#this is from my old residence building with the perfect windows

[liones-s]

10/05/22: today’s study mood: the weather getting colder, shades of warm brown, finding a new line in your favourite book of poems

#this is from my old residence building with the perfect windows #still glad to be on to new adventures though #the autumn chill is starting to arrive here too #i got absolutely soaked on my walk home from class #studyblr #productivity #autumn #fall vibes #study motivation #academia #academia aesthetic #litblr

[muzanswaifu]

Out of Options

Sugardaddy!Toji x Fem!Reader

18+

You needed money. He wanted free use. You weren't past making an exchange... until he started to get cheap. What else was a girl to do?

5k Words

Big thank you to my beta readers @mistymuichiro & @thosestarry-nights & @mrskokushibo !!!

Sfw Warnings: Sugar Daddy Toji, Sugar Baby Reader, Themes of prostitution, Angst, Bad Communication, Toxic Relationships, Creepy Old Men, Misogyny, Toxic Work Environment, Jealousy

Nsfw Warnings: Smut, Hints of Breeding Kink, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Oral Sex (fem! receiving), Cunnilingus, Squirting

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The wooden frame of the bed slammed viciously into the thin walls of the motel bedroom, the withered coat of eggshell white chipping away with the ruthless collision, likely cracking the wood as well. The hellish creaking burned into your ears, scratching at the back of your brain and preventing any chance of relaxing in the moment. You’d had a shitty day, and the fact that this wasn’t even the worst of it was almost sad.

Work was exhausting, stupid old men yelling at you all day that you couldn’t do your job and the lead physician not doing a thing to stop them. Not to mention that you were in charge of most of the side work all day, replacing the instruments and utensils, emptying trash bins, cleaning out inpatient rooms, none of which was given to any of the newer technicians. You were good at what you did. You studied hard in school, you perfected all of your residency, you had astounding references. Your only flaw? Your gender. You were one of the only females in your department - hell - in the entire building. Most either quit or moved to different hospitals, entirely due to the terrible environment. None of your peers or superiors or inferiors respected you. You were always stuck with the dirty, side work while the others got to do what your job actually entailed, and the rare occurrences when you did get the opportunity to work with patients, they were always abusive to you. It was hell.

But what other choice did you have?

All the other openings at other hospitals were either filled or about to be. No other fields or retail jobs made enough pay. You didn’t have near enough money or grounds to seek out legal help. You were stuck. You were desperate for money. You were out of options.

You had family to take care of - two brothers, a sister, your mother. Dad died years ago in a car accident. Mom was already working overtime with two jobs, barely making ends meet. Rent, insurance, taxes, student loans, car payments, groceries, clothing, hospital bills, schooling, existing. It all cost money. So much money. It felt like you were suffocating. You were out of options.

Finally the creaking stopped. You back was already sore beyond belief and your legs numb. Your knees were probably bruised, too. Damn, you could go for some marble cheesecake right now. Your nose scrunched as you smelt the familiar scent of cigarette smoke, you lungs burning from the second hand nicotine.

“Here.”

A wad of cash fell across your back, the paper crunchy and bent. You groaned as you rose up, stretching your back out and hissing at how tight you were. How much was ibuprofen again?

You flicked through the money, your brow furrowing when you shuffled across the last layer.

“This isn’t enough,” you countered.

The end of his cigarette burned gold. He stood in front of the window, brushing away the curtain to peer outside as he took a drawl. He was still naked and didn’t seem in a rush to dress himself.

“It’d be more if ya didn’t make me wear a condom.”

You scowled but kept silent, fidgeting at the sides of your panties where he tied the damn things. The latex was knotted tight with each used rubber, five in total today. It’d be easier to just throw the whole pair away.

He took another hit.

“Won’t make our date on Saturday,” he mumbled, “got plans.”

You were already redressing yourself, desperate to get out of there and get going. Shower. Eat. Jerk off. Go to sleep. There were only so many hours in a day and you still had work in the morning.

You sighed, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

He chuckled softly to himself. “How’s work.”

“Bye, Toji.”

The store wasn’t all that crowded surprisingly. It was Thursday afternoon, but people tended to not follow norms around here when it came to scheduling. They were out of marble cheesecake so you had to get turtle. It was too sweet in your opinion.

Everyone was asleep when you got home, but you were grateful for the privacy. Mom was still at work.

You locked your door and ruffled through your bottom drawer, fetching out your vibrator. The fan in your room was loud so nobody could hear it anyway. God, you were tired.

You never thought of anything particular when you were trying to get off, it honestly depended on the day. Sometimes you thought about getting eaten out slowly by a fireplace. Sometimes you thought about getting dicked down in a dark alley. No matter the scenario, there was only one similarity. You never imagined anyone in particular. You couldn’t put a face to the man. He was big, muscular, strong. You felt safe yet thrilled underneath him. But you couldn’t see him, if that made any sense.

Your sex drive had always been high. Ever since puberty you were antsy and pent up, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to date. Your first boyfriend was overwhelmed with how needy you were, and the moment you sensed his rejection, your attraction to him plummeted. You needed to feel secure before you felt horny. Were you demisexual? Maybe. You weren’t sure and hardly had time to find yourself.

You tried to find another partner again in your third year of college. There was a party at a local bar, and your friends hyped you up to go. You were both drunk, him more than you. He had whiskey dick. You didn’t feel comfortable. You left relatively quickly after calling him an uber. Failed again.

You didn’t try again after that.

You were fine keeping to yourself. You had your own assortment of toys awaiting you in your room. And work only solidified your hatred of the male species. You likely would’ve remained celibate forever if you hadn’t run into Toji.

You had just gotten off work, walking through the subway to catch the next train. Your engine was busted so your car was in the shop. Not many people were around, and the ones that were left after a while since it was taking too long. But you were too tired to walk so you stayed. The sketchy figures in the back didn’t seem like a big deal at the time. Finally the train came and you got on, only about six people onboard. The man a couple feet down on the bench smelt like burnt flesh. He had a cigar in his mouth despite the no smoking sign. Whatever, it wasn’t any of your business. Your left side was occupied, surprisingly, despite the abundance of free seats. This man was close, too close. Two others gathered in front of you. 

“Where ya headed to baby?

“Yeah, yeah, you need some company?“

“We’ll treat ya real nice.”

You tried to ignore their taunts, keeping your eyes down and trying to appear as small as possible. You immediately noticed when a knife was drawn.

“We’re tryna talk to you, bitch.”

The blade nicked the bottom of your jaw, your blood running cold.

“Yer makin’ too much ruckus over there.”

Everyone slowly turned to look at who spoke. The man looked without a care in the world.

“Didn’t fuckin’ ask you, now did I old man?” The knife was now pointed to him.

He drew a long sigh and took out his blunt, pressing the lit end into the seat, the plastic screaming in agony.

You don’t really remember the rest of the conversation. Everything was a blur. Words were said. Punches were thrown. Bones were shattered. The man with the cigarette hardly got up from his seat, really. The next thing you knew he was sat back down and the others were lying on the floor, knocked out. You shifted your feet away so they didn’t get near the bodies.

Awkwardly, you tried to thank him, offer him what little you had in your pocket, mostly out of fear. You didn’t want to get on the bad side of someone who could so easily hurt people, and you didn’t want to appear ungrateful. Based on the scar that tore into his mouth, he’d seen his fair share of violence. He turned it down. You offered to buy him food. He turned it down. Medical care to clean his fists? He turned it down. You were out of options. Was there anything you could offer him? His answer still burned in your mind.

“You wanna fuck?”

The money afterward was unexpected. You woke up sore and broken, your thighs burning and covered in bruises. He was long gone, in his place a wad of cash that made your eyes bulge. Did he think you were a hooker? You weren’t sure. The sex wasn’t bad. You didn’t get off, but he obviously knew what he was doing. It felt nice. You felt safe.

Your next meeting, he found you walking the streets. Money in hand, stinking of booze. Wagging a room key in your face and giving you an address to go to if you need some money. Maybe he thought you were someone else. You didn’t care. You needed money and didn’t mind the sex. You were always wet enough to be comfortable for a decent amount of time, but it would hurt more after each round. You wish he didn’t last so long. Or for so many rounds. You wondered if he was even human. More money.

You had a couple rules for your… relationship. No kissing. No oral (for either of you). No raw contact or cumming on your body. No telling. You didn’t need a reputation.

He paid based on what he felt like paying you, but he was never stingy so you didn’t mind. Until lately.

He wasn’t paying as much as he used to. He didn’t seem to be enjoying himself as much. Maybe he was getting bored. You were worried.

You needed the money. You always needed money. And this wasn’t paying like it used to. It was a hard pill to swallow, but you knew what you had to do.

You needed another outlet.

It was going to be hard to find one. You were essentially selling your body, but you still had standards. You refused to sleep with anyone who you didn’t find attractive, anyone who was married, anyone dangerous. Your work was cut out for you.

And since you were now free on Saturday, you would go out then.

You put your siblings to bed early, double checking with mom that she’d be out until early morning. You dressed nice but not too nice. Hot but not too hot. It was a fine line you were walking, and you absolutely were not going to cross it.

The bar in the popular part of the city was going to be the number one spot for rich bachelors. You never went there yourself because it was so expensive and uptight, but you were looking to get drinks anyway. You didn’t have to wait long before you had a drink in front of you, courtesy of a gentleman sitting in a booth in the back. He was too old for you but you smiled at him. The others came quickly. You had the bartender sneak most of them into the sink. You couldn’t get drunk and most of these men you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole. It was starting to get late. You didn’t spot anyone worth your while.

“This seat taken?”

You whipped around to your right, surprised to see a young man - no - someone your age in here. Not to mention attractive. You shook your head, trying to cover your own shock.

“Not a lot of… not… old guys in here, am I right?” He laughed, nodding toward the tables of older gentleman. Most were fifty or so. You felt gross now realizing how many were staring at you.

You laughed back nervously, “Yeah…”

“What brings you here?” He asked innocently, “Not that you don’t belong here! You just look… I don’t know - uncomfortable?”

You cringed. Did you look uncomfortable? 

“Yeah, sorry. Just… hanging around, I suppose,” you offered. He was too cute now. You couldn’t bring yourself to take his money even if you wanted to. 

He smiled. “Same here. I thought this place was going to be fun, but there’s not a lot to do.” He looked around. “Most of these guys are talkin’ business.” Looking around yourself, you realized he was right. Most of them were meeting up with business partners whiles others were trying to make business partners. Some looked pretty shady. You were getting more nervous by the minute.

“I-I have to go,” you mumbled quickly, getting up from your seat end creeping toward the door. He was surprised. “Uh, by-”

You bumped into something, stumbling back into the bar. 

“Oi, you should watch where you’r-”

You gasped.

The music got louder. The air felt heavy. His eyes looked dark.

The corners of his mouth tugged down and his eyes narrowed. Sweat condensed on your brow.

“What are you doing here?” He growled, his stature big and menacing. His green eyes bore into you sharply.

“I-I-I-”

“Hey-” The boy from before was back. “Are you okay?” He looked to Toji and frowned.

“This guy bothering you?” He asked, all too naive. You gently pushed him back. You could see Toji about to pounce. 

You pushed him back a little harder when he didn’t get the hint. “No, it’s fine, man,” you told him, “just go.”

He gave you another concerned look, but left when you gave him a stern one. You felt bad. He seemed nice.

Much to your disappointment, the other man you were dealing with didn’t just vanish into thin air. You sighed. “I was just about to leave, anyway.” You tried to step past him. He didn’t let you, his wide torso stepping in front of you. His smirk made your skin crawl.

“Let’s talk.”

You weren’t given the option to deny him as he stole you away, a large fist grabbing you arm far too harshly. He pulled you through the exit, dragging you down the crowded street. Any struggle you made was met with a firm tug, his grip getting tighter and tighter. You were definitely going to bruise.

When you’d rounded lone alleyway between the buildings, he’d pressed you against the wall, the grainy texture of the brick scratching your skin.

“What the fuck was that about, huh?” He hissed, his teeth sharp and burning white.

“You fucking around? You screw any of those fuckers?” He’d never been so angry with you before. He’d never been angry with you, period. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

“N-no!” you argued, “Toji, no. What the hell - what are you doing here?” When he gave no answer, his eyes still glaring, you continued.

“You said you were busy today…”

No answer.

“I can spend my free time wherever I want.”

No. Answer. Your eyes glazed over, and you turned away from him.

“I… needed money…”

With that he seemed to let up.

“Money?” He scoffed. “This how you get money now? What the fuck happened to your job?”

“Nothing… I just needed more.” You bit your lip. “Your’s isn’t enough.”

“What do you mean mine isn’t enough?” He barked. He wrapped his hand under you jaw, his palm grasping your pulse.

“I told you I’d give you more if you let me screw you raw. Didn’t I?”

You swallowed thickly, tears clinging to your eyelashes.

You looked back at him with fear in your eyes, his hand slowly closing around your neck. His expression softened ever so slightly as he realized he was scaring you.

He released you with a huff and walked a few steps away, running a hand down his face.

“What’s the issue? STDs? Birth control? I’m clean, and I’ll get you pills-”

“No!”

He looked at you surprised. You calmed yourself down and rubbed your arms, suddenly feeling the chill of the air.

“Toji…,” you began, “we’re… not together. You have your fun, I get paid - that’s all we do.” You looked up at him softly. “I need more than what you’re giving me.”

His eyes narrowed. “You saying you don’t have fun.”

You bit your lip and looked away. He scowled. Wrong answer.

He took wide strides forward, cornering you against the wall yet again, this time with his hands on either side of your head, forcing you to face him.

“You saying you don’t love it when I fuck you? That your cunt doesn’t fuckin’ love my cock?

You frowned back at him.

“You tell me.”

His mouth thinned.

It was no secret that you didn’t come when you two fucked. It’s not like he was trying either. You always prepped yourself beforehand, lubing yourself up and stretching yourself out so he didn’t hurt you. And during your escapades, he always just pulled his dick out and got to it. He never touched you more than necessary, never tried to feel you up or grope around. His only goal was to get himself off. And you were fine with that. So long as he paid you.

His eyes looked at you softly, he almost looked guilty, but you knew him better than that. You sighed and pushed away from him.

“It’s late… I gotta go hom-”

He grabbed your wrist, squeezing tight.

You looked down at it, his hand engulfing your arm, his fingers and knuckles all too big for you. His nails dug into your skin and he pulled you back. You couldn't walk away if you wanted to. You were trapped. You wanted to push him away, you wanted to be mad, but you couldn't find it in yourself.

He leaned in, his eyes soft yet cold.

You flinched, his lips connecting with the side of your neck. He was rough, his mouth moving against your flesh in a sloppy kiss. His tongue flicked across your neck, and his teeth tugged at your skin. He was hungry. Always hungry. You pushed your free hand against him. He ignored it.

His free hand snaked up to the underside of your breast, the other dropping to your hip, his palm resting on the bone. His thumb rubbed at the exposed skin where your chest spilled out. You felt conflicted.

He bit you harshly, drawing blood. Your eyes widened and you hissed.

“So that’s what this was all about, huh?” He rasped, his bottom lip resting on your skin, his breath hot.

“Little girl not cumming like she wants to?”

You pushed his face away and groaned.

“As if you’ve ever gotten me off? I’m leaving.”

You went to move, but he kept his grip tight. He grabbed the other wrist as well. He squeezed hard, forcing you to gasp. He smirked.

“You’re this stubborn you’ve forgotten how to ask for things? You had me worried there. Thought you were tryna end things for real.”

Your face flushed in anger and embarrassment. You yanked your arms away but he didn't let go. You tugged once, twice, three times - he didn't let go. You yelped as he tugged back, forcing you to stumble and fall against him. He pressed his hips against yours, his groin digging into your stomach. You grunted at the pressure, your toes curling at the contact. He was hard already, his cock throbbing against your navel.

He pinned your arms over your head, his weight forcing you up against the wall, his mouth looming over yours. You turned your head to the side. He couldn’t kiss you, that was against the rules. His hot breath fell down your cheek and neck.

He leaned in again and you turned away.

He was hungry. Always hungry.

He leaned in again. And again.

You whimpered softly and groaned. Your heart throbbed.

You swallowed thickly as he leaned in again, your chest heaving, his lips brushing against your jaw. You shook your head weakly. He huffed, a deep, almost animalistic rumble leaving his chest.

You whined and shut your eyes.

His tongue smoothed over your jawline, his hand finally letting go of you.

You placed a hand on his shoulder but didn't push him away. He was too strong, anyway.

He grunted and ran his fingers through your hair, grasping a handful and pulling your head back. You whined, the sound only encouraging him to continue, your hair tightening in his fist. He pushed his hips against yours, his hard cock pressing against your pelvis, the fabric of your skirt doing nothing to stop the feeling.

“C’mon sweetheart, Don’tcha wanna feel good?” He cooed.

He forced you into the wall once more, his free hand moving down to your thigh, squeezing the skin just under your knee. He pulled your leg up, wrapping it over his hip, his bulge rubbing your heat. A chuckle rose deep within his throat, and he licked at your ear.

“Ugh, Toji, stop it! You’re being annoying,” you complained, despite the thrill lacing up your spine. He laughed.

“Don’t lie,” the man crooned. “I’ll make you come so hard, you’ll be beggin’ me to fuck ya.” 

Your cowered away. “Wha-” Umph.

You couldn’t finish as you we dropped onto a hard surface, a mixture of both brick and stale dirt. Looking up, dead branches and deader leaves filled your vision. The alley way had led to a smaller subsection of the street, a lone crevice in the city district that was long abandoned and withering away. Your dress was smushed into the dirt of the old dirt bowl that was in the center of the small courtyard, the tree taking root twisted and weak. It almost seemed pitifully metaphorical to your current situation.

A scheming hand slithered up your thigh, scrunching back your crinkled skirt and hiking it around your hips, your lacey g-string fully exposed.

“Fuck,” Toji moaned, licking his lips, “You were definitely looking to get fucked tonight.”

“No I wasn’t!” You countered nervously, trying to press your thighs together to hide yourself. Despite being in an abandoned area, you were still in a public space and didn’t want to be seen by anyone. Much less be here for the long duration it took him to be satisfied. But this time felt a bit different. He was taking his time, touching you more, teasing. He usually got straight to business and had his fly down by now, but instead it was you who was being undressed, his big, warm hands encompassing your thighs and groping them. He was trying to break another rule, you could feel it. He had a devious look in his eye. He smiled at you.

“How much to touch your pussy?”

You were taken aback by the question, squeezing your thighs even tighter.

“Wha- that’s off limits!”

“No, no,” he insisted, “everything’s got a price, baby. What’s yours?”

He couldn’t possibly be serious. You’d never seen him so adamant to give you pleasure, much less offer money for it. From your experience, men were hesitant to do anything besides receive, convincing themselves that woman adored pleasing them. And the rare moment when they did touch a girl, it was always careless and short-lived, the only real goal to get them wet enough to be a slippery hole. You weren’t in the mood to be disappointed.

“Thirty thousand yen? Forty?”

“Not interested.”

“More?”

“No.”

He leered.

“Three. Hundred. Thousand.”

Your eyes bulged. Mouth gaping.

“Th-thats…”

“Going once,” he announced. “Going twice!” Don’t let him get to three.

You could get a new computer with that, replace your old busted one that had lost half the keys and took fifty years to load.

“Going-”

“I’ll do it!” You gasped, defeated. “I’ll do it…”

His paws squeezed your thighs, drifting up the insides and gently prying them apart. You hardly fought him when you realized that was the only way you were going to get the money. New computer. New computer. You tried to focus on the positives.

Toji pressed his cheek into your inner thigh, kissing your skin softly. You shivered at the feeling of his soft lips brushing your flesh. He moved up your leg, placing his hands on each side of your panties and tugging them down, your skin glistening with sweat as he pulled the cloth against the curves of your flesh. He pulled your legs apart further and licked a long stripe up your skin. the wetness cold on your overheated flesh. You clenched your teeth. You were on the verge of telling him the deal was off, but his tongue brushed against your core and you could no longer find the words. He kissed and sucked at the sensitive skin of your thighs, leaving marks in his wake.

Your core throbbed.

He pulled you closer to the edge of the pot, your body lying at an awkward angle, the base of your spine aching.

Toji pressed a thumb against your slit, dragging it across your folds and collecting your slick on the pad. You shuddered.

He ran the pad of his thumb across your clit, rubbing slow circles into the bundle of nerves. You gripped his hair with one hand, tugging it hard, his muffled groan tickling your core. His finger slipped between your folds, easily entering your wet hole, his finger much bigger than your own. You grunted at the intrusion, the thick digit stretching your inner walls, his knuckle pressing against your clit as he bottomed out inside of you. He wiggled his finger, stretching your walls before pumping his finger in and out of your cunt, dragging out every little noise he could from your mouth.

He pulled you closer to the edge of your seat, your legs dangling in the air as he sat between your thighs, your hands digging into the dirt beneath you for support.

His finger moved slowly within you, his eyes never leaving yours, a fire burning within his emerald eyes. You grunted when he added another finger, the feeling almost too much for you. Your noises echoed briefly throughout the courtyard, bouncing off the concrete and surrounding buildings, and you were all too aware of how loud you were being. You pulled harder on his hair as the knot in your stomach grew tighter.

But you tried to keep your composure, your body still tense with the fear of your surroundings. Any moment someone could come waltzing by, see what you two were doing, your disheveled appearance, perhaps even try to take advantage. Your alarm hindered your concentration on the pleasure.

“What’s up?” You heard, turning your eyes back down to look at him. You hadn’t realized your gaze had wandered to the opening in the walls to where the city life buzzed about. He glanced over to where you were looking.

“Ain’t nobody comin’ over here. Relax,” he mumbled, his eyes getting warm again. “I’ll protect ya. Just relax.”

Your heart throbbed at the promise, warmth enveloping your body. You hesitantly let your head fall back and sighed, dropping your shoulders. His free hand moved to the hem of your skirt and pushed it up over your belly. He wanted a good view. You didn't care. You felt… safe.

His fingers picked up speed, fucking you harder as you bit your lip. His thumb moved back to your clit, rubbing circles on the swollen button. You hummed and sighed, his fingers twisting inside you. The pleasure began to build up again, boiling in your belly and tingling up your spine. And just when you got comfortable he only took it further.

Heat enveloped your clit, wet and slippery and hot like a warm bath. You gasped out, squirming around a bit and digging your nails into the roots in the ground. Looking back down, you confirmed your theory. Toji’s head was between your thighs, his mouth on your pussy and wrapped around your little bead, his fingers still working inside of you. Soft pants and whines left your mouth, your legs shaking around his head as he continued to suck at you, his tongue swirling around and prodding under the hood, leaving you slick and sensitive. Your core throbbed.

You felt a sharp pressure inside you, and then a slow stretch. You yelped. A third finger was entering you, your cunt molding around the thick digit. You writhed  again, trying to ease the ache of the intrusion. His other hand rested on your belly, gently smoothing over your skin as he ate you. His head moved side to side, tongue laving over you, his hands never stopping their movements. Oh god. It felt like you going to- to-

“Ah!,” you moaned, shaking viciously and clutching at his head, holding him in place. You were melting, you were sure of it. Everything was slipping away from you, your bones, your brain, your worries. His tongue kept lashing at you, extending your pleasure and refusing to slow down. His fingers remained pressed against your sweet spot, his other hand pushing on your belly. It was all too much, you were squealing with overstimulation. It got tighter. And tighter. And tighter. Until something popped.

All the tension broke from your body, the shocking sensations melting into something warm and fuzzy. You slowly let go of everything, all tension easing away from you and allowing for complete bliss to take over. Sweet sighs and mewls left your lips, your back lying against the dirt as you caught your breath and waited for your head and pussy to stop tingling. Another whine was pulled from you when he took his fingers and mouth away from you, unraveling your legs from his head and stepping back.

“You fallin’ asleep now?” He laughed.

You pouted and groaned. “No… jus’… gimme a sec.” Your bones were like jelly, your eyelids heavy. He cackled at you and that was the push you needed to get off your ass. He looked smitten.

“Good, right?” He crooned, wiping his mouth, “Ya fuckin’ squirted on me.”

Your face got dark and you looked to your lap, embarrassed.  

“Nothin’ to be ashamed about princess.” He assured, fishing out his wallet and shufflling through the bills. He took out a stack and threw it in your lap.

“It was hot.”

You groaned again and dug your face into your hands, trying to ignore his raspy laughing.

You jolted when you felt his breath on you, looking up and freezing. His eyes burned into you.

“Now next time, let’s work out this condom situation, alright?”

You gulped.

~

Part 2 coming eventually...

#jjk #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji #toji fushiguro #toji smut #toji x reader #jjk toji #toji x you #fushiguro toji #toji zenin #jjk fushiguro #jujustu kaisen #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro x reader #toji x y/n #toji x self insert #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x fem!reader #jujutsu toji #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #smut

[samcarpentersgirlfriend]

SAFE AND SOUND || MICKEY ALTIERI X READER 𖤐₊˚.

summary: after getting a call from the supposed killer on campus, you call your boyfriend mickey to help you feel better.

warnings: gender neutral reader, pet names (babe, baby), ghostface!mickey with oblivious!reader, fluff I guess?? but not when you think abt it lol

word count: 1.1k

a/n: mickey altieri my beloved <33 I wrote this a couple a days ago and I’m gonna start w requests now, so if you’ve requested something it’s hopefully coming soon :)

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

As you step out of the police car outside your dorm building, your head is still reeling. You can’t help but replay the phone call you received merely an hour ago, where the supposed killer on campus called your phone and described - in detail - all the sick ways they were going to make you scream. You’d thought it was a joke at first, but when the caller was able to recall what you wearing in perfect detail - your boyfriend’s old Star Wars shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants - you knew that whoever the freak was, they were really watching you. It made you sick to your stomach.

The nausea still hasn’t completely resided, and as the cops tell that you’ll that they’ll look into it and to call them if you’re contacted again you simply nod your head, dazed.

They drive off, leaving you alone in the dark outside your building. You know nobody’s stupid enough to try anything now, not when the police are still close enough that if you scream, they’ll come driving straight back. Still, that doesn’t stop you from looking over your shoulder when you enter the building or nervously fiddling with your keys as you go up the stairs.

You open your door and call for your roommate, but you’re met with nothing but silence. Sighing, you make a beeline for your bedroom, shrugging off your coat and kicking of your shoes before practically diving onto your bed.

You breathe in.

You breathe out.

You’re fine. The doors are locked, the windows are locked and you’re completely safe inside here.

That doesn’t stop you from feeling on edge, though.

You pick up the phone on your bedside table and dial the number you need from memory.

“Hello?” Mickey says after a few rings.

“Hi Mickey,” you murmur, your voice shaking.

“Oh, hey babe,” he pauses a minute, assessing your tone, “what’s wrong?”

And that’s all it takes for you to burst into tears, your voice indiscernible through the sobs.

“Hey, hey,” Mickey says firmly. “I’m coming over, okay? Just hold on for ten minutes.”

You nod your head - although you know Mickey can’t see you - before he hangs up, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

He’s true to his word and almost ten minutes later there’s a knock at your front door. As soon as you open it Mickey envelops you in a hug, strong arms wrapped around your frame. You’d mostly stopped crying now, but that didn’t mean you felt any better.

“It’s okay,” Mickey soothes, “I’m here now. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

You pull away and lead Mickey to your bedroom, sighing as you sink onto your bed.

“The killer called,” you start, “he called and said that he could see me - and he could - and he said he was gonna gut me like a fish before he slit my throat and-“

“He what?” Mickey questions, his eyebrows knitting together in a frown. “Babe, why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I was going to, but I called the police straight after and then they took me in for questioning, so…” you trail off, avoiding your boyfriend’s gaze.

“Hey, I’m not mad,” he says clearly, his expression softening. “I get it. I just can’t believe somebody would do that to you.” he looks away for a moment, almost as if contemplating whether or not to continue. “Do you think it was the real thing or just some stupid prank?

You laugh bitterly. “Yeah, real funny prank. And even if it was just a joke, they could see me, Mick. They knew what I was wearing, they used my name - they still could’ve hurt me.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen.” He says it gently but with undeniable force behind it as he leans over to cup your face. “I’d fucking kill them if they tried to lay a single finger on you.”

“My knight in shining armour,” you mutter, causing Mickey to smile and press his lips to yours. He’s gentle - like he has been throughout the rest of the night - as if he’s worried like you’ll fall apart at any second.

“I love you,” you murmur into the kiss, and you mean it. Ever since you’d started to get close to Mickey, he’d been your rock. You’d been inseparable a mere few weeks after meeting, once you got over his initial abrasiveness. Because once you really got to know him, he was a great friend -and an even better boyfriend.

“I know,” he replies, pulling away and settling for laying his head on your shoulder instead. “See, Star Wars reference!” he points out, gesturing to your - well, his - shirt. God, your boyfriend was such a nerd.“That was my favourite, by the way. Am I ever getting it back?”

“Nope,” you tease, popping the “p”. “I’m too attached.“ You absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair, twisting brown strands around your fingers.

“Damn it.” mickey says quietly, making a show of fake-pouting.

You both sit there in silence for a while, Mickey’s head still on your shoulder. It isn’t awkward - it never is with Mickey - and you both just lay there on the bed. You’re feeling better about the phone call you’d received earlier, but you can’t help but remain curious.

“Mickey?” you question. He hums in response and you go on.

“Do you think the caller would’ve gone through with it? With the threats, I mean?”

He lifts his head up to look at you, his expression near unreadable.

“What makes you ask that, baby?”

“I don’t know. It’s just-“ you sigh in frustration. “Why call me? I haven’t done anything to anyone, so why go through all of the effort to threaten me and scare me if he wasn’t gonna kill me? I mean, that guy in the movie theatre was stabbed through the head. This killer, he’s- he’s brutal. By that logic, I should be dead.”

“But you’re not,” Mickey says as he squeezes your hand. “Maybe he wanted to rile you up, make it so you would be constantly looking over your shoulder. Maybe he was just trying to live out his bullshit fantasies. Maybe he just was too much of a fucking pussy to do anything to you. Who knows?” he shrugs. “Point is, you’re still here, and that’s all that matters. You can’t let this sick fuck get to you, alright? You’re better than that, and it’s probably exactly what he wants.”

You sigh once more. Mickey’s right. Of course he is. There’s no point of pondering over all the “what if’s” now.

“Stay with me tonight?” you ask your boyfriend. “It’d make me feel better.”

“‘Course,” he smiles, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You know you’re safe here with me.”

“I do,” you affirm as you twist your body so that your head is on his chest. You can hear his heartbeat now, steady and strong. “You know I do.”

Mickey laughs once more before he laces his fingers with yours, his firm grip the last thing you feel before your eyes flutter closed and you start to drift off into sleep.





#scream #scream 2 #scream x reader #mickey altieri x reader #mickey altieri #mickey altieri x y/n #mickey altieri x you #scream x you #timothy olyphant #timothy olyphant x reader #scream 2 x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #scream imagine #imagine #scream headcanons

[iminloveweveryone]

Cold

Grumpy simon smut

Here you go since I’m bad at writing smut without plot like gr anyway I think this is cute he’s kinda jealous a bit grumpy

Also if you have requests send them in! I’m always looking for ideas.

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“So? Are you in?”

“…”

“Yes.”

“Good, you leave tomorrow. 6 am.”

…

That’s how I found myself on a helicopter in the early morning, being transferred to the base where task force 141 resides.

I stared out the window quietly, since I’d run out of things to talk about with the pilot. I see a large building come into view as we slowly start to descend.

The heli lands and I grab onto my large duffel bag, swinging it over my shoulder. I look over our surroundings and see four men standing in the distance. I recognize only one, captain price.

I step out and walk over towards the group, a smile on my face.

“Hi, I’m Alessandra.” I say as I look between them. “John price, I’ve heard about you, laswell

Says your one hell of a shot.” He smiles at me and I only nod along.

“Soap, you can call me John if ya like lass.” He says with a grin spread across his face, I can’t help but notice his hair, which is cut into a Mohawk. I smile at the friendly man and shake his hand.

“I’m Kyle, team calls me Gaz though.” He nods at me before crossing his arms.

I look over to the last man who stays silent before Soap speaks up. “This here is si-“

“Ghost.” He says cutting off soap. I nod and give him a small smile.

The walk me through the base and what missions may come up soon, before dropping me off at my room and letting me settle in.

I place the few items I have around the rooms before smiling to myself and exiting. I wander down the hallway to where I remember the kitchen was.

It smells good?

I walk in and see price in the kitchen, storing something in a pot. “Ooh what are you makin?” I ask curiously as I take a seat at the kitchen counter.

“Chilli, perfect for winter, no?” He glances at me and I nod. I turn my head as soap walks into the kitchen “he says it’s world famous” he grins “honestly he probably stole the recipe from some old woman” he says making me laugh.

Price serves us a bowl of chilli and a piece of bread on the side. I begin eating when I look around and notice Ghost is absent from the table.

Gaz must have noticed me looking around as he speaks up. “Doesn’t like to eat around new people” he shrugs “don’t take it personal” he says with a friendly smile.

We all finished our food and have moved onto to board games, which I have to say i am the best at by far.

We’re playing charades, which Ghost has decided to not show up for either.

I was partnered with soap, and we were winning by a lot.

“Okay three words.” Gaz nods at the captain “first word.” He starts waving his arms around like a distressed seagull.

“Uh..windmill” He shakes his head and starts doing the motion again. “Damn, uh..” the timer goes off and soap and I cheer.

“It was flying a kite! I was trying to do a flying motion like a chicken” he puts his head in his hands dramatically.

“Chickens are horrible at flying idiot!” Price shouts before we all burst out into laughter, soap practically falling to the floor.

We play a few more rounds before calling it a night and everyone starts to head off to bed.

I’m waking down the hallway as I hear price call out to me, I turn to look at him.

“So you know, you’ll be shadowing Ghost tomorrow. Just to get a feel of things round here.” He says before patting my shoulder and heading off somewhere.

I head off to bed, practically falling asleep as soon as my face hits the pillow.

…

I’ve been looking for a Ghost for a while now, since I was supposed to shadow him. But he really lives up to his name since he is nowhere to be found.

I reach a shooting range which seems to be empty until I spot him at the very last lane. I walk inside and stand a few feet away.

He puts his gun down and turns to face me, somehow sending I was there..

He gives me a blank look probably wondering what I was doing but not saying anything.

“Price said I would shadow you today, to get a feel for things I guess?” I say as he only sighs and starts to put his gun away.

“So where are we going? Do you have to do much around here or is it more like waiting for the next mission?” I wonder out loud as he stays silent which urges me to talk more.

“And about the mission, how do you guys plan them? Or is it price who does most of it and then you guys kinda just follow the plan.” I say not even facing him anymore as I ramble on.

“Jesus..” I hear him mumble under his breath as he starts to walk out of the room. “Hey! Where are you going lieutenant?” I ask as I trail behind him.

He walks down a long hallway, a few soldiers passing by us and giving him a nod. I look around curiously, not having yet explored this part of the base.

I follow him into a room at the end of the hall, which starts to look more like a office the more I glance around.

As soon as I fully step inside he’s slamming me against the door and locking it. “Don’t know how to be quiet, huh?” He asks as he pins my arms above my head.

I can only sit there and stare at him, fully at a loss for words.

“Acting all friendly with everyone, don’t you know when to shut up? Don’t you notice all the people eyeing you.” He says in a cold tone as his face is inches away from mine.

