’t say that we didn’t,” Stein pointed out.

“I’ll tell him I want to partner with Kami. I’ll tel him Kami’s jealous, I’ll-I’ll tell him Kami’s moving in… Something like that,” Spirit responded, thinking on the fly.

“He’ll know something’s up.”

“We’ll deal with that when we get there.”

“What if Kami tells him out of spite?”

“I’ll let you dissect her,” Spirit grinned. Stein chuckled once in response, though he did not smile, his expression remaining disturbingly fixed.

“Stein, you mentioned psychiatrists and shit awhile back… Were you ever diagnosed with anything?” Spirit asked, sounding awfully genuine and sweeter than usual.

“I rarely spoke, and when I did, I either lied, said incredibly cryptic things, or turned their questions back onto them. They tried, but struggled significantly with the process of diagnosis.”

“Oh. Sounds like you,” Spirit nodded his head, seemingly in some sort of agreement.

“Why do you ask?” Stein tilted his head, eyes remaining large and aware.

“Just curious,” replied Spirit, shrugging his shoulders.

Spirit fixed his gaze onto the bench, seemingly lost in thought.

“What are you thinking about, Spirit?” Stein curiously interrogated.

“Where do we go from here?” Spirit responded, looking back upwards.

“We hardly even concocted a plan, Spirit. Shouldn’t we, as opposed to just letting it all happen?” Stein questioned.

“God, probably..” Spirit sighed, beginning to bite his short fingernails again.

“Lord Death is going to know something’s up… I think who we really need to worry about is Kami, though…” Spirit thought out loud, deep in his little planning mode, of which Stein found terribly amusing.

“You’re pretty damn good at coming up with things on the spot, Stein. We’ll worry about Lord Death tomorrow. Kami, however… Are we sure she’s going to keep her word and not say a word so long as we end our partnership?” Spirit peered up at Stein.

“You could try to hint at it whenever you meet up with her again. Ask her if she was serious or something. But she seemed serious. If she fucks me over, I’ll put her head on a stake, and place that stake right outside of her parents’ house,” Stein went on a brief homicidal rant.

Spirit sighed, saying, “I’ll hint at it. I planned on trying to speak with her after I got back from the park.”

“Oh, okay, good, we’re on the same page, then,” Stein said.

“Not with the decapitation, though, just to be clear,” Spirit spoke, waving his large hands in front of himself in disagreement.

“Yeah, I know, Spirit.”

“After I speak with Kami, I’ll tell you about whatever she says Monday - or tomorrow, rather,” Spirit planned. Stein nodded his head, flashing a thumbs up at the ginger.

“Stein, can I ask you question?” Spirit lowered his voice.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Why’d you perform little experiments on me? Were you curious?” Spirit tilted his head once more, long, silky strands of red hair swaying gently over to the side. Spirit always had wonderful hair, it was one of the many things that enabled him to be the little playboy he was.

“Yes, very. I find you very fascinating. I find all of you fascinating. It makes me want to open you up and see what makes you you. And because it was a good opportunity to sort of experiment on someone,” Stein responded, eyes growing impossibly larger as he was reminded of his pleasurable fascination with Spirit.

“I don’t know whether I should be flattered or freaked the fuck out,” Spirit huffed out a small chuckle, shaking his head back and forth.

“Actually, I feel a bit violated,” the red head widened his eyes, a twinge of disgust on his face.

Stein’s light pink lips stretched into a sadistic smirk as gave a small chuckle in response to Spirit’s struggle.

“Fuck you, Stein,” Spirit said, half-joking.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d like to,” Stein glanced over at the blue-eyed weapon seated beside him, smirk not faltering.

“I’m scared you’d dissect me then, too,” Spirit gave a frightened look.

Yet another sigh racked the long, suit-covered body of Spirit as he said, “I need to leave before Kami sees us. She’s got me fucking paranoid.”

“Have you considered breaking up with her?”

Spirit appeared almost offended at that.

“Well… I love her..”

“Do you love paranoia?”

“No…”

Stein proceeded to flash him a “come on, Spirit” look.

“I don’t know what to do… That’s why I need to go ahead and talk to her,” Spirit spoke again, visibly dreading the future discussion.

Stein nodded in agreement, rising up from the bench, Spirit doing the same.

They stared into the eyes of another, practically saying a silent goodbye, despite the fact that they’d secretly speak again tomorrow.

“Bye, Stein,” Spirit said, walking away towards his apartment.

“Bye,” Stein mumbled back at Spirit, remaining still and watchful.

———

Spirit knocked on Kami’s door, anxious and even a bit afraid of what was to come - not necessarily with Kami, but rather, with everything.

“Yes, Spirit?” Kami spoke in an annoyed tone, still in her pajamas, as she swung the door open.

