#The other half is my posture… I used to have such good posture [sobs] | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

signs-of-the-moon · 10 months

Text

Moon High: Chapter 14

Trembling legs and fluffed up fur were the sight that greeted Treeclan as their missing apprentices returned home. Cats had just begun to grow suspicious of their whereabouts by the time their paws touched the leaf littered floor. Wolfheart was the first to come up to meet them. His face shone with relief.

"Kits!" He called out, examining each of his frazzled children as they gathered around him. He expression shifted back to one of concern. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

Moonpaw pressed her body close to her father. Her heart was pounding in her chest, throat tight with thorns of grief that she fought to speak through.

"Skunkpaw...Skunkpaw's been kitnapped!" She choked out. Magpiepaw began to sob again, as if Moonpaw's words had been a remainder of what they'd witnessed.

The clan drew back in astonishment.

"Kitnapped!?" Sunpaw caterwauled. His ears folded back with panic.

"What do you mean?" Asked senior warrior, Oakfur.

"Who's taken him?" Brightsky demanded to know as she pushed her way through the crowd. She came to stand beside her family. The worry in her eyes barely masked the flame of fury which burned behind them; the passion of a mother's love. The desire to protect and save her kit was unmistakable.

"Twolegs..." Smokepaw began to explain. He held his posture upright, as the tremble in his pelt betrayed the brave face he was putting on. "The four of us were out playing in the woods when a pack of Twolegs came along. Their kits tried to play with us a bit. And then they tried snatching Skunkpaw."

"Sw-Swiftpaw of Grassclan interfered to help us flee," Magpiepaw chimed with a trembling mew. "And then...and then Skunkpaw was taken!"

A murmur broke out among the crowd as the clan exchanged wary glances. Some, Moonpaw could hear, were worried this meant the Twolegs were after the clan again. While others speculated Skunkpaw's kitnapping was planned. That Grassclan somehow coordinated it to happen; to downsize Treeclan's ranks. Moonpaw could hardly believe some of the things her clanmates were saying. But all fell silent as Blazestar took his place upon the Great Stump to address them.

"It's tragic what's happened to Skunkpaw, today," Treeclan's leader began. "He was a good cat, and would have made a fine warrior of Treeclan, had they gotten the chance." The blazing tom's orange gaze settled upon Moonpaw and her littermates, a darkness settled within them. It was as if he were silently judging them. Like he thought they were to blame for Skunkpaw's kitnapping. Moonpaw felt a pit form in her belly.

"What do you plan to do about what's happened?" Wolfheart asked his leader. He stepped in front of his kits bravely, even as Blazestar stared him down.

"There's nothing to be done," Blazestar answered simply.

"We need to send out a search party," Brightsky counteted insistently, eyes round. She looked from her mate up to Blazestar. "We need to find Skunkpaw!"

"We can't waste the energy looking for some lost apprentice," Blazestar grunted with a flick of his tail.

Brightsky reared back for a moment in surprise. Her mouth hung half agape as searched for the right words to say. "That apprentice is my son! I cannot sit by comfortably knowing that he's been kitnapped by Twolegs. Who knows what they will do with him. He could be hurt!"

"The answer is no," Blazestar's meow was hostile, softening as he continued to speak. "We'd be risking other warriors' safety by sending them into Twolegplace to search. The Twolegs hunt our clan enough as it is. I can't take the chance of that increasing. We've lost too many good cats recently, your son included. Besides, Skunkpaw is a brave tom. I know he will be alright, wherever he is. They're a great tracker just as you are. They'll find their way back to us if they can, I'm sure."

"Please, Blazestar. If there's a way to bring Skunkpaw back, then we must act." Brightsky's gaze hardened with seriousness as it met with the leader's. "I know you don't understand what it's like to lose a kit. But if it were one of your sons who went missing, wouldn't you do everything in your power to bring him home..?"

Blazestar was quiet for a few moments, head lowered slightly and eyes foggy with deep contemplation; or perhaps with fear of the possibility. "...Very well, Brightsky. We will send a patrol out to Twolegplace come sundown. If you're up for it, you may lead it. Bring whomever you'd like. But beware, and be safe. You will be held accountable if anyone should get harmed."

Brightsky dipped her head. "I understand. Thank you, Blazestar." Standing upright, the queen turned to speak with her remaining kits. "You three know Skunkpaw better than anyone. I'd like to ask you to join the search party, if you're up for it."

"Of course!" Moonpaw chirped, pelt tingling with excitement.

"We'll find that stupid fuzzball and bring him back home," Smokepaw agreed, looking a lot more relaxed than before. Although Moonpaw wondered if he was holding back his anxiety for the sake of his kin.

"I'll be going as well," Silverhawk meowed as she padded over to stand beside her fellow queen. "Skunkpaw's my apprentice. That practically makes them my son, too."

"And I want to come!" Volunteered Blazestar's son, Flamepaw. He scurried over to stand beside Smokepaw. "Skunkpaw's my best friend. I need to know if he's ok!"

"Alright," Brightsky agreed. "Anyone else? Wolfheart?"

Upon being prompted, Wolfheart raised his chin and gave a curt nod. "You couldn't get me to stay behind, even if all of Lionclan were attacking our camp."

Moonpaw let out a small mrrow of amusement. She loved when her father was so enthusiastic. And right now his determined demeanor would come in handy. It would rally the rest of the search party, to look as hard as they could for Skunkpaw.

"Well then...I'm going to wait in camp," decided Magpiepaw suddenly. "One of us should be here, in case Skunkpaw finds his way home alone."

Moonpaw knew that wasn't the only reason her sister was opting out of joining the patrol. She was too visibly upset still to serve as any help, and it was clear Magpiepaw knew that too.

"In that case," Blazestar meowed, stretching before jumping off his perch, "that should leave some room for me to join the search party."

"Blazestar?" Wolfheart questioned.

"I'm Treeclan's leader," Blazestar answered as he met with the other cats. "I have more lives to spare than any cat here. What's the point of having them if I don't go on dangerous missions like this? I'll come along, if only to act as bait should a dog, or Twoleg, or Starclan knows what else tries attacking. But I'm still holding you accountable in case that happens, Brightsky. "

Brightsky's eyes grew misty with gratitude. She dipped her head to the blazing orange leader again before lifting it to meet his eye. "Thank you," she mewed softly. "That should be enough cats, then. Our party will set out as soon as the last light fades."

"Oh, but can't I go too?" Tigerpaw asked eagerly as she moved to stand beside Moonpaw. Her yellow eyes were sparkling at the prospect of going into unknown territory.

"And me?" Sunpaw chimed, looking just as excited as he padded over to them.

"No, you're staying here with the rest of the clan," Blazestar asserted to Tigerpaw. Then he turned pointedly towards Sunpaw, "And you, certainly not! There's more than enough apprentices in the search party. We don't need more coming along to cause issues. "

"Not fair," Tigerpaw muttered.

"Then why does Flamepaw get to go?" Sunpaw questioned, though there was no agitation in his tone.

"Because Flamepaw is more aware of his surroundings. He's better suited for a mission like this. It's nothing personal against either of you."

Then, Blazestar turned his attention towards the search party. "I suggest you all see Mothsong, and get your traveling herbs. Before anyone else tries joining the patrol. You'll be needing all your strength to travel through the Twolegplace. I'll be along shortly."

"Yes, Blazestar," meowed the search party, Moonpaw included. She followed behind her family as they made their way towards the weeping willow. Tigerpaw padded after her.

"This sucks!" she griped with an exaggerated pout. Sunpaw followed at her heels, giving a firm nod of agreement.

Moonpaw purred a little, brushing her tail along the tabby's shoulders. "Don't worry, Tig. I'm sure Blazestar will let you go on another mission in the future. But this one is serious."

"I know that," Tigerpaw growled a little. "It's not like I wouldn't treat it as such."