“Need someone to teach ya?” He stares me dead in the eyes. I nod my head at him slowly.

“Words sweetheart, words.” He mumbles as he looks down at me. “Yes..”

“Yes what?” He asks teasingly “yes..please.” I swear a see a smirk under that mask.

“That’s better.” He mutters before slowly lowering his head and lifting his mask just enough to show his lips. He kisses along my neck sloppily, leaving hickeys all over the place.

I let out small whimpers, trying to stay quiet in case anyone decides to walk by here. His hands roam down to my waist and gives it a little squeeze before he’s picking me up and putting me back down on his desk.

He slowly reaches down to my pants, harshly pulling them down without any warning. His hands find the hem of my panties and he tugs on them before looking up to me, seemingly for permission. I nod at him eagerly as he drops the to the floor, letting them fall in some unknown corner.

I hear heavy breathing and the sound of his belt clanging as he moves to undo it. His pants drop along with his boxers.

I look down and damn.

He moves closer, holding onto my thighs with his large hands. He lines it up with my entrance and slowly starts to push in, giving me a few seconds to adjust.

I let out whimpers and moans at the feeling of him inside, which only seems to feed his ego and make him more eager.

He starts to move, his pace slow at first. “Fuck, so tight..” he mumbles into my neck as he thrusts faster. “Doing so good f’me”

His hips rocks into me, pounding harder until I can practically feel his tip in my stomach. I let out loud moans at the feeling.

“Gotta stay quiet sweetheart, yeah?” I bite down onto my lip, trying to keep any sounds inside. He moves relentlessly, practically feral.

“Gho..” my voice is hoarse as I speak.

“Hm?” He says breathlessly. “M’ so close..gonna cum..” I whine into his shoulder. “Fuck, fuck..gonna cum for me? For your lieutenant?” He grunts into my ear as I only nod at him eagerly.

He holds onto my thighs harshly as I feel the waves of my orgasm hit me, hard. My legs shake a little but he holds them down, as he cums right after me.

“Think ya can give me one more?” He says cockily before he starts pounding into me again. I let out whines as he only goes harder this time.

“S’too much..” I moan out “you can do it, you’re doing so good.” He encourages as his hands find my waist and he clamps down on it.

“Fuck, gonna leave marks all over your body.” He grumbles “everyone will know who you belong to then.”

I stay silent, too lost in the pleasure he’s giving me to respond. I feel myself once again reaching a high and my hands find his back, probably leaving marks all over.

“You close?” He asks and I nod eagerly. I open my mouth a little as the feeling in my stomach rises. “You wanna cum?” He asks “yes!” I practically shout. “say your mine then.” He says coldly.

“I’m..yours, please..” I pant out as his grip on my waist tightens “good girl, so good f’me.” He says as I come undone on his cock.

Heavy breathing fills the room as he holds onto me tightly. Letting me relax in his arms before pulling out.

“Tired?” He ask softly and I nod against him. He picks me up and dresses me before leading me to my room and letting me fall asleep on his chest.

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#simon ghost riley #ghost cod #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #task force 141 #call of duty #smut #john prine #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #john mactavish #soap mw2 #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #first person #mask

[katsukikitten]

Bakugou Katsuki wasn't supposed to fall in love.

He long ago claimed it wasn't for him and he sure as hell wasn't supposed to fall in love with his neighbor in a shitty apartment complex after a suspension, more like a fucking exile, to the United States.

The argument and reprimanding fresh in his mind even after the grueling fourteen hour red eye. He was the only man awake on the plane, leg shaking as he hates anything that puts him in a position to trust someone else.

"I told you, he was in my fucking blind spot!" Bakugou shouts for the fourth time and the head of the hero commission shakes her head.

"So you didn't see him. What if he was a civilian? You nearly killed him. The public demands consequences."

"Since when do you give a fuck about my public image?" Bakugou snarls, staring her down. One eye a clouded garnet and the other a burning ember, "Ya sure had a good time trying to show off my disability. Cause the hero commission is so fuckin inclusive."

"Kaachan."

"Shut the fuck Deku!" Bakugou snarls, facing the mop of green curls, fisting the man's shirt. He hadn't lost his cool like this in nearly a decade but everything was grating to the nearly thirty year old. Especially today.

The pair, despite being the top heroes of Japan, were in over their heads when the syndicate they were breaking up had an unexpected ace up their sleeve. Temporary quirk silencers and strong ones at that. The hit Izuku who normally flanks Bakugou's now 'weaker' flank. And when someone much smaller than Izuku stepped into his blind spot his quirk acted out on its own. Igniting from the scar tissue on his arm and hitting the random Yakuza point blank in the face.

"Enough! I would be thanking Izuku if I were you. He's the reason you haven't been formally asked to step down. He's the one who found a happy middle ground. You're to train with a Hero in the states, if she sees improvement within two years you'll come back to Japan to continue your career. If not then you'll have to hang up your grenade belt for good."

"Yea cause sending me where the crime rate is practically tripled sounds like a great fuckin idea."

"Shitty fucking Deku." He hisses to himself as he grips harshly at his luggage, the plastic starting to melt from his grip.

He looks up at the apartment complex he's meant to stay in. It's worse for ware and every window on the first to the third floor has iron bars aside from the ones lucky enough to be snug against a rusted out fire escape.

He can feel it already. The eyes, all the fucking eyes that greedily drink in his cloudy eye and deep fissures that snake from his finger tips around his wrist and thick forearm. Dancing along the curve of his elbow and the veins of his shoulders. Even into his hairline, damaging it so deep that his sideburn never did grow back, his ear still gaged but the cartilage at the top split and jagged.

But eyes always lingered on how it branched up his throat, splashing onto his cheek stopping just before his nose but reaching the edge of his eyebrow.

He was considered a handsome man, once.

Eyes that burn him like a brand and he follows the weight of the gaze to a kid, a little boy. Patience far too thin he bares his teeth before growling out in perfect English.

"Fuck ya lookin?" The kid rounds the corner again, choking a sob before Bakugou lugs his one suitcase into the rotting complex. Taking the stairs, since there were only stairs, letting his big hero combat boots sink into the damp carpet. Each step brings a fresh waft of mildew to his nostrils, further souring his mood with each floor he rises.

"No tenant's laws in this bitch?" He growls in his mother tongue, agitated.

Getting to the sixth floor of the old brick building sandwiched between two identical dying residences. Finding his door 6C by the ware of the wood alone, the letter and number had long since fallen out of the stripped holes in the door.

He fishes in his pocket for the key, trying to shove it in. He flips it around once, twice, back to the original position and the goddamn thing won't fit. His palm pressed to the thin wooden door, the wood smoking from his touch and he has half a mind to blow the goddamn door off it's cheap hingest. It wouldn't take much.

Hell he was sure he could just open it with one rough shove of his shoulder and the door would fall flat into the foyer, if there even was one.

"Oh. Door trouble?" You've snuck up on him, on his right side in his goddamn blind spot and he turns just as his quirk hisses and pops to life. Caramel scents the air and his black skull shirt sleeve is fried.

"Ah M sorry." You smile sheepishly, "I don't mean to sneak up on you. Bad habit. I'm your neighbor, 6D."

You give him your name and he forgets it before you even finish shoving out the syllables. Snarling at you with disgust but his animosity either doesn't bother you or it went over your head.

"Do you mind?" You don't give him time to answer as you slip the key from his right hand with ease, ignoring the hot to touch metal of it before you wiggle the key in. Shimming it just right, listening with your perked ear and jiggling the handle, lifting before hitting the door with your shoulder.

A soft oof leaves your pretty lips and Bakugou's chest tightens. He's about to berate you out of habit until you turn around, opening the door wider for him without stepping over the threshold.

"Welcome home.♡" You say it so sweetly that it costs his tongue, dripping down the back of his throat where it forms into an unexpected lump.

He can't remember the last time he'd been welcome home by anything other than an angry reporter or a screaming cellphone demanding answers for his actions. His correct actions.

Because the fuck did those dumb ass pencil pushers know when it came to being out in the field?

Jack fuckin shit that's what they knew.

That's why he was standing in the USA, in the middle of winter, in one of the coldest fucking states and biggest fucking cities.

Why he was standing in this apartment that reeked of cheap cigarettes.

Why he was standing in this hallway, facing a woman he'd nearly blown up by accident, daydreaming about you opening that door every day for the rest of his hellish 730 days.

Swallowing thickly, unable to alleviate the tightness of his throat forcing him to grunt out "Thanks."

Shoulder checking you as he shoves into his apartment. But you were in a city full of rude assholes, so your neighbor being one would be no surprise.

"See ya around, hot head."

Bakugou slams the door on your words and it rattles the whole floor from the force. Dark eyes boring holes into the dingy, nicotine stained walls.

Kitchen, small and open to the living area, a sagging couch and groaning refrigerator. Katsuki was sure the oven being simply plugged in was a fire hazard on its own. Hardwood floors were thin, showing scuffed nail heads indicating it had been sanding three times too many in a poor attempt to save money and a portion stained a suspicious ruddy brown in a massive organic shape.

The bedroom and bathroom were no better, cleaned in a rush if at all and on the window sill there is a fresh coat of white paint forever trapping dead flies in the latex.

"What the fuck…" He swore he'd find a convenience store, getting cleaning supplies among other things but first he needed to lie down. Exhaustion hits him as he thinks of how difficult it was going to be to find another apartment and to break this lease. This place being the only complex with a last minute opening and for an astronomical price just for it to be another shit hole in his life.

He doesn't even bother with the stained mattress, picking it up and shoving it into the hallway to lean against the other, knowing full well all of this furniture was found the same god damn way. Shoved in and dressed up for shoddy pictures with half the view of the room blocked my wrinkled white finger tips.

He throws his two towels on the floor of the bedroom, using his bag for a pillow getting the worst sleep of his fucking life.

Even worse than when he and Deku had to share a single sleeping bag on an undercover mission in the middle of a snow storm.

But not before he orders absolutely everything that he can to make this place semi liveable, even if he didn't think he'd be here more than a month.

Morning comes with the loud slam of a door and a heated argument, making him sit straight up, both palms burning bright orange. Remnants of his dreams that always lead him astray.

Of eighteen years ago, his puncture scars ache from the memory before the one along his face and arm grows numb. Tingling numb and yet it feels as if fire ants let their pinchers sink into his tender flesh and root around in his eye socket.

Before the one on his sternum heats, expanding as he takes a deep calming breath making the cartilage crack from the inhale. It does little to qualm it and he just cracks his neck, forever used to waking up with adrenaline in his veins, threatening to explode his fragile heart.

The thought makes his stomach churn, normally a cold shower would do him good but the idea of standing under the stagnant shower head made it far worse. Skin crawling as he rises to grab supplies for his apartment before his evening would be eaten up by whoever the hell he was meeting.

His phone chiming with a reminder of unread messages, several in the group chat of well wishes and hoping you made it before he replies.

Fuck all of you.

He locks his phone after putting it on do not disturb before killing his entire morning, getting almost lost in a city very much like his home.

He's thankful he was studious growing up. That he can read and speak English well. His face covered in a mask and his spiky blonde hair shoved under a dark beanie makes navigating the city after one missed stop easy.

People left him well enough alone and he found his way back to his apartment on the first try. Most would call it luck but Bakugou would call it skill. Obsessive observation more like it.

Scrubbing at the hardwood and apartment felt as if he was scrubbing away the grime that stuck to the edges of his mind. Some parts of the floor he could get so shiny they reflected his own smug scarred smirk and others, like that blotchy stain, blood stain, just wouldn't come out no matter how hard he tried.

No matter what solution or tool he used.

Nothing worked, leaving him frustrated, covered in flaking wood stain and smelling like rust.

He checks his phone to see his shipments will be late and growls, asking himself what's the point of scheduling a time before he showers and heads out again.

The rundown warehouse he finds himself in front of gives him a dreadful sense of deja vu. As if he's transported back to yesterday, standing outside the apartment complex. He can feel eyes on him again, to the right of him.

But he knows no one is around, nothing but a stray cat that runs away from the old building to chase the flock of seagulls.

He double checks the address in the email sent from the hero commission and rolls his eyes. Shoving his hands with his phone in his pockets as he figured they let some lacky type out the address instead of concerning themselves with the hot head anymore.

He's about to turn on his heel and leave when the metal door swings open.

Curiosity was a deadly thing.

Slinking in, quiet as a cat, despite his brash and bold quirk. Having learned the hard way that sometimes subtlety is the only way. His eye adjusts quickly to the dark, sunlight bleeding in through the rotted roof and the windows that weren't boarded up. His ears perk as he listens, willing his heart to quiet and slow before that odd sensation settles in his bones. Hairs standing on end as if something were breathing on his neck.

But the puff of air never comes.

They say your body always knows when someone lays eyes on you, even when you're asleep.

It only took Bakugou losing one of his eyes to believe it.

Someone was standing in his blind spot.

Instinctively he turns, over and over in a circle and nothing ever comes into sight. He cannot hear what is there and he cannot see it but he knows something stands right outside his field of vision.

Like trying to meet face to face with the shadows that only grow in the corner of one's eye and when you look directly at it is when it disappears.

Sure as he's fucking breathing someone loomed and stalked just within reach although fully out of sight.

Each turn clenches his jaw tighter and tighter. More and more pent up anger as his hand glows on its own.

Once known as the best in the game for quirk control was now actively, and often, experiencing quirk failure.

He hears a pillar crack and then another and another until he's standing in the middle of the room with groaning concrete slabs compromised long before he came in.

"Fuck." He hisses, watching the trap reveal itself in real time before the building caved in from its own weight.

Subconsciously Bakugou knew there was symbolism in here somewhere. It felt a lot like he did, holding up a crumbling career for what he didn't know.

He only had his mother and father as family. His friends were successful and no longer needed his help in anything aside from maybe dating advice. Which was stupid, Bakugou was always the one getting broken up with but in his defense he didn't even know they were dating. He always assumed they knew he needed nothing more than to get his dick wet.

As the building collapses he sends out small bursts to keep himself from getting crushed and from sending debris flying out within a ten mile radius.

It's only when the dust settles does he feel someone in his blind spot again, except this time they step out of it before he can react.

"Let fear and anger be a source of power without consuming you." A woman shorter than him and only five or so years older, stood before him. Long graying hair placed up in a neat, smooth bun, contrasting against her dark jumpsuit. More notably are her milky eyes that hold onto his gaze without seeing anything at all.

Her demeanor and voice make his scars burn. Makes him think back of his first therapist he had to see twice a week until he was 22 to keep his gnawing anger in check.

The very one that laid at his feet in the form of bent rebar and heavy concrete.

"Fuck was that?" He dusts off his shoulders, "If I wanted vague advice I could have read it in a fuck all subreddit."

She says nothing, just listens to him shuffle as he moves around, knowing exactly where he is from the sound and the feel of her bare feet on the solid concrete floor.

"And how much is this fuckin building gonna cost me?" He growls to himself, only the third he's EVER unintentionally damaged. His first day as a hero in America already wasn't looking so great.

"Nothing."

"Haaah, ya get brick and mortar blasted into your ears? Buildings don't cost nothing."

"Normally yes, it would cost something. Even one as dilapidated as this. But the city had plans to tear it down, I just saved them money on the explosives." She smiles, knowing that now Katsuki would catch on. She read his file, the braille didn't lie, he was quick to catch on but faster to temper.

"So you knew I'd blow this shit hole to hell?" He snarls, hates being so predictable, it was as good as being fuckin stupid when it came to a fight.

"I did. Your file said you react when people stand in your blind spot. Why is that?"

"Isn't that fucking obvi-" His complaint dies in his throat when his gaze meets hers.

"You've had more than a decade to adjust, in fact it was as if you hadn't even lost vision in your right eye when you got out of the hospital. Only those close to you could see it bothered you."

"Yea like fucking who?"

"Like Izuku and Kirishima. Although it was subtle then it seems to be a bigger issue now. More than it was when the injury was fresh." A tremor of rage runs through his thick frame, his mind bringing him back to putting the stinging eye drops into his dying eye, hoping he could keep some semblance of vision but soon those blurry blobs faded into nothing but inky black.

He can practically feel the stinging now, and the gauze pulling at his fresh skin, of the fish scales they tried to use to help with the decay.

How the doctors murmured they might have to amputate his crushed and twisted arm, sedating him after his violent outburst. Unwilling to give up half his quirk so young.

Although some could argue a misfiring arm was far more dangerous than a little chrome.

He scoffs, looking down at his right palm from what was at one point his non dominant eye.

"So fuckin what. I'm Dynamight. I always bounce back." He lets the I have to lodge in his throat.

"Hmm so they say." She hums, tapping her foot twice before she speaks again, "You're a good size you know with a great range. Not to mention your sixth sense is phenomenal for someone who shoves things down."

"I don't shove shit down."

"Then why do you explode? Why does it seem that your fresh nitroglycerin is at half life? So volatile so quickly." She presses on when he doesn't speak, "You know I wasn't always blind either. My quirk grew in strength at the price of my sight, however it seems your body is more adaptable than mine. Your hearing is excellent despite the deafening explosions you create but you never know when that could be lost. So your homework is-"

"Homework?" He interrupts, turning to face her before he feels something in his blind spot again, turning quickly to be greeted with a hissing cat from his sudden movement. Back arched and swiping before it runs off.

"Yes, homework."

"M here to do hero work." He stalks closer to her, standing well within her personal space.

"No, you're here to heal." She doesn't even flinch, just tilts her head up towards him out of habit to keep eye contact.

"Cut this sappy bullshit. This ain't a Hallmark movie where I come to a new country. Get yet another fucking mentor that talks to me in riddles that I somehow get and then fall in love with my next door neighbor." He growls, "Wake up this is fuckin reality. I'm here to do hero shit, you're here to send me back in three months."

She laughs at that, "Three months is impossible even for you, overachiever."

He glares down at her, holding his breath to count down from ten and then up when his temper still burns in his veins.

"Your homework will be to listen. Not with your ears but-" She taps her finger over his old scar that sits over his heart, "Here."

Bakugou thought it was a bunch of bullshit. Listen to his body? His fucking heart? Didn't she hear of him before? The media was sure to remind Bakugou that he was nothing but a heartless, selfish asshole. So what the fuck was listening to his heart going to do?

But what other choice does Bakugou have?

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader

[yuujispinkhair]

Separation Anxiety (Chapter 01)

Put your lips on my scars and teach me to love

When a ritual separates Sukuna from Yuuji, Sukuna is delighted to find that besides having his own body, there is also another gift handed to him: The brat has lost all his memories and is now the perfect little plaything to take home and manipulate. At least, that's the plan. But the King of Curses isn't prepared for the feelings that come along with being human again. And another complication is how cute the brat is when he has no idea who Sukuna is and, instead of hating him, treats him with genuine love and affection. So, without realizing it, Sukuna suddenly finds himself on a journey of learning how to be loved and how to love.

Pairing: Sukuna x Yuuji Genre: Memory Loss AU, fluff, smut, light angst Word Count: 3k Playlist: Separation Anxiety Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of violence, dub-con (Yuuji has lost his memories, and Sukuna lies to him about being boyfriends). All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

This story is set in the canon JJK universe, but Shibuya and the Culling Game never happened. Yuuji is 20 years old and has already spent several years as Sukuna's vessel. The first half of this chapter is a flashforward moment set seven months after the separation ritual. After that, the story will be told in the chronologically correct order.

Chapter 01

Welcome to my cage, little lover (Bottom of the deep blue sea by MISSIO)

Tokyo, seven months after the separation ritual

He crosses the road at a slow pace smirking to himself. It would be so easy to kill everyone on this crossing. Barely a snap of his fingers is all it would take. But Sukuna feels no desire to do so. After all, he has two large cups of coffee to carry, one vanilla, the other caramel, and it would be a waste to spill them. He's grown rather fond of the taste of vanilla since he got a human body and can finally experience all human senses again.

It's a short way from here to the modern apartment complex he lives in now. It doesn't look as impressive as the temple he used to reside in a thousand years ago, where people came to pray to him and bring him sacrifices. But it has all luxuries that modern life has to offer. A penthouse in one of the most wealthy districts of Tokyo is quite fitting for a King.

He pushes through the nameless flock of mortals, gloating at the way the crowd seems to part for him, unconsciously sensing that there is something much more powerful than them walking this street. He wonders if the more sensitive ones experience a strange sensation when passing by the King of Curses. A light tingling on their skin or a sudden image of glowing red eyes staring at them.

The servant, or security man as he is called in these new times, at the entrance to the building Sukuna lives in nowadays, lowers his head in a polite bow. Sukuna nods at him before entering through the wide glass door and heading to the elevator that will take him to his penthouse.

Uraume picked the place for him while Sukuna was still trapped inside Yuuji's body. They chose only the best for their Master. A luxurious penthouse in a wealthy neighborhood right next to a park with a small shrine. At least a little something that reminds Sukuna of his former life a thousand years ago. He almost gets nostalgic when he gazes out the large floor-to-ceiling windows and sees the bright red of the Shinto shrine.

But that life is long gone, and admittedly the memories of it are hazy. He knows, though, that most of the time, he was horribly bored back then. His new life in these modern times offers more excitement.

He precariously balances the two cups of coffee on his left forearm while fishing his keycard from his pocket.

Sukuna steps into the elevator, checking his reflection in the floor-length mirror. He's still surprised whenever he sees how snugly modern clothes sit on his body, but he must admit that he looks good. During the last few months, he has taken a liking to tailored suits in red or black combined with fine dress shirts and ties. He looks dashing in them, just like those wealthy businessmen in the movies he watches. He laughs softly at the thought, watching how the corners of his lips lift in a genuinely amused expression.

The face looking back at him is very similar to the face he has seen reflected in mirrors and windows for years while watching the world through the eyeslits on his vessel's cheeks. Sukuna can see a lot of Yuuji in the face he is wearing now as his own. He isn't a carbon copy of him, though.

Sukuna has a hard time recalling how exactly he looked a thousand years ago before he abandoned his human body for his King of Curses form, the monstrosity with four arms and eyes. But he thinks he sees some of his original human appearance in his reflection now. The pair of light blue eyes that glitter like two sapphires, the angular jaw, and the high cheekbones are all things he recognizes. He was a beautiful man back then, admired by many. And he is beautiful now, a thousand years later.

Sukuna checks his wristwatch. 8:37. Good. He was pretty fast.

The elevator doors slide open, and Sukuna steps into his home and slips out of his fine dress shoes. He likes the clean look of his modern palace. Shiny white surfaces and high-quality furniture. Large wall panels depict scenes from the time when he was a human sorcerer. Magnificent vases full of blooming chrysanthemum flowers add bright colors and an ever-present soft flowery smell.

The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a majestic view over the huge city, fitting for a King who wants to overlook his kingdom. Or a God who gazes down at the worms he cursed to suffer and crawl at his feet. The shiny white marble floor is spotless and warm under Sukuna's feet. Another luxury of modern life.

But what Sukuna likes the most about this place is the large kitchen. An expansive room with all the lovely modern appliances that one can buy with money. The heart of every house. The perfect place to prepare every meal the King of Curses desires.

That's where Sukuna is headed now. He enters the kitchen and is just about to put the coffee cups on the marble countertop when he hears it.

"Kuna?"

A smile spreads over Sukuna's face. He turns around slowly, leaning against the counter, eyes fixed on the open double door.

And a moment later, Itadori appears in the doorway, fresh out of the shower, with a towel slung low around his hips. His damp hair is sticking up in funny places where he tried to rub it dry. Water droplets run down his tan, naked chest and over his defined abs before disappearing in the fluffy white towel around his hips.

And there it is again. That weird feeling Sukuna has been experiencing lately. That fluttery sensation in his stomach and the tightening in his chest. Not painful but strange because he cannot explain why it feels like he is filled with warmth.

Yuuji's golden eyes meet Sukuna's across the room, and the boy smiles that big smile that lights up his whole face. Like the sun has risen, not just outside the window, but here in the kitchen too.

"Ah, so I heard right! You are back! And you brought coffee, yay!"

He's practically bouncing over to Sukuna, eyes scanning the two large cups in Sukuna's hands. More happy laughter fills the room.

That's another thing that is so different from how Sukuna's former life was. He can't remember ever hearing laughter or other loud exclamations of joy in his former home. It was always eerily quiet in his temple. The few people who visited were ghostly silent, fearing to wake Sukuna's anger with a wrong move or wrong noise. The only one who talked to him was Uraume. But those were soft words, spoken in a respectful and humble way.

Yes, his former life had been very silent. Sukuna remembers that he found it maddeningly at times. That he thought it would drive him insane. The silence, the solitude, the absence of anything real. Everyone who came to see him only came because they wanted something from him, a prayer here, a plea there. Sukuna-sama, please grant us a good harvest. Sukuna-sama, please protect us from our enemies. Sukuna-sama, please accept this sacrifice so we will be in your favor.

He had been surrounded by fake smiles and whispered words. But, Itadori is never calculated or quiet. His laughter is loud and honest, just like everything about him is loud and warm, and passionate. He is so full of emotions, displaying them so openly. He is so full of life.

Warm fingers land on Sukuna's, caressing them before they take the cup from him. Golden eyes sparkle at Sukuna, and the boy beams at him,

"Aww, you even got caramel for me? Thank you, baby! You're the best!"

He is all in Sukuna's space, pressing against him, getting Sukuna's fine dress shirt wet as he kisses Sukuna's cheek with a loud smacking noise and a happy chuckle. Sukuna automatically wraps an arm around the boy's waist, laughing softly as he pulls him closer.

"Careful, darling, don't spill your coffee."

His lips brush over smooth skin, leaving a whisper of a kiss on a glowing, smiling cheek.

Seven months prior

A victorious smirk lights up Sukuna's face as he emerges from the scarlet drizzle of blood and the cloud of smoke that smells of potent magic. He lifts his hands into the air looking triumphantly at the movement of his fingers as he wiggles them experimentally.

It worked! The ritual was successful! He has a body! After a thousand years, the King of Curses can finally walk this world again freely in human form! This is different from just borrowing the brat's body for a few short moments. This is Sukuna's own flesh and bone now. He is truly reincarnated this time!

He laughs as he becomes aware of the pounding headache in his temples and the painful tension in the muscles on his back. Typical human sensations he hasn't felt in eons and certainly isn't fond of, but right now, they taste like sweet victory. He is no longer trapped in his domain where he felt nothing, and the years dragged on in a seemingly neverending numbness.

The pain of having a mortal body is something he welcomes in those first moments after being reincarnated. For someone who has spent the last thousand years as a shadow, it is astounding to feel those little inconveniences again.

Mankind is such a funny species, so weak and full of pain. But luckily, Sukuna is more than a mere human. He pulls on the cursed energy simmering under the surface. The powerful magic that runs through his veins and tingles potently on his fingertips. He has had enough taste of the ache that comes with being human.

The uncomfortable feeling in his back and head vanishes almost instantly, and Sukuna grins triumphantly. Unlike those maggots, Sukuna is a God walking the earth in the guise of a human.

He takes a step and frowns. There is still a strange sensation that didn't go away. A dull ache in his chest. He can't place his finger on what this feeling is. He can't remember ever experiencing it before. It's not outright pain. No pounding or stabbing. It's more like... the absence of something. A strange feeling of emptiness. Like a phantom pain from a limb that is missing.

Before Sukuna can analyze it more, the smoke around him dissolves, and he can take in the surroundings he gazed upon earlier still from inside the brat. He is in a large underground room. The former car park of an abandoned office building. Candles are arranged in complicated patterns, ancient incantations spelled out in Uraumes handwriting all over the floor and the walls.

Sukuna hums in approval. His loyal servant prepared everything perfectly. Uraume found a good place for the ritual, abducted a body they could use as the new shell for Sukuna's soul, and then lured the brat here during one of his missions.

Sukuna's gaze lands on the crimson-red pools of blood staining the floor. Why is there so much of it? Did the brat blow up or something? Sukuna huffs. Pathetic little worm.

He doesn't care whether the boy survived their separation or not, but he can't help but feel a hint of disappointment. He thought his vessel was more robust than this.

Sukuna follows the bloody trail across the room only to discover that the source of it isn't his former vessel's body. Instead, it's the severed limbs and head of a man Sukuna doesn't know. And that's when Sukuna's steps falter for a moment.

Scattered over the floor are the bloody remains of the body Uraume planned to reincarnate Sukuna into.

"I fear your soul is too strong to reincarnate in a mere mortal's body, Master Sukuna. It ripped him to shreds. But it seems you regained your original human body. So I hope you are pleased with this unexpected development."

Sukuna laughs softly as he turns to look at Uraume emerge from behind a makeshift altar and bow deeply to Sukuna.

"Oh, I am very pleased. This is by far more favorable than wearing a stranger's skin. And we got rid of the brat too. Let's.."

Sukuna stops abruptly as the hollow feeling in his chest suddenly increases, cutting off his air supply for a few seconds and filling him with a deep desperation that he cannot fathom. Blood is rushing loudly in his ears. His hands feel numb, fingers crooking weirdly in a claw-like gesture.

He is faintly aware of his servant's voice calling out to him. But he cannot bring himself to answer. Instead, something is tugging him forward, away from Uraume and towards the part of the room where the smoke hasn't cleared yet. Almost as if an invisible force is pulling him towards it.

With every step he takes, the strange feeling of emptiness in his chest lessens, and he can breathe more freely again.

Sukuna steps into the smoke, and his gaze catches a flash of color on the floor before him. A familiar shade of pink. Tousled pink hair, stained with blood, and a pair of wide golden eyes that look around feverishly.

Sukuna lifts an eyebrow. Oh? So the brat is still alive?

A chuckle escapes Sukuna's lips. The weird sickening feeling from a moment ago is gone. Instead, Sukuna feels an exhilarating tingle in his veins. A smug smirk is tugging at his lips as he shoves his hands casually into his pants pockets and takes in the sight in front of him.

Itadori Yuuji is lying on the dirty floor in a small pool of blood. A crumpled heap, lying on his side, curled up like a scared child, bloody and bruised. He looks like a broken puppet his Master threw away after getting tired of playing with it. He's shaking, and blood is running down his face from a wound above his right eye while he's hugging himself and rocking back and forth.

Oh, he looks beautiful like this! So broken and pathetic! Sukuna watches the boy with a triumphant glint as he slowly prods his shoulder with one foot.

"Well, well, what did I find here?"

Sukuna's tongue darts out to lick his lips. He likes the way things turned out. Not only does he have his own body now, but he also has Itadori right here at his mercy. This doubles the fun.

The brat is staring at him with wide, panicked eyes. Good, he's terrified. He knows he stands no chance against a fully reincarnated Sukuna. He knows he can't do anything to stop Sukuna from spreading his reign of terror over the world.

Sukuna will take his time with him! Make him suffer before he kills him! Toy with him like a cat plays with a mouse before it kills and eats it. Make him watch as Sukuna tortures and kills every person the boy ever cared about!

His triumphant thoughts get interrupted by Itadori's voice, unusually weak and full of fear,

"Who...Who are you? What happened? Where am I?"

Sukuna sneers at the brat.

"I won. That's what happened."

Golden eyes widen with utter confusion and blink at him uncomprehendingly.

"I don't understand. Won what? Who...who are you?"

Sukuna's eyes narrow. Why does the brat not recognize him? Sukuna hasn't seen his reflection yet, but Uraume said he looks like his former self, and that wasn't all that different from the brat's face. Plus, all his markings must still be clearly visible on his face. So what is the brat playing at? Could it be that he is confused after the ritual?

"Do you not remember who I am?"

There's a growing panic in the brat's eyes, and for a moment, Sukuna is sure he finally realizes who is standing in front of him. But the boy's next words contradict that,

"No... no...I don't know you... I.. Fuck.. I can't remember anything at all!"

His voice breaks at the last word, turning into a scared sob. His breaths come out in short pants as panic takes over.

Sukuna sighs and gets on one knee in front of Itadori. He puts a finger under the boy's chin, making him lift his face so Sukuna can inspect him thoughtfully.

There's genuinely no sign of recognition in those honey-colored eyes. Just confusion and fear. Could it be? Did he really lose his memories? Sukuna lets his gaze wander over the cut on the brat's forehead, that's still bleeding profusely. Apparently, he hit his head during the ritual. Maybe he had a concussion, and that caused temporary memory loss.

It makes Sukuna laugh gloatingly.

The brat has always been stupid, but right now, he is outright ridiculous. Utterly helpless in his state of confusion. He doesn't know a thing in the world right now. He doesn't know how strong he is. He doesn't know that he usually runs headfirst into danger without any regard for his own safety. He doesn't know that he is a hero. Right now, he is just a weak and lost little thing.

Sukuna feels a spark of desire shoot through him at the thought. Seeing the usually so stubborn and rude brat so pathetic and scared turns him on.

Sukuna gives it one last try:

"Your name is Itadori Yuuji. You used to be my vessel. The vessel of Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses."

The brat's face just scrunches up in more confusion.

"What?"

And Sukuna roars with a new fit of laughter.

"You really lost your mind, didn't you, brat? How cute!"

Sukuna lets go of the brat's chin and gets to his feet again just when the soft voice of Uraume drifts to his ears.

"Are you feeling alright, Master Sukuna?"

"I am feeling splendid!"

He smiles over his shoulder at Uraume, stepping to the side so his servant can see the boy lying at his feet.

"Oh, you found your former vessel. Do you want me to get rid of him for you, Master?"

Sudden irritation washes over Sukuna. His reply is harsher than he remembers ever talking to Uraume before,

"No! Don't touch him!"

He can see Uraume's eyes widen, but they let their hands sink obediently to their sides again and bow to him,

"Excuse me, Master. Of course, I won't touch him if you forbid it. What shall we do with him then?"

"We're taking him with us."

Why would he want to get rid of the brat when he is in such a beautiful state of confusion? It's too perfect of an opportunity to pass on. Sukuna just got handed his detested former vessel at his most vulnerable. Sobbing and terrified, void of all the memories of his former life. So perfect to toy with to Sukuna's heart's content.

Sukuna's face lights up in a cruel smirk, and he adds gleefully.

"The brat has lost his mind. I want to see his face when he realizes what has happened."

The brat looks at him uncomprehendingly before his eyes roll back, and he slumps back to the floor in a graceless unconscious heap.

Sukuna snorts and picks him up, throwing him over his shoulder and signaling Uraume to lead the way to his new home. It doesn't even occur to him to order his servant to carry the boy. Itadori is Sukuna's personal matter.

Triumph is pumping through his veins. He came out of this whole thing as the clear victor. Finally, he has a human body. The King of Curses is walking the streets of Tokyo in the flesh, ready to take over the reins of this modern world. And he even got a little welcome-back gift. A confused Itadori Yuuji who is entirely at his mercy.

The so-called perfect vessel, which was nothing but a cage to hold Sukuna back. But not anymore. Now Sukuna is free, and the boy is nothing. Reduced to a powerless and pathetic object of ridicule. A plaything for the King's enjoyment. Sukuna will decide what to do with him later when the brat's mind works again. Kill him or fuck him, or make him watch as Sukuna burns the whole world down.

"We will have lots of fun, brat."

Thank you so much for reading the first chapter of my new Sukuita story!! I first started to write some scenes for this about one and a half years ago. This AU was the very first idea I had for this ship, and I am so happy that I could finally put it into words and publish it! It's a big comfort to me to write my own version of how Sukuna and Yuuji deal with their separation.

I have already written all 15 chapters of this story. I still have to edit them, but I hope I can publish a new chapter every week!

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter!! Please let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs make me happy!