“Could I come in?” Spirit twiddles his thumbs, an air of genuineness about him.

Kami sighed harshly, stepping out of the way, saying, “Sure.”

“Look, Kami… I’d love to be your new weapon, but…. You’re really jealous and a little controlling,” Spirit got straight to the point, trying to be as diplomatic as possible.

“Excuse me?!” Kami shouted, taken aback. She placed her hand on her chest, fiery and expressive.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but-“

“How the fuck else am I supposed to take being called ‘jealous’ and ‘controlling’?!” She continued to wail, eyes wide and offended. Spirit held his hands out in front of himself in mock defense.

“I swear I’m not trying to insult you! It’s just - ever since we’ve started dating, you’ve been a little.. neurotic, and it’s caused me to feel very paranoid,” Spirit explained, tone kind in comparison to Kami’s.

Kami’s lips pursed, she took a step back and forwards again. She opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, at a loss for words. Her cheeks were flushed with fury, and her eyes were teary with hurt. It made Spirit feel an intense amount of guilt - the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

“I don’t know what to say, Spirit.. I’m sorry I’ve made you feel that way, but frankly, I’m hurt you’d say such cruel things about me,” Kami’s lower lip jutted out in a juvenile manner.

“Oh, please don’t cry. I didn’t mean to make you upset,” Spirit began, hands outreaching towards Kami’s quivering figure.

“Well, you succeeded,” she interjected, a stray tear falling gracefully down her cheek. Spirit rushed quickly over to Kami, embracing her. She placed her hands on his chest, attempting to propel herself out of his arms.

“What are you doing, Kami?” Spirit rushed out, eyebrows furrowing.

“I don’t want to hug you. You’re the reason I’m upset in the first place,” Kami continued to pout, arms crossing in front of her as more tears fell.

Spirit suddenly became wise, questioning the possible ulterior motives behind these tears, asking, “Is this just a guilt trip?”

“How dare you assume that?!” She wailed, only sobbing harder.

Spirit sighed, at a loss for what to do.

“Come on, just… Sit on the couch with me, let’s talk, yeah?” Spirit spoke up, hoping they could simply have a calm discussion.

“Fine,” Kami gave in, moving towards her small couch.

They both sat down, Spirit grabbing her hands and holding them sweetly. He brushed his thumb repeatedly over the very top of her hands soothingly.

“I’m sorry I upset you, darling. That was not my intention. I just wanted to say that there are things we can both work on-“

“Like your proclivity towards other women?” Kami interrupted, voice laced with resentment.

“I told you, I only love you,” Spirit emphasized, his head bobbing along with his passionate declaration.

“You’re right, Spirit. I do have… certain issues. I’m sorry,” she begrudgingly admitted, face turned downwards in shame.

“And that’s okay! We can work through it!” Spirit encouraged jovially, beaming at his lover.

“Now I can see how you managed to be Spirit’s weapon for so many years,” Kami chuckled, lifting her hands from Spirit’s in order to wipe her wet eyes. Spirit laughed himself.

“Would you be willing to work through it with me, so we can become partners?” Spirit asked, eyes filling to the brim with simultaneous hope and sorrow.

“Yes, of course. And I know this must be hard for you,” she responded empathetically, catching Spirit off-guard.

“It is. I’ve been with Stein for so long, I don’t know how I’m going to go about not being his weapon anymore,” Spirit shook his head in disbelief. Kami took his hands in hers, soothingly rubbing over them as Spirit had done hers.

“It’s okay. You’ll be mine now, love,” she spoke, smiling victoriously. It almost disturbed Spirit.

All of the nice things Kami said had a disturbing twinge to them.

And Spirit couldn’t help but fall for it - fall for her.

#soul eater #franken stein #stein #stein soul eater #dr stein #marie mjolnir #dwma #spirit soul eater #fluff #hurt/no comfort #hurt/comfort

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dulcewrites · 11 months

Text

Truly, Madly, Deeply

I got this idea while writing fcc. Maris Baratheon is gay bc I said so. Happy pride month y’all 🏳️‍🌈 🫶🏽

The deal was simple: marriage or become a silent sister.

Her father always had little patience with her, which she supposes is alright. She has little patience with him. Whenever she feels a bit too claustrophobic in the castle, the good air being sucked up from his ego, she writes little notes and leaves them on her parent’s bed.

It always requires a maester to read them. Sometimes mother does it.

Having someone else other than the voice in her head call him an illiterate imbecile was worth the punishment most times. But this time, she could tell by the twitch in his eye that he was serious this time. She had looked to mother for help, and all she got was a sympathetic glance. Not sympathetic enough, she thought.