"But knowing you, you'd probably try and fight a kittypet to get answers out of them," Moonpaw purred, amusement in her tone. "And knowing you, you'd be more inclined to make some new friends while we're in the Twolegplace, Sunny." Tigerpaw's expression softened into a playful smile. She lifted a paw to bat at Moonpaw, then allowed the silver and white molly to go on ahead without her. She blocked Sunpaw whose mouth opened to quip something silly and unimportant before he gave up the attempt. Moonpaw waved her tail at her friends as she disappeared into the medicine den to prepare for the long search ahead.

~~~

The last of the day's light faded behind the horizon, just as the Treeclan search party crossed the border into Twoleg territory. The eyes of her clanmates flashed in the faint glow of the Twoleg dens in the distance. Moonpaw glanced between each of them. The blue eyes of her mother stood out the most. Determination was held within them.

"We should all split up," Brightsky suggested, voice low. "We'll cover more ground that way."

"Is it wise to let the apprentices go off on their own, though?" Wolfheart wondered with a nervous twitch of his whiskers.

"They knew what they were getting into when they agreed to help search. They'll be just fine," Silverhawk assured.

Though Wolfheart seemed a little skeptical, he simply nodded in agreement. Then he picked a direction and began walking in it, disappearing behind some bushes. The other cats in the search party went off too, leaving only Moonpaw and Smokepaw to linger where they stood.

"I'm heading in that direction," Smokepaw stated, pointing with his tail. "Try not to go too far."

"I'll be nearby," Moonpaw promised before swinging around. Her eager paws carried her forward. She stuck her nose out with jaws parted slightly to taste the air. But nothing familiar caught her attention. So she wandered off farther, following a row of Twoleg dens lined with white wooden fences. Each seemed unique beyond their borders; some blue, some brick, and some white as clouds. Only a few remained lit inside, while some nearly branchless trees loomed above Moonpaw's head. Each had a light source shining from a single protruding branch, casting Moonpaw's shadow along the dirt path she tredded. Moonpaw hoped the sight of her silhouette would not alert a predator to her presence.

"Hello there!" Moonpaw froze in place, slowly turning to see who had called out to her. In a garden just a fox-length behind her was a silver tabby kittypet. Her long fur swayed in the gentle breeze, and the yellow bell on her collar jingled as she carefully balanced herself on the fence posts marking the end of her territory. She had a warm smile on her face, and a curious gleam in her eyes.

"I've never seen you around here before. Are you new to the neighborhood?"

"No, I'm just passing through," Moonpaw replied, relaxing and raising her tail.

"Oh really? Where are you from?" The kittypet asked curiously.

"I come from the forest." Monpaw tilted her head in the direction of home.

The kittypet perked up at her answer. "Does that mean you're clan cat?"

Moonpaw wondered how a kittypet knew what a clan was. Still, she lifted her chin proudly at the acknowledgment. "I am.

The kittypet trilled in response. She seemed strangely elated by the news. "How neat. Oh my name is Misty, by the way!"

"I'm Moonpaw," responded the apprentice. She was glad to find someone so friendly here to talk to. Hopefully Misty would have some useful information to share.

"Yknow Moonpaw, you look kind of familiar. I wonder if we've met before? Or perhaps I've met one of your kin?" Misty queried.

"Actually, I'm here looking for one of my kin! Maybe the cat you're thinking of is the same?" Moonpaw started to grow hopeful.

"It's a possibility! Who is it you're trying to find? Your mother?" Misty guessed. Her eyes twinkled in a way that spoke of a secret longing she must be carrying. Moonpaw hated to disappoint her.

"No, my brother. They're a really fluffy black cat with white streaks, and the most kitten blue eyes you could ever find in an eight moon old cat. Do you think you've seen him?"

Hearing this, Misty deflated. "Oh. No, I'm afraid not..."

Moonpaw purred a little and forced a smile, trying to cheer both herself and the kittypet up. "Well, thank you anyways, Misty," she mewed with a small head dip. "By the way, what's the name of the cat you think I remind you of? Maybe I can ask around and help you find them."

"No no, it's alright. You just remind me of a cat I love... But she's moved on to live a grander life than I can give her here. I'm not trying to find her. I'd just hoped to find out if she's finally happy."

"Well, I'm sure she must be. But I'm also willing to bet that wherever your love is now, she's missing you too."

"That's a kind thought." Misty sighed. "I'm sorry that I couldn't be more helpful to you, Moonpaw. But I wish you luck with finding your brother. If I see any cat that looks like your description though, I'll tell them you were here."

"Thank you again, Misty. Goodbye," Moonpaw meowed, continuing to walk the dusty path ahead.

"Goodbye, little snowflake. Take care!" Misty called after her, her voice fading the farther Moonpaw traveled from her garden.

Moonpaw went back to her search, sniffing around for signs of Skunkpaw. Then she turned a corner three bear-lengths ahead and Smokepaw's scent made it to her nostrils. His voice quickly followed it.

"Moon, come here! I think I've got a lead!"

Bristling, Moonpaw raced to where her littermate waited. Then she skidded to a stop in front of another white fenced den. Here, Smokepaw stood atop the posts, a tom with a brilliantly ginger pelt beside him. The kittypet was chubby, with a long perfectly groomed coat and an odd trianglar head. Smokepaw seemed to be intrigued by the other cat, eyes gleaming as he looked at the pampered tom. Or maybe Smokepaw was just that excited about the information the kittypet had to share.

"Moonpaw, this is Oliver. He said he might have seen Skunkpaw pass by here!" Smokepaw mewed with excitement.

Moonpaw looked up at Oliver, squinting her eyes as his bright pelt glittered in artificial light. "Is it true? Do you know where our littermate is?"

Oliver gave a nonchalant shrug. "I might. I saw a cat matching the description Smokepaw gave earlier today. He was laying in the back window of a car as it drove past."

"A...car?" Moonpaw echoed, confused.

"A, uh," Oliver glanced at Smokepaw, "a 'monster', I think is what you wild cats call them." Smokepaw nodded in recognition, Moonpaw humming curiously. "Anyways, I recognized that monster. It belongs to some neighborhood housefolk. They don't live far from here. I could take you to their den, if you'd like."

Moonpaw perked up at the offer, nodding her head enthusiastically. "Please," she responded, almost sounding desperate. Oliver chuckled at her reaction. Then he gave his body a stretch, leaping down from his fence onto the dirt path. Smokepaw followed right behind, standing close to the other tom as the three cats began their walk to the mentioned Twoleg den. They padded around a corner or two, Oliver and Smokepaw chatting quietly as they went. Moonpaw hung back a little, keeping alert for possible danger. Eventually, Moonpaw started scenting Silverhawk nearby. She trilled out, trying to catch the Den Mother's attention. At her call, the silver and black tabby came trotting from up ahead, looking to the apprentice as she approached. She looked expectant, hopeful even.

"We've got a lead," Moonpaw told her. Silverhawk's eyes lit up. Then she turned back in the direction she came from.

"Wait here," she told the three younger cats. "Your mother's close by. She'll want to follow you." Then, the queen disappeared from sight again. After a few moments, Brightsky came running over, Blazestar and Silverhawk not far behind. She rubbed her flank against Moonpaw's as she joined her daughter alongside the two younger toms. Blazestar eyed Oliver suspiciously as he approached, while Silverhawk nudged Treeclan's leader to keep him from becoming hostile. Oliver tipped his head in greetings to the warriors, glancing between each of them.

"There's more cats looking for your brother?" Oliver asked Smokepaw, who nodded in response. "Wow. Who knew one kitten would be so popular." The kittypet's comment sounded playful. It was clear he wasn't taking the situation seriously at all. Moonpaw felt her belly twist as she realized that fact. Had Smokepaw not told Oliver about what happened to Skunkpaw?

"Popularity has nothing to do with it," Silverhawk replied, pulling Moonpaw from her thoughts. "Skunkpaw was taken from us. We want to find him because we care about him."

Oliver's eyes grew a little wider. His expression confirmed Moonpaw's suspicion. "Of course," he breathed, voice sounding softer, more serious now. "But I'm sure he's alright. No housefolk would ever harm their pet."

Although the kittypet's words were meant to be reassuring, it set off something in Blazestar. "Skunkpaw isn't a pet. He's a Treeclan cat!" He growled. But Oliver was left unphased.

"It's probably hard for a kittypet to understand," Moonpaw figured, glancing at her leader.

"Not true," Oliver countered, pointing his muzzle to promt the search party onward. "I have a friend who ran away to be a warrior. I understand the call to be wild...kind of. But maybe clan cats can experience a call to peace. There's nothing wrong with being a house cat."

Blazestar growled some more. But Silverhawk ran her tail along his spine, calming Treeclan's leader.

"But Skunkpaw was stolen away," Brightsky reiterated. "It's not like he came to Twolegplace willing."

Oliver hummed. "I guess in that case, it makes sense to worry. But Skunkpaw didn't seem too distressed when I saw him earlier. So he's probably fine."

"I hope you're right," Smokepaw murmured, moving closer to the bright orange kittypet.

A silence fell over the patrol as they snuck along. They hid a few times in the nearby shrubs when a stray Twoleg or two walked past. One had a small dog with it, who stopped to yap at the clan cats' hiding place. Moonpaw unsheathed her claws, ready to strike the mongrel should it stick its muzzle where it didn't belong. Instead, the Twoleg gave a harsh tug to its lead, pulling the creature back onto the desired path. When they'd left, the search party continued on again. Eventually a small den came into the view, near the end of the dirt path. A short brick wall surrounded it on all side. But the entrance was left ajar, just wide enough for cats to slip through.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Silverhawk questioned quietly as the search party paused at the territory's threshold.

"This is where I've seen the monster rest," Oliver confirmed. Moonpaw peered past where the party stood, sweeping the territory for signs of the mentioned monster. But it was nowhere in sight. And the scent of it barely lingered in the air. But another scent did. Brightsky noticed it, too, Moonpaw realized. Her mother's nose twitched, mouth opening to draw the smell over her scent glands. After a heartbeat, her eyes lit up.

"I smell him...my kit!" Brightsky breathed, rushing ahead. Blazestar meowed for her to wait, but it was too late. Moonpaw moved to follow her mother as Brightsky stalked skillfully along the grass. She was approaching the Twoleg den as if she were hunting a prized squirrel. Moonpaw kept a few paces behind, glancing to see Blazestar and the others trying to catch up. Blazestar managed to pull ahead, running at full speed to round Brightsky and stand in her path. His posture was imposing, expression stern.

"What do you think you are doing? Don't just rush in without thought!" The leader hissed.

"I smell Skunkpaw," Brightsky repeated. She looked like she was trying not to cry. Her voice sounded so hopeful, nearly relieved. Blazestar was the opposite.

"I'm going to scout ahead," he meowed to everyone. "Wait here for my call." Then he turned, walking to the other side of the den. The rest of the search party gathered together, listening intently, in case of danger and news. Not long after, Blazestar caterwauled. Moonpaw was the first to find him. Blazestar had managed to find a way into the Twoleg den, a dark expression on his face. Moonpaw's heart dropped.

"Come see," he motioned for his cats to come through a window with him.

The inside of the den was dark, and cold. Walls expanded around them, as tall as trees. The place reeked of Twoleg. But the inside of the den was devoid of anything. No bedding, no strange objects. Just walls, a floor, and a few scraps of trash. The place looked abandoned. But Moonpaw could smell Skunkpaw in here, strongly. Even if the scent was growing stale. Brightsky caught it, too. She sniffed at the corner of a nearby wall, rubbing her cheek on it.

"Skunkpaw marked here. I can smell his fur," she mewed quietly. "He was here.... he left us signs that he was here...."

"But now..?" Silverhawk asked, glancing from Brightsky to Oliver.

"They must have moved away," the kittypet mewed in realization. "That has to be why Skunkpaw was in the car--uh, monster. House cats rarely get put inside of them. Unless we're going to the vet, or being moved someplace. And that would explain why the house is empty, too."

"So where did they go?" Moonpaw wondered. "Where did they take Skunkpaw?"

Oliver shook his head sadly. "I can't say... They could be anywhere. I'm...I'm really sorry."

Hearing his words, Brightsky sunk to the fuzzy floor. She let out a quiet sob, covering her muzzle with her paws. The rest of the Treeclan search party exchanged glances.

"...We can't give up yet," Smokepaw piped suddenly. He stood up taller, puffing up his chest. "Dad and Flamepaw are still out there searching. We should be, too. Just because the Twolegs moved camp doesn't mean they aren't still in the area. Let's keep looking!"

Smokepaw's speech seemed to give everyone the encouragement they needed to keep going.

With little hesitance the party slipped back out of the Twoleg den. Oliver helped Moonpaw and Smokepaw talk with other kittypets in the area, while Brightsky, Blazestar, and Silverhawk went off on their own again. They searched the Twolegplace for the rest of the night, sniffing around and yowling Skunkpaw's name until the sun began to rise.

At dawn's first light, Treeclan's search party gathered by the border, thanking and leaving Oliver behind. They each spoke of their findings; of discussions made and smells caught. But not anything important to share. It was as if Skunkpaw had disappeared from the earth. Depressed, the patrol made its way back into the woods, finally ready to mourn the lost apprentice with the rest of the clan.

#warrior cats #warrior cats ocs #wcs #wcs ocs #signs of the moon: moon high #signs of the moon #moon high #chapter 14 #moon pov #after 2 months of waiting the chapter is finally finished #I think chapt 15 will come out quicker #thanks fir waiting guys #also hey look a cameo from Misty #I don't think she'll show up again in this book #maybe the next one

2 notes · View notes

phoenixrising0308 · 2 years

Text

Wacky Drabbles: Time of your life

Books: The Royal Romance 2

Rating: M (18+) Sexual situation and adult themes.

Trigger Warnings in this chapter: None

Pairing: None

Wacky Drabble A/U: This story exists on its own and may or may not be a part of their journey together. Traits, personalities, and characters are all the same. Some canon characters may appear but in a different manifestation and by no means exist in that form in Agent Phoenix A/U this is not meant to be anything other than an A/U onto itself. Catch up on the wacky drabbles here.

Disclaimer

The Wacky Drabbles from @emceesynonymroll prompt “Me? Scared? Never.”

Chapter Summary: Jessica returns to Ramsford to get ready for the Engagement tour

Song inspiration: I've had - Bill Medley, Jennifer Warnes

Word count: 2,265 according to google. As always forgive my typos and grammatical errors.

Average reading time: 8 minutes

Beaumont Estate - Maxwell’s dance studio

“This is fucken stupid!” Jessica shouted back in frustration.

“Blossom, come out, Maxwell said pleadingly, trying desperately to diffuse the situation.

“Fuck this, I am done!” Jessica yelled before she began to sob. The sound filled the Beaumont dance studio.

Maxwell ran to the changing room door and said, “Blossom, I hate when you cry but we can’t work on your dance moves from the changing room. Please! Pretty please with a cherry on top and a hand full of sprinkles!”

The doorknob turned and Jessica slowly opened the door, wiping away her tears. Jessica was dressed in her ‘Take it to the Max’ dance shirt, tights, and dance shoes.

“Now that this tantrum is over, let’s start again.” Bertrand shouted with frustration in his voice as he walked over to the sound speaker and pressed play.

And the song began to fill the studio.

“Now I’ve had the time of my life

No, I never felt like this before

Yes I swear it’s the truth

And I owe it all to you”

Maxwell started to mambo over to Jessica in the corner of the room.

“Lady Jessica, mambo to Maxwell” Bertrand ordered. Jessica sighed and she started swaying her hips to the music, starting to mambo.

Maxwell and Jessica met at the center of the room. He held in his arms and dipped her effortlessly. Keeping in time before returning to the mambo steps.

“Blossom, salsa side steps, you know this!”

Jessica began to salsa sidestep and said, “My people created Salsa.. if I couldn’t do it my parents would be rolling over in their graves.”

Maxwell smiled and said, “ Well this makes the job easier.”

“So this is our plan to get Liam to notice me?” Jessica muttered, not feeling confident in the plan.

“We speak through dance Jessie,” Maxwell assured with a grin.

“I will be damned if we do not go down without a fight! There will be a Beaumont Queen!” Bertrand shouted as Maxwell and Jessica picked up the pace.

“Bertrand, this whole thing is about Liam noticing me and maybe seeing if he misses me or something like that,” Jessica said as she looked at the ground.

“Blossom, this is my box and that’s your box. Stay in your box.” Maxwell lightly scolded, his teaching the opposite of his brother’s aggressive side.

Jessica dramatically creased Maxwell’s body, Maxwell repeated the move on Jessica and put her into a half turn. He whispered “Ready?”

“I’m ready.”

Jessica danced backward as did Maxwell.

“I want to see that Goddamn lift! Maxwell Percival Beaumont. That Blonde-haired barrier is stiff as a rod! You have hips, Lady Jessica, use them!” Bertrand shouted, scowling at the dance.

Jessica ran to Maxwell and jumped, Maxwell, lifted her into the air effortlessly as Jessica struggled to keep her legs straight.

Bertrand walked over and got closer. “Lady Jessica…You look like you are a squid without water trying to get back in the ocean flapping about! Tighten that core!”

“Squeeze that New York apple bottom,” Maxwell added.

Jessica squeezed and was able to maintain her posture. Maxwell slowly let her down.

“Good job Blossom!”

“That was sloppy again.” Bertrand scolded with a frown.

“Bertrand, I got it! Why are you being so a fucken asshole?! I have been in Bertrand boot camp for a month! I know all the forks… and spoons. I can speak wine like a snob. What else is there to learn?! How to have a stick up my ass?! Because the clear winners here are Regina and Madeline!”

Jessica felt tears stinging her eyes again. “I want to go home, forget it! Liam doesn’t love me. He probably doesn’t even want to hear from me. Thanks to that fuck face Tariq. I totally will dick punch him when I get the chance. Why did I let you talk me out of going home?!”

Bertrand walked over and put his hands on the shoulder and shook them “Pull yourself together.”

“Jessie, maybe we should just have fun? He is my friend but it doesn’t always have to be about him.” Maxwell assured.

Jessica bit her lip and nodded her head.

“Alright…But only if the Sergeant silverware isn’t going to yell at me every 5 seconds!”

Bertrand scoffed, “I’m simply instructing you on how to properly carry yourself. You’re a Beaumont now, your image is our image. I-”

Maxwell interrupted him, “Bro… it could be worse. She is getting it. Maybe you should just sit this one out? Blossom is a quick learner and everyone learns differently…Maybe she’d do better if she didn’t feel like she was being judged?”

Bertrand let out an offended huff. “Fine. If you think you can teach this New Yorker how to be proper nobility better than me, be my guest Brother.” He scowled as he folded his arms.

Maxwell beamed as he went back to the stereo, turning it on again.

“This time, pretend it’s just you and me having fun!”

Jessica eyed him skeptically, her eyes looking to Bertrand before Maxwell called her back to attention.

“Eyes on me.” He sauntered over to her, easily gliding and swaying his hips with each step. Jessica slowly eased herself back into their previous dance.

Her hips moved a bit more fluidly as she got into it.

“Woah! That’s it, Blossom!” He cheered her on as they met, spinning her as her legs danced beneath her.

“Alright, take it home!” Maxwell lifted Jessica up, this time, she tried balancing herself. Sucking in her stomach to have better form.

“Ha! See? I knew that would help.” Maxwell smiled as he sat her back down. Bertrand raised a brow.

“Well, you looked slightly less awkward. Nothing to congratulate you on considering your form is still stiff.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll do great. I just know it!” Maxwell said.

Engagement tour Fydelia

Bertrand put his hands on Jessica shoulders “Now go have time of your life! No one slanders the name of our house without a tongue lashing. Or dance routine.”

“Don’t worry, I got this,” Jessica affirmed. “Heck yes! Show them how Beaumont’s do it!” Maxwell said.

The song changed and Maxwell and Jessica nodded at one another, slinking onto the dance floor. Everyone parted as they watched them stand to either side of each other.

At Regina and Constantine’s table

Regina said, “Constantine there are rumors circulating among the guards that Bastien did some research on Lady Jessica maybe more… why?“

Constantine said, “Very well, I wanted to know who this honorary Beaumont is. She is studying to be a professor of sorts top of her class, a blue-collar family. Her mother died when she was 14 or 15 Ovarian cancer. Her brothers and father raised her they are the New York equivalent to the King's guard. Her father was shot to death in the street when she was 19. Clearly, she is dazzled by our world she doesn’t fit into it. She isn’t refined like we are she never traveled anywhere outside of the United States before she came here. I am glad I was able to save Liam from the humiliation of a wife that will surely embarrass him with some missed step. Madeline is the perfect fit for Queen she would be doing it now if it wasn’t for Leo so I fixed it. Now she will be with Liam. He will grow to love her or bear it.”

Regina looked at Jessica smiling in Maxwell’s arms as they dance and said, “Well she certainly learned pretty fast look at her.”

Constantine rolled his eyes and said Regina “Survival I suppose. One last hope to marry into nobility. Let Lord Beaumont marry her if he pleases he has affection for her. Or she can just be passed around in court till the men have had their fun with her. Lady Jessica is nothing more than Liam’s lapdog a whore he will grow tired of her as the tour progresses.”

Regina whispered back “Well he is staring at her like a man in love. I don’t think this is a phase, Constantine. He has seemed very sullen as of late perhaps maybe he will come to an arrangement with her? Madeline is not opposed she suggested it.”

Constantine threw his napkin on the table and said, “Whatever gets it out of his system. Liam will exercise caution at all times! There will be no Rys bastard child from that union. Remind him of that! A child won’t be recognized anyway I made sure of that. However, Regina accidents happen all the time. It can happen now, later or when the situation dictates an unfortunate turn of events. I will get rid of it and her one way or another.”

Regina looked at Constantine in shock and said, “Surely you don’t mean-”

Constantine looked at Liam and said, “Regina the less you know the better but talk sense into him we can’t have him pining away for her in public look at him he hasn’t shown any affection towards Madeline and that simply can not be. Liam is in for a rude awakening. I signed several laws he won’t be able to overturn. I made it impossible for him to get out of this and get a divorce. Leo embarrassed me enough people will doubt the monarch with yet another broken engagement. Liam foolishly hangs on to hope and the idea of love. Liam is King and Madeline will be his Queen end of the story.”

Back on the dance floor…

Jessica’s hips swayed to the beat as her feet mamboed over to Maxwell who matched her movements. The whole room watched in interest as the dance partners met hand in hand. Gliding on the dance floor as the song progressed.

Maxwell spun Jessica before pulling her back in to whisper, “You’re doing great Jessie. Bring it on the home.”

Jessica took a deep breath, making her movements as strong and sensual as possible. Knowing damn well that Liam was watching. She leaped into Maxwell’s arms and was hoisted above his head with ease. She lengthened her body and activated her core.

She saw Bertrand give her a confident and proud nod. Right before her eyes met with the man of the hour himself…

“Hm…How…Commonly entertaining.” Madeline gave with a poker face as she danced. Meanwhile, Liam couldn’t take his eyes from Jessica the entire dance.

Liam and Madeline coldly graced the dance floor during their number. Madeline spoke up, “Now Darling, you are staring at her. Remember our agreement. See her if you must but remember who is the wife and who is the whore.”

Liam whispered in Madeline’s ear “I’m not your ‘darling’ and I never will be.” Liam smirked and said, “Whore… you forget my brother was once your fiancé he said you were very easy and actually very dull in bed. He also added it didn’t take much convincing and you gave yourself to him in less than an hour…that’s pretty loose behavior I think.”

“Your brother shared details about my relationship with him? Madeline looked across the room and saw Leo standing across who gave her a cocky smirk and mouth the words to her “Slut.” Madeline turns beet red as she glared at Leo who again flashed a cocky smirk and mouthed “Fuck you.” at her.

Liam laughed and said, “I believe his words were Madeline just laid there and was nothing more thing just a place to stick my dick in. I had to think of someone else to be done with it. That makes you sloppy seconds Madeline. What do you call a woman that sleeps with one brother out of interest and turns around and tries to do the same to the other because it will elevate her social status?”

Madeline whispered back ” Fine so intimacy between us will just serve one purpose to guarantee an heir get your fun elsewhere. Liam she common whatever could you possibly see in her that you can’t grow to see in me?”

“Jessica lights up a room with a smile. I see love and warmth in her. She would do anything to put a smile on my face and she never expects anything in return. She sees Liam the man, not Liam the king. Madeline, you are absolutely frigid and you do nothing without careful calculation. You have no personality…no spark you maybe noble but YOU are the common one here.”

Jessica and Maxwell finished dancing and walked off the floor, a few nobles clapping at their display.

Jessica turned around and noticed Liam was staring at her and she was just about to smile at him when Madeline noticed they had locked eyes and cupped Liam’s face. Kissing him on the lips just to spite. Liam could see the hurt in her eyes and he was heartbroken and felt utterly helpless.

Madeline grinned and coldly said, “I have the counsel approval and she doesn’t. It’s in your best interest for you to understand Jessica will never really be yours that is unless the commoner agrees to be with you in secret.”

Adelaide clapped and loudly boasted, “Look at this happy couple! Finally, darling, if you didn’t kiss him I would have!”

“Madeline, you are pitiful,” Liam whispered.

Madeline smirked at Liam then said, “Don’t cross me, Liam. She must learn her place. Take what you can which is an affair I will turn a blind eye to. Make me look like a fool and I will go after her.”

Jessica turned face hiding the tears forming in her eyes. They moved off the dance floor with Maxwell and Bertrand walking behind settling in a corner.

Liam’s eyes began to water and he quickly walked off the dance floor and out to the fire pit.

3 notes · View notes

casicroaks · 6 months

Text

Tiffany Valentine has two things in her mind: love and murder. The origins of the brains behind the infamous Lakeshore Strangler and the string of broken hearts she left along her way to Chicago, interwoven with the development of the tempestuous relationship between her and a certain Charles Lee Ray.

CHAPTER 7

[ CHAPTER 1 // CHAPTER 2 // CHAPTER 3 // CHAPTER 4 // CHAPTER 5 // CHAPTER 6 // CHAPTER 7 // CHAPTER 8 // CHAPTER 9 // CHAPTER 10 // CHAPTER 11 // CHAPTER 12 // CHAPTER 13 // CHAPTER 14 // CHAPTER 15 // CHAPTER 16 ]

NEW JERSEY, 1972

The egg sizzled loudly on the pan, almost as loud as the music on the radio. I seasoned it with salt and pepper, pushing the already white edges with the flipper so it didn’t spread over and stick to the frying bacon slabs, before taking a dish from the sink, giving it a quick rinse with hot water, and rubbing it dry with the dishcloth I had tied around my waist to improvise an apron.

“For five long years, I thought you were my man,” I hummed while watching the egg so it didn’t burn. “But I found out, I’m just a link in your chain…”

I turned off the stove, laid two slices of toast on the dish, and put the bacon and the fried egg on top. It would have made a great sandwich if we had some cheddar, but I had forgotten about it at the grocery store… Next time it would be. In the meantime, I added a generous dash of hot sauce on top to compensate for it, hoping the egg yolk was runny enough to give it the color it was needing.

I went into the living room with the dish on my hand, swaying my hips to the chorus. “You told me to leave you alone… My father said, ‘come on home’,” I sang along. “My doctor said ‘take it easy’, oh, but your loving is much too strong…”

Heath was still asleep on the couch, ashes on his chin, mouth wide open and drooling, in a posture that was probably not very comfortable. I gave his leg a little playful kick. He woke up suddenly, blinking and blinded by the sudden bright yellow light of the morning.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!”

He stretched and yawned, scratching his messy brown hair. I left the warm breakfast on the coffee table, kissed his cheek and sat on the floor next to the couch.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah…” he muttered, still kinda groggy. “How ‘bout you?”

“Like a log,” I smiled, hugging my knees. He looked so cute when he was sleepy.

Heath finally noticed the dish in front of him, and gave me a big half-grin. I giggled. He leaned down and kissed me, sweetly, lovingly, and I put my hands on his cheeks, trying to keep him close to me for as long as possible.

Several months had passed since that first kiss we had shared in his car. This was not the first time I stayed overnight at Heath’s place, nor the first time I had fixed breakfast for us. Maybe, apart from the kisses, out of everything that I had the luck to have ever since we became a couple, that was what I liked most: to feel right at home in his house, to work the kitchen as if it were mine, to wake up beside him as if we were already married. Even if some other things about being a girlfriend weren’t like I expected them to be, at least in that aspect I felt more than comfortable. In some other aspects, though…

By then, I had enough experience touching myself to know exactly what I liked, which did make things a lot easier. Besides, I knew Heath liked it when I put on a show for him. In a way, I had to admit, knowing I was the only thing in his mind, seeing myself reflected in his green-hazel eyes –it made it all worth it.

Still, actual sex with him, even as I got more used to it, had barely gotten any better. Most of the time I just felt numb and uneasy, especially when he got on top. Once, I burst out crying, and I didn’t know why (it never hurt that much for me to cry) and Heath kept asking me what was wrong, and I didn’t know, and he kept asking how could I not know, and I kept crying and crying, and he left the bedroom, and I was left alone a sobbing mess on the rumpled sheets, feeling completely unlovable. There was something wrong with me, it seemed. But I knew that, despite whatever I felt, Heath still liked it. When he touched me, even if I didn’t like it very much myself, it did feel like he loved me. So we kept doing it, and I made my best not to lose hope in that, someday, it wouldn’t feel as awkward anymore.

In the meantime, I could kiss him and talk with him and cook for us and stay over, and I never felt alone. I loved him, and he loved me. That was everything I could ask for.

Heath moved away from me, yawning again and rubbing his eyes. I smiled at him, humming the rest of the song, as he sat on the couch and picked up the fork.

“How did you pay all this?” he asked, going straight for the bacon.

“Don’t worry,” I said, resting my chin on his knee. “I used some of my poker money.”

“Oh, right.”

By then I had learned to choose my battles and lose from time to time when gambling, since otherwise I wouldn’t get anyone to play with me –especially when most of Heath’s friends that I had beaten were convinced I was just really good at cheating. If I allowed others to think they stood a chance, I could bet higher sums of money, and they would be none the wiser. That was how my savings increased tenfold, all saved up in a thick roll in a sock that I kept in the spider jar in my bottom drawer for safekeeping.

“I counted it again, just to check Bri hasn’t taken anything… And you know what, Heath? I got quite a bit saved up already.”

“Really?”

“Yeah…” I said, twirling my pigtail. “So, I was thinking, maybe by mid-June we could start packing and properly plan our life in New York…”

Heath frowned. “Our what now?”

“New York!” I repeated with a big smile. “Remember when we talked about it? I’ll try out auditions to be an actress…”

“Ah, right,” he nodded. “I remember you saying you wanted to be an actress…”

“And you said you’d come with me,” I added. “You’ve always wanted to leave Hackensack, like me. Wasn’t your dream to go to New York, too?”

“Sure.”

Heath was so glum lately, he was no fun to be around anymore. I had to wonder if it was something I had done or said, especially since he seemed to be so happy around his friends during those weekly parties.

“Are you mad at me?” I asked him, and held onto his left arm. “Please don’t be mad at me…”