#sukuita #sukuna #sukuna x yuuji

[goldeneyedgirl]

AILess Whumptober Day 27: Locked Up/Immortal

The final entry, late but complete! I figured that I put Alice through the ringer all the time, it might be Jasper's turn. I had a very specific image of how this would look in my head that did not want to be translated to the page. I've also looked at this so long that I cannot look at it any longer.

So, enjoy whatever this is! I hope you all enjoyed Whumptober and were suitably depressed after my contributions to this event my loves <3

iron & stone. (day 27: imprisoned/immortal).

twilight, alice/jasper, pg, one-sided vampire alice/demon jasper.

very non-graphic wound description

She finds him in an old church in Tulsita, Texas. It’s a tiny place, one that has less than thirty people.

It’s a grim little town, with worn buildings and cracked roads; the air is thick and hot, even late at night. It’s the perfect place to be forgotten about, to be trapped. It’s a place that feels like it isn’t part of the real world, and like maybe time has frozen.

There’s an edge of dread in the air, and she has to wonder about that.

But mostly, she just feels anticipation.

It’s taken her thirty years to find him, she’s looked everywhere. She’s read everything. She’s recorded all her visions and made all the notes. She’s learned Spanish, Italian, Hebrew, Greek, and Latin for him. She’s practically a scholar on him and his kind now.

She’s still nervous.

(There are three kinds of demons - the oldest ones who have existed for always, those are the ones that should never been disturbed or called upon. Then there are the ones that are born naturally - very rare but possible. And then there are the ones that are made. Not like vampires - in the demon world vampires are half-breed cockroaches, endemic to humanity, according to the books she’s read. The change isn’t half the pain and suffering that being turned into a demon is - she knows that.)

She walks through forest surrounding the building carefully - it’s unlikely that anyone will see her, but she prefers to err on the side of cautious. Especially since it’s very, very clear that someone does visit regularly (relatively speaking, of course - time moves very differently for immortals.)

The church is thoroughly abandoned, the pews rotten and broken and the floor tiles cracked and scattered - what would have been an expensive point of pride lost to time and neglect. What is left of the prayer books are ruined cardboard covers covered in mould. The altar is pulled right down and destroyed; all but one of the windows is boarded up. Glass crunches underfoot - a mix of the remain window’s panes, and broken beer bottles scattered around.

And as she stands there and looks around, she wonders how anyone set foot in this place, even just to hide and drink, when she can feel his presence right here? That boiling rage, that uneasy feeling in the air - the gift of animal fear, that whatever this place contains is dangerous and they need to run. It’s all around her, yelling at her to leave and never come back.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Edward and Carlisle would be furious she’s come here by herself. When she’d worked it all out, when she’d told them what her visions had shown her, they’d acted like he was dead and gone and she’d just have to get used to walking the world alone. They expected grief and she’d been confused - Carlisle had insisted that he was as good as dead, and Alice needed to make her peace with that.

Alice could never bring him home. That the Cullen residence, the Cullen name, had no place for monsters and terrors and the things that little children hide from. And she had agreed with them politely, told them that she understood. And she did. They had thought she was mourning, taking her time to adjust to what her life would look like now.

Esme had tried to talk with her, but Alice had refused, and just closed herself up in her bedroom. And they had let her be.

They hadn’t expected her to pack her things in the same satchel she arrived with, to leave behind her locket with a letter thanking them for their hospitality; shedding the Cullen name and creed like an unfashionable winter coat.

If there was no place for monsters amongst the Cullens, then she certainly wasn’t welcome. They forget that she was a nomad, a vampire before she arrived at their house with a smile and golden eyes. They forget that she has a whole story before she ever found them, and that it’s not all pretty and kind.

(No place for monsters, when Carlisle went and changed four innocent people without consent? When suicide is a sin and so is murder? That she loves them fiercely but to be a family is to realize that none of them are perfect and holy and unsullied by their nature? The House of Cullen is so beautifully monstrous, she almost feels sorry for them for not seeing that.)

She had made herself once, exactly how she wanted, and she could do it again. Maybe one day she’ll visit them. See if they forgive her. Esme will. Emmett will. Rose might. But Carlisle and Edward… well, it depends on a lot of things.

Like what lies beneath the church.

It takes her a while to find the little trapdoor down into the earth behind the altar, covered with broken wood and tile, and chained up with a shiny new padlock that crumples like paper in her determined hand. The steps down are mostly rotten - slats of wood wedged roughly into the earth - but she is small and light, and slips down easily, down into a cellar dug too deep and too precisely to be created for anything but a very specific purpose, with the little alcoves in the wall with wells of oil to light the way - only a few of them are still barely burning, throwing bizarre shadows onto the walls.

Everything about this is screaming for her to turn back. Every instinct, every sign is telling her to go home. Except…

She saw him so many times, in hundreds of moments that will weave between them. The laughter and the jokes and the love. She’s seen the way he’ll protect her and change her, and she’ll do the same for him. He’ll look at her with loathing and then tolerance and smug power, and finally, soul-binding love and adoration. The scars she’ll bare will be in the shape of his jaw. She’ll trace his scars with her fingers and her mouth and her tongue; she knows all the little pieces of his story - the boring and the ugly and the difficult, as well as the fragments that are light and precious.

She can’t wait.

But this… this part she’s never seen properly and maybe her brain was protecting her.

The room is small, and little more than dirt and stone held up with rotting beams - buckled and warped, but holding steady for now. It smells rotten down here, almost burnt.

And then there is him.

He lies in the middle, on the stone, his head thrown back like a sacrifice about to be cut open in the name of some ancient god. His eyes are closed and if she didn’t know better, she would think he was asleep. She can see him properly like this, the muscular lines of his torso, the tendons in his neck, the strength in his arms and legs. He looks like a classical Greek sculpture celebrating rapture.

Except… there’s pain. The pain radiates off him like heat; most of the scars are old but the wounds are not. Or maybe they can’t heal. Burns and cuts and bone-deep gouges cover every part of him. There’s a tremor to his body that she doesn’t understand.

And then he hears her shoes on the stone floor and he lunges in one swift move, alert and ready, a snarl echoing in the space.

…Or what should have been one swift move.

Instead, it’s messy and horrific and takes her a moment to process, as she tumbles backwards, losing her footing as he comes at her.

He rips himself from the stone, pieces of skin from his legs sticking to the floor when he moves, leaving open wounds that looks almost like burns on every piece of skin that the stone touched. His legs buckle and shake at the sudden movement, evidence that he has not stood in a very long time.

His eyes are so black they look like empty sockets as he looms over her. Blackness spreads up his hands and arms, spidery black veins stretching from his eyes and throat. For a moment, she thinks she catches a glimpse of the wings; ghost-like and ephemeral in the corner of her eye, tattered void stretched over ancient bone, cracking into place no longer than his arm span.

(He’s magnificent.)

And just as suddenly as he hovers over her, he is ripped backwards and hits the floor with a hiss and the heavy clank of chains pulling tight and recoiling. She gasps at his visible pain, the way he struggles to get up, the demonic visage fading back into the skin of a man. A man in the worst kind of pain she’s ever seen.

“Get out.” His voice is hoarse, the kind that hurts to listen to, and he turns away from her. She can see the chains properly now - ankles, wrists, throat, and thighs, all connecting to a back-brace of iron. The wings have sunk back into his flesh, deep scarring almost outlining them on his back, and she hates to think how painful it was to stretch them imprisoned like this.

How long has he been here, like this? As beautiful as he is, she can see every hour, day, decade he’s spent here in the gaunt shadows of his face, in the decay in his clothing, in the layers upon layers of scars and open wounds. His eyes are hard; there is no hope or trust in them at all.

She always knew it would be difficult, but she never counted on what seeing him in this state would be like. How much it would ache to see this bitter shadow of a man, and the suffering he has lived through.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she says, sitting up. Her bag has survived the fall, but she prepared for it. Nothing in the bag is breakable, for good reason. He’s liable to get angrier.

“Oh?” He looks at her. “You long for death so badly?” His voice is mocking, but she can hear the strain, the rasp of his agony. He shifts to see her better, and she can almost see ghost of his future self.

“Only of a certain kind,” she murmurs to try and lighten the mood, but it falls flat - he’s giving her the kind of look Edward reserved for fawning classmates, so she feels adequately stupid and regrets being so flippant and crude. “You’re hurt. I want to help you.”

He is so badly hurt. The fresh burns smell like alcohol, raw and weeping blood. It’s oddly matte with no shine, but demon blood isn’t like human blood. There’s also a mottled black mark on his torso that she hopes is some terrible bruise and not broken bone just beneath the skin.

“Go away.” His voice is hard, no trace of the pain or misery he’s experiencing. There is a power and a rage there that makes her skin crawl and every instinct is telling her to run. He glares at her, and his eyes… she’s seen them red and gold and black, but right now they are demonic - a black sclera and pupil with churning red iris. But there is no shine to them, just a void. They scream of danger and she understands a little better why Carlisle warned her so grimly away from him.

“No.” She rummages in her bag. Aro had allowed her to use the library for a whole summer, to learn about demon physiology and healing. He’d been amused by her request - and by the discovery she’d left Carlisle’s family in pursuit of this demon. She knows that he’s already plotting, that nothing he offers is without strings attached, but she’ll worry about that later. She has the knowledge, and that is what is most important. “Let me help you.”

“Why do you want to help me? What do you want?” He’s holding himself oddly, and she realizes he’s trying not to touch the stone again, only the soles of his feet.

“To help you. And to talk.” She checks the bottles have not split in her bag; she’d used old water bottles, and a few of them are warping from the chemicals inside of them. But she’d gone over it a dozen times at least, and these will work. He just needs to let her help. “If you don’t like what I have to say, you can leave. Nothing about this is conditional.”

He stares at her. “You don’t want to be remade?” He asked suspiciously. His breathing is labored. “You don’t want all the secrets of the underworld? Wealth? To live again?”

She shakes her head. “I have money and a home of my own. And I have no memory of ever being anything else but what I am right now. The only thing I want is to help you.”

He lets out a bark of laughter. “You say that. But you’ll expect things. Everyone who comes here does. They always want. Humans are greedy creatures and vampires are parasites. You’ll want something, they all do,” he snaps at her and then he smiles, cruel and sharp. “Not many survive being remade. Maria tried to make a dozen of us. I was the only one of my batch that made it through. You have no idea what pain can be.” He scoffs. “Especially if the change was so overwhelming for you that you blocked it out.”

“I know.” She does. She’s read all the written accounts of being remade into a demon right back to some scraps of information from the Roman Empire; the rituals are mostly anecdotal. There was nothing about how it was done; even Aro didn’t have a full copy of how to remake someone. Several of the leads pointed towards the possibility of the remaining instructions being locked up in the Vatican, but even her visions couldn’t decipher if they were genuine or just a rumor.

The fact Maria of Monterrey had found a record and managed to translate it into a ritual that actually worked was awe-inspiring. It made her one of the most dangerous people on the planet - and one of the most powerful.

But the cost of it… how many people had she killed to create Jasper? To create her army? There were the newborn recruits, the blood for the army, and the ones that she tried to remake… that was thousands, more than Alice could comprehend in the scale of human life.

No, she’s not interested. Perhaps she even fears physical pain a little, because she has no memory of human pain, of the change. She’s never bled, never ached, never really suffered like that. And that unknown void of pain, a universal emotion understood by every living thing on the planet… she doesn’t have that.

But maybe…

“I’ve never been hurt,” she says softly. “Not that I remember. I can’t stand the thought of it. That something can feel like that. If I can stop it, I want to. That’s all.”

His gaze burns into her.

“Do you know how many people have come here and promised me things?” He sounds angry but tired. “They’ll free me, they’ll give me money and food and bandage me up. My own army. Girls. Boys. Anything I goddamn want. Do you know what happens to them?”

She sits cross-legged. “Don’t pretend you killed them.”

“You don’t think I could?” The look on his face is dangerous.

“I know you could. I know that if you really wanted to, I would have been dead before I saw you move. I know that you were the most dangerous man in Texas and Mexico for decades before I was even born - before you were remade.

“But I don’t see any bodies. No bloodstains, no bones, nothing left behind. There’s nothing here. Whatever they offered you, you didn’t kill them for it.”

“When I didn’t give them what they want, they left me here,” he says finally. “All of them.”

“Were there many?” That she is curious about. There are a hundred reasons to seek out a demon, but few people are brave enough, and fewer still with the information to find one.

“More than I expected.” He looks at her, his gaze hard and bitter. “What do you want?”

“To help you,” she says obediently. “To get you out of the chains and upstairs; maybe look at some of those wounds? I’m no doctor, but I think I know what to do.”

“And what is your price?” He sounds testy again, and she’s getting annoyed that he won’t listen.

“I’m a cheap date - maybe you can just not kill me? Once you’re free, maybe we could talk for a little while? I have a house we can go to where you can recover safely, if you want to. Otherwise we part as friends.” That would be a disappointing outcome but one she is prepared for. “As long as you’re okay to be alone. I didn’t go to all this trouble to let you go off on your own and keel over in the street dead.”

The surprise on his face is genuine. “I cannot die from this. That’s the whole point of being down here,” he said slowly. “I can only suffer. It would take much, much more to end me.”

He looks sad and tired when he says that, and she wants to hold him. To reassure him that it will get better. It can be wonderful, if he gives her a chance.

“Good. Then if you want to leave me, you can. Just let me help you, and everything will be okay, I promise.”

They stare at each other for a long time, neither of them flinching before he nods his head once.

“I hold a grudge. If you double-cross me…” he begins but she’s already moving closer.

“I understand.” And she does - she’s had visions of him in battle, and the sheer violence and blood-lust had scared her. He is a dangerous creature. But she’d be more likely to rip off her own arm than intentionally harm him.

“You’ll want to take off your shoes.”

It’s an odd request but she takes off her boots and moves forward.

One foot on the stone and she can feel the warmth inside of it; when she looks down, her stockings are already being to singe from the heat.

“Keep moving, or you’ll stick,” he warns and she’s horrified.

The stains on the stone that she had assumed were age were patches of blackened skin still stuck to the stone - his skin - that had torn away from him every single time that he moved.

And then there was the sudden awareness of that fact that his feet have been resting flat against the stone since they’ve started speaking, and she wants to scream, to pry him off the stone herself. She looks at him in naked horror and his lip quirks in quasi-amusement at her expression.

“It’s consecrated ground - no matter how deep it goes, it will always burn the likes of us - me worse than you, but I wouldn’t linger. And no, your shoes wouldn’t protect you.”

Consecrated ground. Fucking consecrated ground. She’d read about it - Europe was lousy with it, but much of it has faded away forgotten and unsanctified in the last couple of centuries as religion has lost its grip on the population. It’s much rarer in the states - most of it is in New England, allegedly. But this perfectly built little prison, complete with consecrated ground… she wants to ask a million questions about the how and the why, but she knows he won’t answer. Not yet.

Right now, she needs to get him off of the floor and out of this evil little room as soon as possible. And the first step is to break the chains embedded in the wall - where a single panel of rock is placed.

She’ll worry about getting the brace off of him once they’re out of here.

He watches her, almost entertained, as she tries to break the links, inspecting the chain carefully for flaws or weaknesses. But even with all her strength, they don’t even bend. They are stubborn and as cursed as this entire basement.

She can feel it - they cannot be broken. She can’t see a way around it.

But when she looks down at him watching her, at his dead-eyed stare of acceptance that he will not be leaving, she feels the weight of what she’s promised him. That he still believes that she will fail and leave him to his fate.

But she was Emmett Cullen’s sister for nearly three years, and Emmett had never met a law, a riddle, a trap or a rule that he couldn’t find a loophole for.

Which is why she brought a screwdriver. An entire toolkit, actually. Whilst vampire strength and speed could fix so many problems, there were some things that required the precision of a toolkit or a lock pick. And maybe the last gift Emmett ever gave her was a mini pink toolkit, and she’d taken that when she’d left.

If there was one thing that all her research had taught her was that magical laws are rigid and precise. The chains will not and can not be broken - that is clear to both of them. She probably isn’t the first that has tried over the years - she could only imagine that he’s tried to free himself hundreds, probably thousands, of times.

So they cannot break them.

She doubts anyone bothered to stop them from being dismantled.

He stares at her incredulously when she pulls the screwdriver from her bag, like maybe she’s some kind of fool. And maybe she is.

But when the first screw hits the stone, she smiles brightly at the look of shock on his face.

“Pick all of them up, I don’t want anyone knowing how we figured this out,” she says bossily, hopping between her feet - her stockings have burnt through, ragged blacked edges having stretched back up above her ankle. She has more clothing at the house, but she’s mildly annoyed at the architect of this building for ruining them. It’s an uncomfortable heat, an odd sensation, but it doesn’t feel too bad as long as she keeps moving.

He fumbles for the screws as each of them fall - they are smaller than it feels like they should be for the size and weight of the chains, but there are so many of them.

And then…

And then the heavy chains drop free of the wall, and he is free. He stares at them in total bewilderment before he looks back up at her.

“Now you’re free,” she says breathlessly, jamming the screwdriver into her bag, and goes to help him stand. He’s unsteady but takes a deep breath as he begins to peel his feet from the stone. It’s horrific as the skin of his soles tears away, blistered and raw but not yet blackened, thankfully. He lets out a groan of pain, one that makes him sound every single day of his age, every single day of his pain.

She doesn’t say anything, she just supports him until they are finally, finally back on the dirt floor.

“Do you want to sit?” She asks quietly and he shakes his head.

“I want to get out,” he says stiffly, and she nods, as they move towards the exit.

It’s an awkward trip back up the stairs; the staircase is narrow, but he needs her guiding support for now, his legs shaking with each step. It takes twice as long as it should, with him pausing every so many steps, as she half-shoves him onto each step. His movements are made awkward from the brace, and she’s already trying to figure out how she’ll pry that thing off him.

And then…

She shoves open the trap door, the wood splintering. And even the feeble moonlight shining down from the broken window feels like someone has just lit up the room - the darkness of the cellar feels inky and oppressive in comparison; the oil-wells dimmer than they were when she descended.

He lets out a shuddering breath as he climbs out, into the fresh air, his eyes darting around the space.

“It’s okay, it’s only us,” she soothes. “You’re safe.”

He nods, but he doesn’t look at her. He’s staring at the boarded-up windows, at the broken glass and rotting pews and forgotten prayer books.

The look on his face reminds her of herself, when she awoke that first time in the woods alone. She knew nothing, had seen nothing in person… just the appreciation and awe of being there, in that place. A moment of simply being alive and in the world.

She remembers it well.

—

They sit inside the old church in silence for a while.

After a while, she begins to pull out first aid from her bag. “Let me,” she says softly, and he doesn’t protest - though he refuses to let her see the wounds under his threadbare clothing. She hasn’t got anything that will stitch his wounds, but she can clean the wounds and bandage them so that they at least stay sanitized and protected. The chemicals she has to use burn her nose, but they seem to work.

“Now, let’s have a look at the brace,” she says soothingly, the screwdriver back in her hand. He eyes her with suspicion but nods once for her to continue.

It’s not as easy as the chains. The brace is too tight and has bitten tight into his skin. The screws come out slowly, ad she doesn’t care that they roll amongst the glass and the debris.

The brace doesn’t fall away. Instead, she has to peal each piece away, skin and scar tissue tearing, leaving raw open wounds in their wake. But he doesn’t make a sound as each piece hits the floor. He just stares up at the piece of sky he can see.

And then it is gone. The wounds will scar, she knows it. But he has movement back, real movement again. His neck, his arms, his wings… Free again, a little bit more.

“Done,” she says softly.

“I don’t even know your name,” he finally says hoarsely, and looks back down at her, as she packs everything back up.

“Alice Cullen,” she says, and thinks about correcting herself. She’s not sure what surname she should be using honestly. She never had one of her own, and nothing else feels like it would fit. She was supposed to be Cullen for a while and then…

Well, she didn’t want to get ahead of herself. Cullen was fine.

He nods in acknowledgement before looking back up at the sliver of sky visible through the broken window.

“I want to leave this place,” he says in a steady voice.

“Of course.”

She wants to offer to burn it down. To tear it down with her bare hands for him. But he won’t understand, not yet.

“Let’s go.”

—

He finds his strength as soon as his feet hit the grass, enough to stand on his own and move away from her support, onto the grass, shivering as his feet sunk in for the first time… in so very long. His turns in a slow circle, just staring up at the clouds and the trees and the world outside he’s hellish, cursed little dirt prison.

He… to call it a scream is not accurate. It is a scream, a roar, a holler, a flood of grief and rage and resentment. It is pain and loss, swearing revenge against the one that did this to him. It is regret and heartbreak and relief.

He is free.

His wings stretch out reflexively, the black staining his hands and face faintly, and the full horror of what the brace has done to him is revealed beyond the splitting and tearing and stretching of the wounds - his wings only open as long as his arm-span; the humeral and secondaries appear to have been crushed from the brace. And the humerus bone appears to have been snapped and reset so that it cannot extend. Half of his wings are limp and crumpled against his spine, a dead and mottled colour.

He has been crippled, possibly forever.

Except…

She’s never really been in the business of giving up. Of looking at something and accepting a bad roll of the dice. She looks at his wings, slack and broken, and she wants to fix them. She’s already considering it, mentally adding splints and bandages, breaking and resetting bone, stitching back together the thin flesh that stretches over them. It would be painful and miserable and it would take a long, long time. And it might not work.

But she already knows that if it didn’t work, she’d take him to Carlisle. She’d take him to Carlisle and use every single trick in her book to convince him to help. She’d promise that Carlisle would never see her again, that she’d never bother any of them, if Carlisle would just fix him. She’d take him to Carlisle, to Aro, to goddamn Maria, if it meant helping.

Anything he needed. Or wanted. She would get it - she had waited for this for so long.

He’s silent now, and he turns to look at her with confusion on his face.

“I looked for you, you know. For almost forty years.” Her voice is soft, and his gaze turns wary. “I get …visions of the future. Of the path that I’m on. And you have always been in them. I saw you with Maria in the south. I saw you when you left with Peter and Charlotte. I never saw what happened, and how you ended up down there but I tried so hard to find you. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

And he stares at her, the black receding from his body, the wings folding back into his body.

“What did you see?” He asks, and he sounds exhausted.

“That I love you. All of you, for as long as you’ll have me.”

He shakes his head, and for a second, he looks so young. “Did you see what happened when she remade me? When she worked out how to make her army more powerful?” He asks. “Did you see what it took to become this? Did you see what I became?”

“I did.”

“Ninety days. Of pain and sacrifice and being ripped into pieces and put back together. To feel the rage boil and burn until your skin,” he murmurs, looking back up at the cloudy night. “Of having this fresh, feral monstrosity of yourself fit itself inside of you and this… clarity of the world and how everything fits together. I’m not the man you want, Alice Cullen.”

“Yes, you are. And it’s … not Cullen anymore, not really. I left them because they wouldn’t let me find you.”

He’s silent, staring at her.

“They said I should think of you as good as dead and that wasn’t… you were still here. I just had to find you. I wasn’t going to mourn you just because you weren’t a vampire anymore. What Maria did to you didn’t change our future, so it didn’t matter to me. But it did to them. So I left them.” She shrugs. “I had enough money saved that I have my own home now - our home if you want it. But it’ll just be us.”

He looks at her hard, like he’s trying to look right through her.

“I was going to destroy you, you realize,” he says finally, his knees buckling but he sinks into the soft ground with dignity, leaning against a tree. “I was going to devour you whole.”

“I mean, with a safe word…” she begins and he lets out a chuckle.

“You aren’t what I was expecting,” he says finally, and she moves closer. She can smell rain on the air. “I’ve never met anyone who didn’t want to be remade like me as payment.”

She’s seen it. In a few decades, he’ll offer it as a form of protection. That the only thing more dangerous than a mated vampire and demon would be two mated demons roaming untethered to a master or mistress.

She’s seen futures where she accepts and they are … sublime. Glorious and terrible and so very, very happy. And she’s seen futures where she’s content with herself, and they are just as happy, just as fantastic and beautiful and fatal. It was never about the venom or the magic that flowed in their veins. It was always them.

“If you don’t want to stay with me, I can help you find Peter and Charlotte,” she offers. “You can recover in my home until then, and we can part as friends.”

He looks back up at the sky as the rain begins to fall, a smile stretching across his face as the water hits his face.

How long has it been since he’s seen and felt rain?

“I think I’d like to stay here for a while,” he says finally, and she can feel how tired and confused he is.

He doesn’t trust her yet - it will be a long time until he does, she knows that. Long after his wounds have healed - she’s certainly got some ideas for his wings, but it’ll be a while before he’s willing to hear her out - he’ll still treat her with suspicion. And that’s okay. She didn’t bet everything on him to be scared off so easily.

Sitting down beside him, she’s careful not to touch him. His eyes are glazed and dreamy as he watches the clouds and the rain, the darkness swallowing them up in the woods behind the church.

“You should rest,” she says softly. “We’ll have to leave before dawn, but we have a few hours.”

“I’m fine,” he corrects, but his words are slower and easier, and she doesn’t say anything else as he slowly drifts off, the cool rain on his face.

Jasper Whitlock. Major of the Confederate Army, turned by Maria of Monterrey back in 1863. The love of her life, who was supposed to show up at a diner in Philadelphia but never made it. The scourge of the South, a mythological monster forged out of pain and horror that most people couldn’t imagine, let alone survive.

And her reason for everything.

He looks… peaceful as he sleeps, the rain clinging to him and not even disturbing him. All the stress and pain and rage slipped off his face. He looked like a different person.

She doesn’t remember what sleep is like, and it’s strange to think of just not being for a while. To just be so vulnerable.

It’s a strange feeling, waiting for so long, and now being here with him. Watching him sleep in the rain, broken up into little pieces but somehow still standing.

The real thing is so much more than she ever anticipated.

Nothing will hurt him again. No one will imprison him again. He is free. She found him. Anything he wants, anything at all.

“I’ve got you, Jasper. I’ve got you."

#ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptober #jalice #jasper hale #alice cullen #my fic: one shots #demon jasper #imprisoned jasper #this did not turn out how it was supposed to #it looked different in my head #maria fucked around with the supernatural and became too powerful #aro is up to his eyeballs in this and playing dumb to alice #carlisle is SO worried about alice #she just left and they never heard from her again #i wish i had more time for Lore #but yeah peter was remade too #and he remade charlotte himself #a little demon club #it will take time for jasper to tolerate then befriend then fall in love with alice #he'd be furious with himself that he fell asleep in front of her #me and my nonsense

[xaiblood]

Yay, you updated! I loved it! Part 3? 🥺

Okay~ Part 1, Part 2

His Name [3]

Awkward. That you felt about this situation between you and Jonggun, but he didn't.

You sat beside him while one of his men drove the car. He looked very cold, you admitted it since you first met him at Junior High School. In your mind, his cold and silent demeanor never change, he still 'Yamazaki Yuzuru' that you knew.

"So ... uhh, why you want me to come with you? I mean, why are you want come to your Yamazaki residence?" you asked. He glanced behind his sunglasses, you knew that he throw the cold look.

He took off his sunglasses, "Your dear father want me to have business deal, because he owes me. So you will come with me." he looked at your eyes.

'These eyes still same like you were 16,' he thought, then he turned his gaze at the outside of window. The wind blew his hair, made you thought about why he didn't use pomade like he used to. But you still enjoyed the view.

▪︎▪︎▪︎

After an hour passed, you finally arrived at the Yamazaki residence. A traditional Japanese house stood firmly in place, Jonggun got out of his car, so do you walking behind him.

Jonggun stopped his track then spoke, "Walk beside me." his tone was stern and demand. You just obeyed him, you walked beside him. But, that was one thing making you surprised; he grabbed your waist and pulled you a little closer to him.

Before you protested, he spoke, "Act normally, I'm just doing this and you want to protest?" he raised an brow. He made you silent.

You two walked together toward the building, you glanced at him, found that he was still wearing flat facial expression that gave the impression of coldness.

"From now, you're always by my side," he looked at you, "that's mean you're won't be with another man." he added. As he finished his words, you couldn't help but silent in surprised.

Is he mean that you two ... engaged?

"He mean, you're engaged with him." someone chuckled, that was someone with blonde hair, and he smiled at you. "Hello there, Ojou-sama~" he greeted with a flirtatious tone.

He was Kim Jungoo.

"I thought Mr. Kenji's daughter was a bratty one, but you weren't." Jungoo commented, he analized your look from the head to toe, "You're a good one."

Confused, you just looked at the man that still had his hand around your waist. He sighed, "Why are you here?" he asked.

Jungoo shrugged, "Am I wrong to see you with this beautiful woman?" he snickered. But Jonggun didn't give a fuck about what he just said and walked with you to enter into his residence.

You turned at Junggo, then lowered your head and gestured 'sorry' to the blonde man.

Without you knew he putted his hands in his pockets, and thought. 'Perfect as the old man said.'

"Goo-kun~ You're fucking here, darl?" a woman was named Shimamura Rei walked toward him. Before he spoke, that woman punched his back, "Why you don't answer my call, huh?"

Goo rolled his eyes, "This little brat ..." he said.

"Just shut up, Goofy!"

▪︎■▪︎

You gave your father a side eyes, and he just smield stiffly at you. "Honey ... Please?" his tone became softer than before. "You never be lonely again, honey. As you told me when you were teenager, you like---"

You shushed your father, "Dad?! Shut up, don't bring it up."

Your father chuckled, "Well, it's already set. All that's left is your wedding date, it's up to you where you want to get married, in Japan or in Korea," he said. Then he bowed down before Jonggun, "I beg with all my life, please protect my only daughter, she is my most precious treasure."

You widened your eyes, didn't expecting that your father bowed before Jonggun. And Jonggun just nodded, that man reached your hand. "She'll always be my side and I can protect her with my own strength," he spoke.

"She's my light, my [Name]." he whispered, almost you couldn't hear it.

A/N:Part 4

#manhwa #lookism #park gun #park jonggun #park gun x reader #park jonggun x reader #webtoon #ptj universe

[tony-the-tigers-juicy-armpit]

The first freezing day of Autumn is behind on his taxes

and he probably can't tell that the electric signals dripping through his calculator are thinking creatures with jobs and families.

Norkippy is a town with nothing to see, where the only use for a window is to let in the sunlight. A series of gray suburban neighborhoods tinged with the idea of history, empty of any evidence of such except for a singular old church, otherwise so built for the residence of asphalt-dwelling roaring metal bulls that existing as a singular human, let alone a homeless one, is nightmarical.

And yet I'm camped out beside the church on a gingham blanket, on a picnic that never ends. The town technically ends at the edge of the sidewalk, so new buildings can't be erected past it, but the church is historical, and therefore the only building on this side of the road. The road itself is quite short, just 7 houses. From my view, it's a perfect flat painting of a dreary street, my only joy - honestly - being the sandwich that the priestman brings me twice a day. Ham, always. I try asking him for a bacon-egg-and-cheese or a PB&J but all that comes out of my mouth is vocal static, utter nonsense, or word salad if I'm lucky. I can only think in English, but I can only speak in tongues.

Nobody knows what I'm thinking, and nobody sees what I see. Every morning, the post office truck delivers one letter to one house on the street. Monday: House 104. Tuesday: House 107. Wednesday: House 102. The postal workers don't operate on Sunday, so each week one house is skipped. Every house has some kind of window facing the street - to let the sunlight in - where I can see the glow of their TVs through the curtains at night. When the letter-receiving house is within my view, I can see that the light from their TV that night is red. Every other house's is blue. On Sunday morning, when the truck inevitably doesn't come, the residents of the skipped house look distinctly haggard as everyone crams into the church, all ignoring me with equal vigor regardless of who got mail when. That night, the skipped house's TV glow is green. Electric green, like a checkmark on a rushed office slideshow. Skipped folks never quite recover, and everyone gets skipped at some point. They're all slowly being used up.

The process is robotic, and yet when I look up at the sky on any clear night I see something wild responding to this process. Wild, but not ancient, only as old as my great-grandfather. It smells sweet, like the house of the witch in Hansel & Gretel, and sounds like an advert for a seasonal latte, but as its aura-body TVglows red and green I can only feel the jarring chill of the first cold day of autumn, when the reality of low temperature clocks the bliss of the warm months. And I know in my heart that seasons aren't just weather anymore. They're persons, and they have taxes to pay.

#microfiction short story #i call her Ffedoa ([f]irst [f]reezing [d]ay [o]f [a]utumn)

[linnorabeifong]

"I'll Be Waiting"

Summary: “Her eyes are a soft color. A delicate green like the expensive jade bracelets all the heiresses of the Earth Kingdom wear. He loved the sound those bracelets made as they rattled against each other and jingled softly. He decided then that he liked her too.”

Notes: What do y'all think ? I kind of wanted to write some cute teenage LinZolt and write about dancing because of my own background. Also how would you feel, about smutty chapters later ? What direction should I take this happy ending or sad ending ? Also I want to flesh out Ember Island, and establish it as having it's own unique culture and dialect. How do we feel about some French-speaking LinZolt ? (translations will be provided of course).

Critiques: Do y'all have constructive criticism ? I'm still developing my sense of style and I have no writing experience and have never taken a creative writing course in my life so I need all the help I can get.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51405040

Chapter 1:

Kenzo or as his friends liked to call him “Zolt '' was new to Little Caldera. Frankly, he never imagined himself living in such a nice area. Solidly middle class, with the best schools and entertainment to be found in Republic City. Unlike the other boroughs every shop, residence and school there had electricity. Located just on the cusp of old cranefish town, and just outside of downtown, it was a short walk from Yue Bay. The harbor brought in all sorts of business. Little Caldera had a special character to it, its own unique appeal. Spotless and crime free but with great nightlife. High end restaurants and cheap seafood were both in abundance. Contradictory. Perfect. Well, nearly perfect but Caldera’s flaws didn’t touch the likes of Zolt.

Through some stroke of luck his mother managed to find a job as a dance instructor. The position came with lodging right above the studio. It was a small space but more luxurious than either of them had known previously. Two closet-sized bedrooms, a kitchen that was more of a hallway and an entry way that just barely managed to fit a genkan, coat closet and an armchair. 

The apartment while small was by no stretch of the imagination shabby. It was well maintained despite its age. The walls were freshly painted and papered. The entryway in a rich cream, the kitchen was a sunny yellow, the bedrooms sported white and crimson wallpaper with a sun motif. They had real hardwood floors. The kitchen appliances were brand new, and for the first time in his life Zolt experienced the pleasure and convenience of an ice box. 

They even had their own private bathroom, which was surprisingly large compared to the other rooms. The toilet portion was walled off from the bathing area and the sink stood in between the two. The bath was wonderfully deep, made to be soaked in. To his surprise, the first night he spent in the apartment and drew himself a bath the water heater actually worked. He had discovered this when he reflexively heated up the water with his bending and nearly boiled himself like a dumpling.  At his previous home the promise to repair the heater was never actually met. Over the years he had taught himself to warm the water, a skill he no longer needed here.

Every day he discovered a new luxury. The apartment even had underfloor heating, his need for slippers was gone. Despite the lessons going on at all hours of the day and night below them and their close proximity to their neighbors it was surprisingly quiet. The thick walls muffled the sound.