Maris always going to be the problem child, and in turn, she would always be considered expendable. She is not the prettiest, or the most duitful. Clever, they would call her. She knew that was a coverup for what they really wanted to say. Mouthy.

The Riverlands may not be that bad.

She reminded herself that through dress fittings, and mindless drowning on about decorations and food. Maris always thought their deer sygil was a bit silly. Not very intimidating like a dragon or symbolic like a glowing tower. Or even pretty like a flower.

Well, at least it is not a fucking fish.

You will make a lovely wife. It was a lie, and if Myah was in front of her, her mouth would be quirked to the side in mirth. Pretty and mischievous. Maris can hear her voice even as the words are just written on the page.

Please come to King’s Landing. You must meet Baelor.

It was not the first time Myrah had asked. The last time they had seen each other in person, she was watching Myrah and Aemond marry.

Marry and kiss. Dance and kiss. Laugh and kiss. They kissed a lot at their wedding really. Her whole family had been there on pins and needles for different reasons. Her parents upset at what could have been. Her sisters with a similar sentiment. Floris and Ellyn just tired of hearing how they let a prince slip their fingers. Cassandra the most vocal about her strife.

“I suppose her looks make up for her station,” she muttered, pushing her meat across her plate in disgust. “That or something else.”

That earned a swift kick to the shin from Maris.

What none of them wanted to admit it is that it was never going to be one of them. Anyone with a working brain could see that from the moment the Targaryens came to Storm’s End on the godsforsaken tour.

“I have to thank you,” before they left King’s Landing, Myrah pulled her to the side. Her hand intertwined with Maris’. “I cannot help but feel like you helped Aemond and I get to this point.”

It was the first time she got a sharp pang in her chest. She just smiled through it. Myrah glowed, and Maris hated it. She doesn’t know why but it flowed through her veins like blood does. They correspond to each other regularly and the pang doesn’t cease.

It debilitates and shakes her to her core as she writes back.

I would love to.

Maris feels and hears Myrah before truly gets a good look at her.

A squeal and a tight hug. Maris is hit with a wave of lavender and rose. She still smells the same. Feels the same. Hands come to squeeze her cheeks when Myrah pulls away.

“I have to pinch myself, pinch you to see if you’re actually here.”

Maris is sure her face is on fire under her hands. She finally gets a good look at Myrah as they begin to walk through the Red Keep, arm in arm. The slim silhouettes with thick fabric that Maris first saw her in when they met had been replaced by something more opulent. Reminding Maris of Myrah on her wedding day. The V-neck usually found on women in the Vale had been replaced with a square one. Puffy sleeves and full skirt to round the look. The rubies in her hair net glistening, matching the ones dangling from her ears, in the light. Maris wonders how long it took her ladies to manage to put all of Myrah’s thick curls under it.

Red, black, and gold - Maris noted. It should not come as a shock. Myrah would adopt the style of the ladies in court, and she would adopt the colors of her… husband’s house.

The word sits in her tongue like bad porridge. Thick and nasty. She chalks it up to the fear of gaining one herself soon.

Myrah immediately takes her to see Baelor. Who takes one look at Maris’ face and buries his face in his mom’s legs.

“He is a bit shy,” she beams. “Likes to hide in my skirts sometimes.”

He has that in common with father. He has Aemond’s face already, with Myrah’s coloring. His eye shape, but her eye color. A skeptical look that mirrors Aemond but dark curls that fall in front of his face in an earnest way that is all Myrah.

A perfect little combination of the two. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

They sit out on the terrace that is attached to the room. A full spread already out there of various tarts and sweets. Maris goes to pour them both a goblet of wine but Myrah stops her with a sly smile.

“I probably should not,” she pats her tummy in a knowing way.

Oh.

“Again?”

It comes out more aghast and rude than even Maris wants. But Myrah just laughs, and nods.

“Yes, again,” she’s glowing again. In the way Maris knows is special to how Myrah feels about Aemond. “It is quite early on, but the maester confirmed it a few days ago.”

She tells herself to bite her tongue. To be happy and smile because she could not live with herself if she is the reason why that glow falters, but the words slip out of her mouth.

“Even after what happened after giving birth the first one,” ok perhaps she should’ve used him name. “I know Baelor took so much out of you.”

Something flashes behind Myrah’s eyes. Fear? Pain? Anger?

“I want more children,” she says curtly. “And I want my son to experience having a sibling bond the way I do.”

Maris can tell by Myrah’s defensive tone that it not the first time she has been questioned. The air is charged now, and Maris questions throwing herself off the balcony at the way Myrah’s lips downturn in a pout.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters. The words on foreign on her tongue.

Myrah gives a small smile. “I know you are just worried for me.”

“Not about that,” then she squeezes her eyes shut briefly. Words were never hard to come by till she met Myrah. “I mean yes for that, but also for not coming. After I got the letter.”