“Do I look mad?” he said. “At this point I thought you knew me, I don’t get mad… I just thought… See, it’s a whole thing, growing up. You know, so many of my friends were shipped off… And with dad sick, it’s like… Like everything’s falling apart somehow.”

I frowned. For me, nothing was falling apart. It seemed to me everything was coming into place.

“And I thought…” He gave a sigh. “You, of all people, might understand how that feels.”

“I do understand—”

“Do you, really?”

I looked away. I wished I could understand. I loved him, and wasn’t that enough? I spent all weekend at his place, every waking hour I wasn’t at home or at school with him. I cooked for us, I cleaned up for us… What more could he want from me?

But I didn’t want to argue. I never wanted to argue with him –I just wanted us to be happy, together, forever. We had been making plans. We had an idea of a future together. And I didn’t want to ruin it by my stupid complaining.

I stood up with a smile. “Hey, darling –you promised you’d teach me to drive shift gear before the end of the week,” I reminded him. “You think I could cash in on that promise now?”

“Sure…” he said, scratching his cheek. “Just gimme a minute, alright? I need a shave.”

I nodded, bouncing a little on the balls of my feet. Heath went into the bathroom with the beaded curtain, and I watched him as he quickly rubbed some water and white soap to get some foam, and spread it hastily over his face. He should have first warmed his face with hot water, I thought. Then again, it was his face, not mine, and I assumed he had done this before enough times to know what he was doing, even if it didn’t quite seem so. He ran the razor so carelessly against his cheek, I just knew he was gonna—

“Agh –dammit…” He had nicked himself. The tiny drop of blood bloomed and colored the white foam around the cut.

“You got to shave in the direction the hair grows,” I told him with a little snicker. “Not all the hair on your face grows the same way.”

He glanced back at me. “How do you know about shaving?”

“My dad explained it to me,” I said simply. Some years ago, he was shaving in the bathroom, and I was fascinated by how he moved the razor along his face, so close and so precisely, without getting a single wound. “His father was a barber. He was supposed to be a barber too, before he and his brothers were drafted to fight the Germans.”

Heath nodded and smiled in amusement. “Would you look at that.”

“Your hair in particular grows sideways and in swirls,” I added, going through the beaded curtain, moving closer to him and pointing to a spot just under his chin. “You need to keep the angle in mind when running the blade against your skin, otherwise you’ll just keep nicking yourself, or irritating the skin.”

“Aren’t you the specialist…” he said, lathering more soap on his cheeks to cover the bloodstain. “Say, would you do it for me? You’re clearly the professional here.”

It was no problem: I had a steady hand, and I took any chance I had to stay close to him. He sat on the toilet and handed me the razor. It was a silly thing, but I felt a little proud that he trusted me enough to let me bring a blade to his beautiful face.

“Roll me a blunt, will you?” he asked, pointing back at the living room. “Before you start.”

I nodded. I already knew where he kept the weed, somewhere where the rest of his friends wouldn’t find it. Another little perk of being his girlfriend.

“Do people drive around in New York?” I asked him, putting the joint in between my teeth, lighting it, and taking a quick hit before handing it to him. “I remember you telling me Dave told you that the traffic in the city is nightmarish…”

“Oof, yeah. I went there last month to help my father out with some dumb paperwork that needed to get done, and…” He snorted a laugh, shaking his shoulders, his eyes squinting from his wide smile. “You know, we needed to be at the office by two, but the streets were so bad we ended up arriving so late, around four—”

“Don’t laugh, sweetface,” I snickered. “Or I’ll end up giving you a matching cut on the other cheek.”

“Alright,” he said, biting his lips. Even with his face covered in soap, sitting on the toilet of his dimly lit, dirty little bathroom, Heath seemed to glow. “But yeah, it’s not easy…”

“’Cause I was wondering… I mean, I’m gonna try to get myself a job too, of course,” I continued. “But what are you gonna do?”

“In New York?”

“Of course that in New York, silly…”

“Something’ll pop up,” he shrugged. “Worst case scenario, I’ll get some gig waiting tables, I guess.”

“Hm… You think that’ll be enough to afford rent in a big city?” I asked him, hoping the worry in my voice wasn’t too obvious.

“Don’t you worry your little head about stuff like that,” he said. “And in any case, we can always come back here, where we still got the house, the auto shop—”

“When I leave with you, Heath, I’m not coming back,” I cut him off, pulling the razor away from his cheek for a moment. “I told you, I haven’t even told my parents about us, and I know they’d throw a fit if they knew we were planning to skip town together—”

“What’s the worst thing they would do if they knew?” he laughed again. “Spank you? Lock you up in your room? Forbid you from watching TV?”

I wiped the soap off the blade on my skirt. He was right, of course. It was stupid to worry about something as meaningless as my mom’s disappointment. Especially when it was something I should have already gotten used to a while ago.

“You put too much weight on what your mother says,” he commented.

“I know…”

“What does it matter what she thinks? It’s not like she owns you or anything,” he said, bringing the joint to his lips. “You’re your own person, not her shadow.”

“I know, I know, it’s just that… I just wish she could understand that I’m trying my best,” I said quietly. “Before Bri was born, I can remember a few times that my mom saw me crying, and that she made an effort to make me stop, beyond just telling me to cut it out. But after she got pregnant again, and after she had my sister… I don’t know, I guess she just became tired of hearing so much crying. Had no patience left in her,” I sighed. For a few years I’ve had this clear memory of her kneeling down and kissing my cheek, wet from tears. Then again, it could have been just a very vivid dream. I can’t even remember why I was weeping in the first place. “Now, if she sees me crying, she gets angry at me. She thinks I do it on purpose. As if I was trying to annoy her.”

Heath remained quiet. I wondered if he had been listening to me. Maybe I was being too chatty. But that was another wonderful thing about him: he never told me to shut up.

“… I don’t know. I guess she just thinks I’m already rotten to the core.”

Sometimes I wondered if my mom hated me, like I often wondered if I hated her. It could be that she just didn’t like having me around. It could be that she just grew tired of me. It might just be that I hadn’t done enough to earn her love.

Whatever the case, the only thing that was clear was that it had been like this for many years, and that I knew that neither me nor my mom would be changing any time soon. I let out another deep sigh. “You’re so lucky you don’t have a mom, Heath—”

Heath turned his head and stared at me. “Kid, you can’t just… Say stuff like that. That’s dark.”

“I –I’m sorry—”

“It’s alright, just… Don’t say that sort of stuff. Geez.”

I mumbled another apology under my breath. He took another drag, while I continued shaving him, running the razor as close to his skin as I could, softly turning my wrist to go through the curves of his face. I knew I could do it quicker, so I could have that driving lesson sooner; but I liked being there, under in the soft warm light, his soft angelic glow becoming fuzzy with the cloud of smoke.

“Um, Heath… Could you please not call me ‘kid’?” I asked him, once I was almost done. “I’d rather you just called me Tiffany… It feels like you think I’m dumb, or something.”

“It’s just a nickname.”

I kept silent, just staring at him, and turned my eyes down to look at my chipped nails, fidgeting with the razor.

“… Alright,” he said, with the smallest of smiles in his voice. “Tiffany it is.”

I smiled, too. “Thank you.” And I kissed him, getting some of the foamy soap on my chin and nose.

Six months had passed, of boring schooldays and great parties and staying over at Heath’s house. After a certain point I managed to balance being at home for dinner, at school for classes, and the rest of the time at Heath’s place. I was the happiest I had been my whole life. But still, there was this feeling that there was something missing… Like everything was picture-perfect, except for one lost piece of the puzzle. I couldn’t see what it was, or where it fit, but I just knew that somewhere there was a little hole, a flaw in what was so close to being heaven.

Just in case, I kept praying at my love altar. I wouldn’t even admit it to myself, but I was afraid, to some level, that as quickly as Heath had turned out to love me back, he might fall out of love with me too.

Sometimes, while I was lying in bed back at home, I liked to think that life could be like this forever. I was already getting used to him touching me, even though I still felt that weird disconnected sensation I couldn’t quite shake off. Heath had called me ‘frigid’ once, as a joke, and I had to pretend I knew what that meant and look it up as soon as I got home. It meant something like cold, like unresponsive. I wished I had known before, so I could deny it. I was never cold, after all. Each time he called me I came, I smiled at him and laughed at his jokes and loved him as much as I could, in the only ways I was familiar with. I was still pretty young. But in my mind time would pass and we would become wiser, and learn how to love each other properly, eventually. For the time being I froze without even understanding why, but someday, I would make Heath truly happy. I smiled and told myself it was proof of how much I loved him. I was willing to be patient and learn. If I didn’t love him, after all, I would have left already.

I tried to spend the weekends with Heath, too, especially since mom had decided that Bri was now old enough to help her around the house, allowing me to slink away and avoid doing the chores. There was this one weekend, though, not very long after Heath’s dad finally died and he was even gloomier than usual, in which mom was sick with something –so the responsibility to make lunch and dinner and do the cleaning fell on me. At least, when I took care of things at Heath’s home, he would smile at me and give me a kiss at the end of the day.

Mom had told me that Bri and I should watch less TV, and that we should play outside or find something else to do with our free time. Obviously, I was far too old to play with my little sister, so in the end I convinced her to help me bake almond cookies. I couldn’t even remember how old I was when my mother taught me the recipe, but I had done it a few times already, and since I was leaving for New York soon, I thought it would be good for Bri to learn how to make them, too. She was too distracted munching on toasted almonds while I was not looking at her, or sucking her fingers to dip them in the powdered sugar jar to lick them off. I told her off many times, but I had to keep in mind that I used to do the same, back when I was her age.

After leaving the dough to rest for a few minutes, Bri and I went out to our badly-kept backyard, hanging the wet clothes on the clothesline. I glanced, out of the corner of my eye, the pink bunny Bri was still allowed to sleep with, hanging from the cord by its ears, and took another drag of my cigarette.

“You smoke a lot,” Bri said.

I scoffed. “You don’t even see me much apart from home.”

Bri stared down at her little dangling legs. “… Can I try?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re just a kid.”

“You’re just a kid, too.”

“No, I’m a grown up,” I insisted. “At least, I’m more of a grown up than you.”

Bri pouted… And then she shrugged. “Okay, I didn’t even really want to try it anyways. It probably tastes bad. And I’ve heard that it’s bad for you.”

“Yeah, that’s probably about right.”

“If it’s bad for you, then why do you do it?”

“Because grownups can choose to do things that are bad for them.”

“Huh… When will I be a grown up?”

I gave her a long hard look. Finally, after a moment, I sighed and handed the cigarette to her. She smiled smugly, and took a drag. She immediately coughed and hacked so loudly I feared I had killed her, and that mom would then find out and kill me.

“I thought I’d taste better—”

“Well, now you know,” I said, grabbing the cigarette before she dropped it.

“Why do you smoke that, then?” she asked, still coughing.

“You grow to like it,” I said. “It’s like with everything. After a while you get used to it.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You’ll get it when you’re older,” I told her.

We couldn’t watch TV, and we couldn’t turn on the radio either because mom had a headache… I really wanted to go to Heath’s place, but with our mother bedridden, I couldn’t leave Bri unattended, no matter how much I wanted to. I even considered taking her along with me, before realizing how stupid of an idea it was. She was already a whole snitch, and I didn’t want to give her more material for her to tell mom –especially when I had decided to stop spending money on candy to bribe her with, being more preoccupied with saving my bucks for when I left for New York.

Time passed by, and soon it was around four. Mom liked to have red tea, which was a whole issue since dad never had tea, only nasty burnt-smelling coffee, and that meant mom had to prepare her own kettle and also dad’s coffee pot every morning, which if she did not time properly could mess up the entire morning, leading to another argument between the two about how he would be late for work at the office and about how she was the first one to wake up in the house and that he should be able to iron his own shirts by now. My parents argued a lot less, now; I used to harbor the hope that it was because they were falling in love again, and that they would start being nicer to one another. But, after a while, I think it was just because dad arrived later than usual, and when mom began arguing with him, he just ignored her. Still, that was better than having to bear their yelling at each other late into the night.

“Too much lard,” she remarked, putting a cookie down after giving it a taste. I had brought her a tray with her tea, so my mother had at least something to eat. She hadn’t had breakfast, nor lunch. All she did that day was stay in the darkness of her bedroom, in a thick fog of herbal cigarette smoke. “At least you remembered to toast the almonds first.”

That was as close as she would get to a genuine compliment. I forced a smile, and reached for a cookie –but she moved the dish away from me.

“Don’t,” she said firmly. “You’ll ruin your appetite.”

I had made them myself from scratch; I thought I deserved to have one, at least. Never mind, I told myself. I’d pocket two while she slept. Bri herself was probably already gorging herself with the almond cookies, even if they burned her tongue, even if she knew she’d get a stomachache later.

“Did you make your bed?”

“Yes, mom.”

“And hung the clothes to dry?”

I nodded. She frowned.

“Use your words, Tiffany, you’re not mute.”

“Yes, mom.”

She pressed her temples with the tip of her fingers, letting out the quietest, most dignified groan. I thought of all the times I had told my mother I felt sick, too sick to go to school, and she had scoffed it off and told me I was exaggerating, or lying, or was just being lazy.

“Mom… How did you and dad meet?”

Mom shot me a look that was somewhere in between exhaustion and annoyance.

“Well, then… How did he propose to you?” I insisted.

“Why do you need to know?”

I shrugged. “I just… I think it’d be nice to know.”

“Make up a version of it in your head,” she said, taking a sip of her tea. “It would be the same as the real thing.”

“Are you angry?”

She let out a deep sigh and had a sip of her tea. “No, Tiffany. I’m just feeling awful. Have a little sympathy.”

I almost apologized. I didn’t, though. I had nothing to apologize for.

“Why did you marry him?”

Mom huffed, putting the teacup down. “Why do you think?”

“… Because you loved him?”

“Sure,” she muttered between gritted teeth. “What’s with all these questions?”

Ever since his father had died, Heath was more detached than ever before. When he kissed me, it was almost out of obligation. It reminded me far too much of the cold cheek kisses my parents exchanged before he left for work.

“Just wondering,” I shrugged again.

“Is there a boy in school bothering you?”

I scoffed. There certainly were, even if they didn’t quite dare to annoy me right on my face. “I… I might be in love.” Me and my mother, we barely ever about this stuff. Now that she was stuck in bed, though, I thought this could be the best chance I would have to get her thoughts on a few things. She was the only person I knew who was married, after all. She surely had some wisdom to pass onto me. “How do you know when you’re in love?”

Mom took a moment to think. “… I’d say you feel it, in your gut. It’s like heaven, and also like you’re being turned inside out.”

“Does love truly last forever?” I asked, leaning forward, quite surprised that she had decided to answer me in the first place. “Like in the songs?”

“If you love someone forever, then it does,” she replied, making a dismissive gesture with her hand.

I thought of that Ronettes song I liked so much, and hummed it to myself, remembering the lyrics. ‘Wonder if he’ll love me forever, and ever…’ I could do that. I loved Heath enough for the both of us. Sometimes, when I looked at him smiling, eating, sleeping, smoking, talking, dancing, it felt as if my heart was gonna burst. I loved him so much, forever might just not be enough.

“As much as it can hurt… Love’s supposed to set you free,” she said thoughtfully, in a puff of smoke. “I know it set me free.”

“Free from what?”

She didn’t reply.

“Did you and Brittany have lunch?”

I nodded, before remembering her previous comment. “Yes. I made sandwiches, and set the chicken out to defrost on the sink, so I can prepare it with some rice for dinner.”

She nodded and sighed, holding her head. “Did Brittany brush her teeth after breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“Did she help you with the laundry?”

“Yes,” I said, and smiled to myself. “She saw me smoking, and asked if she could have a smoke, too.”

Mom turned to look at me, her thinly plucked eyebrows raised high. “Oh?”

“She hated it,” I snickered. “She almost threw up.”

Mom laughed quietly. “Your sister can be really clueless sometimes.”

“Right?”

We both laughed with our mouths closed; I saw the tiniest sliver of wet teeth from between my mother’s lips. I didn’t see her smiling very often, but when she did, it really reminded of how I looked myself, when practicing my smiles in the mirror. We were so much alike.

I grinned, thinking of Heath without me that afternoon, asking around whether they had seen me, growing more and more desperate to know where I was. Maybe it was a bit mean of me, not telling him I was not going to be there that evening; then again, maybe it was better to not become too dependent on the other. After all, Heath could manage to fix himself dinner for once.

Next Friday, like most Fridays, I took the bus to the mall; that was when it was most crowded and it was the most fun to people-watch. Usually, I went to the record store first of all and listened to what was new, so I could at least know what Heath’s more music-savvy friends were talking about. After that I had an ice cream, so I wasn’t just wandering around empty-handed while window-shopping. When I was done with it, I would go into a couple of fashion stores, pick everything I liked, and spend an hour or so in the changing room, trying it all, imagining the sort of events I would wear these outfits to. An elegant sundress, to an audition on Broadway; a flower-patterned skirt and blouse set, for a picnic date in Central Park; jeans and a printed top, for a dinner and a movie in the heart of Manhattan, by Heath’s side. These stores tended to give out cheaply-printed, complimentary catalogues that I could take home and use as references to modify the ugly dresses my mother made for me, to make them more fashionable and flattering.

Obviously, I always considered taking something from those stores, the kind of clothes or makeup I couldn’t just replicate for free. A few of Heath’s friends would show off the items they shoplifted, either by being chummy with the security, knowing where they could get away with it, or just by being really good at swiping. Once I asked them to teach me: they told me to start with little things, tubes of lipstick or mascara, which were easy to hide in my bra or my panties, before I eventually moved on to actual garments, which would need for me to bring a coat or a bag to stash them in, which would be a lot more suspicious. Following their advice, I soon got pretty good at smuggling small makeup cases out of stores and into my bedroom drawers. Ever since I began doing it, I could stop worrying about mom finding me stealing her own makeup, which was a real relief.

I did, eventually, get caught once. It was the last time I would go to that particular mall, in the end: I wised up and realized how dumb it had been of me to think they wouldn’t notice anything weird about me passing by every Friday, buying nothing, and then seeing they had a few things missing from their inventory. I did always take only makeup, and in small amount, with just one exception. Only when I got too confident –that was when I got caught.

Really, it was all because, one day, I was at Heath’s place, helping him clean up, since he was still very bummed out by his old man’s death. He was smoking in the living room, like always, watching TV, while I sorted out which clothes of his needed to be washed, and what just needed to be folded up and put in its place. ‘Cleanliness is next to godliness’, I told him, like my mother had told me once before. It couldn’t hurt to try. Besides, there was no more food in the house, not even eggs, and he didn’t seem to hear me when I asked him for money for groceries, so finding some loose change in some jeans’ pockets would have been nice too. Picking up old worn socks off the floor, looking for their pairs, I stretched my hand under his bed, grimacing a bit at the amount of dirt and dust that had gathered there. My fingers touched something unusual –it felt like papers, like books. For some reason I assumed it was his old textbooks, from back when he went to school, and wondered to myself if he also used to doodle on the edge of the pages like I did. I took out those papers –but it wasn’t school stuff, they were just porn magazines. I sighed, noticing how dusty my hands were now, and leafed through the pages, hoping to find some dollars hidden between the photos of tits and asses. My attention was caught by one of the girls, though: she had short black hair, eyes narrowed and half closed in pleasure, her lips barely parted in something that was almost a smile. She was stunning. There was a black background behind her that made her skin seem milky white, almost glowing. And she wore (yes, she was wearing something) a lingerie set, lacy and tight-fitting and bright red, which made the red of her mouth and flushed cheeks pop out even more. I spent a while staring at the picture, I’m not sure how long. The noise of gunshots coming from the TV snapped me back to reality, and only then I realized how worn that magazine was, even though it was the newest one in the stash. Heath must have thought that woman was perfect in some way. And then, it dawned on me. More than tidying up his room, what would make him truly happy again was to be with someone like that girl –beautiful, and perfect.

I took off my dress and, angling myself to fit into the little mirror on the wall beside his bed, I made my best to copy the girl’s position and expression. My hair was far too long, but that was just a detail, easy to ignore. What wasn’t so easy to ignore was my dull, basic white underwear, compared to that red set that made her look even more striking. I put my dress back on and thought about my options. I knew my mother didn’t have anything even remotely similar to that, and sewing something like lingerie myself was out of the question. My best choice, I decided, was to take it from the mall. After all, since it was such a small amount of fabric, it had to be easy to hide, right?

Not really. Apparently other girls had thought the same as I did, because a security guard caught me trying to stuff a bright-red bra, the closest one I could find to that of the picture, under my blouse. I had hoped I could have put it on at a changing room, but the lingerie store didn’t have one; so, I had to improvise. And I chose a really bad time to do it.

The guard grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me out of the store, through the crowded halls of the mall, and into the small dirty office of the security team. It was like being at the principal’s all over again. I was told to sit in a chair in front of a desk, and expected to tell my version of the story, which would be promptly ignored. A man with a thick moustache asked my name and my parents’. I refused. He kept insisting, but I wouldn’t budge. After what felt like hours, he finally left the office, to be replaced with a younger, probably more patient guard who would take it from where the other left off.

“Listen, this is clearly your first incident…” he said, sighing down at the paper he was staring. “I think we can let you go this time. You just have to promise you’ll never do this again. Got it?”

I held one hand up in an oath, and the other behind my back, crossing my fingers. “I swear. Cross my heart, hope to die.”

“Good,” he said with a little smile. He shot a glance to his wristwatch. “Alright, considering it’s almost eight o’clock, you should probably be on your way.”

I nodded enthusiastically in relief, already about to stand up and leave.

“Though… Listen, you should at least allow us to escort you home. It’s late, and you’re clearly a minor.”

“I’m certainly not,” I frowned.

“Really?” he asked, leaning back on his chair. “What year were you born?”

“It’s not polite to ask a lady her age.”

“I’m not asking your age, just your year.”

I thought about it for a moment, before realizing that thinking about it for too long made me look even more guilty. “Nineteen… Forty… Five.”

He laughed out loud. “You’re twenty-seven?”

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. “I know, everyone says I look young for my age.”

He laughed again.

“I’m perfectly able to take the bus!” I insisted.

“Well, a young woman shouldn’t go out so late on her own,” he pointed out. “Are you close to home?”

I wasn’t. I mean, I wasn’t that far away, but the mall was definitely not in any way close to my neighborhood. Besides, the bus stop was a good few miles away from the mall itself, so I would have to walk quite a bit regardless. And who knew how long the bus would take to arrive?

“… Alright,” I grumbled. “I guess you can take me home.”

He smiled and stood up, opening the door for me to leave the office along with him. We got into the car in silence. I told him the general area in which I lived, taking care to not be too specific, and he didn’t ask any further questions, just drove quietly.

“You can leave me just around the corner,” I said once we were close enough. “I can walk from here.”

He slowed down, but didn’t park. I pushed the door to open it –but it was still locked.

“I think you should tell me the address,” he said gently. “So I can drop you there.”

“No, I think you should drop me here.”

“How far are we from your place?” he asked, glancing around the street.

“What’s it to you!?” I said, raising my voice, losing my patience. “Let me out!”

“Just tell me where it is—”

“Fuck you!”

I tried to unlock the doors, but he grabbed my hand –and I threw a punch to his face –he managed to dodge it, just barely, and grabbed my arm even harder. I let out a little cry and pushed my head against him, as hard as I could, and I got to shove him towards the steering wheel and hit his elbow against the car horn, making quite the racket. He groaned and tried to restrain me. I bit his arm, sinking my teeth as deep as I could through his shirtsleeve. It was difficult to move in that tiny car, but I still squirmed and writhed and yelled and screamed as much as I could.

Some neighbors heard the noise, and came out into the street. None got too close, they just stayed by their porch in their pajamas, watching what little they could see through the windshield.

Finally I got to slam my fist against the lock, and stumbled out of the car. A few neighbors went back inside, a couple blinked at me but did nothing else. I rushed through the street, still feeling the strain on my jaw from trying to bite down. Behind me I heard the steps of the security officer’s heavy regulation shoes.

“Hey –stop!”

I got running. And just then, about to cover my face with my arm, embarrassed by the unblinking stare of the neighbors, I saw my mother standing on the sidewalk, curlers in her hair, wrapping herself in her faux-silk nightrobe.

“Tiffany?”

I stopped right on my tracks. The security officer got me and grabbed my arms behind my back. I screamed and went back to writhing and pushing back, but it was too late now. Mom hurried towards us while the neighbors went back inside, surely to watch everything from the anonymity of their windows.

“What on Earth—!?”

“Are you her mother, ma’am?” the officer asked her.

“… Yes, I am.”

“Your daughter was caught shoplifting at the mall, ma’am,” he said. I winced and whined, hanging my head, avoiding my mother’s glare.

“What?”

“She was trying to steal a set of underwear.”

“Mom, I didn’t—”

“Don’t you dare lie to me, Tiffany.”

I grit my teeth, holding back all the words I wanted to hurl at her. She turned back to the officer.

“Thank you, mister. I’ll take it from here.”

“Have a good night, ma’am.”

And with that he left, and my mother dragged me back into the house.

“… What are you even wearing, Tiffany?”

Only then I realized I was still wearing the top Janey had lent me, one of the few I got to take home and hide in my backpack to wear at school, and to put back out when I had to come back from Heath’s to be home for dinner.

“I cannot believe you really went out dressed like that,” she said in a hiss, finally letting go of my arm, looking at me up and down. “Where on Earth did you get those clothes?”

“My friends lent them to me—”

“You’re clearly hanging with the wrong crowd, then.”

“Mom, please, I got nothing to wear—!”

“Oh, that’s bullshit, Tiffany, and you know that!” she said, raising her voice. “I got you blouses and skirts that actually fit you—”

“But they’re all dull and ugly, mom!” I replied. “All the girls at school have these beautiful blouses and dresses and necklaces and jackets, and I’m the only one who wears these old things!”

“You are so thankless.”

That was it –her usual argument. I was thankless. I was clueless, I was demanding, I was thankless. Wasn’t it her fault, though, that I turned out the way I did?

“I have devoted my entire life to you. To raising you, to feeding you, to dressing you, to keeping you well and healthy,” she continued ranting. “And this is how you thank me? Stealing underwear, of all things? Dressing like a damn floozy, like a cheap slut? Do you want boys to see you as trash? Do you want to be treated like trash, Tiffany?”

“No, of course not—”

“Then why do you do this!? What possible reason could you have to do such a thing!?” she yelled. “Are you so desperate for attention, you’d stoop this low? Have you no goddamn self-respect!?”

My cheeks were burning. “Well… I feel like you don’t pay attention to me.”

“So you admit that is what you’re doing. That all this charade is your own desperate little plea for attention.”

“Well –if you actually loved me, then I might not be doing this… This ‘charade’, or whatever you call it— “

“Who says I don’t love you!?” she cried. “I love you, Tiffany Valentine! You are my own flesh and blood! You are my daughter! And I will love you, no matter how much it hurts me, until my last dying breath! But I expect an ounce of respect in turn! You owe me that same love I give to you!”

I didn’t say nothing to this. It made me angry, to realize how right she was. I was furious at her, and I wanted to call her a cunt and a bitch and a shitty, cruel mother, but I knew that, if I was in her place, I would feel the same. I looked down at the clothes I was wearing, at the little folding of my belly. My mother clothed and fed me. She worried about me. She did love me, and I was stupid for even suggesting she didn’t. And I was ungrateful… But would it kill her to be kinder? A little more patient?

“You are so lucky. You have food on your table, and a roof over your head, and your own allowance…” she said. Mom would only bring out this speech of hers about her own childhood when she was especially angry at me. She knew it made me uncomfortable to hear it. “I had to share bread crumbs with my brothers, I had to work since I was twelve, I had to bear my mother’s bad temper… You have a wonderful life. But you just have to go on, wanting more. You just have to find ways to ruin yourself and your own future.”

My mother began sobbing very quietly. Her eyes became glassy and red, to match the rest of her head.

“I… I worked so hard when I was your age. I did my best at school, I worked my fingers to the bone, and I bore the brunt of everyone around me. I learned to fend for myself. I made myself strong,” she said with a trembling voice. “But then, then I was pregnant with you. And I gave it all up on the spot. I gave up everything I had built for myself, to devote myself to your father –and to you and your sister.”

I knew all that. I knew my mom had it tough growing up. I knew she wished she had it as easy as I had it. I knew she loved me, even if I often forgot. It was hard to remember when it felt like all I did was something she could never be happy with.

“I love you, Tiffany. I really do…” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “… But you make it so hard on me sometimes.”

“It doesn’t seem like you love me, mom,” I replied. I knew she did. I really did. I just wanted her to show it…

She seemed offended. And I guess she was. And, once again, I felt a part of me wanting to apologize, and another part wanting to tell her to fuck off.

“I have loved you your entire life, because you’re my daughter,” she stated coldly. “Because it is my job to love you, as your mother. Just because it doesn’t look like it does on TV doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