The views were perfect. The windows were large and spilled in bright wonderful light, only obstructed by the glorious shade of the Sakura trees planted all over his neighborhood. From the kitchen he could take in the view of the perfectly manicured street in front of the studio. His bedroom had an especially nice view. Behind the studio there was the nicest apartment building he had ever seen. It was built in a u-shape around a huge courtyard, complete with a fountain, pool, turtleduck pond, rose garden and a playground. It stood five stories tall and was built in a traditional style. The countless balconies were all decorated with paper lanterns and fire lilies. The fire escapes would actually be handy in case of emergency, unlike the rusted ones he knew. He had never seen the Imperial Palace of the fire lord, but he imagined it to look just like this, elegant and overflowing with flowers. It was his newfound vision of paradise.

The end of summer was fast approaching, but he still needed something to fill the last of the golden weeks with. He ends up brushing up on his dancing skills, not that he needed to, he was a natural. His mother had made sure of that. Before he could walk, he could dance. Since toddlerhood he had studied every type there was, from the Fire Nation to the Water Tribes. He was well versed in traditional and contemporary forms. His technique was precise, he was fluid, a master of the countless skills each genre demanded. The head of the studio quickly figures this out and offers him a deal. He signs on as a student teacher, requiring him to be at the studio at least twice a week. In exchange he receives free lessons, and they’ll cover his private school tuition. His mother is overjoyed at the thought of sending him to “Avatar Roku High School” -the best in the city. She squeals in delight when he takes the offer. His summer was very quickly filled with rehearsals, costume fittings, lessons and performances.

He’d taught groups before but this is his first time teaching a private lesson. For the life of him he couldn’t remember her name. What did Asuka say it was ? It had an “r” in it somewhere. The girl is staring at her form in the mirror, warming up. He assesses her. She is a sleek little thing, like a cat strutting through an alleyway at night. Her skirt is red and has a slit making it easier to see her motion. Her tiny top matches it and reveals her abdomen. Judging by her curvy build and outfit she must be from Ember Island like him.  She’s practicing her fa’arapu. Tui and La, she has the speed down. She’s nearly perfect. He can easily fix this. 

He approaches her and introduces himself, he encourages her to continue warming up. After a while he comes up behind her. She stops, he places one hand on her stomach and the other on one of  her delicate shoulders. “You’ve got the motion, muscle control and the flexibility. You're just stiff and your posture is bad. You're tucking in your spine like this” he says demonstrating. “ and you’re hunching your shoulders, like you’re trying to make yourself smaller” he explains as he gently adjusts her position. There, now she’s perfect.  “Don’t do that, you’re a pretty girl. Have some confidence” he continued. He didn’t mean to say that last part out loud.  

He looks up into the mirror, taking in her face for the first time. She really is a pretty girl. Her cheeks are flushed pink, she is biting her lip. It is a cute nervous habit, it makes her lips even redder. 

He catches her gaze in the mirror.  Her eyes are a soft color. A delicate green like the expensive jade bracelets all the heiresses of the Earth Kingdom wear.  He loved the sound those bracelets made as they rattled against each other and jingled softly. He decided then that he liked her too.

#legend of korra #lin beifong #lightning bolt zolt #linzolt #ao3 #meet cute #dancing #francais #french language

[thesugarclubs-blog]

Drawn To You - AU Steve Rogers x OC

warnings: strangers to lovers, art shop owner Steve, pure fluffy holiday winter vibes

word count: 6.9k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1296614293-drawn-to-you-noelle

Masterlist

Hurrying down a crowded Brooklyn sidewalk, Noelle checked her phone. 7:50, the time read. She huffed and continued her trek, trying her best to balance bags and a coffee while she continued her holiday shopping. The last stop on her mental checklist closed at 8 and if she didn't stop in now, Noelle was worried she never would. 

Flakes of snow melted onto Noelle's cheeks as she approached an old brick apartment building with large windows on its first floor, glowing lights warming the store within. She looked up at the familiar storefront, one that she passed every day while she was on her way to work. This time of year is usually about giving to others, but Noelle thought with the last bit of her hard earned paycheck, it couldn't hurt to do a little something for herself too. 

The wooden door was heavy, creaking loudly as she had to use much of her small frame to push it open. The words "Rogers and Son's Art Supply" shone in the lights, the swirling bronze script proudly declaring the name of the owner. Noelle was sad to say she had lived in Brooklyn her entire life and never ventured a trip inside. A little bell above the door rang, announcing her presence to a bored-looking guy working behind the counter. His dark head popped up from his hand as he flipped through a book, icy blue eyes almost rolling back as he checked his watch.

"Good evening," he said with a little more sarcasm than she expected as she stood in the entranceway. "Welcome to Rogers. Lemme know if you need anything." 

“Thank you,” was all Noelle could say as she slowly entered the cute art store. 

She was overwhelmed by the many art supplies and the beautiful creations hanging on the wall. She didn’t know where to start; she usually wasn’t the creative kind but around the holidays, life in her little one-room apartment could get lonely, so she decided to start a new hobby for herself. 

As she went through the tiny aisle, her eyes stopped on a painting of a decaying snowflake. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” the man behind the counter said and she turned her head to look at him, but before she could say anything, he continued, “It’s inspired by the poem Winter by Walter de la Mare.”

“But the North sighed low, Snow, snow, more snow! That’s my favorite poem,” Noelle smiled softly at the worker. 

“Mine too, that’s why I painted it.” A new voice echoed through the empty shop as he stepped in from the back room.

Noelle turned around and was met with another pair of dazzling blue eyes. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a warm smile. Noelle's knees knocked together and she let out a soft exhale as the stranger's smile got bigger.

"Y-- you painted this?"

"He painted it, but it was my idea," his dark-haired co-worker called as he opened a box with an X-ACTO knife. 

The blonde man rolled his eyes. 

"I have to apologize for Bucky, he's our resident asshole."

"Language, Steven!" Bucky called as Noelle burst into laughter. "You can't talk like that in front of customers!"

"I can when I'm making fun of you!" Steven called. He turned back to Noelle with a flirtatious smirk. "It's actually Steve."

"Noelle," she whispered as she stuck out her hand. Steve grasped it gently and shook it. He had a strong grip, but not too overwhelming. She blushed harder and her eyes flitted toward Bucky, who was trying to hold back a smile.

"Pleasure to meet you, Noelle," Steve replied. "That's a beautiful name."

Sucking in a deep breath, Noelle returned her eyes to the painting in front of her. She didn't know how to answer that question. It was rare that she ever did something for herself, but picking up a new hobby seemed like the right place to start the new year ahead. It was the perfect time to jump two feet into the deep end of something she's never done before. 

"I don't know, to be honest" She let out a breathy chuckle. "I think I want to start painting or sketching or something, but I don't know where to start" 

"Well lucky for you, I can help with that" Steve smiled broadly. 

Something was calming about his presence that made Noelle feel as though she could trust him. Sure it was just art supplies, but there was just something about his smile and the way he moved about the shop that convinced her he actually cared about what he was talking about. 

"First things first, What's your experience level?" Steve asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

She felt her cheeks burn at the question, "Uh, well, I've never really done any real art. Not since grade school," she admitted, feeling embarrassed.

Steve nodded, his face thoughtful, "Alright, alright - were you wanting to paint? Draw?"

Noelle hesitated, she hadn't thought about what she wanted to do before she stepped into the shop, and now she felt flustered in the face of this charming, and handsome man.

"Uh... What do you recommend for a beginner?"

Steve pressed a hand to her upper arm, his fingers curling against her jacket to pull her gently down the row of art supplies. She followed him, carefully so her boots didn't slip against the flooring only to stop as he knelt down on a bottom shelf. 

"We put these together around Christmas," He pulled out a small crate of supplies, rambling on as he pushed things around to show her, "mostly for parents that have no idea what to buy their teenagers but I think you'll find what you're looking for in me...here. Looking for in here," he looked up at her through thick lashes with his endless ocean eyes and his voice trailed off. His rosy lips parted slightly like he wanted to say more but the words had gotten stuck. 

She suddenly felt very warm and very self-conscious about herself, Noelle tugged at the sleeve around her wrist.

Steve cleared his throat and stood, hovering over her small frame with the box held against his stomach, "let me show you," he scratched his beard with his fingers nervously before sliding himself past her in the direction of the front counter.

Noelle followed closely behind him and took several deep breaths to try and calm down her nerves. He walked around the counter and placed the box on the counter and began to take some of the supplies out.

“These pencils here are really good for beginners who are wanting to do some sketches. The numbers and letters here on the side indicate the hardness or softness of the lead. This box has a good mix of them.” Steve said pointing to the box with a soft smile. Noelle stepped forward towards the counter to look at the supplies he has laid out on it. 

“And what kind of paper should I get? Sorry if that’s a silly question” She asked nervously.

“Well.. that would depend on the type of drawing you’re planning on doing. For example, will you be just sketching or wanting to do some watercolor painting after, because those would be different kinds of paper.” Steve replied. Noelle looked at him with a confused and nervous look 

on her face. She really had no clue what her plan was for her little art project.

She breathed out a small laugh, shaking her head as she grasped the package of pencils her fingers gently grazing his. A swarm of butterflies erupted in her stomach, her hand once again lingering just a little too long before taking it away from the warmth of his own. 

"I think I'm already in over my head," Noelle admitted, ignoring the way his eyes felt like tiny bursts of fireworks as they trailed along her features. 

Finally, he smiled, ignoring the soft snicker once again coming from behind them as Bucky began stocking the shelves, "tell you what, we'll start you with a basic sketchbook and if you decide to move further into watercolor or oil-based pencils, we can re-evaluate your paper situation then." He offered a chuckle leaving his lips as he rounded the counter again. 

Noelle nodded, "there are oil-based pencils?" She asked, feeling even more dimwitted than the second she walked into the door. But instead of making her feel dumb, he just smiled again. 

"We'll work you up to those."

She hummed in acknowledgment as she looked around the small shop, shelves packed high from floor to ceiling with anything and everything art-related you could think of. Certain parts of the store were newer, with pristine shelves and plastic-wrapped paints and brushes. But others were definitely much older, resembling more of a high school art closet than a store for shopping. Noelle wanted to know more, about art, about the cute little store, and now definitely more about the tall, broad blonde in front of her. 

She opened her mouth to get his attention, but the tinkling of the bell above the door beat her to it. His head turned towards the front as Bucky appeared breathless from around the corner. 

"Hey, Steve, hate to break this up, but Mrs. Carter is here and you know old ladies creep me out," Bucky whispered frantically, and Noelle bit back a giggle at his wide-eyed expression. 

Steve looked at her apologetically before stepping past them both. His fingers skimmed her elbow as he went by and even through the heavy fabric of her coat, she knew his touch would be warm. 

"Don't go anywhere, okay?" Steve murmured and she nodded, earning a squeeze to her arm that made her heart race. 

Her eyes were fixed on the muscles in his back as he walked quickly to the front of the shop and Noelle briefly wondered if it were possible to just bite through her bottom lip entirely.

She watched Steve talking to the old lady, as she felt someone getting closer to her left. 

“She creeps me out.” She looked at Bucky, who crossed his arms in front of his chest as he looked toward Steve and Mrs. Carter.

“Why?” She asked him. 

Mrs. Carter seemed like a nice old grandma, she thought, even though her smile looked like she bit into something sour and her eyes made Noelle shiver, but...yeah, okay. Bucky was right. This woman was creepy.

Bucky looked at Noelle as if it was obvious why he thought that she was a creep. 

“I just don’t like her. Tries to charm me up with her dry homemade pecan cookies and almost kills me with them. Put cinnamon in there even though she knows very well I’m allergic to cinnamon. All because she wants to get rid of me to have Steve for herself. Stupid little-“

“Oh look. These pencils are also available in pink.” Noelle tried to stop Bucky before he could say something else.

As Bucky glanced to the shelf Noelle was pointing at, Steve hollered from his place by the door, “Hey Buck, do you think you could help Mrs. Carter grab new paints for her niece, Sharon?” 

Bucky went to protest, but seeing the look on his friend’s face he realized why Steve wanted to pawn Mrs. Carter off onto him. 

“Sure pal,” Bucky said as he shoved off the counter. 

Noelle continued to look interested in the line of pink pencils until Steve had come back to the counter. 

“Sorry about that. Now, where were we?” Steve smiled at her as the sound of Bucky and Mrs. Carter’s conversation grew fainter as they moved deeper into the store.

“You were about to show me sketchbooks,” Noelle returned his smile, “and I really do appreciate your help.”

“It’s my pleasure, believe me,” Steve replied and Noelle didn’t miss the way his eyes flicked downwards appraisingly before lifting back to her face.

“Try this one,” he said reaching underneath the counter and producing a black hard-back book. “It’s good quality but not so expensive that you’ll be afraid to make a start. The paper’s got a great texture too, see?”

He flipped open the book and reached out for Noelle’s hand, running her fingers over the page.

"Umm Ye- Yeah," Noelle stammered through her response to him, the way his eyes sparkled underneath his long lashes was mesmerizing. Distracting and captivating her.

He gave her a gentle smile as she felt his hand slip from hers as he walked them to a table while she tried to quell the feeling of disappointment that started to build in her chest when their hands separated.

"Come on, sit." He told as he pulled a chair for her to sit on, placing himself behind the chair as he pushed it in closer to the table for her and leaned over her slightly. The scent of his cologne and his close proximity to her was a dizzying combination, she almost missed his next words.

"I'll show you how easy it is to start." He breathed next to her, making butterflies erupt in her belly at how soft spoken and gentle he was. She nodded.

Steve reached ahead of her, flipping the book open to the first page, and picked up the pencil.

"You want me to show you, or can you follow my directions?" He asked, his voice seeming to drop an octave as he turned to her.

Noelle's voice caught in her throat. He was so close, his breath warm on her cheek.

"Can you show-" She started to say, just as Bucky popped up behind them.

"Mrs. Carter is done - you want me to lock up - uh..." He trailed off as Steve turned away from her.

"You know what - I'll handle closing up on my own tonight. You're clearly busy."

The sound of Bucky closing the shop was muted in the background as Steve, wrapped his hand around hers and slowly guided the pencil along the page. The lights dimmed above them and the shop seemed to hum in the silence between them. 

"Why the sudden interest in art?" His voice was warm against the quiet as he asked her, his breath hot against her neck as the carefully showed her how to buff out the line. 

Noelle chewed on her lip, trying to focus on anything but how her hand felt cupped in his, "I guess I just feel uninspired. Life sucks, and winter makes me so sad."

"Maybe you just aren't looking hard enough," He looked over at her, surprised by their proximity, and smiled softly. "Christmas lights, sledding in the park, family..." he trailed off. 

She pressed her boots to the floor to keep from fidgeting under his gaze, "you have to find the beauty in it. Look past the grey tones and find the warmth," he let go of the pencil and her hand, letting her guide it herself. "Look, all by yourself," he cooed as she curved another line into the paper and the warmth he spoke of suddenly blossomed in her chest. "There has to be something about winter you love," he said.

She thought about it, rolling her tongue against the inside of her mouth. She looked up at him, their noses almost touching and his eyes illuminated by the dim lights above their heads, "the snow. But only the fluffy stuff, before the cars turn it to dirt."

Steve hummed at her response. “When it is light and fluffy and the only marks are the ones you are making.” He replied

“Yeah exactly, I find it peaceful and quiet” she replied.

“Well, I think you might have just found your inspiration” Steve replied with a kind and warm smile.

Noelle looked up at him, his eyes glinting under the warm lights bringing out the flecks of amber and gold woven through the ocean blue. A blush started to creep up her neck as she shifted in the seat slightly, her bottom lip finding a home between her teeth. 

He was gorgeous and kind and every ounce of him oozed what she guessed home would feel like. It didn't help that the spiciness of his cologne was now going to be a permanent memory. 

Realizing that she'd been staring way too long, she cleared her throat, glancing down at the uneven lines on the page, "What--uh, what do you find inspiration in this time of year?" She smiled, "What keeps Steve happy in the winter?"

Steve laughed softly, hand coming up to guide Noelle’s into a gentle arch, then crossing over into a new line. “Oh, the usual, friends and family, the shared love everyone seems to have, and of course, when a beautiful woman comes into the store looking to start her journey into art.”

Noelle flushed a deep red, heart beating faster as her hand shook beneath his, lines wavering on the page. 

“That happen often?” she asked, unable to help to show a slight insecurity.

Steve clicked his teeth, shaking his head as he fixed her with a teasing look. 

"Sadly, no, " Steve said. "Usually the cutest thing in here is Bucky so you are a huge improvement."

Noelle laughed loudly, an eye crinkling laugh that earned her a blinding smile from Steve. He kept watching her as she took a deep breath, composing her face. Her face started to burn as she realized he was still staring at her with a softness that she can't remember getting from anyone before. 

"What?" Noelle asked with a smaller giggle, looking back down at the dark smudges on the paper from her hand. 

"Nothin'. You have a nice laugh," Steve replied bashfully, a hint of Brooklyn accent slipping through as a dusty blush covered his cheeks. Noelle was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to make him blush further. God, he was gorgeous.

“Thank you…I think I…” Noelle paused, thinking about telling him what she felt, that she could get lost in his ocean eyes; how beautiful his smile was. But something held her back. She played with the hem of her sweater and pressed her lips into a thin line as Steve waited for her to continue.

“What?” Steve asked softly, looking up into her eyes and brushing his hand over hers, calming her nerves. 

Why was she nervous all of a sudden? It’s not like she had never spoken to an attractive man before. But the way Steve was touching her, how warm his hand on hers felt, made her melt. 

“It’s- it’s stupid,” she laughed.

“I bet it’s not. Tell me,” his voice was calm and soft, making her all warm inside.

Noelle continued to play with her sweater as she spoke, “It’s just… It’s been a long time since someone has said anything like that to me. I moved here to get away from a toxic relationship and I just haven’t had anyone as nice and attentive as you have been today. I just don’t know why you would act that way toward me.” 

Steve shifted in his seat to look at Noelle. Grabbing her chin gently, he lifted her head till their eyes met. He smiled and she felt herself beginning to melt, her cheeks heating up and her palms clammy. 

"Well, I like to think I can read people pretty well, and you seem kind and sweet, and you put up with my idiot friend." They both laughed and Steve drew in a breath. "And you've been glowing since the second you walked in here." He leaned in close enough that she could feel his warm breath on her face and Noelle bit down on her bottom lip. He chuckled softly. "And you look really pretty when you do that."

"Do what?" She asked.

"Bite your lip." He swallowed. "Makes me think about... never mind."

Her hand drifted upward, fingers wrapping around his wrist. She could feel the hair tie he kept around it. Despite barely knowing this man, she wanted to hear every single thought in his head.

"Finish the sentence."

His eyes searched hers, bright and shining. Her face was so hot that she thought she might faint for a second.

"Can I kiss you, angel?" 

"Yes." 

Steve leaned in, softly pressing his lips against hers. Noelle melted into him and his hand slid up to cup her cheek. She could feel his thumb gliding along her cheekbone and whimpered at the softness of his touch.

Sparks were flying behind her eyelids, the kiss was the best thing that ever happened to her since she moved to New York. There were no words enough to describe the softness of his lips on top of hers, how perfectly their lips fit each other, and how his hand was holding her face so gently.

He pulled back hesitantly from her, lips slowly leaving hers while she resisted the urge to chase after them.

"Uhh... I'm sorry if that was too forward-" 

"No!" She interrupted him, lowering her voice after startling both herself and him, adding softly "No. It was.. it was perfect."

Noelle buried her fingers into the beard on his jaw and smiled up at him, "You know," she licked her lip just trying to hold on to how he tasted, "I came here in to spend the last fifty dollars in my bank account on something that would spark a feeling."

Steve's chest shook as a soft, warm laugh cascaded from him as he wrapped a finger through her belt loop to hold her close to him, "And?"

"Now, I think I got more than I bargained for," she laughed. 

"Look," he spun her in his arms, and the art shop spun with her until her back pressed against his chest so she could see the front window. The sun was gone from the sky but the street lights illuminate the thick, fluffy snowflakes that blanketed Brooklyn, "fresh snow, what do you say we find your muse?" 

"I'd say how fast can you get your coat on?" She laughed, feeling him loosen his hold on her. She closed her eyes and touched her fingers to her lips, holding on to the memory of their kiss. She turned, slowly coming back to earth, and searched the empty store for him but he was gone by the time she store herself from the snowfall.

"Steve?" Her voice fluttered through the aisles as she stood, brows furrowed searching for him and already missing his warmth. 

"One second!" She heard his voice carry through the canvases and shelves. After another few seconds of silence and Bucky huffing behind the counter, Steve came around the corner, his cheeks red and out of breath. 

Noelle laughed, "you run a marathon back there?" 

A smirk cracked over his features and his eyes crinkled as he stepped towards her, "only to get back to you." He murmured, leaning into her before taking her hand and leading her toward the door.

They stepped out into the cold air, making fresh tracks in the freshly fallen snow. Noelle breathed in deeply, inhaling the crisp clean scent before breathing out a cloud of air. Smiling, she turned to Steve, finding him already staring at her with a soft smile on his face. He held his hand out to her silently, almost shyly, and she took it carefully, hand feeling small in his large, warm grip. 

After walking quietly for a few moments, appreciating the beauty before them, Noelle started to shiver. She tried to hide it but Steve pulled them to a stop outside a coffee shop. 

“Wanna pop in here and warm up for a bit?” he asked, and Noelle nodded quickly, nose and cheeks pink with the cold.

The heat of the cozy cafe was worth nearly freezing to death on the short walk down. Steve held Noelle's hand as he ordered them both. She barely heard him ask her what she wanted, spitting out a robotic answer as she gazed up at his impossibly blue eyes with a silly smile on her face. 

"You still with me, sugar?" He leaned down to murmur in her ear while she watched the perky barista whip up their coffees. 

"You couldn't get rid of me now if you tried," she replied with a smirk, gripping his arm tighter as he laughed, throwing his head back.

“Two hot chocolates for Steve,” the barista said in a voice as smooth as honey. Noelle couldn’t tell if she was trying to act seductively or if that was just her personality, but either way, it made Noelle feel self-conscious. 

She looked at the floor, letting Steve’s hand go, and moved to a table by the window. 

“Good job picking a table. We can still watch the snow fall and keep exploring your muse.” Steve said as he sat down, not aware of the invasive thoughts running through Noelle’s mind. 

Noelle muttered a thank you as she took a drink, looking out the window. 

“You okay, Noelle?” Steve’s voice was soft and concerned.

"Yeah." She forced a smile. "I'm good."

He leaned over and tried to catch her eye, smiling at her.

"Are you sure?"

She bit her lip and then instantly remembered what it made him want to do back at the shop. It made her nervous. It had been a long time since she'd had someone take the time to get to know her like this and to be as sweet as Steve was. Maybe she didn't deserve it, maybe she wasn't worthy of it. Her eyes misted with tears and she tried to blink them away. Shit.

Steve reached out his hand and covered hers. His skin was warm and soft. 

"Whatever it is, Noelle, you don't have to carry it by yourself."

She laughed and looked over at him as she flicked away a tear.

"Who taught you to be so sweet?"

"My ma," he replied. "She also told me to never abandon a pretty girl when she looked sad. We don't have to talk about whatever's going on, we can just sit and watch the snow if you want."

Sucking in a deep breath, Noelle shook her head once and pressed her lips into a thin line. "Well, your mom sounds pretty great" She cleared her throat and took a sip of her hot chocolate. 

The conversation was treading into dangerous territory that Noelle didn't want to get into. Not this time. Despite her distaste for the holiday season, she always tried her best for her friends and family to at least try and be cheerful. But Steve was somehow bringing out her real feelings for this time of year. In the short time, she'd known him, there were already things she would tell him in a heartbeat. But her trust in people had gotten her in trouble before, and Noelle knew she had to keep it in check this time. 

"She was" He breathed out a laugh. "She's actually the one that convinced me to pursue art... If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't be where I am today. And I wouldn't be sitting at my favorite coffee shop with one of the prettiest girls who's ever walked into my shop"

Her insecurities were bubbling up inside her, denying every claim he made about her since she walked into his shop. Her own past experience formed a dark cloud over what could be something wonderful.

Her ex-boyfriend always made her feel less than enough, bringing her down over every little thing and pointing out flaws that she didn't even see before, to the point where now all she saw were those flaws.

"Noelle?" Steve's calm voice pulled her from her toxic thoughts into the present, she felt a tear slip down her cheek before she wiped it off quickly, "are you okay? Did I say something to upset you?" He lowered his eyes trying to catch hers as she hid her face in her hands and took a deep breath. 

"No," she murmured as she lifted her eyes to meet his concerned blues, "I'm sorry. I'm - I'm not used to this.." his brows furrowed in confusion, making her take another trembling breath before continuing; "Jake - my ex, he didn't - uhh.. he wasn't the best."

"He clearly didn't look hard enough," Steve smiled, reaching out to brush a rogue tear from her jawline as it threatened to fall to the table. His thumb lingered on her skin, rubbing gently. 

"For what?" Noelle leaned into his touch, confused and growing more nervous with every passing moment. 

"The stars," Steve smiled, "right there, behind the sadness in those beautiful brown eyes, they twinkle. Just begging to be counted."

She sucked in a breath to hide the sob lodged in her throat, involuntarily leaning into his thumb as if trying to steal his warmth. She couldn't do this. Her eyes slid close almost regretting going into the shop today. 

"Noelle," he whispered, bringing her eyes back to his as they opened, his brows softened from the concerned look and the corners of his mouth upturned, "you deserve to have someone make you feel the way you've made me feel today and if you'd let me... I'd love to see you again tomorrow." 

She stared back at him for a moment, the butterflies, the warmth, the anxiety pit in her stomach all crashing in on her at once. Noelle shook her head, pulling back from his touch as she stood, "I--I'm really sorry," She stuttered, her voice barely over a whisper, "I can't do this." 

Before she could watch the light in his eyes fade and his face fall, she turned fisting her hands into balls at her side to hold her steady as she rushed out onto the street, hearing him call her name after her.

Noelle ignored him, running back down the street, past the shop until she was at her car, tears flooding her eyes as she threw herself in it. She bent her head over the steering wheel and cried, overwhelmed by everything and just needing to let it out, the good and the bad. 

When she finally wiped her eyes clear, Noelle drove home, only then remembering she’d left her bag of art supplies on the table next to Steve. 

She spent the night going back and forth between wanting to see Steve again and never wanting to speak to another man ever. When she woke up the next day, she had made up her mind to at least go back and get what she’d paid for.

The entire trip back to the art shop Noelle felt like she couldn't take a deep breath, anxiety coursing through her the more she thought about what she was actually doing. The sidewalk was much clearer as she approached, piles of snow pushed up against the sides of the building and the curb of the street. Her breath poured out in thick fog from the cold and she hesitated to pull the door handle open. 

What if Steve was angry with her?

 What if he told her to get out?

 Would he do something like that? 

She didn't think he was the kind of guy to treat a girl that way, but she thought Jake was a much better man when she first met him, and look how that turned out. 

"You know those only work if you pull, right?" 

Bucky's raspy voice from behind her made Noelle nearly shoot into space, her heart hammering as she spun around to face him. His cheeks were red from the cold and he was gripping a snow shovel, bits of ice and slush hanging from the bottom. 

"I was...I just-" she stammered, gesturing towards the inside of the shop. 

"I know what you're here for and it sure as hell isn't art supplies," Bucky laughed, before growing serious again. "He's in the back, has been all day." 

Noelle nodded and sighed deeply before turning back to the door. As she stepped into the warmth inside, Bucky called her name softly. When she looked back, his hands were in his pockets and he looked down at his shoes, pushing pieces of ice around with the tip of his boot. 

"Steve is a really good guy and I don't just say that because he pays me way more than I deserve," he huffed out. "But he is also my best friend and I'll tell you in my experience, I haven't seen him look at anyone the way he looked at you. And I've never seen him look as fucking sad as he did last night." 

Tears welled up in Noelle's eyes as she swallowed down the lump in her throat. 

"He really, really likes you, Noelle," Bucky continued. "I just wanted you to know that." 

With a curt nod, Noelle turned back and stepped into the store, leaving Bucky to continue clearing the sidewalk for other customers and pedestrians. She walked tentatively through the familiar shelves before stopping by a doorway at the far corner. A dark blue curtain hung over the opening and she could hear soft music filtering out, music that Noelle had only ever heard at her grandparents. It made her smile and gave her the confidence to open the door, chasing that comforting feeling she knew could only come from one man.

Noelle stepped into the backroom to find one wall lined with boxes of new orders, a kitchenette with a teapot sitting on the stovetop, and a console record player that was sending Bing Crosby's White Christmas into the space. Noelle's eyes shifted to the small table tucked in the back corner. There sat Steve with his back to the doorway, dressed in a green cable knit sweater, bent over a sketchbook scribbling away. 

Noelle shifted her weight causing the floorboards to creak, and Steve turned to see what caused the noise. His movement gave her a glance at his project. A portrait of a young woman with long, brown hair with snowflakes starting to stick it. 

"Hi," she breathed.

"Hey." His eyes were rimmed red and he had soft pink splotches beneath them that made them a little bluer. His chest looked hollowed out, shoulders slumped, like someone had carved out his heart. She did that. "You came back."

Her heart leaped into her throat and she felt it twist in her chest as guilt consumed her like a wave. She shouldn't have run out last night. She barely slept thinking about how hurt he looked. 

"Yeah," she whispered. "I, uh..."

"Noelle, I'm really sorry if I made you uncomfortable last night. I wasn't--"

"No," she replied, holding out her hand. "I was-- I've just... got a lot of, uh..." She laughed as Steve watched her with caution, as though he was terrified to hear the next words that came out of her mouth. 

His body leaned away and he held up the sketchbook like a shield, trying to make it look like he was pulling it toward his body. The small gesture made her want to cry and she could feel her chin trembling before the sting of more tears came. 

She sighed.

"Steve, I'm just really sorry. You didn't do anything wrong. I've got all of this baggage and I didn't give you a fair chance. You're a great guy, and you're funny and sweet, and... I just came to apologize. You don't have to accept it or even like me, but--"

He stood up and walked toward her with heavy steps. She resisted the urge to back away as she looked up at him. Steve held out the sketchbook and let her really see the drawing, the beautiful details, the softness of her features. She sniffled, the tears making her vision blurry.

"What's this?"

"I just want you to see what I see when I look at you," he whispered.

The breath caught in Noelle's throat as her eyes traced the features of the drawing. It was more beautiful than any other drawing she'd seen in the shop. His attention to detail, and the way he captured a certain sparkle in her eye that she hadn't seen before. It looked just like her, but she'd never seen herself look like that before. Steve had captured a side of her that Noelle was sure she'd hidden away forever. 

"It's beautiful, Steve..." She whispered, and sniffed, a wave of his cologne washing over her scenes and bringing back that sense of comfort she had felt the night before. 

"You're beautiful, Noelle" Steve stated, dropping the sketchbook and bringing up his free hand to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear before tucking two fingers under her chin and bringing her gaze up to meet his. "You don't have to apologize to me for leaving last night, it's okay. I would never want you to feel like I was forcing you into something" 

A small smile broke onto her lips, as her eyes traced over Steve's. "You're not forcing anything... I came here because I needed to see you again and explain and... Ask if we could maybe try again" She asked, placing her hand softly onto his chest, curling her fingers into the knit fabric. 

"Miss Noelle, are you asking me out on a date?" Steve smirked.

Shyly, Noelle bit her lip as she felt heat creep up her cheeks from the way he looked at her, his eyes clear as the summer sky as they ran over her face in a way that she almost felt like a caress. His low voice woke the butterflies in her belly and she forgot how to breathe for a moment.

She nodded hesitantly, "Yes... If you're willing to give me a chance." 

He held her gaze as he leaned down, his face slowly coming closer until his eyes were all that Noelle could see. His warmth enveloped her, and her hand tightened on his soft sweater.

"It would be my greatest pleasure, Noelle," his soft response was almost spoken like a secret, quietly between their lips that were a few inches apart. "I'm glad you're giving me a chance." He finished.

"I should be the one saying that," she whispered, "I was so scared to come back here, but I knew I had to." 

Steve's warm smile spread across perfect lips as his forehead rested against her own, "I'm really happy that you did," he replied, his hands gently cupping her face as his thumb ran along her cheekbone before tracing over her bottom lip. 

Her heart thundered in her chest, beating against her ribcage as he studied her their lips barely touching and the heat from his breath sending a wave of goosebumps down her spine. 

"Steve," she whispered again as his tongue darted out, wetting his lips and briefly tapping hers. 

The corner of his mouth upturned as she became putty in his hands and he finally leaned in, the anticipation almost too much as he kissed her. Slowly at first and so sweet, her teeth ached. 

Her fingers tangled into the fabric of his sweater to pull him closer to herself. Even if their date failed, she never wanted to forget the way he tasted. But something deep inside of her made her feel like that wasn't going to be the case and she'd get to revel in the way he tasted like coffee and almonds with a hint of chocolate. 

A whimper escaped from between the two of them, both getting carried away and sucked into each other. Steve finally pulled back, his lips bitten pink and puffy, hers undoubtedly looking the same and suddenly missing the feel of his beard against her skin. 

"Can I take you out tonight?" he asked through breaths, "we'll eat overpriced Italian, all the garlic bread and wine we want." A gorgeous smile spread over his features making her laugh. 

"That sounds...amazing." Noelle breathed as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her the way no one has held her in a long time. Tears threatened the corners of her eyes once more, but she fought them back. 

A grunt sounded from behind the curtain followed by a crash as both their heads followed the sound. 

"I'm really sorry to interrupt whatever is happening back there," Bucky's voice boomed through the shop, "But I could really use some help out here lover boy!" 

Noelle erupted into giggles feeling Steve take a deep breath and close his eyes, "I love my friend, I love my friend, I love my friend." He chanted before glancing down at her, "I'm sorry sweetness, rain check on this?" 

"Pick me up at 7 and we'll call it even." She grinned, making him laugh. The sound flowed around her and it was then that she realized she wanted to hear that sound for all of the days to come.

#steve rogers #steve rogers au #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers drabble #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers smut #smut #fluff #marvel one shot #marvel oneshot #marvel imagine #marvel au #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #winter oneshot #marvelous

[heartshapedbubble]

Hcs for Being childhood friends with D.M? (Desire melodis? From truth and inference lore? Yk the one that killed Lady bella?) :)

my god i first intended to make hcs but it turned into a full on angsty fic??? sorry anon if you dislike it i can redo your ask anytime 😭 anyways thank you for this ask it made me brainrot really hard

"childhood friends", a d.m. fanfic🐍

not proofread, reader's gender is not specified, i have no idea how many words this has i brainrotted this in the notes app in a couple of hours while eating gummies, CW for verbal/physical ab/se (both are only mentioned once), reader and d.m. are both 11 before the 10 year time skip, note to all people unexperienced w T&I that none of this is accurate to the T&I lore and i made it up, fuck it we ball

--------------------------------------

You had a happy childhood.

Not the best, but for a working-class neighborhood, it was great.

You spent most of your time outside with your friends from nearby houses, having the time of your lives - you always came home with scraped, dirty knees and sticky hands drenched with fruit nectar, your mom scolding you for getting your new shoes dirty as she gently washed your face and handed you clean clothes. The half-destroyed tree house built on a old oak tree was your sanctuary, and the transparent rainbow that appeared after every summer rainfall was the most gorgeous thing to grace your perfect little world. Days went on without a single worry appearing.

Although, there was one thing that troubled you.