Myrah’s gaze softens. It was only a week after Myrah had given birth to Baelor that Maris recieved a letter. And though the seal on it was the typical House Everlane one she had grown accustomed to breaking. The handwriting was completely different.

The queen had written on behalf of Myrah.

Myrah’s loopy, girlish caligarphy replaced by Helaena’s short and delicate one. Maris tucked the letter under her pillow in a fugue state after reading it. She slept with it as her tears mixed in with her pillow sheet. She had built up so much resentment towards Aemond. Towards a child she did not know. Only just days old. Because she could not understand a world where Myrah was not living in it.

“I understand. I did not expect people to drop everything and come to my aid.”

But I should have. I would have. For you.

“Ok enough sappy talk, let’s talk wedding plans.”

The details are miserable to Maris but exciting to Myrah. She knows she is trying to make her feel better.

“Just think about it,” Myrah picks off the candied lemon on a lemon cake. “The weather will not be as harsh, and you will still be close to by. I am pulling ranks and making you visit more.”

Myrah leans over to grab Maris’, and gods Maris hopes it is not as sweaty as she feel it is.

“I know you are worried, but if anything happens, you can tell me,” she says seriously, before a cheeky smile suddenly appears. “You techincally have the largest dragon in the world at your disposal.”

Maris snorts at the thought at Aemond playing her protector. “And how’s that?”

“Aemond has Vhagar, I have Aemond, and you have me.”

Maris doesn’t know whether cry and or to throw up.

The throwing up option only becomes more clear when Aemond finally makes his appearance. Dressed in typical black leather, but with riding gloves on. Myrah hops up like, giddy and sweet.

Maris turns away when they kiss. The brushing of noses and whispers against the lips too much too take. His hand instantly goes to Myrah’s belly. She has no real reason to dislike Aemond. In fact, it was Myrah giggling about how much they remind her of each other that made her look at Aemond differently.

Maris wished she could fight the burn in her chest when it came to him.

“Tell Maris that the Riverlands are lovely,” Myrah tugs on his hand. “You enjoyed it when Aegon and you went.”

“The Riverlands are lovely,” he repeats monotoned. Myrah swats at his arm.

“It will be ok,” she reiterated to Maris.

And gods Maris wants to believe her so bad.

Myrah is a bleeding heart. It was one of the things Aemond loved and envied about her. She is kind almost to a farce. It can titter into naivety but it was always in good faith. She frets and worries and cares so much. It’s why she is good wife, and an even better mother.

He would repopulate Old Valyria with her if she gave him the chance.

But Aemond can tell when that pretty head is working overtime. It did during dinner that night with Maris, and continued into the night.

“I guess it just, I don’t know - it put into perspective how lucky I am,” she frowns. “Her parents are just shipping her off to a man she doesn’t know. And I understand that is the lot in life for many ladies. It could have been mine. It just makes me sad.”

She goes on and on with her brows furrowed and her arms flailing.

Aemond pulls her into his lap, hand brushing against the silk of her nightgown.

“You shouldn’t work yourself up so much. It’s not good for you or the babe.”

Myrah frowns before her eyes get wide. “We kill him.”

“What,” Aemond laughs.

“If something happens to her, we kill him,” she repeats. “You are great swordsman, my love.”

“Flattery will not convince me to kill a man.”

She wraps her arms around his neck.

“Can I do something else to convince you to kill a man.”

Aemond pauses for a moment. “Probably.”

What can he say, he is weak willed.

“Good, I’m hoping you to that.”

He knows that Myrah loves Maris, and Maris… loves Myrah. He knows that look, he gives that look everyday. It’s pathetic and hopeless, and full of want.

Longing is a cunt.

Aemond hasn’t figured it out if Myrah knows, and she’s too kind to say anything. Or if she still doesn’t get the power she has over people. One night he told her in the dark. After a feast Aegon held with diplomats from around the realm.

“You’ll never have to know what it is like to want you.”

Myrah snorted and told him he was dramatic when he had too much to drink. But he woke, albeit with an alcohol induced headche, still feeling the same. She will laugh off any suggestion that she extremely charming. Aemond buried his jelousy problem well. But they sprout and take form with Myrah.

He doesn’t know if he more envious watching people naturally gravitate towards Myrah or knowing he will never possess such power.

It pulled him. It has pulled Maris in.

Myrah is the moon. The tides will always be under her control.

#my poor gay disaster maris #anyway I hope to write more gay shit 😊☝🏽#hel Alicent alys… yup yup yup #not Aemond lowkey being an ally 💀💀#maris: she’s everything and he’s just… Aemond #and Aemond would agree with the sentiment #Maris Baratheon

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