Those were her last words on the matter. She glared at me in silence, until I finally hung my head and left to change in my bedroom. After I got in my pajamas, though, and came back clean-faced and barefoot to the dark, empty kitchen, I realized that I was not going to have dinner that night.

Next morning, mom surprised me and Bri by waking us up even earlier than usual, hurrying us to gobble down our breakfasts, and walking us to school. Bri kept bitching about being tired and her feet hurting, begging mom to give her a piggyback ride. Mom, surprisingly, just ignored her. When Bri changed her complaints to demand to know why we weren’t taking the school bus, mom simply said:

“I want to make sure you both get to school on time.”

Which was, obviously, just an excuse. What she really wanted was to watch me and stop me from skipping class. If she didn’t have stuff to do back home, washing the breakfast dishes and fixing dinner and changing the sheets and buying groceries, I was sure she would have stayed by the school gates like a guardian dog.

Back at school, where I had to spend far too many hours of the day locked up in a crowded classroom full of noisy kids and where the teachers’ jabbering became a monotone hum, I really felt like I was bored to the point of torture. My grades had been in freefall for a while now, but that added to the fact that, it seemed, the only solution my teachers and my parents could see was to keep complaining about my lack of effort and yelling about how I was set on ruining my own future, I really had no solution to it. No class could hold my interest for long. Everything was just a constant exercise on apathy. There was a point in which, for every test, I basically flipped a coin on any possible answers. At least, though, I wasn’t called to the principal’s office again. The school was full of deadbeats like me, and I guess they preferred to focus on the whiz kids and the teachers’ pets than wasting time with those that they had given up on.

I think it’s clear now why I was waiting so anxiously for the end of the school day, so I could rush to Heath’s house.

On the other hand, it wasn’t as if nothing had changed for me after deciding to keep going to class for fear of expulsion. Not long after I became Heath’s girlfriend, he passed by to pick me up after school so he could take me for a drive. He didn’t do that often, because he had work to do at the auto shop, of course, but still, the few times he did it was an absolute delight to see his beautiful face, his sweet smile, as he leaned against his blue Falcon and waited for me after grueling hours of having to sit still in a stuffy classroom. First time he did, though, it was just as Peggy Buckman and her toadies came out of the school as well, and they saw me kissing Heath and climbing into the passenger’s seat of his car. I still remember their awestruck gaping faces as they stared at us, as Heath revved the car up and drove us away from them. I might have been jealous of Peggy Buckman and her public makeout sessions at some point –she had been the first one of any of us to have a boyfriend –but now it was their turn to be jealous. What was a dumbass like Johnny Curtis worth anyway, compared to a dreamboat like my Heath?

The day after they saw me leaving with him, Peggy, Amy and Lisa officially accepted me in their friend group. I had thought that day would never come. Of course, I knew that if they hadn’t seen me kissing Heath, they would have never even given me the time of day, but I didn’t care. At least I had friends, now. Or so I told myself.

Being friends with Peggy, Amy and Lisa wasn’t the field day I had expected. None of them liked each other very much, and most of what they did was gossip and brag. Me, I didn’t care about the boring lives of our classmates, and I could only brag about Heath and his parties; I didn’t have holidays in Hawaii or a brand-new dress for Christmas. Amy in particular (no doubt because of the nose incident) was always trying to bring me down with side-eyes and snide comments. Lisa was the nicest of the three: she also had an interest in baking and an annoying little sister –two of them, actually. Despite our shared interests, though, we never got to being real friends. At least, not in a way I could recognize as friendship. Maybe they wouldn’t agree, but I did see Janey and a few other girls that went to Heath’s house parties as my friends: true, they were a couple years older than me, and sometimes they treated me in such a way that made it clear that they saw me as a kid… But more often than not, I knew that they liked having me around. I wasn’t sure of that with Lisa, and I was certain I was not liked by Peggy and Amy. At first, I assumed it was just because Peggy and Amy would talk shit about me to Lisa, but as time went on, I had to believe that it wasn’t them –it was me. Lisa was friends with other girls from the class, the sort of girls who didn’t even talk to me, who when I tried to approach them just avoided me. Peggy, Amy and Lisa, at least, were interested in knowing all I had to share about kissing boys, about dancing and dressing and styling our hair like the cool older girls, about what music was in and what was out; these other girls at school, they just thought I was some weirdo.

I thought of what Heath had told me, about me being a handful. Was I too much? I tried being quieter, a little nicer, a little kinder to my classmates. To put myself out there, so to say. It didn’t come easy, especially when I knew that I had quite a reputation already. Tiffany Valentine, the crazy bitch that punched Amy McNab at a garden party. The crazy bitch that kicked Kelly Johnson behind the school. So what if I lost my temper now and again? That didn’t mean I couldn’t be nice and kind.

After the time that Peggy had gotten me to accept her dare, suddenly I wasn’t untouchable anymore. People actually looked my way, they paid attention to me –but not in the way I wanted –not like back at Heath’s place, where I felt seen and appreciated. Here, back at school, it was as if whatever I had done or seemed to be to them before had shifted. People were no longer afraid of me. Did I seem vulnerable, out of a sudden? Was it because I had run away, back then? Did they see a sliver of fear to latch onto? Whatever the case, I missed it when I was feared. At least then they wouldn’t dare to be cruel to me.

Still, I made my best effort at being nice and kind. It hadn’t worked at helping me make any new friends, though.

“Is it true you sucked Darry Cade off?” Lisa asked me at the school’s bathroom, where we stayed every morning for a little while before we had to get to class.

“What?”

“I just found out… Is it true?” she insisted, staring at me through the mirror, leaning forward and lowering her voice, as if it was some terrible secret.

“Of course not,” I frowned. “I’m with Heath.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like he would know,” Peggy said, fixing her mascara. Unlike me, Peggy, Lisa and Amy were allowed to buy makeup and to wear it to school. I still had to do mine in the bathroom before class, and wash it off at Heath’s place before getting home –otherwise I risked getting yelled at, and spending another night with an empty stomach. “Right?”

“I don’t care about that,” I said while putting on my lipstick. “Where the hell did you hear that from?” I asked, turning back to look at Lisa.

“My brother said that Cade’s been bragging about it all week. He overheard him from behind the bleachers.”

I closed my hand into a fist, but told myself that I was trying to be nice. Nice girls don’t go around punching people, no matter how much they deserve a good punching.

“Your brother shouldn’t believe all the shit he hears.”

“It’s not particularly hard to believe, though,” Amy said, shooting me a brief glance, with a smirk on the edge of her lips. “Of all the boys in the class, Cade’s obviously your type.”

I grimaced. That wasn’t a compliment. Darry Cade was a known menace: even the teachers were afraid of him. Last year, he was almost expelled from school for good after he set a desk on fire. It had taken his parents paying for the expense and promising they would get special therapy for their son for the school to allow them to keep Darry enrolled. I had a feeling Darry had found a way to avoid going to those therapy sessions, though. If I was pretty friendless, he was probably the least liked boy in the whole school. Even some other bullies, like Peggy, had a bunch of supposed friends to follow them around. Darry was alone. All he could really do was beat up the younger kids, since he knew that he hadn’t a chance looking for trouble with boys bigger and stronger than he was.

But, despite everything, I saw Darry fidgeting in class like I did, scribbling on the pages of his paper-bag bound notebook like I did. If he didn’t feel like pretending to pay attention, he didn’t. He knew he was not going to save his grades from dipping further, so he just did what he felt like doing. I had to respect that. I had to admire his guts. It still bothered me, though, that Amy could see how clearly I related to a loser like Darry Cade.

“He’s not my type, at all,” I replied.

“You don’t fool me, Tiffany. If you weren’t dating that burnout hunk, I’d have bet good money you’d end up with Cade.”

I scoffed. “You’re just pissed because Gary didn’t want to dance with you at your birthday party.”

Peggy and Lisa smiled wide and went ‘ooh!’, and I laughed. Amy just glared at me and pretended she didn’t hear me, now angrily brushing her hair hard over and over. I kept on chuckling, fixing my lipstick, wiping the excess with the tip of my finger. Peggy in particular (since neither Lisa nor Amy had boyfriends yet, though not by a lack of trying) was extremely interested in whatever I could share with her on the topic of boys. She had been in an on-and-off relationship with Johnny Curtis for years now, and they always argued, made up, and broke up again.

“Don’t worry about it so much,” Lisa told Amy. “Boys are all jerks. You’re better off waiting for a decent guy than giving the wrong one any attention.”

“That would be assuming any decent guy’d have any interest in you,” Peggy said with a snicker. I grinned.

“Maybe Gary will get your hints,” I continued, raising my eyebrows with a shrug. “Once you manage to learn how to cover all those splotches you got on your face during your last summer in Hawaii. Don’t you think?”

Peggy stifled a laugh. “Yeah, Amy. You’d probably have better luck with Gary if you’d ask your mom to buy you something to get your skin from acting up. It’s getting really out of hand.”

“But don’t worry,” I smiled. “I can teach you how to apply some foundation. You’d have to get the big jar, though.”

Amy glared at me again, rubbing her cheek. She was the one of us who had gotten the real short stick of the teen acne experience. I was really glad mine wasn’t half as bad as hers.

Biology class was done, finally, and I got to the back of the school, to the shadowed area beside the trashcans of the kitchen, where I could have a moment to be by myself. I knew I should have been with my new friends. I could be on my own at any time. Regardless, as much as I had wanted to have a friend group of my own, I needed some time away from them every once in a while.

My little smoking break was cut short by Johnny Curtis, of all people, approaching me. How did he even know I was there? If the back of the school was the secret area where the cool kids gathered, the hidden section beside the trashcans was the part nobody would even bother to consider a hanging out spot. Amy had said that there were rats there, and she had seen a junkie there once, hiding from the cops, but that last thing sounded kind of unlikely. With all of Hackensack to explore, why would a junkie even think of nesting behind an elementary school?

“Hey, Valentine,” Johnny said, raising his chin, his hands firmly stuck in the pockets of his blue tailored pants.

I huffed. “What do you want?”

“As nice as always,” he grinned. I huffed again.

“As if you were the nicest,” I grumbled. “As if you’d say hello to me out of sheer kindness.”

“Can’t really be kind to someone known to be the bitch of the class.”

I glared at him. For a moment I considered giving him a well-deserved slap, but I thought it over. Not only was he taller and stronger than me, he was a lot higher on the social ladder than I was. “I’m the friend of your girlfriend,” I said. “Doesn’t that make me at least a little deserving of some respect?”

Johnny laughed. “Are you her friend, really? I thought you were just her little project.”

I closed my hand in a fist, but reminded myself that it could end up worse for me than for him. For a lack of swift payback, I had to content myself by thinking of his face hitting the pavement and my saddle shoe stomping on it, over and over, until I could calm down.

“Alright, I’ll tell you what I want,” he said, pulling some bucks out of his pocket and counting them. “Bobby and Gary told me you take twenty for a hand job—”

“What!?”

“And Peggy, you know, she’s super hot, but she’s kind of a prude,” he continued, as if I hadn’t said anything. “She wants to keep it all over the clothes, and it’s not fun anymore. And besides…” He grinned again, staring at me up and down. I felt sick. “She’s something, but you’re something else.”

I was absolutely amazed by even thinking that I could have found Johnny Curtis handsome at some point. Being tall and blonde didn’t begin to make up for the piece of shit he had turned out to be. “Whatever Bobby and Gary told you, that’s a goddamn lie.”

“Why’re you so shy out of a sudden? Everyone knows you’re the school slut—”

“Fuck off,” I said, shoving him to the side and stomping away.

“Alright –ten, just to see your tits, okay?” he insisted, following me and waving two bills, now almost pleading. “Come on, I know for a fact you did that, Peggy told me so.”

My cheeks were burning red. Who the hell did he think I was? Even worse, I considered bartering. After all, ten bucks was not nothing, and if it just meant I had to lift my dress for a couple seconds… But I decided against it. Who the fuck did he think I was, a damn whore?

“I said fuck off!”

Johnny grabbed me from behind and pulled me back into the shadow. “Hey—”

“Get off me, you asshole!”

“Just for a minute—!”

“Eat shit!”

Johnny’s hand suddenly clutched my left tit. I saw red. I tried to elbow him but he was stronger than me, and despite my thrashing and yelling he, pressing his chin on my neck to get a good look down at me, managed to slip his other hand under my dress—

The side of his head was just inches from my own face. I didn’t have to think about it –it came naturally –the only way I could see of breaking free. I opened my mouth and bit down on the soft tender flesh of his ear, and it was Johnny’s turn to scream, but he still didn’t let go. I didn’t give him enough time to even consider it. Biting down even harder, feeling my own lower jaw through the thin gristle, I pulled and ripped a good chunk of his ear off with one quick jerk of my neck. He screamed louder and, finally, let go.

Johnny raised his hand to the right side of his head, screeching and howling like a madman and opening his eyes wide. Soon thin lines of blood were dripping from between his fingers, as he pressed them against what was left of his ear. I stared at it, wanting to see but too startled to even ask, before I remembered I had a piece of someone else’s meat in between my teeth. I spat it out. The ear fell with a splat! on the concrete floor. I gazed at it, then back at Johnny, and licked my lips. Johnny was trembling now, too shaken to keep screaming, staring down at the ear I had torn off him. I wiped the blood off my mouth with the back of my hand, remembering too late that I had probably smeared my lipstick too.

“Don’t you fucking mess with me again,” I managed to blurt out.

I felt powerful again. Hopefully that little stunt would shut up the boys for a good while.

To hell with classes. I wasn’t gonna stay around to have Peggy cursing me out for flirting with her boyfriend, like I knew that fucker would try to spin it. I headed home instead, knowing that mom was out buying groceries that afternoon, and I went straight into the bathroom and got the water running. To get the little bit of blood that had splattered on the front of my dress, I figured the best I could do was to wash it along with myself in the tub. Mom had taught me how to rub out period stains, with soap and a handful of baking soda, for when the monthly curse was too heavy for a quick rinse. First time I had gotten my period, two years ago, while I was touching myself and thinking of Heath, I had noticed it hurt a bit –but I didn’t give it a second thought. When I saw blood on the water, though, I became terrified. Nobody had told me that this could happen. At first I thought I might have hurt myself, digging my fingers in an open wound, as I had been tearing at my own flesh. I spent a while trying to hold back sobs of panic, and wondering whether I should tell my mother or not, while the bathwater grew cold. I finally did, and she had to calm me down and tell me that it was normal, and that I just needed to clean myself up better next time. I was almost sure that Bri hadn’t been there when mom gave me the whole speech. I wondered when it would be her turn, and whether I could get away with telling her that she was rotting from the inside, like I thought I was.

I got into the bathtub and scrubbed my face first, to take all the makeup off. I hadn’t gotten a look at myself in the mirror, so I didn’t know whether or not the blood had dripped to my neck. I wondered if anyone had seen me with blood on my mouth and asked themselves what had happened, if I was alright. Dipping the little bit of fabric of the dress in the water wasn’t gonna cut it. The blood had dried already. Mom might ask, if she saw the dress all drenched at hanging from the clothesline, if I had gotten it dirty with oil or something at the school cafeteria –though I didn’t think she cared that much anymore about what I did with my clothes, at least not half as much as she cared about which clothes I chose to wear.

Thinking of my mother at the grocery store, though, I had an idea. Maybe, after my botched attempt at getting some pretty lingerie to wear for him, it was the next best thing to cheer up my grieving, recently orphaned boyfriend. Heath’s next house party was that Thursday, and I wanted to make something easy to eat, something good with few ingredients that filled the stomachs of a big bunch of hungry people, but that didn’t make too much of a mess.

“He’s the kind of guy that you give your everything, and trust your heart, share all of your love, til death do you part… …” I sang to myself, quietly, wandering through the aisles of the supermarket that Thursday afternoon after school, thinking about what I could prepare for that night’s party at his place. “I wanna be what he wants, when he wants it, and whenever he needs it…”

Lamb skewers was the way to go. By that point I had gotten really good at cooking, even in Heath’s tiny kitchen.

It was still early when I got to Heath’s; only another friend of his had arrived, and they were chatting in the auto shop, so in the meantime I got started with the meal. Firstly, I needed to clean the grill, which was really dirty and clearly hadn’t been used in a long while. Once it was good enough to cook in, I lit a little fire and fanned and blew on it until I was sore; and then I remembered that I had to soak the wooden skewers on water, or otherwise they’d catch fire too. While the fire was crackling and the skewers were soaking, I sliced the meat I had bought with the only knife in the kitchen, a dull and kinda rusty old thing that was as good as a wooden spoon; still, I managed. And, when the fire was ready, I got the skewers ready and put them on top of the grill, and mixed the cumin and chili powder with a fork in a little jar I found in a cabinet. The meat cooked slowly, but it was alright: meanwhile, Heath’s friends arrived and passed by the yard, wanting to see what I was preparing. I was very focused, though, in my task. I couldn’t let it burn, and besides, it had to be seasoned at the right time. I had to wait till it was seared, and then sprinkle the cumin and the chili on top, and then watch it for a little while more till it was ready.

By the time I piled the lamb skewers on the largest dish I could find and made my way to the living room, a crowd had already settled and a dense cloud of smoke was growing bigger and bigger. A couple of Heath’s friends hurried to me and began devouring the meat hungrily, messily, getting spice and grease all over their mouths and noses. I wanted to find a place to set the plate, but everywhere I looked there was someone sitting on, or had a half-empty can of beer. I stayed by the doorway, holding the plate, bopping my head to the music and wondering where Heath was.

“Hey, kid,” Janey greeted me with a tired smile, suddenly appearing by my side.

“Oh –hi…!” I replied, smiling back, until I saw the baby she was carrying. The baby looked at me, and I smiled wider. “… And hello to you too!”

I had heard about Janey having baby, though a lot of the girls would sometimes say stuff that they knew wasn’t true, just for the hell of it. But when a girl shows up with a baby, the safest assumption is that it’s hers. I just knew that the rest of the girls talked about it like she was already dead. And, quite honestly, it felt like it: Janey barely showed up to Heath’s parties. There was a reason, then, for marriage before sex. An actual reason, beyond your run-of-the-will sin and damnation and whatnot.

“What’s their name?”

“Bobby,” she said, bouncing the baby. Just hearing the name made me think of Bobby Farrell and Gary Lamotta and Johnny Curtis and all their damn dirty lies. “Like Jeff’s older brother.”

“Jeff’s the father?” I asked, a bit surprised, trying to focus on the conversation. I knew Janey and him used to date, but it had been a while ago –back when Jeff was still in Jersey.

“Yeah… I’m getting worried, y’know,” she admitted. “He hasn’t written back in so long… I sent him a little picture of Bobby, but I haven’t even heard of him.”

I could barely remember Jeff’s face. He wasn’t very attractive, nor particularly smart or funny. God knew what Janey saw in him. “Have you asked his parents?”

“I’ve tried… But they’re still refusing to talk to me! I don’t ask for anything, I just want to know if they have any news on him…”

I nodded, hopefully sympathetically. My dad insisted on listening to all news about the war during dinner, despite mom’s complaining. Nobody that he knew, as far as I knew, had been recruited. Still he tuned in every night, as if it was his favorite show. I wondered if he wanted to know the death count; after all, he had lost quite a few brothers back during his time as a soldier. I wondered if Jeff might be dead already, lying in some jungle in Vietnam. I wondered if Janey had considered that possibility.

“… I wish I didn’t have to bring Bobby, but… I don’t have anywhere to leave him, and my parents… It’s a whole deal,” she sighed. Indeed, Janey looked pretty damn tired. “I really need a smoke.”

“I don’t have one… Want to switch, though?” I asked her with a little shrug, offering her the plate of lamb skewers. She chuckled and, while she grabbed the dish, I held Bobby for a moment, bouncing him like Janey had done.

And Janey was hungry: she immediately got to gobbling down one of the skewers, smacking her lips and clicking her tongue. “Ah, it’s spicy… Hey, it seems like Bobby likes you!” Janey said with a smile. Bobby turned to his mother, then to me, and laughed a big toothless grin.

“He’s such a cutie,” I said, giving him a kiss on his chubby cheek.

“You know, nobody wants to talk to me anymore, now that I got Bobby to take care of,” she said with her mouth full. “And the few girls that do are always telling me how tired and sad I look… But I’m not sad! I’m just… It’s just that things are hard, you know?”

I nodded. Bobby imitated me, nodding while shoving his fat little baby hand in his drooly mouth.

“You see, kid…” Janey quickly took a cigarette out of her jean pocket and put it between her greasy lips, and, balancing the plate in one hand, lit her cigarette with a little lighter she had hidden in her other fist. “You see, you just can’t trust a guy… You can’t trust a guy unless he’s committed. Commitment, it’s not just a pretty word. ‘Cause guys see a chance to dip and they always take it, no matter how much you think they might love you.”

She kept smoking with a bitter expression on her face, biting down on the filter, looking away. I had noticed she had been eyeing Pete lately, but giving her situation, I didn’t think she would really dare to make a move.

Someone put on a new record, and a new song started. It wasn’t my favorite Aretha Franklin album, but it had a couple of really good songs. And I’m not usually the biggest fan of slow ballads, but there was something about her voice that was so tender and loving, it made me feel all warm inside. It was like the choir songs at church. It was hopeful, and majestic, all the while it was like it talked to you and you alone…

“To make you laugh, I would be a fool for you… Although the people turn and stare, I really don’t care…”

“I know I can trust Heath,” I said with a smile, turning to Bobby, moving him as if he was dancing along to the music with me. “He loves me so much, it’s almost funny… We’ve already been discussing leaving Jersey, moving to New York… We’re just waiting until he has enough money saved so we can start a new life there, together.”

Janey stared at me with wide open eyes. There was a moment of silence –and she burst out laughing, so loud that a couple people glanced at us with a puzzled look, and even Bobby was so confused he started to cry out.

“Oh –sorry, baby… Come, come here,” she said, and she handed me back the dish, and held her son again, bouncing him again, a bit faster this time. It didn’t seem to change a thing. “It’s alright, baby, it’s alright…”

“What’s so funny?” I asked her. I could feel the heat of where she had held the dish.

“It’s just that… Kid, don’t you know?” she chuckled. “Look, I love Heath, but he’s… Well, he’s a player!”

I frowned. “A player of what?”

“A serial romancer. A libertine, a bed-hopper, a rolling stone,” she insisted, trying her hardest to stop herself from grinning. “A whoremonger… Tiffany, please, he’s been with almost all the girls in the room, including me! Don’t you know?”

I blinked. “What?”

“We dated last year, before I got with Jeff… Just a month or so, but—”

“What? No…”

Janey sighed and reached out to touch my hair. “I’m sorry, kid, but I thought you knew… It’s public knowledge—”

I moved away from her hand. Baby Bobby began crying again. I didn’t want to talk to Janey anymore. There had to be somewhere I could leave the plate, I thought, looking around, when actually what I wanted was to find Heath, and smile at him and offer him what I had cooked for him, and for him to give me a kiss…

There, next to the turntable, beyond the crowd that danced and smoked, were Heath and Dee, dancing slow and close to each other. He was saying something into her ear.

“Oh me, oh my, I am a fool for ya, baby… Oh me, oh my, you know that I’m crazy, baby, yes you do—”

I walked towards them, and called his name, but I guess he couldn’t hear me, since he was standing so close to the music. I was about to call him again, louder, when I saw it happen. He put his hand on her back to pull her closer and she smiled, looking up at him like I did, closing her eyes like I did, circling his back with her arm while holding a cigarette between her fingers just like I did, and they kissed…

It was as if something broke inside me. My heart, maybe, but it felt higher –like something in my throat –like a bad taste that lingered in the bottom of my tongue. I was in shock for a couple seconds, but soon enough I found my voice, and I ran to him and yelled, I screamed and cried and cried and cried… Some girl grabbed me and tried to pull me away, but I thrashed and elbowed myself free and continued pummeling Heath as best as I could. He was taller and stronger, though, and I barely managed to hurt him, if at all, no matter how much I tried… He held my wrists and shook me to make me stop, and I was finally so heartbroken (then I really felt it, like a hole in my chest, something ripping and being pulled apart like a growing tear in my dress), and it all felt so senseless, that I just fell to my knees and cried my eyes out. I felt like such a child, in the middle of those cooler kids, whimpering and weeping like a damn baby. But how else could I react? Even when he was distant and cold, when he didn’t seem to want to talk to anybody, Heath still welcomed me with a smile and a kiss. How was I even supposed to know that he could be so unfaithful?

“I hate you!” I managed to blubber, at the top of my lungs, my eyes all blurry from the tears. “I fucking hate you!”

And with those last words I ran away from Heath’s place, stumbling and sobbing my way out of the house, out of the garage and into the street, all the way back to my home.

I’m not an idiot. I knew that sometimes people cheated on their partners. Of course I knew that, even if I still did not know whether my father was really cheating on my mother or not. I watched TV, I went to the movies from time to time, I read those little novels Janey lent me. I knew it was something that could happen; I just thought it would never happen to us. After all, Heath and I were so in love, it still seemed impossible to me that he could ever want anyone else.

I had one of those romance novels on my bedside table right then, ‘Secrets of an Accidental Duchess’, by Jennifer Haymore. I picked it up and desperately leafed through it, trying to find the scene in which the Duke admitted his wrongdoings to the wife he had married through an arrangement done by way of a bet with his crummy friends. How had the Duchess solved her own infidelity problem? I skimmed through the paragraphs till I found the conversation I was looking for.

The Duchess simply forgave him, kissed him, and declared she would always love him. I groaned and tossed the book out the window.

Ever since I began dating Heath, in my efforts to be more mature and to show myself that I wasn’t like bratty little Bri anymore, I had sworn off my toys and left my teddy bear and my few dolls on the shelf. But now, though, with how lonely I felt… What else could I do? I stood on my toes and managed to pull my teddy down. He wasn’t too dusty, all things considered. Definitely not enough to stop me from snuggling him, rubbing my tear-stained face against his soft belly, and hiding from the world with him under my bedsheets. I didn’t care about anything anymore. If the day of reckoning came right then and there, I couldn’t give less of a shit. All I wanted was to be left alone.

Obviously, I just had to think about how much I wanted to be alone for Bri to show up.

“Tiffy?”

“Go away, weirdo…” I whined, covering myself further with my sheets before she could see me hugging my teddy bear.

“It’s my room, too,” she replied.

I heard Bri walking up to me, her naked feet pitter-pattering on the wooden boards of the floor, and felt the mattress sinking when she sat on it next to me. I was too tired from crying to kick her off the bed. We remained silent for a few minutes.

“… What the hell do you want?” I finally asked her.

“You’re crying… I just thought you could use some company,” she said. I heard her, muffled but clearly, from the other side of the sheet. “When mom’s sad, she wants me to stay by her side.”

I blinked. I definitely didn’t know that. “Why’s mom sad?”

Bri hesitated before answering. “… I think she’s just a bit tired sometimes. Between managing the household money and the expenses, and doing all the chores, and with the things people say to her—”

I pulled the sheet away to look directly at my sister. “What do people say to her?”

Bri rubbed her nose and looked away. “Um… Things, I don’t know. Well… Really, she doesn’t want me to repeat them. She made me swear on it. But people sometimes call her things on the street, at the store… Have you never noticed?”

It had been a while since I had gone grocery shopping with her. Bri was the one mom was now dragging along with her, anyways.

“Is she sad because of dad?” I asked her, sitting on my bed.

“I don’t know,” Bri shrugged. “She doesn’t like talking about him. She doesn’t like answering my questions.”

I scoffed. I knew that much.

“Mom and dad aren’t gonna split, are they?” she asked, looking up at me.

“No… I don’t think so,” I replied. “After all, what would even happen to us if they split?”

“That’s what I was wondering…”

“Like mom said… ‘He’s the one who keeps the lights on.’”

Bri nodded. I kept staring at her. She was so much prettier than me, pretty enough not to need to wear any makeup. It just wasn’t fair. Then again, life was just not fair. That night had ended up confirming what I had always known.

“You don’t have a boyfriend, do you, Bri?”

“No, not yet.”

“Good. Don’t have one,” I sniffed, wiping my runny nose. “Being in love is so difficult… So much more difficult than I thought. And it hurts so much… I didn’t even know it could hurt.”

There was a silence. Quietly, slowly, Bri leaned her head against my shoulder. I allowed it.

“I wish it didn’t hurt,” she muttered.

The next days were spent in a miserable daze. I didn’t want to eat at all, skipping breakfast and lunch, until I felt my stomach growling and rumbling and pushing me to raid the fridge for the previous day’s leftovers. When I passed by Heath’s auto shop I walked faster, forcing me to keep my eyes on the ground, just in case he was out and about and I was forced to look at him or, God forbid, actually talk to him. I thought about him almost all day, and when I managed to turn my thoughts elsewhere, it was only to how pathetic I was and how nobody would ever love me.

I had to wonder, was it because I wasn’t fully there during sex? Did I not love him like he wanted me to? Did he end up replacing me with Dee because, in some way, she had something I did not have and that he was needing? I was told I looked mature for my age, and I believed it. Looking the part was not enough.