In the neighborhood, full of old, box-shaped plain buildings, a gorgeous villa was built, actually just beside your house. The tiny little towers graced different parts of the roofs, and it was sticking out like a sore thumb in the sea of houses that were forgotten and left behind as a symbol of past residents. The villa, known as the "Mélodis Manor" was owned by a rich, privileged family, all of the members being powerful politicians and money donors. What puzzled you the most, though, was the boy living in it. You only saw him sometimes, and behind him was almost always a tall figure looming over him, gripping his shoulder tightly. The boy seemed unhappy, and you felt like you needed to do something about him. Help him out.

Of course, you had no idea how. You were a young, powerless child, just like the lonely boy in the villa.

You sighed as you gripped the black, gothic-style fence that was used as a border between your house and the villa, the fence wrapping around it like a coiled snake. The dents and sharp corners stabbed your soft palms. You sat back into the grass and glanced at the freshly washed black windows of the villa, hoping that you'd catch a glimpse of the boy.

To your surprise, he came out of the front door; no one was behind him, either. Even with his nicely tailored dress shirt and overalls, he seemed disheveled - the shirt being buttoned up messily and his circle-shaped glasses sitting on his nose in a weird way. You could see a silver streak peaking out of his black fluffy hair.

The boy sat himself down on the porch and took out a book. You carefully watched him as he read - his leg was constantly bouncing, his lips were puckered and it seemed like he just couldn't focus on it. You tried to muster up the courage to call him.

"Hey, you!"

The boy turned around with a confused expression on his face. His eyes were a beautiful, vibrant blue with cat-like pupils.

"Who? Me?"

"Who else? Come over here!"

He stared at you from the porch. Then, carefully, he picked up the book and sat in front of you. The only thing between you two was the fence.

"I see you often here! It's kind of weird that we never talk since we're neighbors! I just wanted to say hi and introduce myself - my name is ___ ! What's your name?" You extended your hand, waiting for him to shake it.

There was a confused expression on his face yet again, as if he didn't comprehend what you just said.

"My name, it's... Desire. I'm Desire, nice to meet you.... ___" He timidly extended his hand and shook yours with uncertainty.

"Soo, Desire, why don't you play with us?"

"Huh?"

"Come on! Every kid in the street plays together. You must be the only one that doesn't. In fact, I barely even see you going outside! Why?"

"My dad doesn't let me."

You stopped and bit your lip.

"Your dad?"

"Yes. My dad is quite strict, especially with my education and the time I have on my hands every day. He keeps saying that I must honor my family and my bloodline and that playing is just a waste of time. He told me that I have to make my ancestors proud."

"Oh. I... never thought of that. Sorry. And what about your mom?"

"I don't have a mom."

You gulped. The conversation was becoming uncomfortable, and your worry for Desire grew with each sentence of his. You never saw an adult have such a depressing life, god forbid a child.

"Did she die?"

"I don't know. My dad only ever mentions her when talking about my future. He says that she'll only consider me worthy once I prove myself as an independent, strong man."

Silence ensued. You two avoided looking at each other for some time.

"Do you have any friends?"

"Not really. At least not my age. Yet another thing that my dad deems unnecessary."

"Would you like to have one?"

"I'm not sure. Is it pleasant to have one? What do friends even do?"

"Fun stuff! You know, like watching the stars together, playing in the tree house and stealing fruit from the old lady down the street! She doesn't pick it anyway, so it would be a waste not to eat some, it's so sweet and delicious..."

"Fun stuff..."

He readjusted his glasses.

"What do you think?"

"Well... you should know by now what my dad thinks of what you just described. But it sounds so... fascinating. I would really like to do that one day."

"Then let's be friends!"

You shoved your hand into the pocket of your overalls and pulled out some candy. It was hot and already melting through the wrapper, but it was the only thing you had at the moment.

You grabbed his wrist and put the warm, sticky candy onto his cold palm.

"Consider this a friendship gift!"

He inspected the candy for a bit then looked up at you again.

"Thank you... I don't remember the last time I had candy. Or when I talked to someone my age."

He got up and started going towards the door.

"Oh, and ___?" He turned around.

"Hm?"

"Will you really take me to those places, like you know, that lady with fruit and the tree house one day?

"Of course!"

He grinned. He was missing a couple milk teeth, but his smile was bright.

"Thank you."

a week or two later

"Just grab the poles of the fence and jump over!"

It was a warm summer evening and you were standing at the fence again, trying to help Desire get over it and reach your front yard. The fence was spiky and he wasn't the most agile child out there either.

"I'm trying! But what if I get stabbed?"

"I have band-aids, don't worry!"

He gripped the poles weirdly and jumped over - he got over safe, but the spikes tore a hole in his knee high socks. His face turned white.

"Do you per chance have a sewing kit? I think my dad might suspect something if he sees a tear. After all, I'm sneaking out."

"Yeah, I took it from my mom's drawer, now follow me!"

You grabbed his hand as you two ran to the old lady's house. A gentle wind was blowing and taming your hair as you two ran against it, giggling and making dust rise from the dirty streets. You turned your head to look at Desire - he was smiling and laughing with you and his cheeks were red. The spark in his eye was shining even brighter than usual. Seeing him so happy made your heart jump out of joy.

You two picked some ripe, big peaches from the tree branch that hanged over the wall that sheltered the old lady's garden. As you yanked his hand, you ran towards the tree house.

A comfortable silence surrounded you as you watched Desire fix the tear on his sock. His movements were precise, his hands stable as if he was a brain surgeon. He didn't even flinch when he accidentally stabbed his thumb with the needle.

"Who knew you could sew?"

"Heh, one of the skills I was taught while being homeschooled. It seems stupid but it's a very useful skill."

He grabbed something out of his pocket.

"I have something for you. Consider this... a friendship gift. Like the candy you gave me."

It was a gorgeous little pendant in the shape of a snake, curled around a gilded human heart. It was so masterfully crafted it looked alive! You quickly grabbed the pendant and clipped it onto your existing necklace, where many other colorful childish charms surrounded it. It looked so out of place, so adult-like and serious. Even morbid.

"It looks so beautiful and cool! Thank you! Did you buy it?"

"It's actually a gift I received after completing primary school education. I find it pretty, but I think it fits you more. I already noticed you like collecting charms when we first met." He fixed his glasses again.

"Pfft. Smartass." You poked fun at him as both of you laughed.

The night was warm and there was no trace of clouds in the sky. You two laid down, eating the peaches you picked and talking about various subjects. Desire was actually incredibly witty and smart - it just took him some time to open up. You genuinely enjoyed talking to him and loved whatever fun fact he said in reply to your questions. You loved when he'd look at you with his vibrant eyes, and the spark in his eyes lit up even more when you two would talk about something he likes. You realized that talking with him was better than talking with any of your other friends. He was just... way more wittier, way more knowledgeable, way more accepting and open-minded. Desire was your best friend.

And you were his best friend, too.

a week later

It was raining outside as your region wasn't spared of summer rainfall. You were quickly running home, not to shield yourself from the rain, but to meet with Desire by the fence.

You saw him and greeted him. His back was turned towards the fence, but he didn't even glance at you. You sat down by him and sighed.

"Desire... is everything okay?"

"My dad found out."

You froze. "Oh no. That's horrible. Are you okay? Did he do anything bad?"

He slowly turned around. It wasn't easily visible through the rain, but he was crying.

His voice was broken and quiet as he spoke.

"He called me a disgrace, and that I'm a selfish brat. He got so mad that he yelled at me, and-" he showed you his palm. It was red and the usually soft surface of it was rough. "He hit my palm with his cane. I never saw him that angry. I was so scared and-" His eyes twitched and his voice got shaky as he fought back tears. "He told me that he'll make sure I... never see you again..."

That was enough. You climbed over the fence, the spikes stabbing your palms, and hugged him as hard as you could. He finally broke down in tears and laid his head on your shoulder. "I'm so sorry ___, I should have been more careful, it's all my fault," he was sobbing and the words he spoke became incomprehensible. You slowly patted his back as your tears started soaking the dry part of his dress shirt.

"I won't let him tear us apart"

"I'm so sorry."

You quickly climbed over the fence to your front yard and went inside your house. As you were walking towards the door you watched him stand in the rain, his lips trembling and his glasses getting fogged by the raindrops. The sight broke your heart. You clenched the pendant he gave you and went inside.

You didn't see him again after that. The only times you caught a glimpse of him was when he was going out with his father; the tall, long haired figure clenching his wrist tightly, and during the later years, when he was already a young man. You never saw his face - only his black locks falling over his shoulders like curtains.

10 year time skip

The autumn wind messed with your hair as you power walked your way through the central square, gazing at the various renaissance sculptures positioned in front of the art ministry building. The lone gilded snake pendant was bobbing on your chest as you walked. It was a gift of a long gone childhood friend. You hated yourself for this, but you never got over him. His cheeky grin was in your head on replay, always thinking how he ended up after all that happened.

As you stopped to admire the sculptures, a crowd burst out of the art ministry's door. Men and women, armed with notes, microphones and cameras were basically glued to someone walking out of the building. You were pushed to the side by the loud crowd, and you stood on your toes trying to get a look at the oh-so-important figure the media tried to harass this time.

"One by one I beg you! I have enough time for every single one of you!" The figure groaned and finally strutted away from the porch as you gasped.

It couldn't be him. There was no way. But it was.

The scrawny, insecure boy you once knew was now a gorgeous, charming, confident young man. His posture was perfect, and the various shiny jewelry on his veiny hands just enhanced his already preppy, nobleman - like appearance. You gazed at the cane that he was leaning on and gulped remembering his scarred hand. There was no friendliness that you remembered radiated from him, nor did you feel warmth from the sassy glances he gave the hungry bunch of journalists.

You were stumbling over the pre-planned sentences in your head, thinking what and how to say it.

"Excuse me, sir! Desire?"

The confident smirk on his face was replaced with a confused expression. He spared a glance at you. "D.M. for you, young colleague!" He looked at you from heel to toe. "You're one of the journalists, amiright? Ah, don't worry, as I said, I have plenty of t-"

"No, sir Des- I mean D.M., I was just curious if you... remember me?"

"What?"

The journalists all excitedly turned their heads at you. This was getting awkward.

"Do you remember me? ___? We were neighbors and friends when I was a child, and we played together and-"

"Childhood friends, you say?"

He rubbed his chin while looking at you with his blue eyes. The spark that you once remembered was now incredibly diluted, and you felt like his cat-like pupils were blades slicing you in half. He glanced at your pendant, his pupils dilating for a second, and licked his lips.

You were dying of excitement, waiting for his response.

"Not that I remember."

Your hope shattered in pieces as you saw him waste his attention on the noisy bunch again, not even willing to look at you. Once a witty child now became a blurred image of his father.

You realized you just became another obstacle he'll step on eventually.

You decided to watch him walk away from you, as the last glance he decided to spare you sliced you in half yet again.

i swear i'm not favorizing anon my brain just decided to work when i saw their ask okay💔💔💔 anyways i hope you guys like this i don't remember the last time i wrote a full on one shot fic if we ignore schoolwork

#idv #identity v #idv fanfic #idv imagines #idv scenarios #idv joseph #identity v joseph #idv photographer #identity v photographer #joseph desaulnier #idv dm #truth and inference #desire melodis

[mushroom-economy]

Drunk

Word count: 2.0k

Summary: At a get together with your old class, Izuku ends up getting drunk. Things spiral from there.

Warnings: drinking alcohol (duh😒), crybaby izu, Izuku’s the only one that gets drunk, he calls reader “pretty” and “gorgeous” a lot lmao, gender neutral reader, fighting—not angst tho, (it isn’t mentioned but reader replaces Mineta), sfw, unless you count Izuku being sickeningly in love with reader, not beta read, I have no experience with drunk people🧍

Despite being clear on the way to being the symbol of peace, Izuku had many weaknesses.

All Might merchandise, you, soft blankets, spicy foods, tickling, bugs … just to name a few. You couldn’t count the amount of times you’ve come home to the sheepish hero Deku sitting on your bed holding some new form of an All Might product. Or the amount of times you’ve had to roll him out of your blankets just to get him to go to work. You even ended up having to ban soft blankets from your bed entirely, so he wouldn’t stay home every day.

Not to mention his whole alcohol thing, which was just pitiful at this point. The mere scent of an alcoholic beverage sent him into an anxious rant about why he can’t have any, one you usually had to stop with a kiss—or a smack to the forehead. He didn’t even drink the little flutes of champagne given to him at fancy events.

You have many memories of him, Katsuki, Shouto, and Momo all hidden away during the larger parties your class would secretly hold in your second and third years, to avoid being offered alcohol. You’re sure your classmates had plenty of videos of their reactions when cornered, even you had one of the time Katsuki and Izuku worked together to launch themselves out of a window.

The build up of never being able to drink stopped them from being able to form a tolerance of any kind as teens. You understood why, though. With a powerful quirk, especially with one like One For All, consuming alcohol posed too many dangerous possibilities. Still, it didn’t make it all any less funny.

However, tonight was different.

Class A had decided to have a fun get together on one of the rare occasions all twenty of you were available. It all started with Mina complaining in the group chat, whining about how it had been forever since you’ve all been together. Then, next thing you knew you’d all settled on a date where everyone was free. Such was the life of a pro hero.

Once the date and time was decided, you all (read: Shouto) pooled together enough money to rent out a section of a special pro hero bar. It resided in Hosu, a simple single story built in a more secluded part of town. Appearing as a normal, boring whire office building, it hid its true purpose from the public—and more importantly: villains.

The perfect place for heroes to relax and let loose. Not only was it private, but it also had quirk suppressing technology lining its walls, as well as bouncers trained by the hero commission. In case things ever got out of hand.

Which brought you to your current predicament: your husband, face flushed from drinking, pressed up against you. Trying to flirt with you.

Izuku looked absolutely adorable, already drunk off his ass from a few cocktails. Babbling anything that came to his mind, which mainly consisted of compliments.

“Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?” Izuku asked, holding your hands in his own. He moved his face closer to yours. “Cause you’re really, really, really … really pretty.”

You giggled as he spoke, pressing a kiss to his fingers. His expression was schooled to one of the utmost seriousness, as if the knowledge that you are attractive is extremely important information for you to know. You couldn’t help but grin fondly at him as he blinked lazily, his words coming out slurred.

You decided to tease him.

“You know, my husband actually loves telling me how much he likes my appearance. He does it pretty much daily, it’s really cute. And really hot, to be honest. I like men confident enough in their masculinity to compliment others without feeling it makes them less of a man.” You sent him a wink that didn’t match your tender smile. It was one of your favorite traits of Izuku, and even though it should be the bare minimum for men, you couldn’t help but praise him for it every chance you got.

Instead of flustering like you expected, his eyes widened and he tried to yank himself away from you. But he had poor coordination with his body, and ended up stumbling further into you. You jumped up as he nearly crashed onto the floor, steadying him on his feet and forcing him to sit back down. You didn’t fail to notice his trembling.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” You frowned in concern, reaching up to brush his bangs from his sweaty forehead. You felt a pang of hurt when he swatted your hand away.

“You’re married!” he cried in despair, finally looking up at you with tear filled eyes. “I shouldn’t like you so much! I can’t like you! You’re so so pretty, and I like you so, so, so much, but…” he trailed off, eyes nearly bugging out of his head when he noticed the band on his left hand. He brought it up to his face, eyes wide in horror. “And I’m married too!” He looked absolutely distraught, it was surprising he hadn’t started crying yet.

You blinked.

And blinked again.

Then laughed, grabbing his face and rubbing his cheeks adoringly. “Yeah, to me.”

He stared at you, and you could almost see his mind exploding. The thought made you snicker.

You showed him your own ring. Twisting it around, the underneath became visible where his initials had been engraved. You flipped his own palm over and showed him where yours were written as well.

“See, this has your name, and yours has mine.”

He inspected the rings for a couple minutes, before leaning back to look at you. This time his face was full of disbelief.

“No way… are you serious?”

You smiled, and nodded. “Yes, baby.”

The confirmation made him beam, completely overjoyed. He was smiling so hard his giant eyes were nearly gone behind his freckled cheeks. “Really?”

You nodded again, laughing. “Really.”

“You’re lying.”

You shook your head. “I’m not lying, Izu.”

Then he started crying. You jolted, immediately gripping his face in concern.

“Izuku? What’s wrong?”

But after being with him for so long, you should’ve known better.

“‘M just so happy,” he sobbed, dopey grin still on his face. “You’re just so … wow. And you’re mine?” More tears.

You sighed in a mix of relief and exasperation, petting his head as he buried it into your chest. His body shook as he continued to cry from happiness.

“It’s alright, baby.”

“Love you s’much.”

“Love you too.”

“The fuck’s wrong with Izuku?” A gruff voice asked, and you looked up to see Katsuki, angry as usual.

Despite the scowl on his face, you could see worry in his red eyes. He may have grown since his UA days, dropping the mean nickname and considered him and Izuku friends, but he still refused to show his emotions properly.

It was his Bakugou Katsuki charm, as Denki had dubbed it.

You agreed, it was endearing in a way. But it was still in a Katsuki way, and because you desired to live past retirement, you never told him so.

Apparently Denki didn’t wish the same for himself, seeing as he made the comment right to Katsuki, and ended up getting an explosion to the face.

You never felt sympathy for him during those situations, knowing brought it upon himself.

“Kachan!” Izuku gasped excitedly at the sound of the blond’s voice, pulling away to grin at his best friend. “Look Kachan! This is my spouse! Can you believe it? Aren’t they so pretty?”

Katsuki stared at him. “Uh… yeah, nerd. I was in your wedding. And they’re okay looking, I guess.” You raised your eyebrows at the almost compliment. Possibly tipsy, then.

Izuku gasped as if Katsuki had personally offended him. “What do you mean “okay”?! They’re gorgeous!” He squished your face, bringing it closer to Katsuki’s to show him.

Katsuki gave you an amused look. “How much did he drink?”

You snickered. “One too many cocktails. Dunno why he thought he could handle them.” It came out muffled from Izuku’s grip.

Izuku cut in before Katsuki could respond. “Kachan! Agree with me!”

Katsuki sighed, rolling his eyes. “Sure, Izuku.”

“Aren’t they gorgeous?!”

“Yes, Izuku. They’re … gorgeous.” You snickered at Katsuki’s blush, the explosive hero sending you a glare in return.

Suddenly you were jerked back into Izuku’s hold. He tucked you into his side, arms protectively circling around your body. Letting out a noise akin to a growl, he glared at Katsuki with a ferocity you didn’t even know he could direct towards him. With your head pressed against his chest you could feel his heart beating rapidly with adrenaline, as if he were in mortal danger.

“They’re mine.” Your hair began to stand on end, and you flinched when you saw green lightning rolling off of Izuku’s arms. Oh fuck, he was mad.

Hopefully the quirk suppressors worked as well as everyone said.

“Woah man, what’s going on?” Eijirou stepped in, having been walking by to get more drinks. They were forgotten though as he put himself between you, Izuku, and Katsuki.

A common occurrence during your UA days, only you were used to watching from afar. You were too on edge to reminisce, though.

“Kachan’s trying to steal my spouse away from me!”

“You made me compliment them! I don’t like them like that!”

“Lies! How can you not like them?!”

“Because I fucking don’t! You don’t control the way I feel!”

“What do you mean you just don’t?!”

Eijirou met your tired gaze, face contorted in confusion.

“What are they doing?” He asked, just loudly enough to be heard over the pair’s shouting match.

“Fighting.”

He gave you an unamused look, and turned to Katsuki.

“Katsuki, you’re making it worse,” Eijirou murmured to the blond, placing a hand on his shoulder. He huffed in irritation, but turned away.

Izuku’s grip on you tightened. You looked back at his face, and almost snorted. He looked like an angry puppy, face red from alcohol.

An angry puppy that could make the entire building collapse, even with his quirk suppressed, you reminded yourself.

Definitely need to do something about that.

You snuggled into him, feeling him relax slightly at your contact. You could use that to your advantage. Somehow, you managed to turn yourself around enough to reach a hand up and cup Izuku’s face lovingly. “Darling, you don’t have to worry about Katsuki. I only have eyes for you, Izuku.”

His threatening aura dissipated in a flash; as if a light switch had been flicked off. Picking you up, he maneuvered you to sit in his lap properly, and buried his face in your neck once you were comfortable. You snickered when you felt how hot his face was burning on your skin, reaching up to comb your fingers through his soft hair.

Eijirou dragged Katsuki away when he started making gagging noises at the show of affection. You watched as they joined your ex-peers, laughing as Katsuki was eventually coaxed onto the dance floor with the others.

Izuku stayed practically glued to you for a while after, pressing kisses to your shoulder every now and then. Contented to just bask in each other’s company, you ordered another drink from the bartender. They were obviously annoyed at Izuku, shooting angry glances at him every few seconds, but complied. Probably trying to get you to leave as soon as possible.

“Why don’t you go back to complimenting me,” you joked once the silence became too boring for you.

Izuku seemed to like the idea, seeing as he literally brightened at your words. He nuzzled his face into your neck as he began rattling off praise again.

“Yeah! You’re sooooooo pretty! And smart! And talented! And gorgeous! And pretty!”

“Sweetie, you already said pretty.”

“You are very, very attractive.”

You snorted. “Alright, Izu.”

“And I love you very, very much.”

“I love you very, very much too, Izuku.”

“Not as much as I love you, though.”

“Um, excuse me. I love you more than you love me.”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Mhmm!”

The bartender groaned under their breath as you fought over who loved the other more. This was going to be a very long night.

#green love <3 #sfw #safe for work #izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #deku x reader #deku fluff #mha x reader #mha x gender neutral reader #bnha x reader #bnha x gender neutral reader #izuku x gn!reader #midoriya x gn!reader #mha imagines #bnha imagines #re-posted from my old acc

[ouateverlark]

The Point of No Return

Author: JLaLa (@jlalafics)/Image by @daydreamsandcaffeine

Prompt Number: 12

Prompt: How about a story based on the Fast and the Furious series? It can be any of the characters and can be in any place in the world. Peeta and Katniss both love fast cars. Family is the most important thing in life

Rating: M

Peeta hated days like these.

Hot and dry, perfect to start out the usual September brush fire in the Bay Area. Autumn usually began with a three-day stint of hot days before welcoming back Karl the Fog. Residents of the city welcome the overcast like an old friend, Peeta included.

He stretched behind the gas station counter, whistling along to the tune from the latest TikTok musician that played from his laptop speakers.

Outside, cars came and went, owners pumping gas or coming into the small store that he manned to buy snacks or drinks.

It wasn’t the greatest job, but the schedule was flexible and let him study during his downtime.

As his gaze went to his laptop screen, the bass-like rumble of a Spoon exhaust system caught his ear. Peeta’s eyes shot up just as a deep-orange Acura Integra pulled up to the gas pump in front of the market. He was immediately impressed by the bodywork; the anodized aluminum black rims, the aggressive lip kit, the carbon fiber wing—

Not to mention, the woman stepping out the car.

The same song playing on his speakers blared from inside her ride, filling the air. He watched captivated as she walked over to the pump, her movements perfectly in sync with tune.

“This ain't build a bitch…I'm filled with flaws and attitude…so if you need perfect, I'm not built for you…”

The song fit her perfectly. Peeta watched as the dark-haired woman Facetimed, her hand gesticulating angrily. She was definitely pissed about something. He snorted as the call ended with her giving the caller the finger before tossing her phone through the open driver window.

Running a frustrated hand through her hair, she finished pumping and returned the gas nozzle.

Her gaze went to the market and Peeta straightened seeing that she was heading in. His eyes shot back to his laptop, pretending to not acknowledge her entrance as the woman went straight to the fridges in the back.

However, Peeta could feel her. His hair stood on end with each step that brought her closer to the counter…to him.

No woman had ever had such an effect on him.

Two cans of Arizona iced teas (lemon and raspberry), a bag of Cheetos hot fries, and a Vero Mango Chili Lollipop were placed on his counter, and he immediately reached to ring them up.

“$8.23,” Peeta said as he started to bag her purchases.

The woman snorted. “Damn, that’s expensive.”

Smoky eyes greeted his blues and his breath stuck in his throat. He coughed nervously before giving her a smile.

“You’re not from the Bay, are you?”

“No, just moved here.”

She was even more beautiful up close; her dark waves framed a heart-shaped face with almond eyes, a pert nose, and naturally plump lips. His eyes roved over to the dark wash jeans, the fitted black tank tucked into its waist, and the olive-green moto leather jacket.

“Welcome to San Francisco where the gas prices are high and you pay up to 3K to live in a possibly illegal in-law,” he joked.

She examined him before replying, “But you love living here.”

Peeta grinned. “Wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. This is home.”

“That’s nice,” the woman replied quietly. “I’d like that one day.”

“Maybe you’ll find your place here.” Peeta held out his hand. “Peeta Mellark.”

“Katniss Everdeen.” She shook it, and a tingle shot through his spine. Her gaze suddenly went to her car. “I should get these to my sister. Hopefully, she’s still napping.”

He looked at the Integra’s tinted windows.

“Would be pretty hard to notice any sunlight through those. It’s a ‘97, right?”

“A ’95 Type-R, actually.”

“Tight work,” he remarked. “I like the Spoon rims.”

“Thanks. My Dad and I put them in before—” Katniss stopped, her voice catching. “It was a pet project of ours.” She let out a breath before giving him a smile. “I better get going. Have to meet my uncle at his place. It was nice meeting you, Peeta Mellark.”

“Wait—” Peeta rounded the counter and grabbed another Vero Mango lollipop from the canister nearby. He went to her, holding out the candy along with her bagged items. “Your snacks and this extra piece are on me. An official welcome from a true San Franciscan.”

Katniss took the lollipop, unwrapping it and sticking it into her mouth. She sucked, the sound reaching his ears, and Peeta resisted the urge to groan at the sheer sexiness of it.

Goddamn—she was his dream girl.

Katniss smirked, as if she had heard his thoughts.

“I think I’m going to like it here.”

++++++

“I saw that! You hella failed!” Peeta scowled at Finnick Odair, his best friend, who in turned beamed at him. “Just joking, bro, but I could tell you liked her.”

Finnick worked at the auto shop adjacent to the gas station along with Thresh, another one of their crew.

“Doesn’t matter,” Peeta lied. “I have to focus on other things.”

Their attention suddenly went to the white Porsche 911 Turbo that was heading towards them. It turned in sharply to pull up and park and Finnick jogged over to open the door.

“Hey Peeta!” Annie Cresta, Finnick’s girlfriend, greeted brightly as she stepped out of the car. “Y’all ready?”

Finnick kissed her quickly before looking back to him.

“Just about to close. Peeta was telling me about this girl that he just bombed with.”

Annie was a former car show model, not surprising with her flowing dark hair, slim figure, and deep green eyes. It was actually how she met Finnick, whose car—a Shelby GT 500—was on display. The two hit it off when Annie asked to check out his engine—her dad was former race car mechanic—and had been inseparable ever since.

“You met a girl?” Annie reached over and pinched his cheek. “So cute!”

“Nothing will come of it,” Peeta informed her, smiling wryly. “She had a nice ride though.”

“Ride?” Annie looked at him in confusion. “Like her ass?”

“No, like her car,” he told his friend. “A ’95 Integra, gorgeous color. Not to mention, she was gorgeous, too.” Pulling his cellphone from his pocket, Peeta looked at the time. “We should get going. Haymitch and the rest of them should be there now.”

Finnick reached into his shirt pocket and tossed the keys at him. “She’s in the back.”

Peeta nodded before heading into the open garage, past the cars being serviced and toward the silver custom fit car cover. Finnick’s shop was popular and with everything going on, he made sure that she was well-protected.

Going to the front of the cover, Peeta carefully rolled it back, checking for any marks before fully exposing her to the evening air.

“Hello, love,” he greeted.

His GTR gleamed in greeting; the dark green paint job shimmering with flecks of silver and Peeta opened the door to climb inside, taking in the scent of the leather. He adjusted the rearview mirror, making sure that the rosary from his mother wasn’t tangled.

“God, those Volk rims are bangin’,” Finnick said as he started his engine. “How many shifts did it take to get them?”

“Six months’ worth.” Peeta grinned, his hands already on his steering wheel—a Momo that cost him a pretty penny. He ate Maruchan noodles for a year to save up for it. “It’s always worth it, though.”

“You really need to get laid, man.”

Peeta gave him the finger.

“Hey, guys!” Annie skipped towards them, her skirt and long hair flouncing with her. “Last person at the meet-up buys dinner!”

“You’re on, babe,” Finnick replied before heading to his Shelby, newly painted electric blue with a white stripe down its middle.

“I want Golden Boy!” Peeta yelled as Annie rushed to her car. Fastening his seatbelt, he turned the engine over and revved it up before putting it into drive to move gently out of the garage.

He stopped next to Annie’s car, and she drew down her passenger window. “You think you’ll see your girl again?”

Peeta shrugged, his mind going to those sparkling greys. “I can only hope.”

Finnick joined them, a wide smile on his face.

“Come on, you two! Let’s roll out!”

Taking a deep breath, Peeta shifted into gear and in the blink of an eye, the three cars were racing into the evening.

++++++

Peeta lost himself in the drive, forgetting about the wager between himself and his friends.

Instead of heading for the easiest path from the gas station in Bayview—getting on the 101—he decided to cruise the streets and found himself driving through the Dogpatch District.

There was a distinct divide between the neighboring districts due to gentrification. In just a few blocks, it went from shipyards and old factories to state-of-the-art apartment buildings, the Uber HQ, and Chase Stadium.

While Peeta loved discovering new facets of the City, like the new Asian fusion bakery near his apartment, he missed other things like the family run restaurant that was walking distance from the gas station. His father used to take him there on the weekends so they could have man-to-man time while eating hefty servings of char siu and rice from Styrofoam containers.

Just as Peeta crossed the small drawbridge next to Oracle Park, his cellphone rang. Making sure there weren’t any cops around, he answered, putting it on speaker.

“Hey asshole, where the hell are you?”

Peeta rolled his eyes at the greeting. “Almost there, Gale. Just drove by the ballpark. Who’s there?”

“Haymitch, Johanna, Thresh—wait…Annie and Finnick just arrived—” There was a shuffle and some muffled words before Gale got back on the phone. “Little Miss Annie said that you’re getting pizza for Haymitch’s tonight.”

“Guess I am,” he replied. “See you in a few.”

His eyes went directly onto the 3rd Street.

It was surprisingly quiet, which made sense since there wasn’t a game going on.

Peeta shifted gears, put his pedal to the floor and sped through, hearing the squeal of his tires as he gained speed. He grinned at the rumble beneath him, the sounds of his car as familiar as his heartbeat.

Maybe it wasn’t that he lost himself in the ride, it was that found himself in it.

Making a turn into the lot, Peeta quickly found the rest of his crew despite the throngs of other automobiles arranged around their own group.

Everyone knew that Haymitch Abernathy’s crew had the prime spot; dead center in the lot with the perfect backdrop of the Bay Bridge behind them.

Peeta parked in his usual spot, to the right of Haymitch’s 1973 Barracuda, which was a source of envy and desire for many. There wasn’t a single driving crew that didn’t know of the man or his car.

It was pure black with leather bench seats and a 3-Spoke walnut hardwood steering wheel—timeless pieces for a classic. Unlike the rest of their cars, Haymitch’s had no body kit or other flashy additions. He didn’t need them because his racing skill alone was legendary.

Peeta stepped out of his car and immediately Haymitch came over, a wide smile on his weathered face.

“About time you showed up.” He put an arm around Peeta, patting his back. “I hear you’re bringing pizza over to my place. Effie will be happy. She hasn’t done a Costco run this week and will have nothing for any of you to eat.”

“If she ever needs anyone to help her out, I can go with her,” Peeta offered.

“And that’s why you’re my favorite,” the man declared.

Effie, Haymitch’s lady—practically his wife—was a retired officer from the San Francisco Police Department. It was how the two met; each time there was some sort of street race, Effie was immediately sent out to deal with Haymitch, who had taken a special liking to the woman.

It got to the point where he would start running lights on purpose and, even once, making donuts by her precinct just to be pulled in for an interview with her.

About the weirdest way to get someone but now the two were living happily in sin.

“Of course, he’s your favorite!” The woman with the ponytail shave approached, a glint in her dark eyes. She put her hands to Peeta’s cheeks to squish them together. “Peeta is so adorable!” Her words were laced with sarcasm. “He might even turn me straight.”

“Hello, Johanna,” Peeta greeted with a chuckle. He hugged the woman and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Who’s your conquest tonight?”

Johanna looked around and then sighed.

“Slim pickings tonight. Might just have to eat out Cato’s girl like last time.”

“God, I’d love to be a fly on the wall when he finds out about that.” Peeta’s stare went to the group adjacent to them. A tall blond with an unusually long neck met his eyes and sneered before taking a sip from the Corona in his hand. Beside him, the petite girl with long, sleek hair and round eyes looked to them, her gaze zeroing in on Johanna.

In response, his friend made a V with her index and middle finger before sticking her tongue between them, flicking it up and down. The girl startled before pressing herself closer to Cato, though her eyes flit once more to Johanna.

“I have no time to deal with a closet case like Clove,” Johanna told him.

Johanna Mason was the crew’s second in command. If Haymitch and Effie were considered the Papa and Mama Bear of their crew, Johanna was essentially their Aunt Bear—who liked pussy. She knew everyone strengths and weaknesses on the road and if they were ever challenged, she would immediately send the best driver for the race.

Besides Beetee, their tech guy, Johanna knew every road in the Bay Area and how to handle each one.

“The right one will come along,” he assured her.

“God willing,” she retorted before suddenly snapping her neck to her left. “Hands off the car, Gale!”

The dark-haired man, who could easily be mistaken as Haymitch’s son due to having the same olive skin and grey eyes, raised his hands in surrender.

“Just checking out the new body kit!” Gale called out before stepping away from the grey Nissan 370z. “No need to be a bitch about it.”

“I’d watch your mouth before I call your mama,” Johanna warned.

“Leave him alone,” Peeta said. He walked over to Gale and patted his shoulder. “He’s still learning how not to play with other people’s property—”

The group erupted in laughter as Thresh and Finnick launched into a rendition of Naughty by Nature’s O.P.P.

A few weeks ago, Gale sat inside the Barracuda—strike one—then touched the steering wheel—strike two. Just as he was about to sign his death warrant and open the glove compartment, Haymitch found him and tore him a new one.

Gale hadn’t looked at the Barracuda or Haymitch ever since.

Peeta finished greeting the rest of the crew, hugging it out with Thresh, who was off from Finnick’s garage today. Then he said hello to Brutus and Gloss, two cousins from Oakland, who were essentially muscle men—they owned a high-end gym in the City. The two were checking out the paint jobs on their matching Toyota 86s; Brutus’ was midnight purple and Gloss’ was chartreuse.

Brutus asked when he would be coming to train to which Peeta said that he would look into his work schedule.

Truthfully, the last time that he trained with the men, he couldn’t move for three days. They meant well but didn’t understand that not a lot of people were on their level fitness-wise.

His last stop was Beetee, who was sitting in his Dodge Charger with a laptop in the passenger seat.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Hacked into the SFPD’s CB radio system,” Beetee replied. “Just keeping a watch in case.” He pushed up his horn-rimmed glasses. “Would hate for them to ruin such a fun gathering.”

“Any reason that they should?”

“Cato is a little heated since you bested him at Twin Peaks,” the man informed him. “I have a feeling he might be feeding info to the police to shut this all down.”

“What an asshole,” Peeta replied. “I thought he was just bent out of shape because Johanna gave Clove head.”

Beetee guffawed. “That might just push him over the edge.” He looked up at Peeta. “Just watch your back, okay?”

He smiled warmly at the man. “Of course.”