Apart from just wanting to be left alone in my misery, I had to finally accept that I really had no true friends. Janey and the other girls at Heath’s parties were a world away, once I avoided going to his place. And I couldn’t tell Peggy, Amy and Lisa about what happened; I knew none of them would extend a sympathetic arm to me. At best they’d tell me they were sorry and then change the subject; at worst, they’d ask why he cheated on me, and how I didn’t see the warning signs before. It was as if living underwater, with my head sinking lower and lower in the bathtub water. Words became mangled, and everything looked deformed and strange. Dad still came back from work every day to listen to the news on the radio, and mom prepared breakfast and dinner and washed the sink and chopped the vegetables and watched that the rice didn’t burn, and Bri babbled on and on about her day at school and how she did in her exams, and what her friends were up to, as if I wasn’t coming apart and having to excuse myself from the dinner table to run to the bathroom and cry my heart out. In the end, Bri, despite being bullied by Kelly Johnson, still had good friends. Still had good grades. She was probably the best version of herself. She was even gonna be the better version of me. When she became fourteen like me, she’d get some wonderful boyfriend who’d think she was sweet, and beautiful, and heaven-sent, and he’d never even think of cheating on her. She’d be mom and dad’s pride. She’d graduate top of the class, be homecoming queen, and her life would go on as it was expected of her. She’d marry, and have a lovely house, and lovely children. I could see it all so clearly, it was as if it had already happened. Now, if I thought about my own future, I could only see a blur.

“I’d also love to do nothing but stay in bed all day,” mom huffed every morning, before pulling me out of my room. “You’re not sick, you’re not dying, so you better get going or you’ll miss the bus.”

I hadn’t realized til Bri mentioned it, but it was true that mom was getting tired more frequently, now often complaining she had had ‘an awful day’, like dad would say when he came home from work, to avoid any requests or even to get us to shut up when we were, in her words, ‘making too much damn noise’. Even if Bri hadn’t mentioned it to me, I would have ended up realizing it, though. Mom never told Bri to shut up –she only ever told me.

“God, Tiffany –dour much?” Peggy asked me at the school bathroom, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Hey –Earth to Valentine! Are you even here?”

“Yeah, I’m here…”

Now that Heath had cheated on me, Peggy’s constant fawning over her boyfriend was unbearable. I knew that if she had a botched nose surgery like Amy McNab, or if she didn’t have her long soft blonde hair and pretty blue doe eyes, nobody would give a shit about her. It seemed Johnny hadn’t told her about his little stunt at the back of the school, and by what I could make out he had been telling everyone he had been mugged on his way back home and that he had been cut his ear off for refusing to hand over his allowance. I don’t know who really believed it, but everyone in class had decided to not question his story.

Weekend came around. Just one week, but it had felt like ten years had passed me by, and now I had turned sad old woman, religiously looking away when I passed by the auto shop. I realized I could not keep on like this, crying myself to sleep and thinking of everything I should have done instead. My mother was getting sick of my whiny exaggerated dramatics, my few friends were growing tired of me stumbling around like a zombie, and it really did feel like I was swinging violently between pure numbness and brutal emotion. I couldn’t go on like that.

I had to face the issue head on. I had to go to the house and talk to him. I couldn’t really expect for him to show up at my porch with a flower bouquet and asking me to forgive him. No, I had to be the bigger person.

“Heath?” I called.

The door was open, like always. I walked in. The place was a mess, even more of a mess than usual. There were empty bottles everywhere, even some broken glass. The turntable was still spinning a record that had ended a while ago. I turned it off. I thought of turning the radio on, at least to fill that unnerving silence, but I couldn’t find it anywhere.

“Heath?”

What I was even doing there? I hated myself for it. Why did I still love him, when he clearly didn’t give a damn about me? Why did I decide to hurt myself like that? I guess I just couldn’t help myself. Maybe I just felt too much, I was still too in love with him to simply be able to forget and move on.

I finally found him hidden away in the overgrown backyard, surrounded by the lush greenery, lying on a folding chair, with a joint almost completely burnt out between his fingers. I almost thought he was asleep. His gorgeous green eyes were staring at nothing.

“Hey, Heath…”

Startled, Heath turned to look up at me, and gave me a half-smile. “Hey, kid… Tiffany,” he corrected himself. “Long time no see.”

“Just a week or so,” I said with a little shrug. His comment echoed in my mind. Did he mean that this week felt longer? Did he really feel my absence? Did he miss me? I hoped so. I hoped he felt as lonely as I did without him.

“We were wondering where you’d gone.”

I kept quiet. Maybe I was just exaggerating, like mom said. Surely Heath still loved me. You can’t go so long spending so much time with someone without having some affection for them. Even if it wasn’t enough to keep him from cheating, I knew that he had to love me, at least a little bit. Besides, if my parents could still stay together even after mom had the strong suspicions dad had been unfaithful, surely, I could do the same –as shameful as it was.

“How’ve you been?” I asked him, fidgeting with my nails.

“Good, good…” he said, absentmindedly, dragging his words. “Finally finished the paperwork of… You know, the whole—”

“Your father’s death?”

Heath pursed his lips. He seemed like he was feeling sick. “Yeah.”

There was a silence. I waited for him to apologize, or to at least acknowledge that he had kissed Dee at the last party, in front of everyone, in front of me. I was not going to bring it up –Heath had to know that was why I was angry. Then again, he probably knew I didn’t care enough about it so as to not come back to him.

He stood up and went back inside. I followed. It was as if he was an astronaut who had just landed back to Earth. My very own space cadet. I giggled quietly, watching him curse and kick the bottles on his way to the bathroom. He had a piss while I waited patiently outside the beaded curtain.

“Dee told me that I look kinda scruffy with this stubble… What d’you think?” he asked out loud at his own reflection in the little cracked mirror. “I mean, I don’t really give a damn, but… I don’t know. I don’t want to end up looking like Santa Claus here, you know.”

“I think I like you better without stubble,” I said. “You look much more handsome that way.”

Heath turned around and looked at me as if he had just then fully realized I was there. “Hm. Yeah, Dee was right.”

I swallowed my annoyance at him mentioning her name twice already. Regardless, I told myself that it was because of me that he had made the choice. He took another deep drag of his joint, grabbing the straight razor and the can with shaving soap from the bassinet and coming out to the back of the house to sit on the folding chair. I followed him again, wondering why he didn’t stay in the bathroom to do it. He dipped his hand in the can and was about to slather it on his cheeks, when he stopped, blinked a few times, and snickered.

“Shit, I’m too high… Can you do it for me, Tiffany?” he said, handing me the razor and the can with a slippery hand. “Thanks.”

I picked some of the soap with my left hand and carefully slathered it on his chin, his jaw, his cheeks… He really was the most handsome man I had ever met. I gave him a quick kiss and looked at him in the eyes before bringing out the razor, wondering if he ever wanted to kiss me back. If he would ever look at me with as much love as I looked at him. But there didn’t seem to be anything behind those eyes.

He was not going to apologize. For a second I considered breaking up with him. I could do that, right? The relationship wasn’t instantly destroyed just because one cheated on the other. We could still fix it… But maybe he was just trying to prepare me for the inevitable breakup. In that case, wouldn’t it be better if I did it myself, just to save myself the heartbreak? Heath knew me so well. He knew what would hurt me the most. If he got angry at last, if he got mad at me…

“Hey, Heath… I, uh, I was thinking…” He kept quiet. Maybe he was too far off to listen to anything I was saying… But I told myself I had to talk about this with him, and it was better I did it sooner than later. “We’ve been together for, like, almost ten months now, right?”

Heath frowned at this, a confirmation he was actually listening. “Huh. That’s a good bit more than what I thought…”

“Time flies, right?” I chuckled. “So, well, I was thinking… Heath, sweetface, you must know that I love you.”

Heath looked up at me and gave me another half-smile. I smiled too. A half-smile was better than none.

“And so, I wondered… I mean, I know you might end up messing around with other girls from time to time,” I continued. “And –I promise, I don’t mind… But I think it’s very telling that I know you’d always come back to me.”

“Well, yeah. You’re a gas, Tiffany,” he said. “And you cook like the gods.”

I giggled again, flattered. “Yes, well… But do you love me?”

Heath took a deep breath. “Do we really need to talk about it now?”

I wiped the razor against my skirt. “When, if not now? I just want to know how you feel about me.”

“Listen, Tiffany, you’re alright,” he said with a chuckle, patting my leg. “You’re a great kid. But you got this crazy imagination… What does it matter, how I feel about you?”

“It matters,” I frowned. “It matters a lot to me.”

“Yeah… Well, I don’t know, Tiffany. I mean, it’s not like we’re gonna get married or anything. We’re just messing around. Just having fun.”

I took a moment to process his words. “Just having fun?”

“Yeah. So, like… Don’t expect a commitment from me, or anything,” he said, tensing his jaw, squirming in the chair. “I thought that much was obvious. I really don’t know where you got the idea that this was anything more.”

“… Oh…”

Heath smiled a bit wider. “It’s fine. Just… Keep your expectations realistic, you know?”

I forced a smile and nodded. But I could feel the anger boiling up.

“… I see what you mean,” I told him, I told myself. “I-I mean, I clearly… I clearly made this whole thing up in my head that you never even thought about—”

He brought the joint to his lips and took a drag. He didn’t seem to be listening to me anymore, if he had ever listened to me in the first place.

“… But you’re right,” I said, now fully to myself, trying to convince myself of it. “Got to keep my expectations realistic. Otherwise…”

Heath blew a cloud of smoke. It remained over our heads for a moment, in which it looked just like the clouds in the sky, before swirling and vanishing in thin air.

“… Otherwise, I guess I’m just setting myself up for disappointment.”

The blade moved smoothly from his chin to just under his ear. I thought of how many times I had kissed him there, kissed his whole face, practically begging for him to kiss me back. Always hungry for it. And he, he had become fickle with his affection. Sometimes he grabbed me and held me so tight I felt we could never be apart. Other times, it felt like he was a world away. I held the razor very still against his skin. Was that normal? That distance we felt? Was that something we could ever overcome?

Would he ever love me like I loved him?

I grit my teeth. Clearly not. We were just having fun. Just messing around. I was the crazy one, imagining things.

I turned the blade of the razor inwards, slightly askew, just enough to begin to cut. I think he was high enough that he didn’t even feel it at first. Watching closely, I moved my wrist as if it were a paintbrush, drawing a red line from under his ear down to where his Adam’s apple was. Somewhere in the middle of this Heath opened his eyes wide, now feeling it, as the first drops of blood trickled down. I was still going quite delicately, barely scratching his tanned skin. Heath gave two quick, small, nervous breaths as he realized, before opening his mouth –ruining my drawing –and let out a brief scream—

That I cut short by sinking the razor in the middle of his throat, with the kind of blunt force I had used for Peggy Buckman and Kelly Johnson and Johnny Curtis –only that this time I was armed. And it was a completely different feel, to have such an effective little tool in my hand.

After cutting deep, he couldn’t utter a sound. His gorgeous green-hazel eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets. His mouth remained open but silent. When I pushed the razor just a little bit deeper the blood began gushing out, soaking the razor, soaking my hand. I hadn’t seen so much fresh oozing blood like this before. It was thicker and warmer than what I could have expected, much more different than that of a nosebleed or a fallen baby tooth. This felt like the real deal. The sort of stuff that kept bodies moving.

Heath made a funny gurgling sound while I pulled the razor carefully out of his throat and went on up to continue the line, curving now back up to finish under the other ear. The more he tried to say something, the more blood came out. I giggled, quite impressed with myself, as I took a step back to admire it all. His hands were trembling and shaking. His legs convulsed and his hips moved like he was trying to get himself off the folding chair. But he couldn’t move any further than that. Blood kept pouring down his white tank top, down, down to his belt buckle.

All the while I still held the razor up in my hand. The blood dripped down my arm as well. Fascinating as Heath’s death was, I found myself turning to the razor, to this ordinary thing I had handled so many times before and which now had helped me kill a man. I was in awe, really. And probably more than a bit shocked at myself. I turned the razor around, watching the few silver spots where it wasn’t blood-soaked, reflecting the midday sun. In the light, clinging to the metal, the deep red stains looked like gems, like stunning expensive rubies. Blood went down to my elbows now. I gave thanks for having worn a short-sleeve blouse that day.

And then Heath stopped moving. His body went limp. His arms finally hung lifeless from the sides of the folding chair, his legs stretched in front of him, his head turned slightly to the side. His eyes were wide open. I remember thinking that was weird. For some reason I always thought people closed their eyes before dying.

My heart was beating so quickly, I could feel it pounding in my throat, trying to slip out of my body. I took a deep breath and exhaled. That felt good. Like I had gotten something off my chest. Something stronger than relief –a feeling of freedom. I had loved Heath, but now that he was dead, that I had killed him –I was free from the weight of that love. I had set us both free.

But most of all, I felt like this made me realize that, after all, this might not be true love. I had felt enamored by him… And yet, as Heath’s body kept bleeding out in the folding chair, his green eyes staring blindly at me, I felt none of that love. He was still handsome as hell, that was undeniable. But I felt no grief, not anymore. No pity at all. Only the typical fascination of watching fresh roadkill. It was as if he wasn’t the man I had been madly, hopelessly in love with for the last few years.

Well… He wasn’t. Not anymore.

Alright, I’ll admit it. I was a late bloomer. I didn’t actually make my first kill till I was fourteen…

But I think I did a pretty good job, all things considered.

No cops came to my house wanting to interrogate me about what I was doing that morning. Life went on as usual. The days after Heath’s murder, I was half expecting to feel bad for not having him with me anymore. I didn’t feel bad at all, though; I felt better than ever. Happier, for once. Free, like mom had said love would make me feel. Nobody knew what had happened, but I did, and suddenly I didn’t feel like everyone else’s chew toy.

Most importantly, I knew now that, despite being the family’s disappointment, I could do anything I wanted. There was nothing standing in my way. If I wanted, I could run away to New York myself, without Heath, and start anew. I could be anyone I wanted to be.

Once the idea had settled in my mind, I gave it a lot of thought, between my daily daydreams during class. It was entirely possible: I had my poker money, and I could take the bus. There was the possibility of stealing dad’s car, but that would be too much of a hassle. Back at home, smoking a cigarette while soaking in the bathtub, I mentally went over how much food I would need for a week, more or less the time I assumed it would take me to get settled in the city, find a place to stay and a job to work. I could manage, I was used to skipping dinner every once in a while. Swirling my hand around the floating strands of black hair, smiling wide before dipping my head under the water, I thought: I could really do it.

So I began planning. I was anxious to just leave already, but I had to plan it properly. I should take a bus during the night, so the next day my parents could assume I just had left earlier to stay at a friend’s house, the excuse I had blurted before when I spent the night at Heath’s. Besides, if I arrived early at New York, that meant I had more hours in the day to find a good place to sleep, a hotel or something. Apart from all these practical thoughts, though, I returned to my old fantasies of visiting the famous tourist spots of the Big Apple: Broadway and its shining lights, the fairytale forest that was Central Park, the Empire State Building and the ferry going to the Statue of Liberty, Little Italy and Chinatown… All of those places, I would be visiting alone. But I’d find someone, I reassured myself. There were so many people in New York, I’d find someone who would truly understand me, someone who could love me like Heath could not.

And, beyond all of these happy thoughts that put a goofy little smile in my lips while I dozed off at school and at the kitchen table, I always came back to the feeling of exhilarated triumph I got from pulling the blade from under Heath’s head. I remembered the warmth of his body and of the blood, the way it gushed as if it had been wanting so hard to be released from his veins, how his body shook and jerked as he died. I had shivers just thinking about it.

A couple days after killing Heath, deep in these thoughts, on my way back home from school after having a little ice cream treat and watching the toy store’s display one last time, before I kissed Hackensack goodbye, Darry called me and took me out of my fantasies.

“Hey, Tiffany!”

I turned around, even when I knew that I should just ignore him. He walked up to me, all badly chopped hair, dirty t-shirt and hand-me-down pants. It was a sunny day, and he had to shield his eyes with his hand, blinking and squinting to get a good look at me.

“Wanna see something cool?” he asked.

I looked at him up and down. “I don’t think your dick’s part of that category.”

He laughed. “No, I mean something really cool.”

Goddammit, I thought, my curiosity was piqued. I sighed and, with my hand inside my backpack and grabbing a pencil, ready to stab Darry in the neck with it if he tried anything, I followed him. We walked through the old stores and familiar sights in silence, passing by neighbors’ homes, barking dogs and children playing on the street, until we arrived to the area of abandoned houses, a little meadow of reclaimed nature in the middle of a sleepy Jersey suburb. I was surprised to know that Darry even knew of the place. All the times I’ve been there, I had never seen another living soul: maybe a squirrel, maybe a rat; a couple times, a few younger children trying to play ball in a forgotten spot that didn’t allow anything but exploration and shelter. Never another kid my age. I picked a couple wildflowers as I walked a few feet behind him, eyeing different sized and shaped rocks in our path in case I needed to bust Darry’s head open, in case he knew something he shouldn’t. I was nervous and anxious to leave Hackensack: the last thing I needed was another Johnny Curtis-like incident, or a surprise witness that could try to blackmail me into keeping his mouth shut.

But in the end it was nothing of the sort. We stopped at what used to be the front yard of a smaller house, its windows all smashed, pieces of debris all scattered around and covered in leaves of the wild overgrown trees. He grinned a crooked-toothed smile and pointed at a furry little thing in the ground.

“A raccoon?”

“Yeah,” he said, grabbing a broken branch and poking its eye like he wanted to squeeze it out of its head. “It’s been dead for three days or so.”

I gave it a little kick to roll it over back on its belly. A bunch of ants crawled out from under its back, a few of them still clinging to its pelt. I turned my head to the side. Just out of curiosity, I raised my foot and leaned it against the raccoon’s squishy body. I pressed down, slowly, until there was a soft crack! of the bones, and it began to leak some sort of weird juice, not quite red enough to be blood. I looked up at Darry, curious about what his reaction would be. He kept staring at it, with an unreadable expression. I stepped away and wiped the sole of my saddle shoe against a tree trunk. He crouched and kept poking at the mangled body of the raccoon, now turning the guts that were peeking out of its swollen torso.

I sat on a piece of rubble, smoking my cigarette, wondering how Darry had even come across the raccoon. I wondered if he had killed it himself. Now that it laid all squelched like a bug, I had no way of properly figuring out how it had died.

“You got a light?” he asked me.

I shot him an unimpressed glance. “I’d expect you, of all people, to have a light.”

“Huh?”

“You know… The desk on fire incident?”

“Oh.”

Darry said nothing to this. I sighed, and lit his cigarette.

“Um… You were dating Heath Shepard, right?”

I froze, my pulse racing.

“Did you hear about his suicide?” he continued.

How does one pretend to be surprised? Should I cry? Should I pretend I didn’t believe him? “… How did you find out?” I asked him.

“My older brother used to be friends with him. I’ve always wanted to go to his house parties… That was before my brother was drafted, of course,” he said with a little chuckle. “… Was Heath as cool as he seemed?”

“He was sweet… But he wasn’t that great.”

Darry frowned, clearly disappointed. It wasn’t as if it mattered much. He was already dead anyway.

“I’m gonna run away from home,” I declared, rather stupidly. “Heath and I, we were gonna live together in New York.”

“Really? You’re gonna leave anyway, even without him?”

There was a chance for me to say I was just joking, and stop from going ahead and just spilling all this information to this random boy from my school. Still, I nodded.

Darry raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. “Huh. You’re pretty ballsy… To dare and go on your own.”

I smiled proudly and blew some smoke. “I know.”

He nodded, taking a drag of his cigarette. I looked away, avoiding his gaze. A few minutes passed. Out of nowhere, he spit at a broken glass bottle that someone had left there. I smiled and spat there too, aiming closer. Darry smiled too, and we kept spitting, aiming for the bottle’s mouth. He clearly had a lot more practice than I did, but I wasn’t doing that bad either. He won, in the end, but I didn’t care that much. It wasn’t like we were betting anything on it.

“… Would you be my girlfriend?”

I looked up at him. He was now gazing at me, jaw clenched shut, hands tense, clearly nervous about what I my response would be.

I thought about it. I would lie if I said I wasn’t flattered, even if it was just Darry fucking Cade. To have anyone want me at all, and to ask so gently, it was a real delight. But I had to be practical. And besides, I knew that, if I was as flat as I used to be, back when I was eight, he wouldn’t even look at me.

“Would you come with me to New York?” I asked him.

Darry gulped. “Uh, well… I mean, I’d like to, b-but I’m not sure I… I mean, I don’t—”

“I knew it,” I replied in a sigh, flicking the butt of my cigarette. “You pussy.”

Janey was right. Commitment was hard to come by.

“I’m going back home. You better not tell anyone at school about this,” I told him. I thought it over. “Or do. I don’t give a damn.”

I stood up and fixed my skirt. He watched me with hungry eyes. I kept avoiding looking directly at him. It disgusted me, once I decoded what that feeling was, how much I wanted to give it a try and have one last kiss in my hometown. Darry was just a boy. He was probably a shit kisser.

“And Darry…”

“Yeah?”

“If you tell anyone that I’m leaving, or where I’m going… I’ll kill you.”

I didn’t stay to see his reaction. I couldn’t afford to even care. I had stuff to do, things to prepare and a backpack to get ready for the trip.

Back at home, I felt so anxious I was barely hungry at all. I did have to eat something, at the very least not to awaken any suspicions.

Besides, I had one more matter to take care of.

While mom made dinner and Bri watched cartoons on TV, I slipped away from their sight and went into our parents’ bedroom. I looked around in my father’s drawers: I was looking for a gun. As a veteran, I had to assume he still had one; and, most importantly, it was possible that I could be mugged in the city. I had heard horror stories of the girls at Heath’s house parties, of being robbed at gun point. Having some way to defend myself was essential if I wanted to make a life for myself. Better safe than sorry, after all, like my mother said.

I found some money that I quickly pocketed, but no gun; instead, at the very bottom of the underwear drawer, I found a switchblade, pretty similar to the one Darry had.

“Cool,” I whispered to myself, with a big smile, holding it carefully. Even better than a gun –it didn’t need bullets, it was lighter, and far easier to carry.

I opened it –and nicked my finger, getting the smallest dot of blood on the blade. I sucked on the wound. And, very carefully, I wiped the blade with the tip of my thumb, before closing it and slipping it into my pocket as well.

“Tiffy?”

I jumped. Brittany was standing behind me, in the darkness, barely lit by the light that came from the open door to the hallway.

“Jesus, Bri, you scared the hell out of me—”

“What are you doing?”

“What’s it to you?” I grumbled, closing the drawer quickly and pushing her to the side so I could get out. “Get out of my way, weirdo.”

“What’s in the drawer?” she insisted, opening it herself and peering inside. “What did you take?”

“What are you, a cop?”

“You took something, I saw it—”

“You didn’t see shit.”

“Mom!” she screamed, running through the hallway past me, dodging my arm as I tried to grab her. “Tiffy’s doing something—!”

“She’s lying!” I cried and ran after her. “Whatever she tells you, it’s a dirty lie!”

“Girls, stop that!” our mother said, just as I caught a strand of my sister’s hair in a fist. “For God’s sake, it’s like you were raised in a barn… Brittany, go get washed for dinner. Tiffany, you set the table.”

I let go of Bri’s hair. “I need to go to the bathroom first—”

“Don’t try to get out of doing something as insignificant as setting the table, Tiffany…”

“I’m not trying to—”

“Don’t argue with me,” she said. “Just do it. You can go to the bathroom later.”

I huffed. Taking the cutlery out of the kitchen drawers, I caught a couple glances she threw my way. Could she suspect what I was planning? Of course not –I hadn’t done anything suspicious, anything that could call her attention. I was just being paranoid.

Regardless, I held back my need to go to the toilet for as long as I could. After all, my mother had the key to the bathroom. If she wanted to, if she assumed anything, she could lock me up there again, and keep me prisoner in that house for the rest of my life.

I had to be patient. I had to be careful. Most of all, I had to be quick.

While I changed into my pajamas, I looked around at my bedroom. There was the dollhouse I had neglected, and the old storybooks that were gathering dust on the shelf, and the few framed photographs of baby pictures and of the family at birthday parties, and a document that certified I had had a Holy Communion, and the fashion magazine cutouts glued to the wall next to my bed, and the three baby dolls that I didn’t play with anymore and that had become Bri’s, even despite my pouring fake blood inside their mouths…

I wasn’t sure yet if I was gonna miss all this or not. I guessed I wouldn’t know until I was far gone.

I climbed into bed, under the watchful eye of our mother, as I juggled with the decision of taking my teddy bear with me or not. I definitely didn’t want Bri’s grubby little hands anywhere near it; then again, it would take a good amount of space in my backpack. And, besides, teddy bears are for babies… But I felt like I needed to take something, anything from that place with me. Something that could make any homesickness I might feel easier to swallow and, eventually, forget about completely. Think about it like a set of training wheels, I told myself. You know you don’t actually need it, but it makes the whole process a lot more comfortable.

Once I could hear my mother’s snoring in the next room, I got out of bed, put my teddy bear in my backpack, and quickly changed into the outfit I had chosen for my journey. All the other clothes I had decided to take along with me were already in the bag. I had also packed a few snacks, some toiletries and a little bit of my mother’s makeup. Since I was gonna be far away by the time she realized it was missing, I finally wasn’t afraid of her finding out.

I opened the window and released my last spider. I hadn’t been properly taking care of her, honestly, so I wasn’t too offended when she scurried away as quick as her eight legs allowed. I took the money out of the jar, recounted it, put some in the backpack and some inside my bra for safekeeping. I was tying my saddle shoes when I heard a quiet little whimper, and, holding my breath, I listened to my sister tossing and turning in her bed next to me. I hadn’t made a noise –so why was she waking up now, of all times?

“Tiffy…?” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes and sitting on the bed. “What are you doing—?”

I shushed her. She stared at me with her big brown eyes, and for a moment, she seemed stunned enough to keep quiet. I hadn’t planned for this situation. I thought about giving her some of the candy I had in my backpack to bribe her into silence, but I couldn’t trust her to truly shut her mouth anymore. We kept staring at each other for a while. At some point though I had had enough, and I kept tying my shoes and, after that was done, I finally headed for the bathroom.

“Wait –what are you doing?” Bri asked.

“Keep it down,” I said, turning to her. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You’re… You’re leaving?” she insisted. “Where are you going?”

“None of your business.”

She frowned. “Are you really leaving?”

I didn’t answer. See, there’s a reason I didn’t even consider saying goodbye.

“Go back to sleep.”

“Wait… Please, don’t –don’t go.”

“I said go back to sleep.”

“Please, Tiffy…” she started sobbing. “Don’t leave me. I don’t want to be here alone with mom…”

“Tough luck,” I grumbled, struggling to close my backpack. “You’ll have your chance to run away when you’re older.”

“B-but… If we go together, then I can help you! It’ll be better if we go together—”

“Really, Brittany? How, exactly?” I snapped. “You’ll slow me down. Any food I manage to get I’ll have to split with you. And besides, you’re still a kid.”

“But I’ll… I’ll miss you…”

I stared at her. “Don’t you give me that shit.”

“If you don’t take me with you, then I’ll tell mom,” Bri said with a pout. “I’ll tell her, and she won’t let you out ever again.”

I shot her a look. She opened her eyes wide. And she was about to scream –when I managed to grab onto my bedside lamp –and hit her on the head with it. Only a little bit of blood –a speck on the porcelain –and she dropped onto the mattress with a short grunt. I had to act fast. While she was out, I grabbed a bunch of socks from my side of the room, the longest bunch I found, to tie her hands and feet to the bedposts. And, when she began to blink back into consciousness, I stuffed another balled sock into her mouth.

“You’re always trying to please her, to be her favorite!” I whispered. “You won’t miss me –you’re just trying to get me to regret this and come back.”

Bri said something in muffled cries. But I hadn’t any time to keep wasting with her.

It was an hour to midnight, and ahead of me I had the tall task to change my hair on my own for the first time. First of all, I laid a towel on my shoulders, carefully reading the warning on the bleach bottle I had pulled from under the sink while I sectioned my hair in halves. I wished I could play some music on the radio in the meantime, but I had to work quickly and quietly. Wielding my mother’s fabric shears, I chopped strands of hair to about chin-length, watching myself in the bathroom mirror and turning my head to check how it was looking. There was no plan –just an itching hurry to change how I looked, enough so I wouldn’t be recognized.

The sound of the blades closing in next to my ears made me think of when I was six and, on my first day of school, a boy stuck a piece of chewed bubblegum in my pigtail, and how I had cried and whined when my mother said she would have to chop it off. I was so worried about how it would look, back then…

Once the haircut was done, I slipped my hands into the rubber gloves and took a deep breath. I spread the bleach on top of my uneven hair strands with an old toothbrush, I covered my head with a shower cap, and kept checking on it every five minutes or so. After an hour, as far as I was going to be able to wait it out, I finally took the cap off, closed my eyes and dipped my head in the sink to wash it all off. Sinking my fingers in the now-thinned-out hair, massaging my burning scalp and drowning the chemicals out of the strands, I gasped and blinked to breathe face-down under the dripping water, feeling the warmth of the water in my hands.

The sound of slow-running water over my head made me think of when I was five and, one particularly cold winter, we didn’t have any hot water, so my mother had boiled a few liters in the kettle, and carefully washed my hair in the bathroom. She had mixed the hot water with the cold in a jar, and, lying my chin down on the frozen porcelain sink like Marie Antoinette would wait for the guillotine, she poured the water on my neck, on my nape, on the back of my head, with her long fingernails digging into my scalp and shampoo foam getting in my ears, asking me if it was too hot or too cold…

It wasn’t the blond I wanted –it was more like a weird, pale orange –but it would have to do. Regardless of how far it was from the color I wanted, it was undeniable that, with my hair now short and light, I looked like someone else altogether. If I looked different, then, maybe I could feel different –act different –be different. I’d kill who I was supposed to be to become who I wanted to be.

I smiled at my reflection.

The walk to the bus stop felt shorter than I had expected. Everything seemed to be happening so quickly. Maybe I was just impatient and restless, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep on the journey. I bought a one-way ticket, gripping my bag close to my chest, going over how much money I would have left. Not that it mattered much. I knew I had enough to last me a week or so, I had assumed.

I took a seat next to the window and watched the streets I had grown up in rushing past my eyes, dark and silent, as the road brought me closer to the noise and the lights of the mysterious and bustling city.

#childs play #chucky series #fanfiction

0 notes

from-a-reckless-writer · 3 years

Note

RE: the tags about being tempted to post a half finished fic and guess the ending, well you are a reckless writer for a reason

this is long overdue, so here have a fic.

It has come to the point that nothing fazes her anymore.

A kidnapping? Been there, done that. It means calling Sam Arias to intimidate the board of members into temporary submission.

An explosion at the office? Just a typical Tuesday. It means relocating to the 23rd floor and sharing the desk with two other interns for 2 months tops.

An assassination attempt? It means bracing herself for at least 3 deliveries of donuts and coffee for the two following weeks that Kara Danvers would be protectively hovering over L-Corp, until her boss snaps and shoos her away back to CatCo.

She’s seen it all, endured it all and she sure as hell is prepared for it all. She’s got three different ironclad statements ready to publish for whatever PR disaster will most likely turn up that week. She’s got contacts from the FBI, DEO, CatCo, Daily Planet, Gotham Gazette-- hell she even has Lillian’s personal cell (just in case the Luthor matriarch ever tries anything y’know? ) and yes, even the number of that 'Mexican place at 5th and Spring, you know the one Kara likes, Jess?'

She’s got two pairs of heels, a raincoat and four sets of outfits neatly folded in a duffel bag, at the back of the office, reserved for any emergency that requires a change of clothes.

The point is, she is an independent Asian-American woman who has worked her ass off for the better part of the decade and has long learned to take no shit from anybody.

Not even stupid superpowered Kryptonians.

See, it takes a lot to be her. It takes unlimited patience to put up with a woman like Lena Luthor, not because she’s a terrible person. Oh no, no, the complete opposite, actually. She is so overwhelmingly kind to a fault, and she doesn’t want nor let anybody see it. It’s infuriating to see sometimes. Okay, fine, she sides with the Krytonian on that one matter. But oh, ho, ho, not today. Today, she’s mad.

She’s livid, actually and it’s all Supergirl’s fault. (and Lena Luthor's too.)

Jess has had her fair share of ‘I-Should-Not-Have-Been-Here’ moments, like that one time she forgot to knock and stumbled unto Lex mid-yell with Lena whose eyes were shimmering but was still keeping a rigid posture.

Or that one time when she thought her boss had long left the office, only to be greeted with quiet sobs and an empty bottle of scotch rolling on the floor. Or that time she happened upon Lena, skirt and sleeves on fire with fumes rising from a green solution.

Apparently, her staff from the lab refused to let her in after three days of their CEO holding herself in isolation with the experiment. Lena had gotten the great idea of smuggling the chemicals to her office instead. Luthors are nothing but determined. Jess still remembers the adrenaline rush of holding a fire extinguisher—as if she were the chosen 5th grader for a school fire drill—and shoving her boss out of the way.

Like she said, nothing fazes her anymore she’s seen it all, except maybe, this one. Yep, definitely this one. This one just made a hot ball of fury unfurl at her very core. This one might just take the cake.

Jess was just going about her day, returned from a hearty lunch and feeling reinvigorated from that dose of sunlight and fresh air. It was a quiet day today, she noticed, which should’ve been a foretelling.

Nothing really is ever quiet. Well, when it comes to L-Corp, at least.

She’s been sitting on her desk for about a good fifteen minutes and finished with screening a few papers from their new contractors, when it occurs to her that the latest blueprints from R&D are still on her desk instead of already being reviewed by her boss.

She grabs the drawing tube and quickly makes for her boss’s private office. They’ve spent enough time with each other that Jess could just come and go as she pleases, instead of having to knock each time. Saves both of their time, that way.

Although, usually, she buzzes through the intercom first to double check, but it was 1:20 P.M and she knows Lena doesn’t have anything scheduled after lunch. So, she pushes the door, confidently strolls in and promptly stops in her tracks.

Jess stops breathing for a moment, blinks once, twice, stares at the scene before her.

Lena Luthor sat atop her work desk; blouse open, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, neck currently being ravaged by Supergirl with legs wrapped around the waist.

She probably should’ve just turned and left while they haven’t seen her yet. That would’ve been the smart decision, right? Yes. Yes, it was so very clearly The Right Decision.

Of course, she doubts she could look Lena in the eye for the next few weeks after that, but at least she wouldn’t know that Jess walked in on them during an er- make-out session? Office tryst? Oh God, she shudders internally. It sounds even worse.

Incident? Yep. Yeah. She’s sticking with incident. Indecent incident sounds more apt really.

She should’ve left. Would have left, if her eyes didn’t just land on the desk—well, more like Miss Luthor’s as- backside—and felt the stirrings of rage make itself known. Because there, underneath Lena’s ass (Backside!! Jess, that’s your boss!) is the squished—probably crumpled—pages of a contract.

A contract they’ve spent 5 months securing!!

Jess decides to do what everyone else would have done in a situation such as this; she clears her throat. Loudly.

Classic move.

Supergirl’s head immediately shoots up and Lena’s eyes snap open.

“Jess!” Supergirl squeaks and she sees the exact moment the realization hits Lena. Her eyes widening at her girlfriend’s exclamation, whips her head to the side, spots Jess, hands scrambling to a panic to close all the buttons of her blouse.

She hears Lena hiss, “Fuck, shit. Oh my God. Shit. How did she even- You have superhearing!!!” as she pushes Supergirl—who lets herself be pushed, stunned by the intrusion, face redder than a tomato.

Lena gets off the desk, fixes herself all the while to futile results. Her hair is tugged down from her usual ponytail, her neck and chest is marked, her lips swollen.

Supergirl's hands twitch at the sides and Jess sees her gulp as blue eyes frantically dart to Lena and her, and then Lena, and then back to her.

Lena finally turns around after those few awkward beats.

"Jess," she begins, clearly trying hard to put on her business bitch persona, but come on, there's a hickey under her jaw for fuck's sake.

"It's not what you-"

Jess doesn’t let her finish, she stomps her way across the office and forcefully puts the drawing tube on the desk. It makes a hollow thump.

“Jess I-”

“Supergirl, do you know how long it takes to finalize a business proposal, pitch it to the board, persuade the board and finally have a contract drawn?”

Supergirl gulps again. Lena’s eyes are wild next to her, she doesn’t like not knowing what the next best move is, Jess knows this all too well.

“Uhhh- no?”

Jesus Christ, you’d think after years of shadowing Cat Grant, she'd had at least learned a thing or two. Then again, if somebody is full on glaring at her after getting caught red-handed, Jess doubts she could answer coherently too.

“That’s right,” Jess says, “You don’t.”

“Jess,” Lena repeats pointedly. She knows that tone. It’s a warning.

“Ms. Luthor.”

A period not a question mark. It’s a challenge.

"I've spent all my evenings working late on that, do you know how many dates I've had to cancel? Just so I can secure a meeting with Qatar and simultaneously sync it with Beijing's time? My boyfriend hasn't seen me in two weeks!” Jess bursts out.

“Two weeks, Supergirl!” She gets close enough to jab a finger to the Girl of Steel’s chest. A feat she will gladly tell all her coworkers later when she’s calmed down enough.

“Not to mention, the 10 other people who worked their ass off trying to make sure that Miss Luthor's presentation is airtight, bulletproof and waterproof!” Lena has the decency to look a little guilty at this point, nothing big though, just a slight tug at her lips, but it was enough for Jess.

“IT TOOK ME 3 FUCKING MINUTES TO PRINT THAT GODDAMN CONTRACT WHICH MIGHT NOT SOUND LONG—” Jess raises a finger in emphasis, “BUT BELIEVE ME WORKING IN L-CORP? A 3 MINUTE DIFFERENCE CAN MEAN AN ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT OR PSYCHOPATH PRESS!”

Supegirl of all people should already know this! For fuck’s sake!

Jess’s chest is heaving. She takes a deep breath, kneads her knuckles to her eyelids, “So, please if you're gonna have sex in the office, please, pleaseeeee clear the desk first. And at least, lock the door.”

She stares them both down, till Lena gives her a solemn nod; cheeks and ears still red. Supergirl squeaks out an, “U-understood, Ma’am.”

“Good. Glad we’ve come to an agreement.” Jess gives them one final nod before finally fulfilling what she came in here to do, “Miss Luthor,” She turns to Lena, “here are the R&D blueprints. Good day, to you Supergirl. I'll be going now. "

When she finally goes home, tells her boyfriend, and wonders aloud if she’ll still have a job the next morning, he tells her she’s such a badass.

And well, Jess can’t disagree with that.

*****

"Did I just- Did I just get yelled at by your secretary?? D-did she just chew us out?"

"She did, and she deserves a raise."

#i call this fic how many commas can i use in one sentence?#i think this is by far the most crack thing ive written #poor jess #in this house we worship and praise jess the secretary and her thrity second cameo in that ONE scene #if u see a typo no u didnt #the reckless writer writes #a supercorp ficlet of sorts

648 notes · View notes

iwaasfairy · 3 years

Text

.wordc. 2k tw a/b/o terms, incest, stepcest, breeding, kinda size kink

a/n. you know the drill jfhdgyegrfo just let me run my course please i don't know if this is any good but i tried

It didn’t usually sneak up on you like this. And sure, you’d been feeling a little hot to the touch this morning, but nothing that would’ve set you off out of nowhere. You pace back and forth in the bathroom, glancing at the device placed next to the sink and taking it with trembling fingers. No answer yet.

You read over the quick message you’d sent, then glance at the clock. Your aches have been getting worse for almost half an hour now, and you didn’t want to risk running out of the house in this state. But— you haven’t gone through a full heat ever since Atsu was born, and if Tooru doesn’t show up with the heat suppressors soon, they’ll be of little use.

You take a deep breath, brushing some sticky hair away from your neck and face, and curl your legs up to your body as you wait in the painful silence for any sign that you’ll get to relax soon. But your skin is so tingly and flares cold and hot, it’s hard to think of anything but the clenching of your thigh muscles and your belly.

Somewhere in the house a door opens, and your attention is back on the phone that’s now clenched desperately in your clammy palms. “What the- what smells so sweet— mom?” You hear from the living room. If you weren’t already pressing yourself against the cold stone of the bathtub and hiding into it, your knees would’ve probably buckled. An unfairly hard ache crawls down your spine into your stomach and you bite your bottom lip to hold in the whine that falls from your throat.

There’s a few seconds of silence, before the rushed sound of heavy steps go up the stairs and your chest pulls even tighter. Where the hell is Tooru when you need him? A squeezed breath falls from you when the heavy, musky scent comes under the door, manly and overwhelming. “Holy shit, what the fuck did you do?” he mumbles under his breath, and you can basically see it when he knocks his forehead against the bathroom door, jiggling the doorknob. “Mom, open up.”

“Go away,” you dig your nails into your thighs at the pathetic sound of your voice, taking a deep breath. The scent coming from that damn door seems to get stronger by the second, going from a softly sweet wood to something that feels like it’s pressing on your ribs and begging you to obey in it’s magnetic sweetness. Your belly feels so heavy and warm, and you don’t need to check to know that your underwear is drenched in slick. “My heat snuck up on me, go wait,” you clench your eyes shut and swallow away the tenseness again, “go wait in the living room until Tooru gets here.”

It had been meant as an innocent suggestion, but the posturing, heavy growl it pulls out of your son is vicious and vile in possessiveness. Shoulders squared and baring his teeth, and it only makes your throat catch and pulls out a long whine, as you struggle with the device for a few seconds. “Open the fucking door, before I break it down,” he hisses now, low and whiny and bubbling with aggitation. “Mom, right now. Open the door right now, let me take care of you.”

You jam the buttons too hard and misclick a couple of times, but eventually the familiar ringing sounds out, and you push your thighs together against the painful ache. As it calls you grab your own tits through your shirt, pinching just enough to get the hurting to stop for a second, before it flares back. ‘Hello,’ Tooru finally picks up after what seems like an eternity ringing, and you glance at the door with teary eyes, ‘I’m on the way, baby.’ Your hands are not enough to soothe the pain, whimpered cries falling from your chest as you rub your nipples and push up against your heel, rutting yourself against it.

“Daddy,” you sob now, trying to ignore the frustrated swearing at the door and the low growl of a very unhappy Atsuko on the other side of it, “hurry up, hurry up. Atsu’s here already, ‘n it hurts.”

“I’m gonna help her,” Atsu barks into the conversation, bumping his knee angrily against the door, “stay away. We don’t need your help.” And though Tooru throws out some words in an attempt to soothe you, he’s not here, and the scent currently flooding you is not helping a second. Your clit hurts, painful and untouched by an alpha, your body growing so weak. It feels like a million degrees inside this tiny room, your ears are ringing, and you must’ve ruined every single article you’re wearing with the amount of slick that’s dripping from your cunt and down your sweaty thighs.

You don’t— can’t handle this. A soft sob breaks from you as you cling to the bathtub so hard your bone peeks through the skin, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. “Mhm- Atsu, help me,” you sniffle out, crossing and uncrossing your legs. And though the rational part of you reminds you that you shouldn’t be tempting him like this, you should just bite through and wait, a much bigger part of you is ripping at the seams. And he’s right there. “Need you, please Atsu, need your help.” The wood cracks loudly under his weight as he shoulders through the lock, sending splinters flying all over.

And you don’t even have a second to cower under his big form before he grabs you by your ankles and drags you until you’re laying flat, breathing so heavy. He’s always been huge and much too strong for you to handle, but right now it almost seems comical. He feels to touch every inch of your skin with one breath, soothing the ache and making you feel heavenly. Whatever snuck up on you has clearly set off his rut in turn, because the pretty brown of his irises is now completely blown out and black. He shoves his face into the crook of your neck, rubbing his nose and then his lips up and down until you can’t smell anything else. “Mine,” he grunts, dragging his teeth over the overly sensitive skin, “you’re mine. My omega to fuck and ruin.”

His hands are large and heavy as they tear through the clothing and he climbs over your body, lapping at the most sensitive part of your neck like a possessed man, until you’re naked and quivering. And you can’t even think, let alone form coherent sentences as he shoves his fingers between your legs, rubbing up and down just a few times before he hisses out. “Gonna breed you like a proper bitch in heat, give you all my cum, yeah? Fuck you stupid.” You arch your back to feel more of him as he shoves his pants and boxers down, lining up and rubbing up and down a few times.

“Atsu, please. Please please please fuck me, wan’it, it hurts.” It doesn’t sound like you. It doesn’t feel like you. All you know is the overwhelming sense of pleasure when he slides inside is enough to have your legs clenching and the pressure in your belly to snap, black and white blinking behind your lids as you cum around his cock as it slides deeper inside. The pleasure is paired with a pain that has you mewling and wiggling as something too big for you goes so deep, pushing your walls apart and nudging at your cervix.

“Hmp- f-fuck, you’re so tight. You’re so fucking tight, I’m gonna break you, mom.” He pulls back and pushes in even deeper despite the warning, unable to help it. He’s drooling against your skin as he sucks marks between the words, gripping your upper arms so tight it tingles. “Gonna mate you, make you mine.” You’re drooling too, sobbing pathetically under him and rocking your hips back into his thrusts, the sharp hits of his hips drilling into the plush of your ass. “‘M gonna give you my knot and make you have my pups.” It’s filthy and vile and you’re just nodding like a madwoman despite it, lulling out your tongue as he leans down.

But before you can get anything else out he pulls you tighter by your hips and growls low and angry, sitting up and pulling you along in his lap, clamping his arm around your chest. Your clit throbs harder all of a sudden, if at all possible, leaving you gasping for air like a fish out of water. “Daddy,” you sob, something Atsu bites back quickly with a snarl.

“Go away, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“No you won’t,” the brunet grunts back, eyes zeroing in on you as you mewl and whine for him, reaching out a hand. “Couldn’t help yourself, could you, pretty girl?” Though Atsu bites down on your shoulder hard when Tooru kneels before you, his cock twitching inside you, he’s unable to posture his way out of it. Tooru is older, and even he’s feeling it. Your legs tremble as you wiggle around to get off of the one cock to try and wrap your legs around Tooru’s thighs, only being held back by the arm clamped around you.

But he smiles, sharing a glance with the man still lapping at your shoulder, before he peels his shorts down his thighs and lets his hard, swollen cock up to his stomach. “No use giving you the suppressors now, is there? Want your two alphas to breed that pretty little cunt for the next few days?” You swallow the spit as you nod, leaning towards him as he meets you halfway, kissing you a few times. Atsu doesn’t hold still anymore, and fucks back up into you as Tooru bites down on your tongue, as you wrap your hands around his leaking cock.

“She’s gonna clench my dick off- she’s so tight,” Atsu hisses suddenly, pulling you away from Tooru and laying you onto your side instead, as you whine at the lost touch, “shh, shut up. You’re mine. ‘M gonna cum inside my omega.”

“Want daddy,” you bite back at that, staring at the glint in those pretty browns as they focus on the jiggling of your tits and his cock twitches against his stomach. But Tooru nods, gripping your chin to lay a soft kiss on your lips.

“Let him run out of steam, baby. You and I both know you’re mine.” And the pure lust and possessiveness that drips from his voice with those words is enough to have you keening, nuzzling your head up against his thigh as he shuffles close enough to watch every twist and turn of your face with the thigh cock inside you. “You’ll be so full of cum you can’t even walk without it gushing back out. And we’ll fuck it back into you,” he pushes the pinky cockhead against your lips as you lull out your tongue, “again and again, however long it takes.”

#🍯honey.pot #tw.a/b/o #tw.breeding #tw.incest #tw.stepcest #💫oc.atsuko #💫ch.oikawa

862 notes · View notes

notlycheesden · 3 years

Text

Rearview Mirror

Heyyo ✌🏻 this is my first written piece for Endeavor , as a gift for my friend @kogo for the evil exchange. so I hope you like it my dude 👍🏻. A piece I will def be coming back to write more for sure.

⤍ Endeavour x reader

⤍ 3.6k

⤍ TW.incest, TW.dubcon, TW.father/daughter

⤍ Summary:

Enji was trying to be a better father, a better man.

And you never lied to him.

Guess it was a time for a lot of firsts.

Everything was always red between the both of you.

It's past four when his phone rings.

He was awake. even on his day off -those becoming more frequent now- years of routine were still strong. His body alert and aware way before the break of dawn for hours of training before patrol, and later to go to his own agency, the literal empire that wouldn't run itself.

He was pretending to be asleep, unmovable laying on his stomach, face buried on his pillow. Deep breaths in and out in a rhythmic pattern. His massive frame takes most of his king-size bed that for more than a decade he slept right in the middle, no reason to let the right side of it unoccupied.

It was almost meditation-like. There in the quiet and calm of his bedroom between his sheets, he could organize -or at least try- his thoughts. A time in his day where he gets lost in self-reflection. The things he would have to do that day, what work in his agency he would have to supervise, and even stubbornly he would do a little steaming out, analyzing his “actions and emotions”, passing commentary from the resident agency therapist threw his way.

“A strict but good man, if not for some, mishaps, from your intense and fiery nature.” was his professional opinion about Endeavor. The man really lived to throw things his way.

It used to help calm his turbulent mind. But lately there was nothing in his head but turmoil.

It was something he would do until 6 AM, when he couldn't take any longer and had to get up, body and muscles aching from staying in bed for too long, the sun already rising on the horizon, painting the sky with yellows, pinks, and reds.

The silence of his room is broken by the ring of his phone. Instead of the familiar tone of the morning alarm, it was his normal ringtone. When he opens his eyes, the room was not bright as he expects, still shrouded by darkness. Endeavor sits on his bed at once, alert.

Getting it from the bedside table quickly, his posture falls when he catches the time and the already saved contact of who was calling him: Natsuo.

Enji picks up, but before he could question the call, the time, or even say hello, Natsuo speaks, voice grave and serious.

“You need to pick up your daughter right now.”

It’s a punch to the gut. One that makes all the air from his lungs escape at once. In a second, he feels like he is thrown into a rollercoaster.

The only thing he can muster in his shock is a guttural and deep bark of incredulity “What?”

Natsuo cuts Enji off immediately. His tone triggering him into snapping, memories hushing in -not the time for this- “She just called. She was a crying mess, begged me to come for her but I live two hours away-Shouto is on patrol and not picking up and Fuyumi is with her fiance's family at the onsen-”

Enji inhales sharply. Dread takes hold of him while he can't even see straight with the sudden rush of adrenaline, sirens blasting off in his head.

“She was supposed to be with fuyumi at the onsen.” His voice echoes back at him in his bedroom walls, he doesn't realize he is shouting.

“Look, this is really not the time. She has no money and her phone’s dead. I was able to get her to tell me an address before the call dropped. she's all alone there. Are you gonna pick her up?”

Natsuo calms his own breaths now after snapping and shouting back, and he can hear shuffling noises on his father’s side of the line. The older man was up in a second, not really seeing anything, rushing through his stuff picking his keys and wallet. He hates the way his father could make him snap so easily.

Enji was completely distraught.“She said she was going to be with fuyumi…” He mutters under his breath while running through the corridors, even forgetting the phone by his ear, his son still on the line.

But Natsuo hates even more the blatant difference in the way his father treated all of them and you in comparison. Always. Like he could fix his mistakes. Hide his sins.

“Well. Think your little princess lied to you old man.”

Enji didn't even register the venom in his son's words, nor when he hangs up on him.

He’s out of the house in a blink. He tries not to rip the door out of its hinges on his way out.

——

He drives fast, almost no other car in the streets making it easier to speed up in his nervous state. The GPS voice droning about the directions, a forty-minute drive that he would make in twenty.

you said you were going to spend the weekend with your sister.

You lied to him.

Enji’s heart hammers in his chest and his flames burst multiple times on his face out of control. His grip on the wheel tightens to ground his shaking hands, his jaw set with such force that he could feel a headache already forming.

Thoughts were flying through his mind a mile a second. Where are you? What happened to you? Who were you with? Were you safe? Why were you crying?

Why did you lie to him?

It was like his heart was being squeezed by dread and being broken at the same time.

You were his youngest. After he realized what he did to his children as a father, he tried his best to do better; connect, communicate, but he was emotionally and socially stunted -Thanks doc.- and by the time he tried to reach out, it was just a little too late.

Fuyumi was the pillar of the household, replacing their mother too much young and having to fit in a mould not meant to be hers, barely holding the treads of the family and house together. Natsuo was out of the front door as soon as he finished high school and got into med school, choosing to live in the dorms and work part-time rather than stay at the manor. Shoto was another history in itself.

And there was you, a couple of years younger than your now up-in-the-ranks pro hero brother, at the time just a pipsqueak. Too young to remember Rei, remember the worst of Endeavor.

And when he tried to connect, you were there. As if just waiting. Wanting your father to look at you. Frail and innocent and just in want of care, of attention, of love. You welcomed him into your life with open arms and heart.

Enji did try to make it right by you. And for some time things were progressing, even his other children were starting to turn their heads around his direction.

Until Touya’s incident.

The media cracked down on him and his family with a vengeance, almost nothing was left unturned or whole.

Natsuo was the first to cut ties. Shouto threw himself into his hero work, completely closing himself off. Even Fuyumi decided that she was done, took the next step, and went to live with her now fiance, completely ignoring whatever Enji tried to shout about costumes or honor.

Then it was just the two of you.

He tried to be a good father.

He was a quiet man in his private life, strict and with a violent nature, but he reached out for outside help to make it right. An older and trustworthy housekeeper to not chain his daughter down at the manor, guidance from therapist to help him become a better father, a better man, anything to do right this time.

Call it atonement, call it his redemption, call it hypocrisy, he didn't care.

He only cares that at the end of the day, you were there at his side, happy.

This morning he saw the note on the fridge.

Going to onee-san family trip,

Be back on Sunday.

You never had lied to him before.

Guess it was a time for a lot of firsts.

——-

The music blasting through the night tipped him off even before his car's GPS tells him he arrived at the destined location.

He parks way down the street and assesses the place inside the darkness of his car.

Enji’s way out of the city now and inside the industrial district, the building seems old and falling to pieces, people are lingering all around the street, but it’s thicker there. At surface level the building was empty, but the music was definitely coming from there.

He dreads the worst.

Getting out of the car still in his sleeping sweatpants and tee, he throws the hood of his workout jacket over his hair to conceal himself. He’s going for discretion, get you and get out, no need to make this a public affair. Not with this, not with you, not right now.

He searches around but still can't find you. Half an hour has passed since Natsuo called. He's in a frenzy. Endeavor forces himself to calm down and think.

His son didn't mention music. He looks far into the street and he can see the entrance of an alleyway, he hushes there.

His stomach tied in knots when he sees in the dark your small figure crouched down beside a dumpster. your shoulders ate shaking with silent sobs holding your dead phone for dear life, trying to make yourself smaller than you already were, head down.

Enji barks your name and your head snaps to the entrance of the alleyway in shock, your body trembling and fat tears running down your smudged makeup.

“Daddy!”

In a second you were up and running, throwing your body against him and hugging his middle. He doesn't know what to do first, but he opts for following his instincts. Enji hugs your shaking form, shushing you lightly while petting your head. He doesn't know if it's him or you who's shaking more.

He doesn't remember how, but he manages to walk both of you to his car without being seen, his hulking form covering your smaller one.

He's shaking. When Enji puts you in the passenger seat and the car lights momentarily shine everything in an amber glow, rage fills his chest. You are in a dress he has never seen before, he knows it was not yours. He would never allow a thing like that or let you use it in public. Your makeup that before being ruined by your smudging and crying, was heavy and meant to seduce.

He closes your door and gets in the car.

He's shaking.

——

Enji can only control himself enough to not rip the wheel or step on the gas right through the flooring for only three blocks. and thank the gods again for the hour, because he could not quite see the streets in front of him. If they weren't deserted while he drives double the velocity permitted, it would be likely that the fears of his family being again under the cruel and ravenous judgment of the public eye would become reality, although for a completely different reason from the ones he has been dreading until this point.

When he reaches the fourth block, he makes a sudden stop, turning and parking harshly with the front of the car almost all the way over the curb, the tires skidding loudly into the quiet of the night and scaring you out of your still shell shock state. your small sniffles stop when you let out a muted yelp of surprise.

Enji quickly pries his hands that have a death grip on the wheel and smash the roof of the car to turn the lights on in such a way that later he’s impressed he didn't send the entire ceiling flying. As fast as he did that and the darkness of the car is now cast in warm gold, his hands are on your small frame like a striking snake, a big calloused one gripping your face between meaty fingers, squeezing your wet cheeks and the other one in your far shoulder, turning you in his direction with a barely controlled yank. Enji wasn't sure if the shaking was coming from your body or his.

He's frantic, hectic, eyes going up and down your body trying to find anything, something. “Are you hurt? tell me,” His voice is harsh, too loud into the small space. You jump startled, but his grip locks you in place, he doesn't notice.

Why did you come to a party? Why are you dressed like this? Why did you do this?

“Are you?? Someone did something? Gave you something, touched you?” He barks again louder, bending and twisting to be in your face now, eyes scanning all over your body. But again and again, they would be drawn to the too short hem of your dress, from your ruined tearstained makeup and down again to your soft and creamy thighs, trying to find a mark, a scratch, a stain. Anything, something.

“Fucking answer me!”

“Dad please!”

Enji lets you go as if you just slap him in the face. He blinks.

You are shaking. Looking at him in fear, silent tears running down your cheeks. Your jaw is set as you try to hold your whimpers back, his fingers make red marks bloom on your face and arm under his digits.

Memories come back rushing. Phantoms scourging in blue flames.

He releases you as if you burn him.

His hands hover in place, and he doesn't dare to move, still crowding you. Both of you staring at each other in fear and confusion as if something would break.

He slowly backs away, and you keep still. He turns the light off and stares at the road.

Enji couldn't take more things between both of you breaking.

He takes a deep breath. Starts the car again to drive back home.

——

Friday nights are your nights.

Enji doesn't really remember when it started. But he knows it wasn't something that was spoken of or agreed beforehand. It happened once, then twice, then his job got in the way, then thrice, and when he noticed, it was a routine between him and his daughter.

Like most things between both of you, it just… fell into place. And it just felt right.

Endeavor would arrange his schedule in a way so that his Fridays would be empty, any emergency at the agency could be easily solved that way, patrols and hero work set on the weekends so he could come home at a sensible hour, just by dinnertime.

He would be just taking his blazer and shoes off at the entrance when Enji would hear your running steps from the kitchen, your pinky apron-clad figure hushing to meet him with a bright smile, eyes shining.

you would get a hold of his tie and gently tug down for him to bend at the waist to your level, your arms were thrown in a warm hug on his neck and a sweet and lengthy kiss on his cheek after he steps through the threshold. you would giggle against his face from the tickles you got from his stubble while warmly welcoming him, the food still hot on the table.

It was one of your multiple habits together, just the two of you. And it felt right.

It was routine. And it felt so domestic, warm and right.

Friday nights are your nights. After he gets home, you guys have dinner, something you cooked by yourself, sending the older housemaid away earlier.