Haymitch let out a whistle and they all gathered. Behind them, the music coming from one of the lowriders was quickly cut and even Cato’s crew turned to hear what their leader had to say.

“I’m glad that you were all available to come out,” Haymitch started. “Seeing you all here reminds of how much of a family you have become to me.” He cleared his throat, his grey eyes solemn and Peeta felt something stick in his throat. “With that in mind, I’m stepping down. Effie and I need to focus on some family matters, and we thought that you should be the first to know.”

For a moment, the crowd went silent.

“So, you finally knock her up?”

The question came from one of the guys where the lowrider cars were parked. Peeta remembered this man’s car being the ’64 Impala; he had invited Peeta for a ride once.

Haymitch snickered. “No, but don’t give Effie any ideas!” Everyone howled and Haymitch held his hands up to quiet them down. “I know this is a surprise, but things came up…and it’s what needs to be done.”

Out in the throng, someone held up their 40 oz bottle of Olde English. “To Haymitch!”

The crowd roared and those with a drink held it up to honor the man.

Johanna was the first to confront their leader. “A little warning would’ve been nice!”

He looked to each of them, regret in his eyes.

“We’re going to talk about it at my place tonight. Especially with everyone around gunning to take my spot…our spot. Also, there’s someone I want to introduce you to.”

A familiar orange Integra roared into the lot, braking sharply in front of their group.

Peeta’s heart began to race.

It couldn’t be—

The door opened and there she was, still wearing the same green leather jacket. She rushed over to Haymitch, giving him a smile before looking to the group.

When she zeroed in on Peeta, her grey eyes rounded before delightfully sparkling in his direction.

Heat filled him at her provocative stare.

‘Hello again, Dream Girl.’

“Guys—” Haymitch put an arm around her. “This is my niece, Katniss Everdeen.”

++++++

“Please be into girls…please be into girls…” Johanna murmured in quiet prayer behind him.

Peeta sat frozen in his spot, watching Haymitch introduce Katniss to some of the older folks in the mob.

Of all people, why did she have to be related to Haymitch Abernathy? Someone he knew for a definite fact could get away with murder.

However, there would be no problem if Peeta just kept it in his pants and avoided her.

“Peeta!” Haymitch headed right for him; Katniss following behind. “This is Katniss. Katniss, this is—”

“Peeta Mellark of gas station fame,” she finished with a smirk. “It’s been what—eight hours?”

“I didn’t realize that the uncle you were referring to was Haymitch.” Peeta avoided Haymitch’s curious gaze. “Again, welcome to the City.”

“And, how do you know my boy?” Haymitch asked.

Katniss looked at her Uncle. “Your boy? I was hoping Peeta was single—”

“Katniss…” Haymitch warned though it was tinge with warmth.

“Don’t worry!” She winked at Peeta. “I promise to not eat him alive.” He hoped that neither noticed the slight twitch at his lower half. “Anyway, Peeta was the first person to welcome me to San Francisco. He made me feel much better about the whole situation…”

The lightness in her eyes dimmed for a moment.

“I want you to be happy here, Katniss,” her uncle said gruffly. “You and Prim.”

Katniss embraced the older man, giving him a kiss on the cheek as they pulled apart.

In return, Haymitch patted her shoulder awkwardly.

“We will be. Thanks to you and Effie.”

“Wow.” Peeta guffawed. “I’ve never seen you so…soft.”

“I’ve seen you cry watching The Notebook. I don’t think you’re in a place to be calling me out,” Haymitch retorted.

“That is the last time that Annie decides on a movie!” Peeta turned to Katniss, who watched the banter in amusement. “I’m not making myself look good, am I?”

Katniss snorted. “No, you aren’t, but I like you this way.”

They stared at one another for a moment, and Peeta felt his mouth rise at the sight of her smile—as wide and bright as his own. He wished he could stop time just so that he could remember every bit of this moment; the way the corners of her eyes crinkled and the slightly higher lift of the right side of her lips.

And that dimple on her chin.

He wanted to press his mouth to it, imprinting it forever in his memories.

“This is getting weird,” Haymitch suddenly said, breaking them both from the stare. He whistled, calling the rest of the crew towards them. “Everyone, this is my niece Katniss. Treat her nicely, but don’t stare at her weirdly like Peeta just did.”

Each of them introduced themselves; Johanna with barely contained lust, Annie with excitement, Thresh with friendliness, Finnick with flirtation, Brutus and Gloss with quiet grunts, and Gale with suspicion. Beetee had already been introduced in the first round along with all the elders at the gathering.

“Katniss here is quite the driver,” Haymitch told them proudly. “Her dad was one of the best drifters in the country and he taught her well.”

“Bullshit,” Gale busted out.

Katniss stepped up. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying—this isn’t just some single-road town in the middle of nowhere. This is San Francisco. Not everyone can drive it—or drive it like we can.”

“Name a street.”

Gale was taken aback. “What?”

“According to you, not everyone—specifically me—can drive the streets of San Francisco,” Katniss countered. “Give me a street and I’ll show you I can.” She stepped into his space, and Gale retreated, but just slightly to save face. “In fact, you can drive against me.” Her eyes went to Gale’s Cherry-Red Viper. “Unless you can’t handle that weak ride of yours.”

Gale’s eyes flashed. “Top of Vermont Street.”

Peeta joined the two, turning to Katniss.

“You don’t have anything to prove.” He glared at Gale. “Especially to him.”

Katniss’ stare softened and she moved close, brushing her knuckles against Peeta’s.

“I know I don’t. I just think that he needs to be taught a lesson.”

His stomach fluttered at the fire in her eyes. “And what is that?”

“That it’s not about the car. It’s about the driver.”

++++++

While many believe the most crooked street is Lombard Street, San Franciscans know the truth.

It is actually Vermont Street.

Settled in Potrero Hill, the street is hidden in a residential area surrounded by trees. It’s not a place to take photos and you never had to worry about having to wait in a queue like Lombard. In fact, because of its seven sharp turns, it was disorienting to take photos.

That wasn’t going to stop Annie.

“I’m totally going live on my Instagram,” she told everyone at the bottom of the street where the crew was parked and gathered.

“Are you really putting your niece through the ringer over Gale?” Johanna questioned, her hard stare on their leader. “You know he’s all talk.”

“She needs to prove herself,” Haymitch responded before turning to Katniss. “You good?”

Katniss nodded. “I’m ready whenever he is.”

“How do we know that neither of them is woofing?” Brutus called out.

“Easy. Send in a witness,” Haymitch told him. “Katniss, pick someone to ride with you.”

“Peeta,” she answered immediately. His face warmed as he joined her side and she leaned towards him. “I’m glad I haven’t scared you off yet.”

“You’ll have to do a lot more to keep me away.”

Katniss barely managed to hold in her smile.

Haymitch looked over at Gale, who was sitting against his car.

“Gale? Who’s your choice?”

“Finnick.”

“We’ll flip on who goes first,” Haymitch continued. “Katniss is heads, Gale is tails.” He dug a quarter from his pocket before flipping it and covering the coin with his other hand. “Annie, call the result.”

Annie danced towards him, and he moved his hand away. “Heads!”

“Peeta, you record Katniss driving,” Johanna said. “Same for you, Finnick. The fastest split time is the winner.”

Katniss nodded. “Got it. Let’s go, Peeta.” They walked over to her car, and he went to the driver’s side, opening her door. She smiled as she sat down. “Thanks…no one has ever opened a door for me.”

“That’s a damn shame,” he replied. “I’ll have to fix that.”

Closing it, Peeta rounded the car to the passenger’s side and opened the door, plopping himself in his seat. He looked around the interior in admiration; the seats were taupe leather and smelled like they were just put in.

“Before you ask, they’re new,” Katniss informed him. “Wanted to make the trip easier on Prim.” She reached to her stereo system, an Alpine, and turned the volume up. “I can’t drive—the way I need to—without music.”

“I get it. I’m all about my dance mixes.”

Katniss started her engine and the smooth rumble immediately comforted him.

There was something about being in a well-built car. You could feel the love and the dedication put into it. Being in a custom-built car was like being in someone’s home, you’re able to get a glance of the kind of people they are. If they’re messy or neat, if they’re a minimalist or extravagant, or even if they are rebellious or a law-abider.

Peeta could tell immediately that she was an analytical driver, already planning the next move as she used her short shift and smoothly turned her Momo—they matched—up to the top of Vermont Street.

His phone rang and he answered to find Johanna’s face on the screen. “Hey, we’re at the top.”

“Okay,” Johanna said. “When Katniss is ready, let me—”

“I’m ready now,” Katniss interrupted, looking at the road before them. She gunned the engine, shifting with one hand and gripping her steering wheel with the other. “You?”

Their eyes met and her steel gaze went soft. However, her chest rose, her lips blowing out her tension unsteadily.

She needed him. In what way, he wasn’t sure, but he knew one thing.

Whatever Katniss needed, he would be there—co-driver, friend, family…

The other possibilities…they would just have to wait.

Because it was time for Katniss to show them what she was made of.

Johanna called out from his phone, “Starting in…3…2…1! GO!”

Her tires squealed as they flew off the concrete.

Peeta hung up on Johanna and got on camera mode to record. He focused on Katniss’ braking techniques, so smooth and stealthy that there was no jerking as they made their way through the first turn. Expose’s “Point of No Return” blared in the background, the bass making the whole car pulsate, but Peeta noticed none of it.

All he saw was her.

“I'd like to feel the passion To the point of no return I will be in full reaction I wanna take you in my arms

You're taking me to the point of no return…you're taking me to the point of no return…”

Despite their speed, he recorded steadily to make sure that he was getting all the proof that prick Gale needed. Katniss’ driving skills were flawless, her turns were tight and control on the wheel firm. She was focused completely on the road as they reached the halfway point.

All the while, a radiant smile lit her face.

She looked like he felt whenever he drove.

Like there was nothing else in the world that they would rather be doing.

“Why are you staring at me?”

Peeta moved the phone to meet her eyes. “Because I have to, I’m recording.”

“That camera hasn’t moved from face since the third turn.”

“Oh shit—” He quickly panned the camera to where she gripped the wheel. “Sorry.”

Katniss cracked up. “It’s not you I have to prove anything to. I know you trust me.”

He raised a brow at her words. “How do you know that?”

“It’s an instinct, like driving.” They made another turn, the second to the last. Peeta could see the line of their crew’s cars blocking the end of the road. “I know that you wouldn’t steer me wrong—excuse the bad pun.”

“Driving and puns,” he remarked. “My kind of night…with my dream girl.”

They reached the last turn and Katniss shifted as they made their way to the finish, braking to a full stop.

She turned to him, her cheeks flushed and her chest heaving. Her mouth curved in a smile as they stared at one another.

“What are you doing after this?” Katniss asked.

“I owe everyone dinner from Golden Boy Pizza.” His eyes went to where their hands rested at the console. Slowly, he covered her hand with his. “You want to come with me?”

Without a tic, her hand turned under his to entwine their fingers.

Their eyes connected, her own full and warm for him.

Peeta knew the look as sure he could breathe; he knew it reflected his own.

Love.

The point of no return.

“I would go anywhere with you.”

End of Part One

Yes, if you this is by no means over and I'm already working on Part Two. Watch on my Tumblr for updates.

Hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading!

*Music:

“Build A Bitch” – Bella Poarch

“Point of No Return” –Expose

#ouate challenge 2022 #everlark #everlark fanfiction #based on movies #submission

[twists-and-things-betwixt]

Of Nightingales and Night Ravens: Chapter 4 - Ramshackle Renovations

Chapter: I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII

Read on AO3

Summary: In which the cult gets more screen time, debts are paid through cleaning services, Yuu is a Disney Princess for real this time, there are too many animals in one room, and a first meeting occurs in the woods behind Ramshackle, but not the one you're thinking of. (or, Whistle While You Work)

Yuura is referred to as They and He.

Despite however long the Headmage claimed the building to be abandoned, Ramshackle itself is still in fair condition.

Now that the dormitory houses more than three mischievous ghosts, the water and electricity have been turned back on. The hardwood floors are scuffed and carpeted in a thick layer of dust, but they seem to be properly treated and stained; jumping up and down on one of the upper landings didn’t result in Yuura crashing into the floor below. Where the wallpaper is peeling, it's at the corners of individual sheets that could be easily glued back down. The broken furniture could be shoved into an empty storage room to be tended to at a later date.

And in spite of Ramshackle’s rundown appearance, the foundation is solid, the walls could repel the wind, and the roof could keep out the rain and sun. It's nothing more than a large clean up job.

Stains in the wallpaper? Nothing some warm, soapy water can’t fix. The staggering number of cobwebs dangling from the ceilings and sticking to the hard-to-reach corners? There was a broom conveniently abandoned in the entry hall, and a ladder in the back shed. The copious amounts of dust everywhere? In the attic, Yuura found a box of old but clean rags alongside a feather duster that still had all its plumes and a sturdy racket that was perfect for beating carpets and mattresses. The laundry room they stumbled upon was still stocked with cartons and boxes of powdered soap and cleaning detergents. There's even a full set of mops and buckets, and a large metal tub with its own old-fashioned steel washboard.

This, Yuura cataloged with a notepad and pencil, spending the free hours of their day exploring the building. There was no map they could find, so they drew up their own crude copy, counting the rooms and learning of their old designations from the resident ghosts (kitchen, supply closet, parlor, bedroom, study, bedroom, bedroom, bedroom…). Counting windows and determining which ones got top priority (bottom floor to top, front-facing, kitchen and master bedroom). Stacking scattered books and fallen paintings. Remembering which carpet belonged to which room after cleaning. Fixing the clocks and frames they found askew on the walls.

"What do you think, Mr. Giddens?” Yuura asks, hopping off the last step of the stairs connecting the first and second floors. They’d been testing the boards for levels of squeakiness rather than overall sturdiness (a little creaky towards the middle, but muffled by the carpet, and silent if you used the edges instead).

The Chubby Ghost of Ramshackle Dorm floats lazily to their side, taking a peek at the notes in their hand. It was a scribbled mix of Barren script, Common, and neat sketches of the building’s layout littered with numbers, arrows, and doodles of dancing mops and brooms.

"I think this seems like a tall order for one person to handle,” Mr. Giddens drawls.

"Especially for someone as small as you!” pipes in Mr. Weylin, dropping in from the ceiling alongside Mr. Melrose.

The Tiny Ghost nods in agreement. "Your arms will fall off before you finish sweeping the lounge." He shakes one of Yuura’s arms for emphasis.

"I’m sturdier than I look," Yuura insists, already making their way to the supply closet, pencil tucked behind their ear. "I helped my Uncle Sandro clean all the time, and our house was a little bigger than this.

"Besides, I won’t be alone." They turn on their heel, their smile rather cheery for someone who was about to spend the next several hours walking into spider webs. "I’ve got Grim with me, haven’t I?"

----

Among the Heartslabyul students who were present during the Housewarden’s Overblot and witnessed the aftermath, having fled into the Rose Maze before the destruction and missed the Headmaster’s call for evacuation, there was a vote—who to send as pseudo-emissaries to the Prefect who may or may not be a long-lost god of healing.

That’s how one freshman, two sophomores, and one junior find themselves standing on the creaky front porch of Ramshackle Dorm one Saturday morning, two weeks after the first Incident, less than a week after the second Incident when the Prefect was found singing All in the Golden Afternoon in the maze. As if that song isn’t highly restricted in use by the Queendom’s Royal Botanic Society.

"...so who’s gonna knock?"

"Not me! Make Quentin do it."

"What? What did I do?"

"Are you that much of a coward that you can’t even knock a door?"

"You wanna say that to my face, Poncy?"

"Bring it on, Angie."

"Oh, for fuck’s sake—look, there’s a doorbell. Let’s just ring the doorbell, and get this over with."

The doorbell does not work—properly. Rather than a chime or a tinkling tune, their ears are assaulted by a grating screech that lasts long enough for someone to answer the door.

"Hohoho, what do we have here?"

"Visitors? Visitors here?"

"Visitors, or intruders? What do you think, Mr. Giddens?"

"Heartslabyul, I think. And I see nary a red heart or a black spade among them."

"Intruders, then. Heheheh, do you know what that means, Mr. Giddens?"

"I think I do, Mr. Weylin."

Well, we don’t! the four hapless Heartslabyul students cry, huddling together despite their earlier animosity. Is this how it ended, joining the ranks of the ghosts who haunted Ramshackle? There's a reason why everyone avoided the building for decades!

"Oy! What did Yuu say about harassing visitors?”

The quartet would have sighed in relief, were it not for the fact that their savior came in the form of that fiery cat-monster that nearly burned down the Mirror Chamber during the Entrance Ceremony. It’s a little hard not to gawk when the creature comes waddling in with tiny rubber gloves over its front paws and its fiery ears tucked under a checkered kerchief.

(Huh. You’d think that’d be a safety hazard or something).

Bright blue eyes narrow on sight. "Hey, you ain’t Ace or Deuce. What’s a buncha Heartslabyul prisses doin’ here?"

One of the sophomores—the one referred to as Poncy—leans through the open door to shake his fist. “What’s that supposed to mean, ya cúl tóna beag?”

Someone hisses, "Pontius!" and tries to drag him back inside when the ghosts start leering again.

The monster bristles, nose scrunched up and forked tail flicking in agitation. "You wanna fight? I'll show you what the Great Lord Grim can do!"

"Gri—i—im!" Students, ghosts, and cat-monster alike all jump at the call. The voice comes closer, from the slightly ajar doors at the end of the entry hall. "Grim, are you alright? I heard the doorbell ringing. Oh! visitors."

Peeking into the hallway, a great pair of owlish, hazel-brown eyes, framed between an off-white kerchief around the mouth and over the nose, and a blue plaid kerchief around the head, pushing back a tousled mass of dark curls.

"Welcome to Ramshackle!" The Prefect steps into full view, revealing a full-length apron atop faded gym clothes that look several years out of date, bright yellow rubber gloves, and a broom in hand that looks like it's been through the wringer. "Pardon the mess, but today's a cleaning day and we weren't expecting visitors." Once he's close enough, the Prefect extends his free hand, retracts it upon realizing how grimy it is, and settles for a polite yet welcoming nod. Even with the mask in the way, his smile is visible in the corners of his eyes and the lift of his cheeks.

He doesn’t look much like an immortal in hiding or—as some of the guys suggested—a forgotten god of healing. Not with the secondhand clothes, or the messy hair, or the broom.

But they had seen the Prefect fend off that Blot monster’s attack when it came straight for Trappola; if it had been any of them, it would have been every man for himself and Trappola would be mulch. They’d seen him sing a Lost Song that made Diamond lose some of his composure and brought Rosehearts back from the brink of death. Those who were close enough to the spectacle had felt the lingering effects of the Prefect’s spell—warmth like a kind touch, like a sunbeam in the darkness, soothing their aches and pains. And then there were others who were convinced that he was the god of something more, because when they found him singing to those flowers, they not only moved in response, they sang back, unfurling their petals and leaves to reveal uncanny faces, singing with the Prefect in perfect harmony as they swayed like they were dancing in the breeze.

Which brings us back to why they were here in the first place.

Any persisting pride the four Heartslabyul students might have had is dwarfed in comparison to the awe and gratitude that they have towards the Prefect.

“Prefect!” The junior steps up first and bows almost parallel to the floor. The Prefect lets out an inelegant squeak. “My name is Octavian Kendrick, third-year, and on behalf of the other guys in Heartslabyul, we wanted to thank you for what you did for us.”

The Prefect blinks, lowers his mask, opens his mouth, closes it, then blinks some more. “Thank me for what, exactly?”

The other students look at each other incredulously while Octavian shoots up straight in disbelief. “For what?”

“For taking the ruler out of Rosehearts’ ass and making him chill out, obviously—ow!”

“Angus!”

“What Angus means,” the junior continues, blocking his bickering underclassmen from the Prefect’s line of sight, “is that ever since the Housewarden’s, er, Incident, he’s been… mellower. Less… severe when it comes to enforcing the Queen of Hearts’ rules.”

“Less anal retentive, you mean—ow!”

“Angus!”

Octavian sighs.

The Prefect rolls his broom between his hands, humming. "I don’t understand why you would be offering me thanks. Senior Riddle has been doing remarkably well improving himself with Senior Trey and Senior Cater’s guidance, and I didn’t help during his... Predicament as much as Ace and Deuce did. If anything, you should be thanking them."

How is this guy a student at Night Raven?

The sophomore with a club over his left eye and rubbing his ribs—Angus—snorts. "Didn’t help? All of us saw the way you threw yourself in front of Trappola—"

"Like some sort of self-sacrificing idiot—"

"Pontius!"

"And then there’s the part where you used a Lost Song to bring the Housewarden back from the dead!" the freshman with a blue heart on his face exclaims, stars in his eyes. "In Black Tongue, too. I’m from the Shaftlands, and even I don’t know any of the words besides the first line in Pyroxisch. And you need to be really, really good at magic to use a spell that powerful, and you used it to bring the Housewarden back from the dead."

"Quentin," the sophomore with a diamond—Pontius—cuts in sharply, while the Prefect corrects, "He wasn’t dead."

"But he was dying," Angus says, "Like, on Death’s doorstep, and then you started singing in a dead language, and it was like nothing happened to him! We all thought you were supposed to be Magicless."

"Basically Magicless," Pontius clarifies.

"You saw all of that?" is what the Prefect takes away from All of That.

Octavian nods. "About a dozen of us or so. We were in the Rose Maze when it happened."

"A bunch of guys ran in there after the whole Egg Thing and the Housewarden started going on a rampage," Quentin helpfully explains. "We saw everything."

"Ah," the Prefect says thoughtfully, as if he hadn’t been witnessed performing something akin to a miracle; something that would definitely make global news if word ever got out. "To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t entirely certain if that would work."

"What."

"Mm-hm." The Prefect starts sweeping idly at the dirt the boys had tracked in. "Let’s just say… It’s been a long time since I last sang, and I couldn’t be sure if the Song would work or not. But I needed to try, for Senior Riddle’s sake. You understand, of course?"

No, they did not understand. Where did this kid come from? Why is he even here? Everyone in the area had fled or hidden during Rosehearts’ Overblot, besides the Suits and the Prefect (who all appear to be of the same breed of freaking crazy). And then when the tiny, red tyrant was only a pint away from bleeding to death, the Prefect whipped out a Lost Song like it was nothing! Like the ones with surviving lyrics or melodies aren’t guarded as national secrets. Like the only people who remember all the words in their original Barren Tongue aren’t all dead.

…except for one, it seems.

Octavian bows to the Prefect again, and this time, his underclassmen follow suit. "You saved the Housewarden’s life, and because of whatever else you did to make him calm down and not decapitate people left and right, Heartslabyul Dorm is in your debt."

At the word debt, the Prefect’s eyes widen. "Debt?" he echoes. "Oh no, oh no, oh no! You don’t owe me anything, least of all the entirety of your dorm. I only wanted to help—Senior Riddle, and my friends, and..." He trails off, sheepish. "I suppose the rest of you as well."

"And that’s why we’re indebted to you, id—" Pontius falters at the several pairs of glaring eyes that lock onto him—from his senior, his junior, the cat-monster standing at the Prefect’s side, and the trio of ghosts still lingering nearby. "Ahem—Prefect. You helped us all out, so now we have to pay you back."

"That’s the rules here," Angus shrugs, leaning onto a protesting Pontius’ shoulder. "Trust us, no one here wants to remain indebted to anyone. Have seen Octavinelle? Have you seen their Dorm Leader?"

"Actually, I am familiar with Senior Ashengro—"

"Anyway," Octavian interrupts, because he did not like where that sentence was going, "you get what we’re saying. You helped us deal with Rosehearts; we help you out in any way we can."

"Within reason," Quentin adds. "That’s what the others back at the dorm said."

Again, the Prefect appears lost in contemplation, rolling the handle of his broom back and forth.

"Myah, Yuura." They all look down to see the weasel-cat—Grim—yanking on the Prefect’s pant leg. "It’s cleaning day, 'member?"

The big ghost starts chuckling, deep and booming. "Hohoho, I see!"

"It would be nice to have a spare set of human hands helping you out," says the skinny ghost, floating over the Prefect’s shoulder. "Or four, or twelve."

The Prefect glances back at the open door at the end of the hall, and for the first time since they arrived, the Heartslabyul students finally notice the sounds of shuffling and… clacking? coming from that direction.

The Prefect offers them a shy, hopeful smile when he turns back. "You wouldn’t happen to be free later today, would you?"

----

"What, exactly, is going on here?"

"Hou—Housewarden Rosehearts, sir!"

"Nothing’s going on, sir!"

"Nothing? Then enlighten me—why would nothing require a dozen students disappearing together on a Friday afternoon?"

"Uh, well, you see, clubs—and other such after-school activities—"

"Oh, for the love of—"

"Ramshackle, sir! Everyone’s leaving for Ramshackle Dorm!"

"Finnian!"

"I’m sorry! I panic under pressure."

"...Ramshackle?"

----

"Senior Ruggie! Horrible news!"

"So you know how the Housewarden’s tryna to—"

"—heard it from the Hearts guys in my club—"

"I didn’t know the Prefect was accepting offerings—"

"—going on for weeks, apparently—"

"—they don’t even have a washing machine—"

"EH? What d'ya mean Heartslabyul’s—!"

----

Anyone passing by Ramshackle Dorm one Saturday morning in early November would have doubletake'd at the assembly of characters standing at the dilapidated building’s front porch. Certainly, the poor Heartslabyul freshman who volunteered to answer the door swears his heart seized in that moment as he struggles to not immediately slam the door in their faces.

"Housewarden Rosehearts!" he salutes, forgetting the feather duster in hand that sends a cloud of dust flying. "Er, and Housewarden Kingscholar!"

(Nearby, a Savanaclaw student almost drops the wall sconce he was screwing back into place. Turning the corner from the larger storage room, a Heartslabyul pair stumbles and knocks the newly repaired sideboard they were carrying into a wall.)

"...and entourage," the freshman tacks on, rather pathetically.

("Why are we ‘entourage’?" mutters Ace from where he stands by Deuce, narrowed eyes trained on the Savanaclaw trio beside them.)

The Heartslabyul Housewarden studies his dorm member with a critical eye, noting the feather duster, the lack of his uniform blazer, the kerchief in his hair. With the door open, the hubbub of many people moving around inside is obvious. So is the distant sound of singing. "...Quentin Herzfeld, I believe."

"Yes, sir!"

Even out of dorm uniform and carrying what looks to be a covered basket with a bright red bow, Riddle Rosehearts cuts an imposing figure. "Well?" he snaps. "Are you not going to invite us in?"

"Yes, sir! Right this way, sir! Please excuse the mess!"

Someone further back has already run ahead into the lounge, shouting something that sounds like, "—ner Circ—!"

Those still present in the entry hall watch Rosehearts and Kingscholar try to enter the building at the same time, only to knock shoulders and start glaring at each other.

And they just finished gluing down the wallpaper after the last scuffle, too…

----

"So, friends, even though you’re vermin, we’re a happy working throng—oh! Senior Riddle, Senior Leona. I didn’t expect to see you two here. Welcome!"

"Prefect." Riddle sounds close to having a conniption. "There’s vermin in your dormitory."

"Senior Riddle, they’re not vermin," the Prefect chides the Heartslabyul Housewarden, stepping around the line of rats scurrying across the floor. "They're friends." They set their heavy tray down on the coffee table, already crowded with similar trays laden with stacks of painted glasses, old metal pitchers and crystal jugs, and porcelain plates of finger foods. Almost immediately, several students scattered around the lounge drop whatever’s in hand and swarm the Prefect, laughing their thanks and sighing in relief.

The Prefect laughs with them before turning to address their visitors. It’s quite a sight for them, seeing the young men they consider their friends standing together (even if Riddle is steadily turning red; and Leona is looking distinctly vexed; and Jack bewildered; and Ruggie and Trey plainly amused; and Ace and Deuce particularly annoyed; Cater is just taking pictures again). "It’s been a while since I’ve seen some of you together. How are you?"

"Prefect, the rats."

"Yuurachen, love what you’ve done with the place! Smile for the camera!"

"Hey, Yuu-kun, are those sandwiches for everyone?"

"I’m just here to make sure the guys I sent were actually doing their jobs and not slacking off."

"As if you’re one to talk about slacking off…"

"Oy, Yuura! Since when were you inviting other guys into Ramshackle?"

"What about the rats! Yuu, did you replace us with rats?"

"Have you just been cleaning your dorm in your free time for the past two months? Prefect, no."

"We brought you a goodie basket."

Unbelievably, that's what the Prefect zeroes in on, extracting themself from Diamond’s hold to retrieve the covered basket from Clover. "Really? Oh, you didn't have to, thank you!" Removing the gingham cloth fills the air with the yeasty, spicy, sweet aromas of fresh baked breads and pastries. "You wouldn’t mind if I shared these, would you?"

"Well, actually—"

"Hey, don’t ignore us!" Ace whirls them around by the shoulders. "Why's this the first we’ve heard of you bringing a buncha Savanaclaw meatheads and our own dorm-mates into Ramshackle—hrmph!"

Yuura withdraws another cinnamon palmier from the basket and holds it out to the hyena beastman. "Of course, help yourself. I'm making more sandwiches in the kitchen, and there are brownies in the oven, if you want any."

"Score!" Ruggie knocks Ace aside, the redhead's yells muffled by the arlette in his mouth. Half of the pastry in their hand disappears in one bite. "You're the bes', kidege."

"Ati, Ruggie—who're you calling kidege?" Ace is further knocked aside—this time into Deuce, nearly choking on flaky crumbs—as Leona inserts himself between the pair. Somehow, he looks even more irritated than usual, though that could easily be attributed to the presence of not only the Heartslabyul prigs, but also their damn Dorm Leader and his Suits. If he’d known the Little Red Queen had the same plans as him, he wouldn’t have bothered stopping by Ramshackle in the first place.

("You didn’t have to stay, y’know," Ruggie will later point out about an hour later, when Yuura bids everyone goodbye and sends Savanaclaw off with leftover boxes and promises to visit on Sunday.

(To which Leona will answer with a "Tsk," and proceed to avoid the question.)

"Shishishi! Why, jealous?" Ruggie slings an arm over the Prefect’s shoulders, already reaching into the basket for a square of caramel shortbread. "Maybe you shoulda been nicer to Yuu-kun here if you wanted them to love you as much as they love me. Jaza ya ihsani ni ihsani. Anipendaye, nami nampenda."

Several Savana residents choke on their drinks as their Housewarden scowls and retorts, "Ihsani iandame imani." He sweeps his arm around the lounge, more polished and spruced up compared to the beginning of the school term. A few of his dorm members are still hard at work caulking squeaky floorboards in the upper landing, reinstalling fallen light fixtures, and replacing heavy curtain rods over the windows. "What do you call this, then?"

"Compensation, I should think, for the injuries the Prefect incurred trying to clean up your messes." Riddle appears to have recovered from his rat-induced shock, because now he’s stepping in between Leona and the Prefect, eyeing both beastmen with obvious displeasure. "Uninspired, as well, seeing as Heartslabyul already had renovations well underway by the time Savanaclaw decided to stick their muzzles where they don’t belong."

"Eh?" Leona stalks forward, towering over his fellow Dorm Leader. "Word travels fast, Riddle. We all know what happened between you and the Prefect in September. Your hands are as red as mine."

Everyone in the room (and in the adjacent kitchen, entry hall, and dining room, because all the doors are open and sound travels far in Ramshackle) stiffens, the tension palpable between two powerful Housewardens who are still recovering from the aftermath of Overblotting and nearly dying.

Everyone except for the Prefect, of course.

"Excuse me, please." The Savanaclaw trio and Heartslabyul quintet jump back as the Prefect draw circles in the air with their broom handle. "Mostro Lounge rules apply here, gentlemen—no fighting between dorms. And no soliciting, as well, I suppose." They lower their broom and plant a hand on their hip, their mild disappointment evident and more devastating than any anger or upset.

("Why bring up the Mostro Lounge rules, anyway?"

("Dude, they work at the Mostro Lounge."

("They what?")

"Really, Senior Riddle, Senior Leona—your students are present. As their Housewardens, shouldn’t you set better precedents for them when it comes to fostering interdorm relations?" It took many promises and placations to calm everyone down that first day, when both Savanaclaw and Heartslabyul appeared on Ramshackle’s doorstep the previous week and immediately clashed. Yuura would not tolerate all their hard work being undone, not even by Riddle or Leona.

To the astonishment of all those watching, both Housewardens actually look ashamed—they look away from the Prefect and each other, Riddle flushed with embarrassment, Leona clicking his tongue, contrite.

Riddle coughs into his fist and smooths down the front of his waistcoat. "I… apologize, Prefect. You’re absolutely correct. It would be disrespectful of us to engage in altercations while we are guests under your care."

There are too many people in the room for Leona to properly avoid any eye contact. Eventually, he closes his eyes, sighs, and says, "Fine. Whatever. As long as you don’t insist I act all buddy-buddy with Mister Queen over there."

"It never hurts to dream." Disregarding Rosehearts' indignant sputtering, the smile the Prefect gives is like a reward in and of itself—kind, and lighthearted, and encouraging in its genuinity.

("By the Seven…" a Savanaclaw junior murmurs in awe. Like many of his dorm-mates, he's wearing his uniform bandana around his head and an old apron the Prefect found in a box filled with equally old aprons.

("I know, right?" his Heartslabyul year-mate whispers back excitedly, passing a plate full of tea sandwiches.

("Is this what they mean by beast-taming…?" another Heartslabyul student mumbles in a daze. His expression is reflected in several other faces.

(Someone else from Savanaclaw mimics a whip cracking, and is immediately shushed.)

The Prefect smacks the top of their head. "Oh, but where are my manners? Sit down, sit down, please!" They usher their guests around the lounge, mindful of the recently shampooed carpet and the various animal tails lying around, both beastfolk and rattus. "The Cards helped me clean the cushioned furniture a few weeks ago, and the Savana boys helped finish up the rest of the lounge." They turn to the dusty, grungy students delegated to sitting on the floors. "Again, thank you for the assistance. I don't know what I would have done without all of you."

They're answered by an overlapping chorus of "It's no problem," and "You can count on us!", and "Anything for you, Mx. Prefect!"

(On separate couches, Leona and Riddle share the same expression of vague betrayal—from their own dorm members, or from the Prefect, or perhaps both. Seated with Riddle, Trey and Cater share a meaningful, silent Look. On the third couch, Deuce cracks his knuckles and Ace throws a menacing glance at his fellow Card Soldiers. Leaning against the staircase banister, Jack is frowning even more so than usual. And Ruggie? Ruggie is snickering to himself where he's sat on the carpet, cradling the goodie basket the Prefect kindly entrusted to him like a treasure chest.)

Ace takes the glass of lemonade the Prefect pours out for him with a petulant air, grumbling rather loudly, "I don't see why you had to ask these cretini e scrocconi for help, anyway."

"You're one to talk, Trappola!" someone who sounds like one of his dorm-mates says. "Vai a vendere il culo!"

"Cazzo si, Campana! Bacha ma culo, tu brutto figlio di—mrph!" He yanks the sandwich triangle out of his mouth. "Yuu, I'm not Grim, stop doing that!" The Prefect tugs lightly at an unruly lock of red hair. "Yuu."

"Stop antagonizing my guests." They pass the plate in their other hand to their blue-haired friend. "Have a sandwich, Ducky; there's egg salad and tamago sando."