Sometimes it is a new recipe, sometimes something you already tried before. But it's always good, and when Enji compliments your cooking skills and how much he enjoys it, your cheeks blush red. You daintly try to hide your smile as you thank him, bashful behavior so alluring even when he knows is just a little act, playing coy. There's warmth in his chest.

The lights in the dining room cast everything in this whimsical warm glow and maybe it's the beer, but Enji thinks it reflects lovely on you and the color of your blouse today. He says so.

“Looking so pretty tonight, princess.”

The red on your cheeks grow stronger. From across the table, he hides his smirk behind his can at seeing how you fidget in place, trying to contain your coquettish smile while biting your plush bottom lip. The warmth spreads lower.

Only later it dawns on him. Enji was flirting with his own daughter. And it was a habit.

It was routine.

Enji is sprawled on the big sofa comfortably, already showered and in his sleeping clothes after dinner, the second movie of the night halfway through.

It was a period drama and he tries to pay attention to the main points for your quiz about it the next day, but he was mostly checked out, lulled by the comfy dark of the living room, the buzz of the beers he drank, sleep and your warm body draped over his.

He doesn't really remember when it started, but he knows it was gradually. One day in your Friday movie nights, he notices you were glued on his side, and on the next one you had an arm draped over his torso while both of you were laying on the reclining couch, and since then, you were always over him, arms and thighs and breasts glued to his body, but most of the time cutely laying on his chest.

That night was no different. You are laying on his broad chest, using your arm as leverage to look down and back at the tv in front of the sofa, and for you to not slip he has one big palm over your waist and the other in a secure hook on the slope of your knee, propping your bent leg higher across his stomach. Your breathing matches his, and if not by your little grunts and noises of surprise, the redhead would have thought you had fallen asleep on him. It would not be the first time.

The clothes you are using are small and had hiked up a long time ago, a loose tank top and booty shorts, both of them old and worn out, sleep clothes.

From where he was, he could see all your body over his. From the crown of your head to the slope of your waist as it dipped under his scarred hand. His gaze follows the curve of your thigh draped over his waist to the fat of your ass pointing high. He muses in a daze that he could see the inside of your tank top, the soft swell of a breast making an appearance. He leers.

You move a little, and this time, he can make out the shade of a nipple. It’s pert and small and pretty, and blood rushes to his clothed cock, but is late, and he's tired and buzzed out. It doesn’t connect in his mind.

You move. you are getting yourself higher on his chest. Enji feels small hands wandering under his shirt. Presses of lips on his neck. Wet kisses on the stubble on his jaw.

The soft touches pull him deeper. There's a young and wanton body over his. It’s been so long since he truly touched another, let himself be touched. Smooth lips and an uncertain tongue were kissing him, and he wants to devour them. It’s hot and burns and makes his insides coil, his cock hard and heavy inside his pants. A warm slit humping it.

Could have been the tiredness, the beer, the comfort of the situation, anything really.

Enji kisses you like a man starved. Head moving and ravaging your much smaller mouth with his tongue. His hand yanks your tank top down exposing your breasts, and now he’s pulling and pinching the sweet nipples in a way that makes you moan against his tongue with a voice he couldn't recognize.

His other hand was down at your ass, guiding your movements back and forth on his erection with vigor, the friction against your slit makes you weak, but he keeps you moving, his calloused hand encompassing most of your behind. At each needy thrust his fingers would slide down between the cleft of your ass more and more.

His meaty fingers push the bottons of your shorts aside with a flick of his wrist, and now he's touching directly your puffy lips that are messy and wet all over. Enji growls in your mouth as you moan louder when he starts playing with your pussy, a pitched whine as he flicks your clit up and down, a strong hold on your breast.

A loud bang from the TV is what snaps him back to reality.

It was his daughter.

His daughter was over him. It was his daughter that was humping his cock, that he was sucking her small tongue and tweaking her nipples until he made her squeal.

He jumps to his feet and throws you across the couch.

Different from him, you look wide awake. Flushed face and startled eyes stares up at him, exposed breasts still heaving. Nipples rosy and hard. Between your legs, a glistening trail of where his fingers dragged when he ripped them off of you. Your shorts are drenched.

There's a moment of silence.

Enji snaps. He sprints to his bedroom, leaving you alone in the living room.

He locks his door, drops to the floor, and whips his hard and heavy cock out. in three pumps, thick ropes of cum cover his hand and clothed middle.

Taking big gulps of air trying to calm his breathing, his eyes glancing everywhere in a panic state, he looks down, and spot the wet patch on his clothed thigh. Yours juices that leaked on him. Its still in his other hand, fingers wet.

Enji wants to cry.

He tried to be a good father.

He ruined it again.

#endeavor x reader #Enji Todoroki #Endeavor #Enji todoroki x reader

1K notes · View notes

dickwheelie · 3 years

Text

sooooooo I wrote a sequel to that love entities jmart post that got pretty popular. all you really need to know is that post mag 200 jon becomes a local cryptid and listens to people's stories about encounters with the entities to help unburden them of some of their fear. please enjoy!

_____________

Just inside the entryway of Old Fishmarket Close, hidden just out of sight of the street, there stands a shrine. It is not an old shrine of weathered stone, nor is it carefully crafted with intricate religious symbols, nor is it static, weighed down by years of collected dust. It is in many ways a living shrine; flowers bloom and wilt at its feet, while above it, against the wall of the Close, piles of paper, photographs, and keepsakes are haphazardly stacked and stuck. The shrine seems to breathe as each day passes, as innumerable and unsung hands replace its flowers and let their offerings crawl up its wall like vines.

The shrine is not marked, but everyone who looks for it, in the shadows of the entryway, knows precisely who it is for.

You arrive that day with only a piece of notebook paper in your hand. Upon it is written a short message, and not an uncommon one to see at the shrine: Thank You. A substitute, of sorts, for the flowers and other gifts that people often leave. You, like many others, are not well off, and you hope that a small note can make up for your lack of material offerings.

As you approach the shrine, a gust of wind whistles through the alleyway and rustles the pages plastered across the length of the wall. You’ve brought no adhesive, so you slip the piece of paper partially beneath a bouquet lying on the stone walkway. It’s relatively fresh, so you hope it won’t be moved anytime soon. You’ve no idea who replaces the flowers, but you suspect it’s never the same person twice. The locals all know about the shrine and the person it’s meant for, and they’ve grown protective of them both.

Dozens of other people have had the same idea before you; the ground is littered with short notes of gratitude. Thank you for listening, says one, transcribed in loving calligraphy, the i’s dotted with hearts. Thank You For Finding Me, Whoever You Are, says another. I rely lik yor hat, says one written in crayon. Another says, You’ll probably never read this, but thank you for hearing my story. There must be hundreds of them, and there are more each time you visit.

You had spent the better part of the morning trying to come up with something more eloquent to write, but you’ve never been great with words. Telling the mysterious person your story had been the only time you’d ever felt as though your words matched your thoughts, that what came out of your mouth was exactly how you felt, and that the person you were talking to understood you fully.

You suppose a thank you is better than nothing, and after one last fond look at the shrine, you turn to go.

A footstep that is not your own echoes down the alleyway. You turn, half-alarmed, but relax at once when you see who it is.

You have only ever seen him once before, about a month ago when you told him your story, but he is difficult to forget; his figure tall and thin, his posture horrendous, his features hidden entirely by a long coat and a wide-brimmed hat. He stands now at the far end of the alleyway, hands clutched before his hunched torso, giving you the distinct impression he’s staring directly at you.

“Um, hello,” you say, haltingly. You’re not quite sure how to address him, but you figure a polite greeting is universal. You gesture at the shrine. “I don’t have, uh, another story or anything. I was just leaving a note for you.”

His hat tips curiously to the side, and he shuffles forward with his cautious gait, peering closer at the shrine. The dark brim of his hat swivels towards you, as though asking a question.

“The shrine,” you say. “I just left a short note. It’s no big thing, I just—I wanted to leave something.”

The words seem to mean nothing to him. He looks at the shrine, then at you, then back at the shrine. He steps a bit closer to it, and reaches out a long-fingered, gloved hand to touch the petals from a bouquet of daffodils. After the briefest of moments, he pulls away again, hands resuming their wringing.

A thought occurs to you. “Do you . . . do you not know what this is?”

He shakes the hat once.

“This is . . . this is for you,” you say, spreading your arms to encompass the garden on the ground and the sea of pages above. “The flowers, the little trinkets, the thank-you letters—it’s for you. From . . . from all of us, who’ve told you our stories. You’ve helped us so much, we wanted to let you know how much we appreciated it. How grateful we are.”

He doesn’t react, and so you reach out and pick out a card, one that says, Talking to you about how scared I was of the dark made me less afraid of it. I sleep better at night because of what you did for me. Thank you, mysterious stranger. Much love, E.M.

“Here,” you say, handing it to him, and he takes it with a shaky glove. The brim of his hat lowers as he reads. "That’s just one of them. There are loads more just like that.” You survey the pile and pick out another. “This one’s from a kid, thanking you for helping their mom . . . And this one’s just a simple thank you note but they did cover it in glitter glue, so, there’s that . . . And this person wanted you to know that their anxiety improved after talking to you . . .”

He takes note after note from you, reading them all, silent and unexpressive as always, but there’s something in his posture that is unbearably human. Somehow it reminds you of how people stand when they hold a baby chick in their hands.

“I can’t believe you didn’t know,” you say, not unkindly. You’re both sitting on the ground now, amidst the bouquets and piles of thank-yous. “Who else would this all be for?”

As he picks up yet another note, a tremor runs through his body. He raises a gloved hand to the shadows beneath the hat, and you watch as two drops of water stain the page in his hand. His chest convulses as more tears fall, his hand moving under the hat to wipe them away, but they keep coming. Still he makes no sound.

You didn’t know he could cry. You don’t know why you’re surprised; he’s strange, certainly, and perhaps not entirely human . . . but he has heard so many horrible things, and human or not, he deserves a chance to cry.

“Are you—are you okay?” you say, not sure what to do.

The hat nods once, and then shakes.

“I . . . I know it’s probably a lot, all at once,” you say, and you reach out to touch his arm. The movement comes naturally, without much thought; you would have done the same for a friend.

He flinches at your touch, and you immediately pull away, but then he relaxes again, and nods. Tears are still falling from the shadows down onto his coat.

You touch his arm again, gently, and he doesn’t move away. “I’m sorry if it’s overwhelming. But we really are grateful, and you have a bad habit of not accepting thanks. This was one of the only ways we could think to . . . to show you.” You take a deep breath, and gaze into the shadows of where his face might be, doing your best to look him in the eye. “We don’t really know who you are, or why you came here, or why you choose to listen to us. But somehow, we know you mean well. I think everyone who’s told their story knows that, me included. That you’re trying to help us, that you want to do good. And you do. We . . . we want you to know that you’ve done good.”

His chest rises and falls shakily, and though he still makes no sound you swear you can hear a sob. He reaches out and grasps your arm in turn, and suddenly you realize what he needs.

“Can I give you a hug?” you ask.

The hat nods, again and again, and you open your arms, and he falls forward. You would have done the same for a friend.

You almost expect the hug to be gentle, but it is not; it is tight and desperate, and feels so human you do not think twice about hugging him back just as tightly. He is not terribly warm, but you can feel a heart beating beneath his coat. A few tears fall on the back of your jacket. You know that if you just looked up, you would be able to see his face beneath the hat, but you keep your eyes shut tight.

When you move apart, a few moments later, he seems a little more composed, and no more tears fall from beneath the hat. He straightens his back a bit, growing taller even in a sitting position, and you can see just the barest hint of a mouth, which is smiling a delicate, wobbly sort of smile. He brings a gloved hand up to his chin, placing his fingertips against it, and moves them towards you, once, twice.

You are by no means fluent in sign language, but you recognize the sign for Thank you when you see it.

You smile back at him. “You’re welcome,” you say.

He looks back at the shrine, at the piles and piles of notes he has yet to read. You watch as he picks up a handful more, seemingly at random, shuffling them in his hands and pressing them close to his chest. After a pause, he reaches out and slowly picks up one of the bouquets, overflowing with small blue flowers. You’re not entirely sure, but you think they might be forget-me-nots. He pulls a single flower from the bunch and tucks it, carefully, into the collar of his coat, as though for safekeeping.

He nods once, satisfactorily, and stands slowly, giving a small bow in your direction before he turns and shuffles back down the alleyway, the bushel of blue flowers peeking over his shoulder, rustling in the breeze.

Just before he is swallowed by the shadows at the far end of the Close, you call out, “Thank you! Again. For . . . for everything.”

It’s certainly just a trick of the light, but when he turns back to look at you, just before the shadows overtake him, you swear you can see the light catch on a single, twinkling eye, crinkled in one corner by what must be a smile.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #gwyneth writes

472 notes · View notes

noctumbra · 3 years

Text

pleasure

summary — he's been tense for so long, on alert, waiting for something to happen. you didn't like the way he held himself, so you decided to help your daddy relax.

pairing — beefy!bucky barnes x reader

warnings — smut, +18, civil war era, post tws, face fucking, oral sex (m receiving), daddy kink (not ddlg), dirty talk, degradation

a/n — i saw that gif set and,,,,, wanted to scream about it this way hope y'all like it! forgive me if i have any typos, i wrote this on my phone. (i don't own the gif)

Bucky had been waiting for the other shoe to drop for a while now, and even though he had you to distract him, he just couldn't let that feeling go.

Knowing him all too well, you were aware of his rigid posture throughout the day. You saw his eyes dart around all the time; looking for something that wasn't there, or listening to people in the building going about on their days with his enhanced hearing.

You wanted to help him relax, to see him blissed and maybe not thinking anything but you.

"Bucky," you started, drawing his attention from the window to you. You heard him humming, a sound that confirms he listened to you, but that was not what you want. Not exactly.

"Daddy," you whimpered just a little. His steel blue cold eyes snapped at you. Surpassing a smile that wants to take over your face at his reaction, you wiggled on your place all satisfied. "Wanna play, can we?"

Bucky cursed under his breath. He couldn't say no to you when you were being so soft and submissive for him, wiggling on your place with the extra energy or the urge to satisfy him. The gears in his mind turned quickly: He didn't want to let his guard down, but he wanted to play with you.

"Please?" You pouted just a tad, to tip him over the edge of hesitating. Bucky frowned.

"Tell me," he murmured from his place by the window. "Tell me how you wanna play, honey baby." You felt your cheeks heating up at the pet name, you bit your lip. Then, you stood up from the small bed —you were living in a studio apartment— and made your way towards him. You preened under his dark look, watching your every move. You took a deep breath when you stood right in front of him and—

You dropped to your knees, eye-level with his crotch, you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out.

"Oh, fuck," Bucky whispered harshly, not expecting this at all. "You wanna get your throat fucked, little one?" He asked, his metal thumb was tracing the line of your bottom lip slowly. You nodded. Never breaking the eye contact, you closed your lips around his metal digit and sucked on it.

"Shit, shit—" Bucky groaned lowly. His beautiful blue eyes were now black, his face was shadowed with the darkness of his arousal. He pushed his thumb deeper into your mouth, pressing it on your tongue, he made you drool.

"Yeah?" He tutted when you moaned around it. "You want my cock? My thumb isn't enough for your slutty mouth?" You moaned again and shook your head. Bucky chuckled darkly and caused a shiver to roll down your spine. He pulled his thumb back just a little, only to press it back with three more fingers.

You whined loudly as his fingers fucked your throat, making the drool wet your chin and even slide down your neck.

"God, fuck, dolly," he grunted. "Lookit you, so messy." Moaning quietly to himself, Bucky pulled his fingers out . His flesh hand unbuttoned his jeans, pulling his zipper down, his cock bobbed free. You whimpered at the sight of him; his cock hard as a rock, all angry red but a little purple at the top, fat and huge.

Only for you.

"Ask for it," he ordered. You whimpered again, but obeyed quickly.

"Please, Daddy," you begged. "I want you to fuck my throat. Can you, please?" Bucky growled.

"Open," he said, gruffly, and tapped your mouth with his cock. You did as your told and opened your mouth.

"Lick." Stucking your tongue out, you licked his cock from its base to its tip, giving his tip a couple kitten licks.

"Suck. Tip only." You closed your mouth around his cock head, hollowing your cheeks, you sucked. The precome that got smeared on your tongue had you moan out loud and around his cock, making him groan with you.

"So good," he murmured. "So good for her Daddy, mmm..." Feeling hot with the praise, you closed your eyes and suckled on his tip a bit more. You felt his flesh hand on your cheek, giving you a light slap, it slid into your hair along with his metal one.

"Take all of it," he ordered this time, and you relaxed your jaw, doing as he said, you swallowed his huge shaft in one-go. His thigh muscle jerked, a loud groan made its way out from the back of his throat involuntarily.

"Fuck," he growled. "Your throat is fucking heaven, reserved for me." You hummed approvingly around him.

Yes, you thought. It's only for you, Daddy.

Pulling on your hair, you got the signal. It was him telling you to let him take over. You heard him chuckle darkly again and felt all the muscles in your body turned jello.

"Yeah, little dolly," he whispered. "Let me break you, take over, c'mon. Give yourself to me, and I'll promise to make it up to you."

You felt your brain get fuzzy and did as he said.

Relaxing your throat, opening your mouth as much as you could, you let Bucky, your Daddy, thrust into your mouth. He started slow at first, almost a lazy pace. You knew he was gonna get mean and fast and hard, and honestly, you couldn't wait for it.

"Jesus fucking Christ, baby—" Bucky gasped and his lazy pace got a little faster. His balls were hitting your jaw lightly with his every thrust, your mouth was doing obscene gagging sounds while the drool on your face creating 'slapslapslap' sounds in the half-empty room.

Bucky growled as you whimpered around his length. You loved the way he used you; loved it when he held your head in its place and used your mouth like it was just a hole to fuck.

His hands formed into fists, holding your head still so that he could fasten his pace. The lazy drags of his cock turned into filthy and harsh thrusts. With each thrust, his balls were hitting your chin faster and harder, your nose poking the soft, dark curls at the base of his cock.

Growling, almost roaring, Bucky buried himself deep in your throat, holding your there and making you gag.

"Take it, babygirl," he sneered. His voice was deep due to the lust flowing in his veins. "I know you can. You're my baby, my little one, I know you can take your Daddy's cock all the way." His whispered encouragement words were getting to you as you tried not to cough. You wanted to make Daddy proud, so you tried to breathe through your nose and let the control over your muscles go.

"Just like that, fuck, baby," Bucky moaned. His breath was hitching, thick thigh muscles were jumping and cock twitching in your mouth; you knew he was close. You felt the sting at the base of your skull when he pulled you off his cock, listening to your gasps and watching you catch your breath.

Suddenly, you weren't on the floor. Your back hit the soft mattress, and then there was a huge muscle mass hovering over your body.

"You're so amazing," Bucky groaned as he slipped his hands into your pajama bottom and pulled it down with one move. Then, you were flipped on your stomach, ass up and your face was buried in his pillow.

You took a deep breath, filling your lungs with his smell, you moaned when you felt his fingers at your entrance.

"So goddamn wet," he hissed. "Is this all for me, honey?" he asked you, then. You nodded.

"Yes, Daddy!" You wailed. "All for you! Only for you!" Bucky growled approvingly.

"Damn fucking right only for me," he snarled into your ear. His fingers were plunging in and out of you quickly now. You whimpered and moaned and bucked your hips against his hand.

"Daddy—" You gasped when he flicked your clit. "Please! Wan' you in me! Please!"

"You're a greedy baby today," he whispered, taking your earlobe in his mouth and biting on it gently. You gasped again. Daddy knew all your sensitive spots and knew how to play with your pussy, you felt like you were about to pass out.

"Please..." You sobbed, your tears wetting the pillow under your cheeks. Bucky cooed at you lovingly. He kissed your cheek, your bare shoulder and bit down on your neck gently. You wiggled your hips. You were dying to have him in you.

"Sshh," he said, and you sobbed because his cock was kissing your pussy, nudging at your entrance. "Got you," he whispered again, "I got you, babylove. Daddy's here, ssshh."

Draping his still clothes torso onto your back, he slid all the way inside in one slow but smooth move. You choked on your moan, fisted the bedding and let out a loud moan. His hips were flushed with yours, filling you so fucking nicely.

"Oh, Daddy," you whimpered. Bucky hummed as he grabbed your hair in his hand and pulled your head up a little with it.

Without saying anything, Bucky started to pound into you. His cock abusing your pussy the best way possible, you moaned and screamed loudly because Daddy was in so deep— His balls were snug against your lips with each thrust, his thighs were hitting yours and making the obscene skin-slapping-skin sound echo in the room.

"Fuck, holy fuck— Sweetheart," Bucky managed. "You feel— so tight, so good, fuuck—" You whimpered and gasped and moaned, his cock stroking every single soft spot you have perfectly.

"Daddy—" You breathed. "'m close, Daddy! Can I— please!" Bucky moaned. He could feel how close you were. Your pussy was literally milking the come out of him.

"Yeah, baby. Come," he whispered. His metal arm was around your body, his flesh hand was still holding you half-upright from your hair. "Come for Daddy, c'mon," he moaned.

You screamed when you came around his cock. The tight grip of your pussy went even tighter somehow, making Bucky's eyes cross and making him groan loudly into your neck. Your thighs were trembling underneath his own, your hips were bucking against him probably without you being aware of and your face— God, your face. Bucky could watch it for the rest of his life because you looked so fucking divine when you came.

"Bucky..." You whispered, but then you sobbed. "Daddy, come in me, please. Please, I need it!" You hiccuped.

Bucky cursed. His hips thrusted in and out of you even faster, cock hitting your now-oversensitive spots. He felt his balls tighten and then he gasped. His cock spurting white ropes of come into your pussy, Bucky groaned loud and long with you gasping under him softly. Breathless, he dropped onto your body but minding his weight.

You hummed. You felt safe and sound and loved caged under him like this, you giggled happily. Bucky made a questioning sound.

"Like being caged like this," you whispered. "Love when you use me, Daddy." Bucky smiled fondly at you. He kissed your cheek and rolled onto the empty space next to you, only to pull you back in his arms after he settled. You hummed again as you wiggled closer to him.

Bucky was silent for a while so much so thay you thought he fell asleep. So, you jumped lightly when he spoke: "Thank you."

It was a whisper, but you could hear the emotion behind it. You smiled. Looking back at him over your shoulder, you pulled him in for a soft kiss.

"Anything for my Daddy whenever he needs it," you replied and made him snort.

Bucky snuggling you tightly, both you had happy and relaxed smiles on your faces when you fell asleep.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky smut #daddy bucky

2K notes · View notes

milliedazzledust · 3 years

Text

Even When It Hurts (Clark Kent imagine)

Request by @icyhollands : Clark comforting the reader after she got hurt by someone pretty badly, and him comforting her from a anxiety attack after she gets hurt

Words: 2009

A/N: I know a lot of you were waiting for this so I’m sorry it took so long to write - thank you for your patience and I hope you’ll like it :)

“Clark, you need to come down, now!”

Flying across his enemies on the battlefield, he faintly heard the sound of a voice, even with the distance. As soon as Bruce had found the aliens associated with Darkseid, they had been quick to act and the whole team had made the trip to fight.

While the others were keeping most of their opponents on the ground, he had taken upon himself to divert their attention from the precious object they were trying to steal by attacking from the sky. Too focused on the task, he had missed Arthur and Y/N going after a bunch of them. When she had seen her friend in bad posture, she hadn’t hesitated to put herself between him and the alien, taking the full blast of his hit. Her body had flown across the field before landing on a large tree trunk, breaking it in half. Her vision had been blurred for a moment, too disoriented as her breath was knocked out of her by the hard impact. She hadn’t been fast enough to notice the monster running toward her until she had felt the pain. Arthur had come to her rescue and killed him, but it was too late. The damage was already done.

When she looked down, all she saw was the tip of the weapon he had used, the other half was deep in her side, buried between what she guessed was her ribs.

“Y/N’s been hit!” Arthur yelled as he grabbed her when she fell on her knees.

High above their heads, Clark looked down and quickly spotted the wounded woman. He wasted no time in making his way to her, sending some of the aliens flying with a flicker of his hand. When one of them launched at him, and conjuring up all his frustration and his anger, he punched him with a force that knocked him out instantly.

His eyes remained on her, always. He felt his heart clenched when he saw pain twisting her features and instantly understood the gravity of her situation. She was holding onto Arthur, clutching her side, holding the weapon steady in her flesh. Fear is all he could feel when he landed on the ground, staring at the large gash of blood around her wound. He could even hear her heartbeat getting faster by the second.

Furrowing his brows in concern, he kneeled in front of her and grabbed her face. For a second he just studied her, softly brushing a tear with his thumb, until his eyes landed on hers.

“How bad is it ?” She asked him, her voice a weak whisper.

“You’re gonna be fine” He assured her.

“You’re a terrible liar, Clark” She tried to smile but even that simple movement seemed too much in her state.

She knew if she didn’t feel a thing yet it was purely because of the adrenaline. Tiny little molecules running through her veins, urging her body to fight back, to survive and fix what the foreign object had torn. She could sense fluid pouring out of her injury, the hand clutching her side was already covered in red. She was waiting for the moment the hormone would stop working and she would feel like a bomb had exploded inside of her.

She closed her eyes and a sob escaped her mouth. Her breathing was getting irregular and she was losing her grip. She was exhausted.

“Y/N, stay with me” The superhero tried to motivate her, slowly shaking her head. “Show me those pretty eyes”

She was starting to lose consciousness, and that observation alone terrified him. He kissed her forehead in a sign of encouragement and laid his hand over hers so she wouldn’t let go. She cried out in pain and glanced down. It only took a couple seconds before he was covered in blood as well. He pursed his lips, forcing himself to keep his eyes on hers and not look at the wound. His face was betraying him and he wasn’t even aware of it. She could so easily see the reflection of his own fear in his gaze, the depiction of worry over his features that she lazily traced with her fingers. The shadow of a smile appeared on her lips knowing only she could read him like an open book.

“It’s alright, baby” He comforted her.

“You should work on your poker face” She tried to joke. She was glad it made him smirk.

He turned his head toward Arthur, still holding the woman’s body.

“We’re gonna lay her down” He told him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea” Y/N warned him, grabbing his biceps to stop him.

“Do you trust me ?” He muttered, stroking her cheek.

“You know I do”

“Then trust me”

She faintly nodded and let the men handle her wounded body. Arthur was behind her, holding on her shoulders, and Clark was in front of her, one hand on her wound, the other behind her neck. As gently as they could, they started to rotate her. Clark never moved his gaze away from hers, not even when her hand gripped his shoulder in pain or when her tears flowed freely as the pain started to become unbearable.

The moment her head touched the ground, she began to cough blood. Her eyes widened at the realization and her heartbeat hastily palpitated.

“We’re alright” He reassured her.

“We’re alright” She repeated in a whisper. She could no longer focus on anything around her. Anxiety was creeping up and threatening to take over. She knew it would do no good but she couldn’t stop it. Her hand tightly clutched the fabric of her man’s costume and her chest started to rise more rapidly as bile rose in her throat.

“Clark” She called for help in a single breath.

“I’m here, baby. I’m not leaving your side”

He wiped the blood on her mouth with his finger.

“You and I have a date tomorrow, remember ?” He spoke, smiling when she faintly nodded. “So you’re not allowed to fall asleep. I haven’t even introduce you to my terrible cooking yet”

Her laugh started a coughing fit, bringing more blood out of her mouth.

“I have to take it out, Y/N” He said more seriously, motioning to the weapon in her body.

Her eyes widened in panic and she shook her head, ignoring the pain.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright, beautiful. I’ve got you”

“A .. plan ?” She asked.

“Yes, I do have a plan” He understood her question. “But you’re not going to like it”

“Tell me” She murmured.

“You’re hemorrhaging,” He explained. “If we let it in, you’re risking an infection”

“And if you take it out, I’ll bleed out” She weakly responded.

“Not if I cauterize the wound”

“How ?”

She understood the moment she saw his eyes flashing red. She gulped, mentally preparing herself for what was to come.

“I trust you” She repeated the words she had said already.

He nodded and gave her one last encouraging smile before motioning for Arthur to come closer. He explained his plan in a hurry before standing up, letting the King of Atlantis take his place.

“Ready ?” He questioned the woman.

“Do it” She said, clenching her teeth.

She averted her gaze toward Clark, mouthing one last ‘I love you’ before Arthur pulled out the weapon in a very fast movement and held her down. Superman’s eyes immediately started glowing and he directed his heat vision to the open wound. The moment the high temperature laser touched her skin, she screamed in agony. A horrible, searing pain suddenly invaded her body and she was convinced she was going to die right there. She felt the urge to get away from the source but Arthur had a good grip on her. She kept shouting, as if it would ease the burning sensation. Clark’s jaw tightened and a tear rolled down his cheek, hating to be the one causing her pain.

After only a couple of seconds, she could no longer handle the torture and lost consciousness. The superhero stopped his ministration when he was sure the wound was closed properly and no blood was leaking anymore. Ignoring the smell of burned skin, he silently picked her up in his arms, listening closely to her heartbeats to make sure she was alright.

“I’ve got her” He told Arthur before bolting in the air.