"O—Oh, thank you." That mollifies Deuce for the time being, if the slight fluster means anything. Yuura grants him a pleased smile and a pat on the head.

"Tsk. This is blatant favoritism."

"I don't play favorites so obviously, Pip, you know this." Just in case, they pat his head too. Ace groans some more, but doesn't move away from their hand.

(Blatant favoritism, is the thought on many people's minds as the Prefect fusses over their best friends. Then they move across the room to hand Howl a full glass and to pat his arm. He accepts both gestures with a neutral face, a nod, and a conspicuously hidden tail. Howl, you too?!)

"And your dorm-mates offered to help me, as well as Savanaclaw," they call over their shoulder as they bustle to the open kitchen door. "I couldn’t very well refuse them when they were so willing to help, and kind enough to offer it. What was I supposed to do, turn them away from my door?"

"Yes."

"Ace."

"Wait, wait, hold on a minute." Jack waits for the Prefect to pull their head back in from the kitchen—"Could someone put a kettle on, please?"—"I’ve got it, Mx. Yuu!"—before nudging them back into the room’s focus. "If Ace and Deuce weren’t helping you, and you only started getting help at the end of September…" He shoots them his own disappointed stare. "Don’t tell me you were cleaning your dorm by yourself for a whole month."

"It wasn’t a whole month," the Prefect insists, reaching higher to pat his shoulder. His frown doesn't abate. "I swear it! I had Grim to help me, as well—"

"Grim can barely hold a pen."

"—and, well…" They fiddle with the chain of their necklace, actually hesitant for once. Hazel eyes flicker around the room between their latest guests. "I had a little help on the side, I suppose you could say."

"Oh! Oh, Prefect!" A Savanaclaw freshman with blond hair and the dark ears of a hyrax—the one who was shushed earlier—starts bouncing on his knees. "Prefect, you have to show them that Song you used!"

"Emmanuel!" someone hisses.

"Song?" the Prefect’s Heartslabyul friends echo, curious and intrigued.

"Song?" the Prefect’s Savanaclaw friends echo, ears pulling back almost flat against their hair.

(And who can blame them for being on guard? Everyone who witnessed Leona Kingscholar’s Overblot was also privy to the Prefect at their most destructive and ruthless. Heartslabyul had seen the Prefect protect their friend and heal their enemy; and saw a god of healing, forgiveness, compassion. Savanaclaw had seen the Prefect split the earth in two and summon columns of green flame and geysers of boiling steam; and saw a god of retribution and mercy that came in the form of a swift, humbling defeat.)

The Prefect flaps their hand in a vaguely reassuring manner. "Nothing so drastic or damaging, you needn't worry about that. But… it is a little overwhelming, in its own way."

"Overwhelming how?" Riddle asks with a scrutinizing gaze. By the way he's shifting his feet, he seems to have remembered the numerous rats dotting the lounge floor. Probably because one skirted a little too close to his shoe and nearly sent him flying off the couch.

...is that one wearing a bow?

"Well…"

"Oh, c'mon, Prefect—!" That sets off a clamoring from all directions of the lounge, over a dozen young men begging and pleading with the Prefect, with a comfortable informality and ease born from spending many hours working alongside the suspected immortal (possible god), who so far has displayed a greater preference for goodwill and charity than vengeance and retaliation.

(Which is all well and good for those who initially derided the Prefect for being so small, and weak, and supposedly Magicless, or close to it. Especially Savanaclaw; none of them will be forgetting anytime soon just how easily the Prefect could have ended their Housewarden right then and there. Instead, they healed him completely at the expense of their own health. Truly a merciful being.)

Riddle appears close to beheading people, and Leona to nursing a migraine, before the Prefect throws up their hands and laughs, "Alright, alright, settle down, please!" Then, with a tentatively eager grin, "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt, just this once." And that’s enough reassurance for their friends to settle down. If there’s one thing they’ve learned about Yuura Miyajima, it’s that they hate harming others, necessarily or otherwise. Even being left bedridden in the infirmary didn’t prevent them from making sure both Riddle and Leona were fully recovered from their Episodes.

Whatever this Song is, it can’t be anymore dangerous than Der Zauberspruch or All in the Golden Afternoon.

Cheering, the lounge bursts into action as people leap off the floor and scatter around the room, tossing dirty rags, kerchiefs, and aprons, and tools and supplies onto the ground, throwing open the curtains and windows, and the back door in the kitchen—all under the Prefect’s direction.

"Could someone get the windows, please?"

"We got ‘em, Prefect!

"Everyone grab what’s left on the plates, if you will!"

"Way ahead of you!"

"Now where did I put my broom…? Oh! Thank you, Khari."

"’S nothing, Mx. Prefect."

Slipping away to find a good angle to film from, Cater finds one of his fellow Cards and asks, "Hey, so what’s this super mysterious song everyone’s so hyped about?"

The sophomore—his last name might’ve been Pfenning or Farthing, or something like that—flinches. "Oh, Senior Diamond, it’s just you. Uh… you’re from Pyroxene too, right? You remember that clean-up song kids used to sing? Wer bei der Arbeit pfeift?"

"Wer bei der Arbeit pfeift?" two voices exclaim. Cater startles and turns to the direction of the other voice. Little Jack Howl stares back at him, first with mild surprise that he had heard him from across the room, then with shared bafflement. Wait, you heard that? Wait, you know Pyroxisch? Wait, did you hear what I heard correctly?

In the center of the room, lit up by the midday sunlight pouring through the open windows, the Prefect readjusts the kerchief in their hair before crouching and knocking the floor, steadying themself with their broom. “Gustav, Yasha, Marusya, come here, everyone.”

Everyone not accustomed to the Prefect’s Little Friends—mostly Riddle, he still hasn’t moved out of that stiff stance—jumps back and retracts their feet as well over a dozen rats scamper across the floor to congregate around the Prefect, who smiles and pets them like one would a cat or a dog, and not a mischief of grubby, possibly diseased rodents (again, mostly Riddle’s words).

(Never mind that all of them have sleek, fluffy coats and seem to be wearing some sort of miniature clothing item or accessory. When did the Prefect have the time to knit that fat one a sweater?)

"I’ll have to ask for your help again today, but you’ll get to see your friends. Aren’t you excited?"

It feels like foreshadowing, how responsive the rats are to the Prefect speaking in Common as they bob their heads and chitter in agreement.

Then the Prefect stands up and whistles a painfully nostalgic tune that reminds the native Shaftlanders of clean-up time and overly enthusiastic kindergarten teachers—and something from the woods outside whistles back.

"Please don’t be alarmed," the Prefect says, before a fluttering, flocking shadow descends.

----

"So were you expecting a crap-ton of birds and forest animals?" Ace whispers, his voice a little weak even in his own ears. The rabbit on his lap continues to paw at his waistcoat.

Careful not to disturb the birds that decided his shoulders and head were adequate perches, Deuce leans over and replies, "I’m more surprised there were deer in the woods."

"Honestly, same."

Said deer—a doe—and its fawn seem to have taken a liking to their green-haired senior and Housewarden, with Trey struggling not to laugh in the face of Riddle’s bewilderment as the mother-child pair nudge their legs and the fawn attempts to clamber onto Riddle’s lap. "No, wait, don’t do that. No, stop—"

Leona isn’t faring any better—no matter how many times he growls or lashes out his hand, far too many chipmunks and squirrels return, circling the Savanaclaw Housewarden in hopes that he’ll let them climb on his person. "Herbivore," he says through gritted teeth. "What is this?"

The Prefect’s shoulders shake with stifled laughter, the birds resting on them undisturbed by the movement. "It means they like you, Senior Leona," they say, oddly calm for someone whose lounge is now crowded with an excess of squirrels, chipmunks, and rats, a herd of rabbits, a pair of large turtles, a family of deer, an entire nursery of raccoons, and too many birds to count.

"Totes adorable," Cater declares, taking pics of the rabbits gathering around him for Magicam.

"Hey. Hey, no, not there." Jack waves at the bird that’s made its nest in his hair. It jumps and flutters in the air for a moment before settling down again. "What did I just say? Not there."

"Shoo. Go away." Ruggie kicks a foot out towards the raccoons that keep approaching him. He’s still got the basket in his arms, plus a couple plates he managed to snatch from the coffee table. "These ain’t for you, now beat it!"

(Inner Circle, their dorm-mates think with envious sighs, their persons woefully bereft of any curious or cozy forest creature. Even the animals can tell who the Prefect favors over others. Lucky bastards.)

The Prefect claps their hands. It’s a little unnerving how that instantly catches the attention of every animal in the vicinity. "Alright, everyone," they start in a chipper voice, slightly more pitched than usual. They point to various parts of the room, and in the smoothest transition into Barren any of them have heard, says, "Now you wash the dishes. You tidy up the room. You clean the fireplace—"

They hold their broom aloft. "And I’ll use the broom!"

They whistle again, and then the birds whistle back, and then…

"Just whistle while you work!"

"Off the couch, off the couch, off the couch—" Their dorm-mates probably had the right idea, retreating to the stairs and the upper landing overlooking the lounge. The moment every bird takes off into the air and the animals start moving, Ace and Deuce bolt, ducking their heads and nearly tripping over various rabbits and rodents as they stumble up the stairs. Close behind them are Ruggie and Jack, the former expertly dodging every animal underfoot and the latter nearly getting his ears clipped by a pair of birds lifting a plate.

"How are they carrying those?"

"I dunno, freaky Prefect magic crap?! Where’s the music coming from!"

Their seniors are not so quick in their escapes.

"And cheerfully together, we can tidy up the place." As they sweep around the carpet, the Prefect passes by Riddle and Trey. Riddle has given up all sense of decorum to kneel on the couch, very much dismayed by the number of animals dusting with their tails and carrying very delicate dishes and glassware.

"I—what? No, wait—" Riddle grips Trey’s arm, his expression somewhat (very) panicked. “Trey. Trey, there are squirrels dusting the mantle.”

"Let it go, Riddle." His face is somber and resigned. He only steps aside when a turtle waddles past carrying a stack of overturned glasses on its shell.

"But—"

"This is Ramshackle Dorm. Only the Prefect’s rules apply here."

"So hum a merry tune—hm-mm-mm-mm, hm-mm-mm..." When the Prefect passes by the other occupied couch in the room, they find a certain lion lying face-down, a decorative pillow thrown over his head. They’d worry more about his ability to breathe if it weren’t for the exposed tail snapping back and forth. Instead, they laugh again and kick a dirty rag on the floor up into the air. It’s swiftly caught by a diving sparrow. "It won’t take long when there’s a song to help you set the pace.

"And as you sweep the room…" They start twirling with the broom, moving with remarkable ease around the rats with dusters in their tails, and chipmunks with dishes in their paws, and raccoons with aprons and kerchiefs on their backs. "Imagine that the broom is someone that you love, and soon—"

"You'll find you’re dancing to the tune!" "Du fängst mit ihm zu tanzen an!"

"Oh!" Before their forehead can collide with someone else’s chin, someone’s there to catch them. And when they raise their head, they find green eyes glinting playfully down at them, one hand on their arm and the other still recording with his phone. "Senior Cater!" They beam, positively delighted that another person knows this song that was a part of their childhood.

(Unbeknownst to them, they share this trait with every Shaftlander in the room, and in fact, the entire school. It’s pervasiveness is on par with that Yahoo! nursery rhyme.)

"Drum sei gescheit—"

"—the time will fly—"

"So whistle while you work!" "Wer bei der Arbeit pfeift!"

Oh, you smooth bastard, is the bitter sentiment shared by those watching from up above as Diamond takes the Prefect’s hand and gives them a twirl, eliciting giddy laughter from the Prefect and disbelieving looks from even his Housewarden and the other Suits.

("What’s he doing?"

("Not on my watch—"

("Whoa, Deuce, chill! Get back here!")

The Prefect wasn’t exaggerating when they said the effects of the song would be… overwhelming. But there’s also something so fascinating, almost whimsical about it, too.

For an army of forest creatures, they set about their given tasks with great efficiency. Squirrels swipe their bushy tails over railings, the mantle, and the blackened bricks before beating the dust out of them on the window sills. Rats and turtles carry abandoned tools and empty plates into the kitchen. Dirty rags and aprons are draped over a buck that bumbles after them on its way to the backyard. A few of the braver students make their way downstairs and follow the deer, only to find more squirrels and rabbits washing dishes in the overflowing sinks with startling dexterity.

("They shouldn’t have the motor skills to do this!")

Back in the lounge, a succession of songbirds fly in and out with yellow and white autumn flowers in their beaks, dropping them one by one into a water pitcher that had been left on the table (did they coordinate that?). From the back door in the kitchen and through the open windows in the lounge, there’s a clear view of the laundry set up in the backyard, where the buck sheds its load and the raccoons and chipmunks take over, half-submerged in white suds as they scrub dust cloths and kerchiefs. More little birds fly by, depositing more laundry into the water before plucking clean pieces from the wash tubs. Those are sprawled across the grass and hung on the nearby clothesline to dry.

All the while, the Prefect continues their Song, humming along with the disembodied music and vocalizing in a register many didn’t believe they could reach until now.

("This shouldn’t be possible. At least Der Zauberspruch is an established spell. This is supposed to be a children’s song."

("Wait, so you’re saying…?"

("Whatever’s going on right now, it’s the Prefect affecting the Song, not the other way around."

("The Prefect’s manipulating a children’s song like a Lost Song?"

(What a terrifying thought.)

"So, whistle while you work!"

But perhaps not so terrifying, when the Prefect pauses in their sweeping to offer their finger as a perch to an approaching passerine.

It lands and warbles back, and the Prefect sings, and it’s like something from a fairy tale.

----

"Bye! Bye, Mx. Prefect!"

"Drop by Savana tomorrow! You promised!"

"Hey, come by Heartslabyul later!"

"See ya later, Mx. Prefect!"

"We’ll talk on Monday!"

"Goodbye, everyone! Take care!"

----

"What a bother. Should’ve just stayed in and slept."

"You didn’t have to stay, y’know."

"Tsk. Gotta make sure the herbivore doesn’t do something incredibly stupid. Kid’s too naïve for their own good."

"Ridiculously trusting and naïve, maybe, Senior, but not defenseless."

"Ch. No, not defenseless."

----

"What did we say about trusting people so easily, eh? Don’t play innocent with us, Yuura Miyajima."

"I don’t think they’re playing; they're always this foolish, remember?"

"Aww, Deuce, not you as well."

"Hey, we’re not done with this conversation!"

"Of course not. Will you two be stopping by Ramshackle after class next week? With Senior Riddle’s permission, we could have a sleepover. It’ll be like old times."

"Pfft. I know your tricks, Yuu. Don’t think you can avoid the topic that easily."

"I’m not! I swear it on my mother’s ashes. If Riddle agrees, I’ll even make breakfast for you both. I just went grocery shopping. Those omelets I made before? The fluffy ones with milk and sautéed vegetables? I even got a tin of hot cocoa."

"Hot cocoa? What do you think we are, little kids?"

"Ace, c’mon…"

"I’ll make cherry turnovers."

"...Fine."

At the very least, they could say they got to Yuura first and had them the longest.

(Unless you asked Grim, of course. That's a whole 'nother story.)

----

"I think it goes without saying, that no footage of the Prefect Singing should be released, especially considering what happened the last time it happened."

"What do you take me for, ay? Hey, we all learned a lesson last time! See? No video, I just uploaded some of the pics I took."

@OkayCayCay: @iseeyuu hard at work making the rest of us look bad #CayToday #NRC #RamshackleRenovations #shabbychic #broomdancing #mädchenfromamärchen

@SuziQChuChu: is that the new nrc prefect? cute! <3

@enamel_eclipse: That's the brown eyed kid from last time, right?

@mamamiya: hey, its the person from the nightingale video

@cecilily: what's the nightingale video?

"...Cater—what is the nightingale video?"

"...You're gonna find this hilarious."

"Cater."

----

It’s a little blue songbird that leads them away, alighting on Yuura’s offered hand as they clean up the tubs and washboards outside. "Hello there, ptichka,” they giggle, recalling one of the many endearments their uncles used to address them by. “What are you doing here, all on your lonesome?"

The bluebird chirps, shaking its head and ruffling its feathers. It hops up and down on their finger before flying off and landing in the grass some distance away. It turns around and hops some more. Well? What are you waiting for?

Now, having been partially raised on the many, many tomes and texts that made up their family’s library, Yuura is well-read enough to know that even following a tiny bird into the woods could spell trouble. Why, it could just as easily lead Yuura to imminent peril or their disastrous doom as it could be guiding them to some great treasure, or perhaps even the love of their life! Wouldn't that be a tale to tell? Still, what harm could there be in following? They didn’t get to where they are now without taking a few (read: several) risks here and there. "Lead the way."

The woods behind campus have become quite familiar to Yuura. There are always apples and berries and flowers to be found there, the strong boughs and knotted bark of the trees are perfect for climbing, and it's where their animal friends reside. There’s always a lovely atmosphere, even at night, but especially now in the late afternoon—golden-amber sunlight dappling the soft green grass underfoot, filtered by the lush, fruit-laden branches above. The mildest of autumn breezes that whispers through the leaves and stirs the mess of curls about their face. It’s a gentle, sleepy atmosphere, dreamy and suspended in time.

The little bird flits about up ahead and Yuura obediently follows. In the hazy afternoon light, the figure cradled in the twisted roots of a tree becomes apparent. The birds and squirrels surrounding the figure turn to look at Yuura, but do not flee as they approach, slowing their steps with barely a rustle in the grass.

A standard NRC uniform with a striped tie and the vibrant green waistcoat of Diasomnia House—maybe he knows Yuura’s midnight visitor? A peculiar baton of green and black hanging from the belt. From the relaxed position he’s in, his gloved hands folded atop his stomach and the steady rise and fall of his chest, this person must’ve fallen asleep here, rather than having passed out. How odd. How curious.

"Oh!" Yuura gasps, moving to kneel by his side, "I remember him!"

It's the boy from the Spelldrive Tournament, the quiet, aloof one who had accompanied Sebek Zigvolt and Senior Lilia.

Yuura recalls his hair being gray, but up close, it shines like spun silver in the shaded light, distinct from Jack's grayish-white, or Senior Kalim's pearly white. Up close, Yuura discovers a lovely, well-shaped face; it reminds them of Tsunotaro's unearthly allure and noble mien—charming and enchanting, something straight from a storybook. He’s beautiful.

"Like Sleeping Beauty in the Woods," Yuura whispers. "Do you think he's a prince? Or maybe a knight?" The little bird only chirps in response.

As loathed as they are to disturb such a peaceful slumber (speaking from experience), the hour is growing late, and they'd rather not abandon this man in the woods.

"Hello?" He's sturdier than he looks, barely budging when Yuura shakes his shoulder.

"...Hmm?"

They shake him some more. "Hello—o—o. I'm sorry to disturb you, but it's getting late, and it'll be dark soon—ah!" He lurches upright, nearly knocking foreheads with Yuura.

"Oh! my goodness, are you alright?" Yuura leans away, resting a hand on his shoulder as he sways. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Blue-violet eyes stare at them, cloudy with sleep, blinking with a syrupy slowness. "...This is strange," he murmurs, "You seem... familiar. Have we met somewhere before?"

What a mysterious thing to say. Yuura grins, unable to help themself. "Once upon a dream, perhaps," they say with a wave of their hand.

(They do not notice the sudden alertness in those lethargic eyes. Why would they?)

"I suppose you know where you are? I'm the the Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm, Yuura Miyajima. Class A, freshman year." Shifting into a proper seiza, they bow their head to him. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"...I have heard of you. Silver. Diasomnia, Class A, sophomore year. Likewise."

----

Translations Central Rosen (Irish Gaelic) - cúl tóna beag = "little asshole" Lugha ya Machweo (Kiswahili) - ati = "hey" - kidege = "little bird" - Jaza ya ihsani ni ihsani = "The reward of kindness is kindness" - Anipendaye, nami nampenda = "The person who loves me, I love too" - Ihsani iandame imani = "A loving relationship should follow acts of kindness" Coastal Rosen (Italian) - cretini e scrocconi = "jerks and freeloaders" - Vai a vendere il culo! = "Fuck off!" lit. "Go and sell your ass!" - Cazzo si, Campana! Bacha ma culo, tu brutto figlio di...! = "Fuck you, Campana! Kiss my ass, you ugly son of...!" Pyroxisch (German) - Yuurachen = approx. "Little Yuura" - Wer bei der Arbeit pfeift = "(He) who whistles at work"

#my writing #twisted wonderland #twst #of nightingales and night ravens #onanr #twisted wonderland yuu #twst yuu #twisted wonderland fanfic

[judassamara]

2045 (and thereafter) | judas & matthew

with: @matthew-alexander

It had been a good few months since Matthew returned to his penthouse in the Hereafter. Working with the P.S. Group had taken up so much of his time, but the recent and very public reveal of his involvement with them had sent the fallen deity into a slight panic, one he hoped he managed to hide from the humans. If he was going to continue down this path on his own, he needed to make sure that they had nothing to hold over him when push came to shove and Matthew's biggest weakness was his pride and joy.

Matthew was still the owner of the Hereafter and a number of supernaturals had moved out because of his tie to the humans. He could not have that, not when the building was supposed to be a sanctuary to their kind. If it could remain that way for them, even if it might not be able to serve that purpose for himself anymore, then so be it.

He entered through the building's main entrance that day and made his way towards the reception. "Where's Mister Samara?" he asked the receptionist. "Tell them to meet me in my office." That was all he said before sweeping away to wait for Judas.

--------------

Though Judas continuously offered every reassurance, there were still many people who saw what Matthew was doing and left the Hereafter. There was nothing they could do but help them move and wish them safe travels, but it made his heart ache every time. Each newly vacated room felt like an omen. They were finishing up cleaning one such room, sweeping up the floors and making sure everything was in perfect order, when they got a message that surprised them. Was Matthew actually there? It felt like he hadn't seen the man in forever, but he was busy, after all. They'd seen him on the news with the P.S. Group. He was far too busy for the likes of them.

Still, he made his way quickly downstairs, trying not to look excited by any means. They checked their shirt, adjusting the collar and making sure they didn't have any dirt on them before they knocked and stepped into the office. Matthew was actually there. Despite how much he hated the P.S. Group and what they were doing, they had never found it in themselves to hate Matt. Perhaps that was why they gave him a small yet warm smile.

"Hello, Matthew. What can I do for you?"

----------------

Matthew was standing and looking out the window when he heard the door open and Judas entered the office. It had been awhile since they had last met, but Matthew remembered how seriously the vampire took his job and continued to do so to the point where he entrusted him to handle anything related to the Hereafter. And that was already how things were being run for the last few years.

"Judas," Matthew greeted him with a smile and gestured for them to take a seat. "It's been awhile. How have you been? I see that the Hereafter continues to be in safe hands under your watch."

----------------

The last time Matthew called him to his office like this, it was to tell him about some big issue that needed fixing. This time, that certainly didn't appear to be the case. They took a seat, happy to get to see the man at least. It wasn't often he saw his old friends lately.

"It has been a while. I've been good, keeping busy and making sure everything is in perfect working order." Over the years, the Hereafter had become almost like a younger sibling that he had to protect and take care of. They had made relatively good friends with a majority of the residents, though many had left by this point. "What brings you our way? You've obviously had your hands full with your work."

----------------

The way Judas was not casting any aspersions on what he was doing with the P.S. Group was certainly refreshing because he knew that there were a good number of residents in the Hereafter who would have spat on him already. Although those residents were probably all gone by now. Matthew had noticed the number of tenants dwindling in recent months and he knew exactly why. And that was exactly why he had returned that day.

"Yes. And I fear it's only going to increase from now. You've seen the news. I've become some sort of poster child for the P.S. Group..." he chuckled darkly. "Anyway, that means that I will be returning even less, meaning I won't have time to keep an eye on this place and also meaning that I will be handing the Hereafter over to someone else." Matthew thought he had braced himself for this but saying the words still hurt and he could feel his heart momentarily seize in his chest. "How would you like to own this building, Judas?"

----------------

A part of him wanted to be happy that Matthew was doing well for himself but it was difficult. He'd seen the hateful things the P.S. Group inspired and they assumed Matt was with them for his own personal gain. It was disappointing that he wouldn't see the demon anymore, or probably ever, but what he said next surprised them, their eyes widening slightly. He was going to hand the Hereafter over to someone else? Judas wanted to speak up, say that he really didn't need to do that, it was still being well taken care of even if he wasn't there, but they held their tongue, seeing something in Matthew's expression.

"What?" they blurted softly, momentarily stunned. It took a few seconds for his mind to kick into gear again. "I - I can't afford to even rent a unit here. I can't buy the whole building from you." Even so, Judas had come to love this place dearly and he hated to think what kind of person might take over and what changes they would make. "Whoever owns it next, I promise to make sure it's still well taken care of."

----------------

"You don't need to buy it. I will sign it over to you." If that was not indication enough that Matthew really wanted this to happen then the fallen deity did not know what else he could do. Judas was really the only person Matthew trusted to own and run the place properly since Luke decided that he wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Dear, sweet Judas who continued to look at Matthew the same way he did when the fallen deity first offered him a job out of prison. Matthew knew when he had earned someone's loyalty and he was not fool enough not to take advantage of it. Or at least that was what Matthew told himself as he steeled himself for his own future. 

"I've seen how much you love this dreadful place, so why not just take it? You'd be doing me a huge favour. Truly." 

----------------

The clarification was a surprise, certainly, but it made his heart beat hard, once or twice, in his chest. Matthew was trusting him so much with the building that he was simply going to sign it over to them and leave it in their care. The words were odd, though. Matthew was acting as if he hated the building, hated that he owned it, and Judas knew that was the furthest thing from the truth.

"You don't have to lie to me," they said, though the tone wasn't accusing, simple stating a fact.

----------------

The way Judas called him out immediately had Matthew stunned momentarily, but he hid it swiftly with a shake of his head. "I'm not. I just want the building off my hands. It's a waste of my time and resources," he said again, wanting Judas to just accept it. Why was the vampire making this more difficult than it should be when Matthew was already having such a hard time. 

"Is it more money you want? Because that can be arranged."

----------------

If Matthew was trying to be convincing with his lies, lying more was not helping him. That skepticism showed on their face as they let the demon dig himself into a deeper hole. Even though Judas knew it was lies, he also knew Matt wasn't going to be honest with them. They'd figured that out years ago.

"No. I will take the Hereafter from you." At least he could do this, for the Matthew that he knew, the one that opened it to be a safe place for supernaturals in the city. "It'd be nice if you were honest with me for once, though."

----------------

Matthew had to be thankful for the small mercies. But Judas giving in so easily while still calling him out posed a problem the fallen deity had not been expecting. Or perhaps Matthew had been expecting this because he knew deep down that Judas would still help him regardless and without asking questions. As much as he wished to tell Judas, to tell someone -- anyone -- so that he did not need to be so lonely in the coming years, it was safer for everyone not to be associated with him and what he might have to do next.

"I'm not required to any such thing," Matthew said instead and drew a folder out from the drawer at his desk. Anything to distract him from looking at the vampire as those dark eyes tried to bore into his soul. "The paperwork. It's all been drawn up. You just need to sign it. Here." He opened it to the front page where Judas' name had already been printed at the bottom of the page. Matthew was going to give the building to them no matter what.

----------------

His comments really were futile and Judas let out a small, resigned sigh. At least that was something that never changed. Matthew still kept him at an arm's distance, if not further now. They didn't argue or question anymore, simply moving to the desk and signing the papers, though the thought did cross his mind that Matthew had all these papers ready, so he must have already thought this choice through.

"I suppose we won't be seeing each other again for a while," if at all, but they didn't add that part. He couldn't help offering his hand in a handshake, though, wanting to touch him just one more time before he disappeared from their life again. "Thank you again, for everything."

----------------

"No, we won't," Matthew said, injecting enough coldness into his voice as he closed the folder and picked it up. It was hurting him doing this, but he knew that putting the Hereafter in Judas' hands was the right choice. He looked down at the outstretched hand, hesitant to take it, but a small voice inside him told him that he needed to take it. For his own sake if anything. 

 The fallen angel reached his hand out and slid in into Judas' waiting one only to be met with that familiar coolness of the vampire's skin and it felt so... safe as it closed around his own. Blue eyes darted up to Judas' face as Matthew allowed himself a small moment of vulnerability and his hand squeezed tight as he silently pleaded with Judas to take proper care of the only thing in this world that he held dear. 

"Thank you, Mister Samara," he said as he drew in a shuddering breath, finding that he did not quite want to let go of Judas' hand even when he sorely needed to.

----------------

The words cut sharper than they thought they could. Maybe it was the tone, or the quick way he said it, without any hesitation. They could only wonder if they had done something to make him hate them, though they didn't think they were that special. The demon was probably just protecting himself and cutting out any loose ends before they became a problem. Judas just wished he wasn't one of the strings being cute.

They gave his hand a squeeze, holding onto it briefly the way he wished they could hold onto him. When their eyes met, it felt like they could see the smallest sliver of truth there and their chest tightened.

"Take care of yourself, Mister Alexander," they replied, the words feeling like a final goodbye. It was probably better that way. They wanted to help the supernatural community and protect who he could, and they couldn't do that when they would so easily give into whatever the fallen deity asked. Maybe this would be enough for them to finally get over their feelings for Matthew, but he doubted it.

--------------

"You too..." Matthew said in return, his hand still closed tightly around Judas', perhaps a bit too much as their eyes held each other's across that space that remained between them. The fallen angel knew that this handshake had already gone on for a bit too long, but he did not want to let go. If he played things right, Judas was going to be the last supernatural he could be himself with before immersing himself in the P.S. Group for the years to come.

The vampire had become his one and only tie back to the life Matthew was discarding for what? His vanity and the need to play heroics? He finally released Judas' hand in that moment and tore his eyes away, his heart had been beating too fast in his chest in the face of those warm, brown eyes and he needed to leave.

--------------

Their hands stayed together for far to long, but Judas decided then and there that it was closure. That when Matthew walked out that door, that was it. They were going to put their feelings for him away on a shelf to collect dust while they moved on with their life.

And they did, for the most part. With that connection severed, people began to see the Hereafter as a safe place again. People returned, thankful for a place to feel safe. People who didn't stay there Judas was able to direct to other places where they could hide. Somehow, he even managed to meet someone who thought he was charming and made him feel wanted and desirable again. Even so, when there was a knock on his door late one evening, Judas heard that familiar heartbeat on the other side and opened it, anyway.

"Matthew? What are you doing here?"

----------------

It had been three years since Matthew returned to the Hereafter, the fallen deity constantly telling himself that he needed to stay far away from the building he did not own anymore. He had his hands full with the P.S. Group anyway, and as he spent more time with them, it became abundantly clear that his initial suspicions about them were correct. The humans meant to destroy them all and they started to test the loyalties of those supernaturals who were working with them. Matthew knew that his time would come eventually and when they did, he did not hesitate in giving them a name. They wanted a prominent figure and Matthew gave them Sipho Dumisani.

When the news broke that Sipho was captured and killed shortly after, it was the first time in a long time that Matthew could feel himself spiralling and he exited the P.S. Building in a mild daze. It did not do well to appear too affected. He wandered the district for awhile, waiting until nightfall when he found his feet taking him to Garond and to that familiar building he once called home. He still knew a few tricks on how to get in without detection, it used to be his building after all, and he found himself knocking on someone's door.

He did not know what he looked like to the vampire when Judas opened that door, but he was certain it was not good, so he mustered up a smile as he looked into a face he had not seen in awhile. "Judas. I'm not interrupting your evening, am I?"

----------------

He had heard the news, he knew one of the witch elders had been killed. Now, to have Matthew at his door, they were suspicious that the demon was only there to use Judas like a mole, to figure out what the side he was helping to eradicate was planning to do. They knew the right thin to do would be to slam the door in his face but they couldn't. Instead, they stepped back.

"Would you like to come in?" At the very least, he couldn't let anyone see him in the building. If someone started questioning Judas's loyalty or, worse, a mob looking for revenge showed up, it wouldn't be a situation they could handle.

-------------------

"Yes..." That simple gesture of allowing Matthew into their home was all the fallen deity needed to hear and his shoulders sagged in relief. "Thank you," he said as he took those few tentative steps inside. It felt strange being back in the Hereafter like this and he looked around Judas' space and wondered why the vampire was still living in this one bedroom unit when he quite literally owned the building. 

"I'm alone. I promise," he reassured the other just in case because he knew how the supernaturals perceived him these days and he did not want Judas to get spooked, even though the vampire allowing him into his space so readily already spoke volumes.

----------------

It was strange. They had never see Matthew relax like that before, his shoulders genuinely and visibly dropping. Even his heartbeat sounded strange, different. Alone or not, Matt was a dangerous demon and a dangerous man. Judas was an idiot for even entertaining him but he couldn't stop himself.

"Would you like a drink?" they asked after they closed and locked the door, moving across the dim space. They kept the lighting dim at any given moment, almost atmospheric. In the years since he moved in, they'd slowly collected furniture and decorations, but the walls were still adorn with various paintings he had done. Most were landscapes, some of the city and some of other places nobody but him would recognise. And off to the side, near a shelf filled with well worn books, was a small painting of a man they would both be able to recognise, even with the unusual color palette.

"Why are you here, Matt?" They expected a lie, but they still asked, anyway.

----------------

"Do you have something strong?" the fallen deity asked through a small laugh that threatened to crack until Matthew cleared his throat. Why did it seem to easy to want to just let Judas see him raw and vulnerable?

"I.. Um.. I just needed to get away for a bit," was all Matthew could say. He did not want to implicate himself or admit that he often felt like he might be in over his head doing what he was doing on his own. He shuffled over to look at the larger paintings on the walls. "Are these yours?"

----------------

Judas had already grabbed whatever was left out of the liquor cabinet, something someone else had left there. There wasn't much of it left, so they poured it all into a glass and brought it back to the living room, handing it to him before taking a seat in an arm chair across from the beat up sofa. For once, the answer seemed genuine, though it probably helped when it was so vague. Still, Judas kept his eyes on him, remaining skeptical The question about the paintings did bring his guard down a little bit though.

"Yeah. Kind of the only hobby I kept over the years." He didn't talk about his paintings much. Nobody knew the truth about his past, so it wouldn't make sense to tell them about the cityscapes that weren't of Vievecor City.

----------------

Matthew took the drink gratefully and took a big first sip, feeling the alcohol burn down his throat in a way that was sorely needed before turning his attention back to the paintings before him.

"You're very good..." The fallen deity smiled as his eyes continued to rove over the various canvases. "Where is this?" he asked pointing to one that was clearly not of Vievecor.

----------------

His eyes followed Matthew's as they moved towards the walls. That was the one thing he was proud of in his life, his art. Sure, nobody saw it, but they were still proud of their work.

"Somewhere else," they replied dryly. It was a place somewhere in time, pulled from his memory and recreated on a canvas. It would never be perfect, never close enough to his memory for him to be satisfied. Slowly, after a few moments of silence, Judas spoke again, despite his better judgement.

"It's a place out West, where I grew up." Even that felt like admitting far too much.

----------------

Matthew had been happy for the silence to keep going if that was what Judas wanted, he was just content to be here in this moment to forget about everything else in his life.

But when Judas spoke again and told him of a place out West, Matthew turned to look at the vampire. "It's beautiful..." he smiled. This seemed somewhat normal, right? Having a drink with a friend while admiring their art. Matthew wanted to believe it even if it was just for awhile.