She woke up hours later in a bed, completely disoriented. It took her a solid minute to recognize Clark’s bedroom inside the Kent farmhouse. She felt a throbbing ache on her side and muffled a scream when she touched it. When she looked down, she realized Clark had taken off her suit and had replaced it with one of his shirts. She lifted it to inspect the damage but all there was left of her wound was a small scar made by the man she loved. She shuddered at the memory and swung her legs off the bed. The moment her feet touched the ground, her body crumbled and she lost her balance. A pair of strong arms caught her before she could injure herself.

“You’ve not healed yet” A voice scolded her.

She didn’t answer. Her eyes closed, she let her head fall on his chest and circled his waist, squeezing him in a tight embrace that she so desperately needed. He was her safe line when she was spiraling down, which was happening now that she remembered she had almost lost him.

“How are you feeling ?” He inquired, kissing her head

“Alive” She replied. “I got … I really got scared for a minute”

She brushed a tear and tried to stop the hurricane of negative thoughts hitting her. He felt it too when her body started shaking and ran a hand on her back to calm her down.

“I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you” He swore, holding back the anxiety creeping in. “And I hope you know I won’t let you out of my sight for at least a week”

She knew it was his way of lightening the mood when he could feel her darkness hovering above both of their heads. He had a way of guessing when it was coming and always reacted quickly, diverting her attention to anything else but her mind playing games.

“Do I, at least, get to spend that week in your arms ?” She smirked, raising her head so only her chin was resting on his chest.

“I have conditions” He replied with a smile.

She rolled her eyes.

“Name it”

She saw the change in his attitude and tilted her head in confusion when he took a step back. Cupping her face with both his hands, he stared deeply at her. She could see his quiet emotion through the way his eyes bore into hers, his fear and his devotion.

“Never say I love you like it’s the last time I’ll ever get to hear it” He told her, his lips quivering as a shaky breath escaped his mouth.

Instead of answering, she led him to the bed behind them and together they laid down. He pulled her close and she raised her head until her lips found his. She didn’t need words when she could condensed a million loving thoughts into this moment. The emotion of that kiss alone spoke volume. A simple gesture that meant ‘you’re my home and I won’t leave’

“I love you, Clark”

She repeated the words again and again, making him laugh with happiness. He tightened his hold around her waist until she was almost laying on his chest. Her ear against his heart, she listened with a smile and closed her eyes, soothed by the steady rhythm.

“Thank you” She whispered after a while.

“What for ?”

“Bringing my head and soul back home to you when they get lost”

“Always” He promised.

Her face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, she kissed his cheek and peacefully fell asleep in his protective embrace.

#clark kent #clark kent x reader #clark kent imagine #clark kent imagines #clark kent fanfiction #superman #superman x reader #superman x you #superman imagine #superman imagines #superman fanfiction

453 notes · View notes

randomshyperson · 3 years

Text

The Scarlet Witch Prophecy - Chapter 20 - Agatha's Memories (Part Two)

My official gif maker @abimess, thank you.

Summary: As the youngest daughter of Howard Stark, you have ordinary expectations for your years at Hogwarts. Little do you know what adventures await you when your destiny is intertwined with the legendary Scarlet Witch.

Warnings: +16. Adaptation of the Harry Potter Saga, Magical Thematic, Prophecies, Mentions of Violence, Torture and dark magic, Language (swearing and minor/major offenses), manipulation of will, Underage kissing, insinuation of smut with minors, Smut (overage), descriptions of death, aggression, obscurity, angst, fluffy, soulmates analogies.

Series Masterlist || Read on AO3 || All Works Masterlist

Chapter 20 - Part XX - Agatha's Memories (Part Two)

You don’t sleep for long, there is a sound of something breaking that makes you blink confusedly as you move on your bed.

Then you realize that it is the wood up your head that is moving, along with a red magic that you know very well.

You look forward, only to find Wanda with an impassive look on her face as she merges the bed into one.

“I’m sleeping with you from now on.” She says simply as she finishes, and you lay back on the mattress, not sure of what to say about that.

You hold your breath as you hear her taking off her shoes, changing to her pajamas next, staring on the roof of the tent as she does it.

She pulls the blanket to lie down, and then is mimicking your position.

"Would...would it be okay if I hugged you?" she asks after a moment, and you feel your heart race.

"I'd like that." You mumble clumsily, turning to the opposite side.

And it takes half a second for Wanda to wrap her arms around your waist, burying her face in your shoulders, inhaling your perfume and making you blush heavily.

Your legs entwine from underneath the comforter, and you feel more secure than you ever have before.

"I'm sorry." She murmurs against your skin. You think she is talking about what happened with the horcrux, and you just nod softly, but she repeats the apology against your ear, intertwining her hands in front of your belly, and you realize she is talking about everything.

"I love you." She confesses next, and you feel your eyes fill with tears.

The hug gets tighter, and you sink your face into the pillow, allowing yourself to cry.

And Wanda doesn't let go, even when you sob, and it takes a while, but you finally fall asleep. And when you do, she stays.

//-//-//-//

You woke up first. And you don’t wanna get up. Not when you have Wanda wrapped around you like this, your face buried her neck, as you both turned around during the night, and now your legs are completely entwined, and you are practically lying on top of her.

And all you do is sink even deeper against her body, sighing against her skin. She smells so good.

"-morning." She whispers hoarsely, still with her eyes closed, her hands around your body moving slowly against your back down and up, and you just murmur into her skin wishing you could stay in that moment forever.

"We should get up." Wanda says after a moment in silence, not seeming to really wish to do so.

"No, thank you." You retort and your voice comes out muffled against her neck, the vibration making her laugh.

"We need to darling, I think we have some lessons. "She says and you mumble softly, the curiosity to pursue the story Agatha was telling is enough to make you pull away.

But when you are about to let go of Wanda, she pulls on your forearm, and you look at her with confusion, but she moves forward and kisses you firmly.

It's slow, and soft. It makes you sigh, so you kiss her back, sinking right back onto the bed as her hands wrap around your hair to deepen the kiss.

When her tongue asks for passage, you see stars, melting under her touch. Wanda smiles against your lips, pulling you by the shoulders to lie on top of her.

But before you can do so, the sound of footsteps catches your attention, along with a soft hiss, and you grumble before pulling away.

Throwing your face back into the pillow, you try to calm your breathing and rapid heartbeat as Agatha strolls through the tent, until she comes to your room.

"Are the sleeping beauties going to get up, or should I bring coffee in bed?" She teases with her arms crossed as Wanda hides her smile as she notices your state. "You two know this isn't a honeymoon trip, right?"

"Stop being so bitter, Agatha." Wanda complains as she sits up. "We'll be right there."

"And a good day to us, ladies." The older witch retorts before leaving.

Wanda laughs softly, turning her attention back to you as you scramble up on the bed to sit down as well.

"How are you?" she asks, intertwining your hands on top of the mattress, and you let your gaze roam over her face, biting your lips against the urge to kiss her again.

"Fine." You murmur half hoarsely, from sleep or lust, Wanda will never know. "And you?"

"Better." She says with a nod, and you feel your heart race. Better with you here.

Wanda squeezes your hand before letting go, and she stands up, looking at you one last time before walking off toward the bathroom.

You sigh as you throw yourself back against the mattress, trying to push away the feeling of her tongue against yours and focus on the fact that you were even closer to completing your mission with one less horcrux to destroy.

//-//-//-//

“Where are we now?” You asked as you observed the surroundings. It’s the entrance of an old garage, in the corner of a city. But the real Agatha ignores your question as she guides you two inside, further into the memory.

Your dad, just a teen boy, maybe eighteen, is inside, working on a large machine, it seems that he was really a muggle mechanic, since there were cars all around, dismantled or not.

"Stark." It is Agatha from the memories who says, and startles your father slightly, who almost drops the screwdriver. But when he looks up, he smiles.

"Professor Harkness!" He says getting up, and wiping the grease on his apron quickly before greeting her. "You really did it!"

"I told you I would come." She says, and you are surprised at the affectionate way she looks at your father, "Look at you, Howard, you're so grown up."

Your father laughs, bowing his head softly. "Thank you, professor."

"I only say that because I've known you since you were a child." She humorously clarifies. "And now you are even growing a mustache. Tell me, do muggle girls like that sort of thing?"

Your father laughs with flushed cheeks, and Agatha follows him. Before they can say anything, there are voices and the sound of footsteps approaching, and soon, two people enter.

Wanda chokes softly next to you. "Mama."

You also recognized Magda, because you have seen pictures before. She had the same appearance as in the photos, and you were saddened by this, because she must have died not so long after this memory.

Erik stood beside her, wearing muggles like the woman next to him.

"Professor Harkness, you made it!" He greets politely, hurrying to shake the witch's hand as she smiles. "It's so good to see you again! This is Magda, my wife."

"It's a pleasure, dear."

The memory speeds up, you want to fight Agatha for cutting off Wanda's moment of seeing her mother properly, but the way Wanda strokes her thumb against your hand makes you give up saying anything.

The scene settles down in what you think is the apartment at the top of the garage where they were, all around a table, drinking beers.

"You guys know why I came all this way, don't you?" Agatha says, and seems to have just had a short pause in the conversation, as if everyone had been laughing before and suddenly got quiet. And the tension only increases with her comment.

Her father sighs, nodding. "There is no daily prophet here, but I have met some travelers. They are talking about a war, Agatha." He says worriedly. "But I want to hear it from you. Do you really think that could happen?"

Agatha gives a humorless laugh. "It's already happening." She says, placing her beer on the table, and straightening her posture. "The minister of magic waited too long. And now, this group, these so-called death walkers, or whatever ridiculous name they are thinking of trying, are everywhere. In the ministry, in the diagonal alley, in the Order."

Your father looks really upset, but you notice how uncomfortable Erik looks.

"And do you really think that's what they're after, Agatha?" He asks. "War. Do you think that's what the walkers are after?"

The teacher raises her eyebrow slightly. "What else could it be, besides chaos and complete destruction of our society, Erik?"

His former teacher is unaffected by the snickering, he just gives a half-hearted laugh. " Well, freedom of course." He says, clearing his throat softly. "See, that time we've been here. New York is fascinating. Things are bad for muggles it's true, but for the rest of us, damn. The wizards are doing just fine. They have so much magic here, so much freedom to study what they want. The ministry encourages the discovery of new areas, gives financial support to researchers!"

Agatha crosses her legs, listening to Erik's speech carefully.

When he realizes that he may be defending Mephisto's group too much, he pauses, straightening up. "I'm just trying to say that maybe a change in the British government is exactly what our society needs to evolve, Agatha."

"You know, when Fury told me he wanted to recruit you boys to the order, I told him that children don't fight wars." She declares and you see the boys widen their eyes. "You two know that Katherine is dead, right? That Nick took over leadership of the order in his mother's place, and the first names he wanted were yours."

Your father nods, as does Erik.

"Well, I didn't agree." She says. "I said I knew other wizards, more experienced, more trustworthy. Wizards who didn't flee their homeland to live the American dream."

"That's not-" Your father begins but the look in Agatha's eyes makes him shut up.

"Nick insisted that I come here." She continues. "He said that you have kept in touch by correspondence, and that you continue to have the same, what was the word, moral inclination. But now I wonder if he was really right about that."

"I didn't mean to say that the walkers are right!" Erik exclaims defensively, looking embarrassed, but Agatha just smiles.

"Don't worry, honey." She says as she leans in. "I think that kind of moral difference is exactly what makes this whole conflict interesting."

"That's sadistic of you, Agatha." Howard comments seriously. "We're talking about a war."

"Don't be hypocritical now, Howey." She retorts with a wicked smile. "You think I don't know who the travelers you've been talking to are? Say, the magical trafficking laws are simpler in America, aren't they?"

Your father locks his jaw, but keeps his face up.

"I did what I needed to do to survive here." He says simply, and Agatha laughs.

"Of course you did." She says. "So did we all. And now we have a potential battle ahead of us, something that could change the course of wizarding life for future generations. Tell me, do you intend to stand here fixing machines and pretending that your friends are not dying for your freedom? And I thought you were tired of this kind of attitude, golden boy."

Your father stands up, enraged. But he says nothing, and swallows his pride. He gives Erik one last look before leaving the room.

Agatha sighs softly, turning her attention back to Erik, who has his fists clenched in his lap.

"You know very well that the situation is not so simple." He says and Agatha smiles.

"And you know it's him don't you?" She retorts and Erik clenches his jaw.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you know very well, Erik." Agatha insists. "When I fired him, he didn't stay in England. He came to America with his favorite student."

"Keep your voice down." Erik quickly retorts, looking back a moment before leaning forward. "It's not what you think."

"But I don't think anything." She says. "I'm exactly giving you the chance to explain yourself, before I draw my own conclusions."

Erik takes a deep breath, and turns to Magda, squeezing her hands.

"Honey, can you give us a minute?" He asks, and Wanda's mother looks like she's going to say no, before nodding.

She walks off in the same direction as her father, and then Erik and Agatha are alone.

"Professor Faustus has asked me for support, Agatha." He says. "He was out of a job, and with his name tainted with rumors that no one has proven. And he never treated us badly, so I helped him."

"You kept this from Howard? I thought you were best friends." Agatha teases but Erik laughs humorlessly.

"Of course not." He says. "Who do you think paid for the tickets?"

"Interesting." She says. "Why tickets?"

"Because he was being investigated for the dark magic rumors." Erik says. "The ministry put a blocker on him. Any magic he tried to do would go straight to the minister's notes. And well, he needed Howey's help to remove the device from behind his neck."

"While he was hiding, I imagine he told you about his wonderful ideas."

"No, Agatha." He says. "Faustus just looked tired. And he felt betrayed, mostly by you. But in general, he complained, and studied. Howey and I would work all day, and he would stay in his room, among the magic books, unable to conjure anything, not even a light spell. I've never seen him so frustrated."

"I'd feel sorry for him, if that wasn't his fault." Agatha murmurs and Erik sighs in agreement.

"A few months after we arrived, Howey got it." Erik recounts. "Tivan gave him the materials he needed, and he freed Faustus from the blocking device in his skin. He thanked us, said he'd write, and then disappeared. We never heard from him again, but the letters from Fury started coming in the next months."

"Did Howard suspect?"

"No." Erik says squirming uncomfortably in his chair. "Howard trusted him, mostly because of the way he stood up for him in school. About supporting him to study mechanics, even if no one else would. But I knew I had to be smart after what happened with Raven."

"He tried to recruit you?"

Erik sighs. "No, Agatha. But he will."

"I know." She says. "That's why I came."

" I should have guessed that you don't make friendly visits, even to your best students."

Agatha laughs softly, leaning her arm on the carpet. "You think just because you can conjure a patronus you're my best student, Erik? I helped establish the order of merlin. You are not even remotely the most talented wizard I have taught."

"You are hurting my feelings." The man jokes, making the other woman smile.

"How will this work then, Erik?" She asks. "Are you going to accept Fury's offer? Or will you follow your heart?"

The man smiles, standing up. "That just concerns me, and my wife, don't you think?"

"Actually, no." Agatha retorts without sounding angry as Erik moves to collect the beer bottles and put them in the trash. "In fact, I think you even need to leave her."

Erik laughs in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"A muggle, Erik." She says as if it's obvious. "You're going to drag her into a war? That's cruel."

"Magda is stronger than you imagine."

"I'm sure she is." The witch says getting up as well. "But that is until she is hit by the first spell."

“Agatha, please.”

“Muggles can't handle magic like we can, Erik." She insists seriously. "You know that. A simple stupefy could kill her."

"I love her." He says turning away. "And I'm not going to England without her. If she decides to stay, then I will too."

"That's disappointing." Agatha comments, but Erik doesn't flinch, crossing his arms. The witch sighs. "Then do me a favor. Howard, at least he, needs to go. We can't afford to lose allies."

"I'll talk to him." Erik assures. "But you know that with all that his father has done, he doesn't want to go back to London anytime soon."

"This is so much bigger than a family feud." Agatha retorts. "Tell him that, and he'll feel guilty enough to accept it."

"Your mind games are wicked, professor." Erik says before nodding in agreement, leaving.

Agatha sighs, getting pensive.

Just then Magda walks back into the room.

"Miss Harkness?"

"Hello, dear."

"I just came to ask if you're going already? Erik looked upset, but I can walk you to the door. It's good manners."

The memory shakes until they are outside, and Magda leads her to the same place she should have appeared before.

"Please, before you go, may I ask you something?"

"Of course, sweetie."

Magda hesitates, but takes a deep breath and says. "If Erik stays, what are the chances of this war reaching us?"

Agatha looks at the woman for a moment. "I don't think there is a way to escape what is happening in England, Magda. And if we lose, it's not just the witches who will suffer the consequences."

Magda nods in understanding, then steps forward. "Tell me how I can help you."

"He wouldn't approve, but I can't watch everything fall apart around us. Tell me how I can help."

Agatha smiles, touching Magda's shoulder. You hold your breath, as does Wanda, who also notices the magic in the witch's fingertips, and the purple color in her eyes.

"Leave him, dear." She says. "But it needs to be natural, okay? As best as I can, he must not suspect it was my idea. Erik would never put you in danger, but he wouldn't leave you alone either. So you need to end it all."

Magda has tears in her eyes, but she just nods mechanically. And the memory becomes blurred.

Wanda is tense beside her, and you are silent.

"That doesn't make sense." You mutter. "Carol told me that Magda was in Sokovia, and that-"

"She's not my mother, is she?" Wanda cuts you off, looking at the floor. The real Agatha sighs, as you look at the two in confusion.

"How could you tell?" She asks.

"I don't have her eyes."

It was a funny detail about the few pictures of Magda that Erik had in the Maximoff house. All the pictures were old, because they were from muggles. And they were never sharp enough in detail, just good enough for you to be able to recognize the woman in the recollection.

Agatha laughs softly. "Is that all Erik told you about your mother? That you had her eyes?"

Wanda squeezes your hand, and with the other she wipes her cheek.

"Just show me the truth at once, Agatha."

"As you wish."

//-//-//

You stumble gently as you get used to the dirt floor that has stabilized at your feet.

"Are you okay?" You whisper to Wanda, but she just nods, smiling weakly before looking back at the memory forming in your eyes.

You were startled by the bright lights in the sky, recognizing them immediately as wandering spells.

Someone just fought here, and it was no small fight.

"Agatha!" Erik shouted, approaching quickly, coming from the corner as if he had been hiding until now, and the teacher had emerged.

Wanda also held her breath as she noticed the large cut on his forehead, the blood dripping down his face.

"T-They've surrounded us..." He says breathlessly, his wand in fists as he stumbles to get closer. "We narrowly won and-"

"Calm down boy." Agatha says as she holds his shoulders, working quickly to heal his wounds. "Where are the others?"

"Further away." Erik replied visuvelmettely exhausted. You could tell he was a little older than the last memory, but he was still young. "Back to the mansion.

"Good, they' ll be safe there." She says as she helps Erik stand properly. "Where's Natalya?"

And Erik chokes, sobbing. You frown in confusion, and Agatha makes a pitying face.

"Oh, Erik."

He cried, shrugging. "She was.... She tried to gain ground. She hit four of them at once. But... But she-"

And he sobbed, and Agatha didn't insist, hugging him.

"I'm sorry, Erik." She whispered.

And the memory trembled until they were back on the mansion's dirt path, almost at the iron driveway, the man visibly calmer, though quite shaken.

"Erik, what about the children?" Agatha asks as she stops walking in front at the gate.

The man looks on the verge of tears again, but only sighs.

"I have no idea, Agatha." He says. "No place is safe in the UK anymore. I can't leave the order to look after them, I don't know what to do."

And Agatha looks at him a moment, before nodding. "I will help you."

You see many flashbacks of memories, Agatha greeting injured order members, then going back to write letters, and checking the news. You think you see flashes of fights too, big duels, before everything stabilizes again.

It's Magda in front of you, and she looks more mature too.

"Years ago, you asked me how I could help you." Agatha spoke behind you, and you startled yourself by jumping to the side, and watching intently as the witch touched Magda's hands. "You saved yourself by leaving him. But you will save his life and the rest of the wizarding world if you accept what I am about to ask of you."

Magda's eyes widened, but she nodded after a moment. Agatha waved her hands, and a cart approached you.

"Run away, Magda." She says. "Their mother had a house, enchanted to protect from invaders on a hill in a small country in Europe." Agatha explains as Magda lets out a surprised exclamation at the babies in the stroller.

"They... are beautiful." She whispers excitedly, touching the children with her fingers, who fall asleep innocently. "What happened, Agatha? Where is Erik?"

"The fight just got bigger, hon." She explains. "Much bigger than we ever expected. Your people are suffering too, but they're saying it's natural disasters."

Magda is shocked, but she speaks again. "Agatha, I am not a witch. I can't protect them."

"That's exactly why you can." Agatha retorts, taking the other woman's hands again. "Go to Sokovia. There are no witch communities there. Hide yourself, hide them. You have no idea how important it is to keep them safe."

"Tell me, then."

Agatha swallows dryly, and looks away from the babies. "It's only a legend, but it could change the fate of this war. The girl, Magda, is a powerful witch. A special kind, like her mother was."

"My god, she's just a child, Agatha."

"That's exactly why she needs to be protected." The witch retorts. " She' s fragile, like a crystal to be stolen. She must not be found, promise me you will protect her."

"I promise." She says nodding, but Agatha sighs, and her eyes turn purple, her grip increases.

"No matter what happens, Magda." She says. "You will protect them, do you understand?"

"Yes."

The memory shakes again, and this time, your father is in front of you, and you hold your breath, shocked to see him so close so suddenly.

“You’re a snake!” He accused angrly, but without any movement, his eyes were serious with his arms crossed.

You turn to realize he was talking to Agatha, in a room that had no windows.

“I was keeping them safe, Howard.” The woman said. “I don’t expect you to understand the feeling of desperation, because you have an armored mansion at your will.”

“You used Erik’s grief to manipulate him into believing in you!” He shouted. “I’m not asking you again, where are his children?”

Agatha laughs softly, looking at your father indignantly.

"Are you listening to yourself, Howey?" she teases. "Erik switched sides, accept that."

"Nat died on our side." He retorts. "She was my friend, my ally. And she trusted us to protect the twins, you had no right to hide them!"

"They are safe!" Agatha retorts, and looks at the man with a warning expression. "And I suggest you stop making such a scandal about it, Howard! You don't want Mephisto to find out about the girl's true nature. We're close enough to defeat already."

"This isn't about that stupid legend-"

"Isn't it?" Agatha interrupts with irony. "Then why only now? It's been weeks since I took them. I know exactly what you want with the twins, Howard. You want to see if it's true, if they really can change the war." She says approaching. "I will clear that up for you then, since you clearly have no knowledge at all on the subject. A scarlet witch is worthless until she reaches maturity. If you try to take the magic from the baby, you'll just get a victim. And I won't allow that to happen."

"I wasn't going to steal the child's magic, Agatha. Who do you think I am?"

"I don't give a damn who you say you are now, Stark." She retorts."Not to you, nor to Erik, who can't make up his mind whose side he's on."

Agatha moves to leave, clearly ending the conversation. But before she leaves, your father calls out to her.

"Why are you so committed to protecting them, Agatha?" He asks.

"Natalya was my family before she was an Auror, Howard."

As Agatha leaves, the memory fades, but you and Wanda are wide-eyed, confused by the latest revision.

And the ground is shaking at your feet, and you are being pulled back into consciousness.

//-/-//-//-//

You awaken last, stretching confusedly away from the tree you had leaned against as you sat on the ground to begin viewing the memories watched with the other women.

Wanda is already getting up, to find Agatha standing peacefully looking at the mountainous landscape ahead.

"So, what are you?" she asks the older witch.

Agatha sighs softly, without looking at Wanda.

"Natalya Maximoff was born in Romania, during the witch revolution in the country." She begins nostalgically, a short smile at the corner of her lips. "I found her shaking like a leaf, less than twelve weeks old inside a box of potatoes."

You are shocked, as is Wanda, but you just listen.

"I think her mother tried to hide her. But she got caught in the middle of it. Romania was in chaos at the time, it was a real bloodbath. "She says. "I was there to fight. The English ministry provided special witches to take on a wizard, known as Kang the Conqueror."

Agatha gives a humorless laugh, sounding upset.

"If you think Faustus is bad, it's because you've never met him." She counters. "He was a master nocramanter. He created an army of the living dead, the inferi. It was the worst fight I've ever been in. But we won, and he was killed. For real this time."

Agatha looked away from the landscape to look at Wanda.

"I bonded with the child, Miss Maximoff." She says. "I could have left her in that box, and gone on my way. But I took her in my arms, and only let her go when she was mature enough for that."

"And then?" Wanda asked with emotion in her voice, looking at Agatha with tears in her eyes.

"I found out that she was a scarlet sorceress, but unlike you, she never completed her forging." The witch says sadly. "She died at the age of 20, a year before she was going to do the spell."

Wanda looks down at her feet, crossing her arms as she absorbs the whole story. Agatha thinks this is a good opportunity to keep talking.

"The war was already over when I found Natalya." She says. "The village where I believe she was born had been destroyed in a shambles. And they put her in the box, while the British aurors were doing the stakeouts. I took her with me, I didn't tell anyone." She recounts. "When she turned eleven, I found out what she was. I taught her everything I could, but I didn't let her go to Hogwarts. I kept her at home, where she wouldn't put the students or herself in danger."

You bite the inside of your cheek, surprised that Agatha was able to hide a daughter. But honestly, it wasn't that shocking.

"When she turned 16, she started rebelling, you know how teenagers are." She says. "She left because she didn't agree with the way I saw the world. And I said I would be waiting for her to come back when she realized that only I could help her."

"But she didn't come back." Wanda completed and Agatha sighed, nodding.

"No, of course not," she says. "She moved to a muggle province, and built a house. And ran away from her fate until her power got too overwhelming."

"Did you look for her?" You ask, and Agatha nods in agreement, turning her gaze to the landscape.

"With the war, I wanted allies." She says. "And I really thought I could get to the house of the daughter I hadn't spoken to in years to ask her to fight for me."

"But she accepted, didn't she?" Wanda says and Agatha sighs.

"On her terms, yes." Answered the woman. "Your mother was a smart girl, Wanda. She made me swear under the best intentions."

And it takes a moment for Wanda to understand what was really being said.

"How?"

Agatha sighs, turning to you again. "I took a perpetual vow to do what was right. What would save lives, what she considered right." She explains. "But contract magic is so encompassing. Especially when you say ambiguous phrases like do the right thing, or stuff like that. That's why I was able to get around the spell so many times. That's why it shaped itself with her death."

"That's why you can't hurt Wanda." You conclude in a sigh.

Agatha nods. "The power of the Scarlet Sorceress has always been tempting. But I would never steal it from Natalya, she was my daughter." She says. "But you were just a student. And I wouldn't mind taking that responsibility out of your hands."

"Not even if I was her daughter?" Wanda asks in a mixture of disgust and indignation, but Agatha only gives a humorless laugh.

"Don't judge me so much." She retorts. "If I didn't care, you wouldn't even be alive. Least of all your girlfriend."

But Wanda steps away, putting herself in front of you.

"You didn't do this because you care." She accuses. "You did it because of the vow. Because you will die if you don't keep your words to her."

"Maybe." She says,shrugging. "But what matters is my actions, not motivations. Actions are all that matter in the end."

"I'm sick of this, Agatha." Wanda retorts indignantly. "You think you can say some philosophical shit and get rid of the things you've done? You manipulated my entire family, and you played with my destiny. I'd rather be alone than around you."

Wanda walks off at a brisk pace, and you follow her, not knowing exactly what to do.

Agatha clenches her jaw, refusing to turn around and apologize.

Wanda begins to pack up very quickly, and you stare wide-eyed as she puts Godric's sword into her purse.

And soon you are outside.

"I told you I wouldn't forgive you if you crossed another line with me." She says. "But I realized that there's nothing more you can do besides all the bad things you've already done."

"If you expect me to apologize for keeping you alive so far, you are deluding yourself." Agatha retorts stubbornly, her arms crossed.

Wanda gives a humorless laugh, her hand interlacing hers. "I don't expect anything from you, Agatha. Even if you think it's the right thing to do, stay away from me. And especially from her."

"As you wish, Miss Maximoff."

You notice the tears in the older witch's eyes before she looks the other way. Wanda turns her face to you next.

“Think of a safe place.” She asks in a whisper, and you nod. It takes a second before everything spins around.

//-//-//-//-//

Tag list> @imapotatao / @aimezvousbrahms/ @ensorcellme/ @helloalycia || @mionemymind / @abimess / @stephanieromanoff / @yourtaletotell / @tomy5girls / @justagaypanicking / @thegayw1tch / @idek-5 // @myperfectlovepoem // @helloalycia // @ENSORCELLME // @AIMEZVOUSBRAHMS // @drpepperobsessed // @sighsam // @olsensnpm // @sxfwap // @table57 // @madamevirgo // @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo // @emptysince18x // @xastrydx || @yuhloversxx || @ymzki-haruki || @wouldirunofftheworldsomeday || @lostandsearching || @lezzzbehonesthere || @musicinourlips || @chaekhan || @diaryoflife || @nervoustrack || @aquamarinescarlet || @cristin-rjd || @idamaemann || @fortunatelynerdylight || @iliketozoneout || @blackwow34 // @tiny–freak || @spongebobtentacles || @cyberbonesworld ||

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x yn #wanda x reader #marvel imagines #the scarlet witch x reader #The Scarlet Witch Prophecy

154 notes · View notes