"You could make a career out of this," the fallen deity suggested before moving on the look at some of the other paintings when a small one that sat near a shelf caught his eye.

----------------

This was strange. Even before everything went to shit, they'd never sat and talked and been in each other's company like this. A skeptical and cynical part of Judas thought this had to be some trick.

"I wanted to, at one point. When I first moved in here, all I had was a bed and a fuckton of canvases." He'd used them all, too, though he hadn't kept very many. They noticed the one Matthew was looking at, but they couldn't bring themselves to say anything, wanting to see if Matt recognised himself or even said anything about it.

----------------

Matthew scanned the painting, finding the colours beautifully blended and chosen and it took him a long moment before he realised who Judas had painted. His heart started beating faster upon that realisation, wanting to say something but finding that he was holding himself back.

"You still can," he said instead, eyes still fixed on the painting of himself as his mind raced with what it implied. "The art world loves supernatural artists..." For now, at least.

-----------------

They heard the way Matthew's heart sped up, and a small part of them hoped he would say something, but of course he didn't.

"I can't," he replied, the dejected tone evident. "I'm a vampire and an ex-con who killed several humans. I'm lucky I haven't been killed already." No, his art was just for himself now.

----------------

"I'm sure you could with some good PR," Matthew turned to Judas with another smile. "Humans are strange. They love a good story." His fingers had fallen on the painting. It seemed like such a precious connection to the vampire and he did not quite want to let it go.

"Can I have this one?" he asked, wondering if he was asking too much even as he left so much unspoken and unacknowledged between them.

----------------

He didn't think PR would help him but he was happy to let Matthew think that if he would smile at him some more. Their eyes followed his fingers as they touched the canvas. A part of them wanted to ask him to tell them why first, but he knew Matthew wouldn't answer. He had never been honest with him. Perhaps it was vanity, seeing how good he looked in Judas's paint style.

"Yes, you can have it," they replied, despite it being the only painting of Matthew they had kept, even though he had painted quite a few over the years. Perhaps it could be closure, for Matthew to truly be out of his home and life.

----------------

"Thank you..." the fallen deity said softly. "I... I shouldn't take up too much of your time anymore. I'm sure you have things you need to get to." He curled the painting in towards his chest as if it were the most precious thing and moved to place his empty glass on the table. Matthew did not want to leave but it was not like he could keep imposing on Judas either.

----------------

Somehow, he was disappointed when he started to talk about leaving. It wasn't exactly as if Judas was being the kindest host in the world but they had still missed him, despite his attempts to hate him. Judas stood from their seat, walking Matt to the door. They didn't know what to say, but they opened their mouth anyway.

"It was good to see you," they murmured awkwardly as they held the door open for him. They watched as he stepped out into the hallway and disappeared before closing the door and turning to lean back against it as he started to slump down. His hand lifted to press to his face, soon dragging down. "Fuck."

One little visit and Judas was in love with him all over again.

Days turned to weeks, turned to months, and they didn't see Matthew again. But that didn't mean the demon wasn't constantly on his mind. It made them a little more sullen than usual, irritated at themselves. All their progress of getting over their unrequited feelings had come undone with one visit, one meaningless visit.

As another boring, uneventful day turned into evening, Judas found himself with company once more, this time the woman he'd been seeing casually. If anyone could take his mind off Matthew, they hoped it was her.

And yet, as his lips traveled over her torso, peppering kisses to her smooth skin, there was a knock at the door. And, once again, he knew exactly who it was and should have ignored it. But, instead, with an annoyed groan, they pulled their shorts back on and grumbled their way to the door, opening it and leaning in the doorframe as they met eyes with Matthew's radiant blue ones.

"What is it this time?"

----------------

More time had passed again with Matthew keeping himself away from everyone he cared about so that he could do his job. The painting Judas gave him had been placed on his bookshelf in his suite in the P.S Building, given pride of place so that he could gaze upon it each time he retreated to be by himself. He thought about that night often, replaying each moment as if it were some sort of lifeline he could cling to to help him get through the days, and unbeknownst to him, his constant thoughts of Judas found him at the vampire's door again that night.

He had been asked to give up some names again, especially those he might know of who were rescuing captured supernaturals. Matthew had given them a name, a vampire this time whom they brought in and Matthew was forced to watch them turn a new weapon on the poor soul. One that killed the vampire instantly with just one blast.

Matthew felt sick standing in front of Judas' door, but when the vampire opened it to stand in front of him looking just like that and very much alive, his fears seemed to wash away. They looked and felt so welcoming just standing there and Matthew could almost believe for a moment as if they were welcoming him home...

"I'm sorry..." he said, never had he ever apologised like this before until he realised that Judas might be having company. The annoyance in the vampire's voice was evident with the way they asked that question. "I shouldn't have come... I..." didn't know where else to go.

----------------

The apology surprised them and their eyes widened slightly as they gazed down at him. Their annoyed expression softened with a sigh, one of resignation perhaps mixed with some annoyance, though that annoyance was at himself and how easily he gave into Matt every time.

"No, please. Come in." They put a hand on his shoulder to gently guide him into the apartment. They led him to the sofa and had him take a seat but, in that time, his guest had fully dressed and marched through the living space with clear annoyance, slamming the door on her way out. Judas took a brief moment to feel horrible about ruining the budding relationship they'd had, but they would always choose Matthew in the end, even if he never picked them.

"Do you want something to drink?" they asked, ready to offer him alcohol again. The apartment was much the same as last time, except for a spot on the wall empty from the painting Matt had taken with him last time. There was also an easel sitting in the corner, with some painting supplies collected in a box beneath it. The canvas was covered by a sheet he had tossed over it, unable to look at it himself and definitely not wanting anyone else to see it.

----------------

It was only when Matthew stepped into the apartment to see a woman leave in a huff that he knew what Judas had done for him. "I'm really... I'm so sorry," he said again after the door slammed behind her. Again with the apologising... Why had Judas allowed him to interrupt in the first place? Matthew was wondering.

"Yes. Sure. Thank you..." And yet there was a small part of of him that was also slightly glad and relieved for it. The fallen deity looked around the room again, taking in how it had changed since he was last here, but only in small ways. Most notably the easel that was sitting in the corner. He moved towards it while Judas was preparing their drinks and curiously lifted the corner of the sheet.

What he saw painted on the canvas had his cheeks warming. Why was Judas drawing...? "Is this..." he cleared his throat. "Yours?"

----------------

Moving back into the kitchen, Judas dug out whatever alcohol he had sitting around and poured it into a glass. When he heard Matthew speak, he was momentarily until he realised what the must have been looking at.

"Seriously?! I leave you alone for 2 seconds and you're already..." Judas was grumbling and cursing under their breath as they made their way back into the living room, their face flushed red with an intense blush. Nobody was supposed to see that, especially not Matthew. They really should have thrown it out when they had the chance.

"It's yours." 

----------------

Matthew's face turned more red at Judas' words. Why were they..? When he saw the vampire return, their face flushed red in a way Matthew had never seen before, the fallen deity could not help lifting a hand up to cover the smile that was threatening to break across his face.

He cleared his throat, the tension he had felt upon coming back here seemed to have dissipated completely in that moment and he could not help saying. "I don't recall ever giving you any pictorial references..." Matthew was not the sort to send others such photos. The words were said in half jest as he lifted the sheet again to take a proper look as if he wanted to be certain that this rather beautiful painting of a dick was that of his own.

-----------------

Judas set the drink down on the coffee table before taking a seat and specifically sitting with his back towards the painting so he didn't have to watch Matthew in all his vanity.

"I don't paint from references. It's from memory," they murmured, wishing so badly that they could get drunk in this moment. Now, not only was he sexually frustrated from painting it in the first place, the muse of the painting was in his home, cockblocking him from dealing with that frustration. "Since you love it so much, why don't you take that one home, too." 

----------------

Oh. It took a few moments for those words to sink in. The last time they had fallen into bed together was years and years ago and Matthew was certainly wondering what possessed the vampire to make a painting of this now.

He turned to look at Judas, but they had their back resolutely turned to him, clearly still embarrassed by what Matthew had discovered. "I do love it... But it's not finished yet, is it? I'll only take finished paintings..." he teased wanting to see more of Judas' adorable reactions.

-----------------

Judas looked at him then, but only to shoot the man a glare.

"I have zero plans to finish that. I didn't even intend to start it in the first place." Honestly, if Matthew didn't take it, they were likely to smash it when he left. They didn't want another constant reminder of Matthew in his house when they already couldn't get him out of their head.

-----------------

There were so many questions he wanted to ask, about this painting and also about the one Matthew took home, but the fallen deity was afraid of what Judas might say.

Matthew dropped the sheet back in its place and turned to walk over to where Judas was seated to slide into the seat next to him. The vampire was clearly agitated and that had not been Matthew's intention. "I'm sorry... I shouldn't have teased you," he said, reaching out to place a hand on Judas' arm instead.

-----------------

Judas watched him for a few moments before looking away as he moved closer. Their face was still heated and flushed pink, getting worse now that Matthew was next to him. The apology sounded genuine, far too genuine, and that made the vampire's dormant heart thump in his chest.

"Don't worry about it," they mumbled, feeling guilty for getting upset. It was unusual for them to feel so sheepish, except when he was around Matthew.

----------------

They stayed staring at one another for a few moments, the fallen deity taking in the look on Judas' face and those warm brown eyes again...

"You were just so..." Matthew started, many different words sitting just on the tip of his tongue that he could say to take this different ways, but against his better judgement, he ended up leaning in instead and their lips met for the first time in a very long time.

----------------

"Just so what?" he asked softly, still caught in his eyes. They couldn't look away, always drawn in by those beautiful blue eyes, the same blues he was drawn to when he set out paint colors. Everything always came back to Matthew, one way or another. When their lips met, their heart thumped again, stomach fluttering like crazy. How was he ever meant to be with anyone else when Matt kept showing up at his door being all beautiful and kissing him like this. Their hands slowly reached out for him, just wanting to hold him.

----------------

Kissing Judas was clearly a mistake in Matthew's mind, but he kept going anyway. The vampire was the one person in the entire city who saw him like his each scant few times he appeared at their apartment. No one else did Matthew allow himself to lower his guard around these days and it was so tiring. Being here in this space with Judas meant everything to Matthew and he found himself trying to show that all in this kiss.

"Adorable.." the fallen deity breathed in between kisses and took the moment to move closer until he was practically in Judas' lap, just so that he could feel the vampire's arms close around him.

-----------------

The answer did not make it any better. Now his heart was thumping wildly and his face was heating up and they were kissing again and... Judas's mind was running away with him, overwhelmed by everything that was Matthew. As the demon moved, their arms slipped around him, helping to pull him into their lap and hold onto him as they kissed. They never wanted this kiss to end, knowing Matt would leave and probably shatter his heart again and not show his face for another several months, if not longer. His desperation to not let him go was probably clear in the way they held onto him, kissing him harder.

----------------

"Judas..." he breathed, their bodies were pressed together in a way that made him feel so safe. Matthew did not want this to end either. It was a realisation that hit him when a small voice inside him told him that he needed to leave. A small noise escaped him as he shoved that voice aside, wanting nothing more than to lose himself in this -- in Judas. Perhaps it was selfish of Matthew as he thought that he was probably using the vampire to feel better about himself, but he did not want to stop.

----------------

Hearing Matthew moan only encouraged him on more, pulling his hips closer as they deepened the kiss, their tongue dragging again his lips, asking permission for more. They would take anything and everything Matthew was willing to give him. Fingers dragged up Matthew's back, wanting to touch him everywhere he could.

----------------

Matthew's lips parted on instinct to allow Judas' tongue inside, his hands were roving over their firm body as he shuddered with that newfound contact. It felt so good and Matthew had not felt this good in such a long time.

It would have been so easy for the fallen deity to give in to his desires -- their desires -- to keep going, but that voice inside him sharply reminded him again that this was dangerous. For himself and for Judas.

"S-stop..." he breathed against the vampire's lips even has he kept kissing Judas a few more times. "Stop!" Matthew said sharply, more for himself than anything and he pulled himself away and off Judas' lap.

"I'm sorry..." he said again. He really was apologising a bit too many times that evening. "I should go."

----------------

The kiss felt so good, far too good, like something out of a daydream. And, just as quickly as it had started, Matthew was pulling away, telling him to stop. They couldn't help the way their heart sank. It really felt like Matthew was toying with him, teasing them until they broke. Either that or Matt had figured out what a terrible mistake Judas was.

"Okay," they replied softly, unable to bring themselves to say anything else. What do you say in this situation? All they knew was that they had been happy for a brief, fleeting moment before it was snatched away again.

-----------------

Matthew was straightening his clothes where he stood, face flushed as he got angry with himself for giving in so easily. This was a weakness that the P. S. Group could exploit and he was putting Judas in danger. But when had Judas become a weakness?

He made it a point to avoid the vampire's eyes as he made his way to the door, cursing himself for making this awkward. There was no way he was going to come back to Judas' place now. "Thank you..." he said as he finally lifted his eyes up to meet Judas' again. Just one last time before he slipped out the door and disappeared.

----------------

This time, Matthew's departure felt so final. Like they would truly never see him again. They watched him as he walked to the door, their eyes meeting briefly.

"Goodbye, Matthew." And then he was gone, like a ghost, like a leaf on the wind. Judas sat there for quite a while before they stood, feeling their frustration and pain and grief overflow as they grabbed their paint supplies and threw it across the room, the tin container clambering against the floor as brushes spilled out and paint tubes burst open, splattering color across the floor. But, as they turned back towards the canvas, any anger turned to sadness and he lost the energy to throw anything else, instead sitting on the floor and cursing themselves, tears dampening his face without their permission in soundless sobs.

----------------

The next time they met was on the year 2051 when the supernaturals decided to hatch a plan to assassinate Park Sung Joon. Matthew had heard about it through his contacts and he decided that it was time he left the P.S. Group for good. He left the building that evening and made his way to where he knew they were having a meeting and appeared at the door, to the surprise and anger of the person standing on guard where they almost killed him on sight. After telling them that he was here to help, they reluctantly brought him into the room to meet with those who were planning this assassination.

What he had not expected was seeing Judas there. But then again, he probably should not have been. The plans were set in stone that night with Matthew volunteering to break them all into Park's residence. He knew the man best out of everyone in the room after all but was still met with many looks of derision and distrust.

By the time the meeting was adjourned, Matthew was starting to wonder if he would perhaps die by the hands of his own kind when the assassination was over.

----------------

Life went on, just like it had before, just like it always would. Things were the same as before, and Judas continued to do what he could, helping people get to safety and getting the supplies they needed. As the plan started to come together, of course they were a part of it, even volunteering to go until he and Isabelle talked and she took that spot, instead. Besides, Judas knew he wouldn't be able to focus with Matthew there. Still unable to resolve their feelings for him, they had pushed them to the back of his mind, but they threatened to resurface when he saw the demon again, especially when he was so surprised he was there. As the meeting ended, they made their way over to Matthew, unable to keep themselves from saying something.

"You being here is going to make a big difference," they said, briefly patting Matt's shoulder. "Thanks." That was all they had to say, but they lingered for a moment, looking over his face and taking note of the small changes.

----------------

Matthew had been waiting for the moment that he would be alone with Judas again. And they had to wait for the meeting to be over for that to happen. When the vampire came over to him when they were finally left alone and that hand moved to pat his shoulder, Matthew felt some of the tension he was carrying melt away. But he was still wondering...

"Don't you hate me? Everyone else seems to..." It would only be natural that Judas did too. After everything he put them through.

-----------------

Their eyes widened slightly, surprised that Matthew would worry about something like that.

"I could never hate you," they replied. They had certainly tried, from Matthew siding with the enemy to him constantly showing up and breaking his heart for the fun of it, it seemed. "If I did, I certainly wouldn't have kept letting you into my home," he added in a teasing tone, hoping to light the mood a bit.

----------------

Matthew caught on to that teasing tone like it was a lifeline and he turned a warm smile on Judas. "Of course..." The last time he was at that place they had left on rather shaky terms, but Judas seemed to have swept that all under the rug.

"Are you still painting?" he asked as his cheeks warmed when he remembered what Judas painted last. "I mean... Landscapes?"

----------------

Seeing him smile helped Judas to relax a little. Their chest still tightened uncomfortable and they wanted to run away, but they seemed to be the only one who didn't want to stab Matthew at the first given chance. The question made their smile fall slightly, their eyes dropping his gaze.

"No, not anymore." Considering the last time, Judas had avoided painting to give them a chance to not be overwhelmed by thoughts of Matt, and missing him. Focusing on the day to day and not dwelling on his feelings made it easier to wake up and keep going.

-----------------

"Oh," Matthew said feeling a little disappointed by that answer even when he did not know why, or perhaps he just did not want to admit that he loved the fact that Judas had been painting him. "I suppose you must've been busy. I wasn't expecting to see you here today... Doing this. Saving people. It suits you..."

----------------

It was difficult for him to paint when Matthew had been his muse off and on for years. It was easier to avoid it and not stir up feelings he was trying to ignore. Judas didn't know how to deal with this conversation, it felt too genuine considering who he was talking to and they easily reverted back to the persona they had used off and on through their life, flashing Matthew a smile. "Don't worry, I'll come save you if you get caught." 

----------------

"Really?" Matthew's brows rose in mild surprise as he felt something in his chest tighten. He was certain the vampire was teasing him, but he wanted to hope it was true. "Then I'll hold you to that..." he chuckled, wanting to stay in his little fantasy even if it was just for awhile.

---------------

They hadn't expected that reaction from Matthew, like he was actually surprised that Judas would rescue him. It was their role in the assassination, after all, making sure those who were captured were rescued, but of course he would do that for Matt even if it wasn't their job. Still, the way Matthew chuckled and looked almost at ease was far too much, their heart thumping and they cursed internally. All it took was one moment his progress was undone, again. "Just try to be safe out there, okay?" they replied so their reaction wasn't as obvious.

----------------

The next time they meet again would be after Park Sung Joon's assassination. It went swimmingly, if it meant successfully killing the human, but Isabelle and Elio were caught in the process and Matthew was depowered for the first time in his life. It had happened as he was trying to get Elio out of the complex, the deity had been in a daze after accidentally killing a number of humans and they were almost surely to get caught until the man opened a portal and shoved a depowered Matthew through.

Where he found himself next was in a thankfully empty alleyway just outside Park's complex, collapsed on the ground as he tried fighting against the effects of the depowering ray. This was not where the extraction team were going to be and Matthew vaguely wondered if Elio had sent him here to separate him on purpose. But no, the deity would not do that...

He tried pushing himself up off the ground on shaky legs and tried to make his way out. If he could get to the extraction point, he would be able to see Judas again and everything would work out just fine... That was Matthew's thought at least until one of Park's guards standing guard outside the building spotted him!

----------------

While the assassination took place, it was up to Judas to make sure anyone that got injured was quickly escorted away. Rescuing would be a later problem. They were waiting, listening. When he recognised people, he was able to direct others. At this point, there were three left missing, and they got more anxious as time went on. Deciding to check around, Judas began to move when he finally heard a recognizable heartbeat, along with another.

They took off running, not caring about being spotted or followed. The fact that Matthew's heart rate was irregular and quick, the the other person was still alive, meant something was wrong and they had to get there quickly. He saw the guard entering the alleyway and their eyes narrowed as they closed the space between them, lunging at the guard with fangs bared.

Their fangs sunk into the human's throat and tore it out without a second thought before their mind returned to them and they looked up to see Matt. They immediately moved to his side. "Are you alright?" 

----------------

The human was advancing on him in one moment and in the next, Matthew saw Judas appear in a flash, fangs bare before they tore through the guard like he was paper. Matthew had never seen Judas like this before and he could not help looking on in awe while the whole thing happened, blue eyes were still trained on the vampire when the attack was over and that familiar face appeared next to his own.

"You saved me..." The fallen deity said, voice hushed as he reached a shaky hand out towards the other. This entire day had been an ordeal but he was so glad to see Judas again.

Their moment did not last long however as the sound of more guards made themselves known around them. An alarm had been sounded and the entire building had been put on lockdown.

----------------

Their eyes were filled with concern as hands went to either side of the fallen deity, ready to catch him if he was unsteady on his feet. Unfortunately there was no time to check his wounds, more guards rushing to surround them. Judas glared at some over Matthew's shoulder, counting the number of heartbeats to know how many there was. He could take them, but not without risking Matthew's safety.

Deciding protecting Matt was more important, they pulled him close, lifting him in their arms before barreling forward, slamming into the guards blocking their way with his shoulder to knock them back. With a path cleared, they ran, holding on tightly to him. He didn't stop until they were back at the extraction point with others, far enough that they knew the humans wouldn't have been able to keep up.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" 

----------------

And Judas saved him again. Keeping to the promise he made in jest just the day before. Matthew was still clinging to them when they got back to the extraction point, one arm stayed looped around him even when he was set back down on the ground, not wanting to let Judas go lest he fall over.

"Depowered... But I'm fine," he gritted out as he looked at the rest of the team who managed to make it out. Isabelle was missing too. "Elio and Isabelle... We can't let the P.S. Group take them.." 

----------------

When he noticed Matthew still holding onto them, they kept an arm around his waist, letting him lean again Judas as a support. It was good to see how may people they had managed to get out, but they felt a pang of guilt knowing that Isabelle hadn't escaped.

"I don't think we can rescue them, we don't have the advantage of surprised anymore. They're going to be ready for us." Considering what had gone down today, the P.S. Group would have to organise themselves before they could do anything to either of their captives. "We'll get them back, Matt, I promise." It just might not be tonight.

----------------

Matthew knew that Judas was speaking sense. They could not go back in now. Not with their dwindled numbers and the humans on full alert. The rest of the group were in agreement as well and began making plans to head back and regroup.

Matthew nodded at last, looking defeated but this was a group decision and he was too weak to fight back. "Okay..." he said. They had made plans to put each of the assassins in different safe houses after the mission and that was going to be the next step.

"OK. Let's go..." 

----------------

He could practically feel Matthew's disappointment, it was clear how upset he was from his expression. Holding him carefully, Judas led him away. It wasn't long before they were at the safehouse, the one he had made sure was well stocked, and protected with some magic. They guided Matthew to the bed to rest.

"Can I get your anything? Water? Bandages? We should probably look at your wounds, they won't heal right now that you're depowered." Luckily, they had all sorts of things stored away in a back room.

----------------

Matthew shook his head, finding that he did not particularly want anything as he was seated on the bed in the back of the safe house. He had not even realised how beaten up if he was as his gaze remained on the floor before him.

"Wounds..." he said and felt a sudden pain blossom on his side and he winced from it. "Ow..." was all he said as he lifted a hand. It felt so weird that it was still there when something like this would normally have healed by now. "Are you sure we can't go back?" 

----------------

Judas moved to dig out the first aid kit, though it definitely felt odd to need it for Matthew of all people. As he spoke, they sighed, stopping to turn to him.

"If you want us to go after them so badly, I will, but I can't guarantee I'll come back." There was no way the P.S. Group would take any chances in the near future. Their guards would likely double, each equipped with weapons to depower and kill supernaturals. The vampires had already been all but wiped out and they didn't doubt the humans would be happy for them to make themselves an easy target.

----------------

"No!" Matthew said immediately when Judas offered. He did not want Judas anywhere near the P.S. Group, not like this when he was depowered and weak himself.

"You're never allowed to go to the P.S. Group yourself!" he snapped, suddenly angry at Judas for even suggesting it.

----------------

The sudden outburst made Judas's eyes go wide with surprise. They had hoped he cared enough to not want him to go out on a suicide mission, but the reaction he was receiving now was far from what they had expected.

"Okay!" they said quickly, moving to the bedside to take Matt's hand in his. "Okay. I won't." 

----------------

His hand closed tightly around Judas as if he would be able to hold him there always. The sudden thought of losing the vampire when he did not have anymore power at the P.S. Group was terrifying to Matthew and he had lashed out.

"Good..." he nodded, shoulders relaxing slowly. "Good..." Matthew said again as the weight of the entire day came crashing down on him and he lunged forward to pull Judas into a tight hug. "Thank you for saving me today..." 

----------------

As they were pulled in, they practically scooped Mathew into their arms, pulling him into their lap as he sat on the bed, holding him close.

"You don't have to thank you. I'm just happy I made it in time." If they hadn't, and something had happened to Matt, their heart would have been shattered beyond repair. "I just need you to rest and get better, okay?" 

----------------

"Just take the thanks, Judas..." Matthew huffed lightly from where he was cradled in Judas' arms, his face pressed to the vampire's neck and he sniffed, feeling a wetness in his eyes that he had not felt in a very long time.

"Can you stay here with me?" he asked in a hushed voice, one that wavered slightly as he did not dare to look Judas in the face when he asked the question, afraid that he might be rejected.

----------------

"Okay. You're welcome," they replied as they chuckled softly. He didn't need to be so cute and huffy. Feeling wetness again his neck, Judas smoothed his hand over his back, trying to comfort him.

"Of course," they replied, pressing their face against Matthew's neck as he hugged him a little tighter. "I'm not going anywhere." 

----------------

"Okay..." Matthew nodded, glad to have Judas' reassurance that they were not going anywhere. This was all the fallen deity needed for now and he continued to hold Judas while he gently wept for those they lost that night and all the years before...

Days and weeks would pass by with Matthew living in that safe house, unable to leave because the whole city was looking out for his face and the faces of those who assassinated Park Sung Joon. It was safer for him this way given how no one knew how long he would be depowered for and feeling helpless, Matthew threw many fits out of distress, occasionally yelling at Judas whenever the vampire came to check on him and yet, they still kept coming, never thinking to send anyone else to check on him instead.

"I don't know why it's you who keeps coming to check on me... Did they force you?" Matthew asked bitterly one day from where he had curled himself up on the bed. He was glad that it was Judas, he really was, but he could never quite stop the small voice in his head that told him the vampire was simply doing this out of a sense of obligation. Why else would anyone want to help or care for a duplicitous, useless thing like Matthew in the first place?

----------------

Judas stayed by Matthew's side until he seemed to be irritated with him and, even then, he came back to check on him frequently, wanting to make sure he wasn't lonely and he had everything he needed. Even when he was getting yelled at, they still came back. They knew Matthew would never admit what he was really feeling, perhaps even to himself. Today, however, his words felt even more cutting than usual.

"If you really hate seeing me that much, then I'll stop coming," he replied, huffing softly but it was only a small one, his attempt to mask the ache in his chest with whatever annoyance he could muster.

----------------

"I didn't say that I hate seeing you. Why are you being so dramatic?" Matthew frowned, not liking the way Judas suggested to not come anymore, but he was still hurting and frustrated about everything and being cooped up in this safe house was driving the fallen deity just a bit mad.

"I just... I feel so trapped. I feel like a prisoner. And rightly so, I suppose. After all I've done. And you... The poor thing who has to keep coming to see me. Aren't you sick of me yet? Because you should be..." Matthew was pretty sick of himself and his own thoughts.

-----------------

The response he received was not a comfort, not when he knew Matthew to not be honest with them, ever. He probably did hate seeing Judas, a constant reminder of the night they couldn't save two of their friends and allies.

"You don't have to stay here anymore. There's a place for you in Remington tower." As for the rest of it, Judas looked away. Why would he be sick of making sure Matthew was okay? Did the demon really not see how much he mattered to them? "If I was sick of you, I wouldn't be here. I don't check on you because I have to. I want to. I want to make sure you're okay." 

----------------

The thought of going to Remington Tower scared Matthew more than he cared to admit. There were more supernaturals living there, more judgmental eyes to turn on him as he walked the halls of his rival. Matthew did not know how he was going to fare if he ever went to stay there.

"Do you? Really? You're not annoyed at me for the way I treated you over the years too? I kept turning up at your place when you least expected it and then disappeared into the night once I was done with you... Must've been annoying, especially given how you..." Matthew stopped himself then. He always had a feeling that Judas liked him a lot more than normal, it had been what kept him sane for many years in the P.S. Group, but now that he was out, Matthew had begun to wonder if it was all in his head. Something he had made up because he desperately needed someone to keep him sane. "How you..." he said again, still unable to finish the sentence because what if Judas rejected him at last?

------------------

"Annoyed isn't the word I'd choose," they mumbled, though that wasn't the point. He was starting to see why Matthew had been so upset. Did he think Judas hated him? Or that they pitied him? Or maybe it was guilt that Matthew was feeling after all these years.

"How I have feelings for you?" They said, finishing his thought for him. "Yeah, well. I knew you were just showing up to manipulate me, but I couldn't stop myself from missing you and wanting to see you." It felt easy to admit it now, now that he didn't think Matthew was going to try to manipulate him anymore.

"I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment," they mused with a small shrug of his shoulders. "Now, do you want to go to the tower, or should I just leave you alone here?" 

----------------

The way Judas said what he had wanted to say so easily shocked him and Matthew could not help staring at them. Laying it out in the open for them both and so casually admitting to it had the fallen deity at a loss for words.

"Did you think I was manipulating you?" he asked softly, his heart aching because that had not been his intention at all with Judas over the years. Yes, he had gone to Judas for rather self-serving purposes, but every time he did, it had never been to manipulate. "I never... I wasn't..." But that was how everyone saw him, wasn't it? And that was the problem and the reason that led Matthew to where he was today.

----------------

Judas watched him, confused by his reaction. Was he acting to try to save face? It was okay, they didn't care about that anymore. That was one of the few things he was actually able to come to terms with when it came to his love for Matthew.

"Why else would you show up at my place, while working for P.S. Group, while I was actively hiding supernaturals? I always thought you were waiting for the right time to use me to get access to the hiding places, or names of people you could up. I was waiting for the day they came to round me up, honestly." Judas shrugged from his spot where he was leaning against the wall watching him.

"Why didn't they?" Since they were being honest, they meaning Judas so far, what was the harm in asking? They had always been curious, after all.

-----------------

While Matthew had known of Judas' work with the supernaturals, he never once thought to give the vampire up. He never could. Not even when the P.S. Group continued to come to him asking for names and he would have exhausted everyone he could think of before ever giving them Judas.

"I couldn't give them your name..." Matthew said, the look on his face turning to one of sadness and disappointment as he despaired over the fact that Judas had thought that about him the entire time. He had not given Judas any indication otherwise though and the realisation of that hurt a lot more than he imagined it would.

"You were... You were the only part of my life that I wanted to keep away from them. To keep safe. I didn't want them to sully what we had between us." Those moments had been too precious to him. Though it was clear now that perhaps there had been nothing between them and it had all been in Matthew's head.

-----------------

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Hearing that Matthew hadn't given him up, couldn't give them up, it stirred up every emotion he had managed to bury and they had to look away, feeling their face warming slightly and their heart beginning to thump in his chest again. He wanted to be what the fallen deity cared about and wanted to protect, desperately so.

“What did we have between us, Matt? Because it was hard to tell when you kept rushing out like you regretted ever kissing me." That had definitely hurt, badly. "There is a reason that when I finally sat down to paint again, the only thing I could paint was you." And that damned painting. He still had it. Hell, he'd even finished it.

-----------------

What did they have between them indeed. That was the question and Matthew still did not know the answer. Clandestine meetings and stolen kisses across the span of a near decade would've meant nothing to the regular person, but they had been under highly irregular circumstances and thus Matthew had perceived them as something more.

"I don't know..." he said softly. "I did regret kissing you, but only because I knew it would be a mistake getting too close. You were a liability. One they could have exploited if they looked hard enough... Every time I went to you, I was terrified I was followed and every time I went back to them, I kept thinking that I would see them throw you into one of the experimental facilities. You don't know how terrified I was every time!" This was the first time Matthew had ever told anyone about this. He never had the chance to before and it seemed right that it would be Judas he told this to now.

"I didn't want them to destroy the only thing in the last few years that was keeping me sane... I'm sorry you thought otherwise. It was never my intention to lead you on..." He could understand if Judas wanted nothing to do with him now.

----------------

Judas watched him, listening to him speak and feeling their chest ache. As Matthew spoke, it was almost as if he could hear the sincerity in his voice. First perhaps the first time ever, Matt was being honest with them. That, coupled with the topic at hand, made it impossible for his heart to resist.

They didn't know what to say, how to respond or how to tell him that his heart, his long still heart, was racing for him. There were no words that would suffice. Instead, Judas quickly crossed the space between them and held Matthew's face gently in his hands as he kissed him.

They wanted to put all their emotions into this kiss. The longing, especially, but also the heartache, the frustration and the desire, all of it. Otherwise, how could he ever tell him?

---------------

Matthew was still fretting and bracing himself for this to be the last times Judas came to check in on him when he heard the vampire come over and felt cool hands on his face. The touch was gentle as those hands angled his face up towards Judas' own and they leaned in for a kiss.

The fallen deity's heart was threatening to beat out of his chest as he froze for a moment, not quite daring to move until it became evident that Judas was not going to pull away. His shoulders sagged and he leaned into the kiss, eyes closing as he tilted his head to deepen it. This kiss was so different to the ones before. Firstly, because Judas had initiated it and secondly, because their kisses were never so gentle, so tender, as if what they were doing in that moment was such a precious thing.

"Oh, Judas..." Matthew sighed against the vampire's lips and he felt a warmth flood his chest as he melted into the kiss.

----------------

Matthew was kissing him back and they immediately shuffled onto the bed, holding onto him as they continued to kiss him. It felt like, if they looked away, he would change his mind and push Judas away, so they didn't want to give him the chance. One arm moved down to loop around his waist, pulling him closer.

"Please don't push me away again," they murmured softly between kisses, their eyes stayed squeezed shut, their chest aching.

----------------

Judas was on the bed with him in the next moment and Matthew eagerly welcomed him. This was not how the fallen deity had expected the conversation to turn out and he welcomed them with open arms to pull Judas close and on top of him.

"I've never wanted to..." he confessed, his own heart aching in a way he never realised it could in a very long time. Matthew was not sure when the sentiment changed and all he wished was to tell Judas everything, but he was sure he would not have it any other way. Not again.

-----------------

Judas rested his body against Matthew's, not wanting to be anything but gentle and affectionate with him. They held him with such reverence, scared of hurting him or upsetting him. 

"Don't leave me again," they mumbled unintentionally, pressing his lips to his again softly.

----------------

There were so many things that were still being left unsaid between them, but when Judas leaned in again to press their lips together, it was almost as if they were discovering this part of their relationship for the first time and Matthew wanted to take his time with it.

"I won't..." he promised, returning the kiss with something equally tender and just as slow. It did not seem like they were going to leave the bed anytime soon and if they were going to stay in this safe house, Matthew planned on making the most of it.

The next years passed with the world turning to even more shit around them. With the death of Park Sung Joon, his son rose in his place and was even worse than his father. Siwoo made is it his life's mission to eradicate the supernaturals and introduced measures that escalated in ruthlessness as time went by.

Judas' name was still tied to the Hereafter after all those years, but his involvement with the building and what it represented to the supernatural community became an increasing problem as time went by. Until one day, they got wind of a bomb plot. Some human factions were planning to destroy some supernatural owned buildings in the city and the Hereafter was a target.

Fretting for his building and Judas' safety, Matthew decided that he would risk himself and return. His powers had returned to him for a few months by then and any help they could have, Matthew was willing to give. Little did they know that the bombing of the Hereafter would also serve as a way to drive Matthew out of hiding... And when he building came down around them that night, Matthew was cursing himself for his stupidity in falling for this much too obvious trap.

to be continued....

#cw: sex #cw: feelings #cw: an emotional rollercoaster of unrequited love #vcnewworldevent #matthew: 2045 #》THREAD || MATTHEW