*insert witty title about fanfic here*

Marcus watched on with those ancient eyes. They must have always looked old, you thought to yourself. You couldn’t imagine Marcus’ eyes looking any younger than time itself. And Caius’ eyes -- well… Very well. You’d let him enjoy this silly little power trip. There was something of a cruel smile lifting the edge of his lip.

“I have the time to hold a grudge.”

“Have you nothing better to do with eternity than harbor petty anger? My, my, you truly do not play well with others.” Your eyes drifted to Marcus. “Have you nothing to say, old friend?”

“We are hardly old friends.”

You rolled your eyes, settling your attention back to Caius. “If you’ll excuse me, I shall speak no more until Aro arrives.”

“Why? Are you frightened?” He taunted. Bait, that’s all it was…

“Are you?”

The doors behind you swung open heavily, like a final breath. Four sets of heeled shoes struck the marble. You did not turn even as Jane and Alec walked close on either side of you, like eels as they glided up the platform standing in the background.

Heidi didn’t even so much as brush past you to go out a side door. It was an unusual occurrence to demand entrance into the Volturi especially when a previous invitation had been so rudely turned down. You were certain a number of the vampires along the walls with you were there simply to see what demise would befall you for such insolence.

The fourth set of boots slowly walked up to the direct back of you. There was no body heat to speak for Aro but you knew it was him. The eyes of all the people in the room suddenly on you could not mean anything else. 

“Did you receive a warm welcome?” His voice hit the back of your head and it was no louder than a lover whispering their intentions.

You straightened, your eyes piercing Caius where he stood. “Something like that.”

Aro finished the pace around you. “You are very brave to have come here.” His eyes scanned the walls. He was looking to see if it was true that you had come alone.

“I was hoping it might be rewarded.”

“Hope…” He tasted the word. “Now that’s a word I have not heard in a good while.”

Half of a smile spread across your face. “You’re welcome.”

“Hm.” Aro looked you up and down, amused, before continuing his path to his throne. The three men on the platform finally sat. “And I… well, perhaps I should not assume a thing. Why don’t you tell me why you are here?”

The blonde vampire stole the silence from you. You couldn’t help but think that the angelic color was wasted on him. He would be blonde. “Foolish girl, she’s changed her mind!”

“Caius, I did ask her to tell, did I not?” Aro only dignified the man with a slight turn of his head. He set his jaw and sunk back into his throne a little. Aro’s hand gestured for you to continue.

“It is true,” you responded. As much as it pained you to soothe Caius’ temper via agreeability you were not above it especially now. “I would like to petition for entry to the Volturi.”

The laugh of all the vampires in the room made it all the more funny, you supposed. Even Marcus’ perpetually morose eyes tilted up as he chuckled.

Aro only smiled. “Now my dear…”

“I am aware of my past petulence-”

“Ooh, that was not petulence,” he corrected you, leaning forward. “Petulence is far too generous. You were rude.”

You gulped. It was true. You had been rude those 200 years ago. Very rude. 

Aro continued. “I believe you said… what were the words you used…?”

Marcus cleared his throat. “Allow me. ‘The Volturi are a semblance of order. Their actions are a colossal mimicry of law and the leaders are just as big of fools for as long as they stand if they believe that their offers of entry are anything more than an identification of spinelessness in the subject if they accept such a thing.’” Curse him for his memory. “Something like that.”

His really good memory.

The helmsman of the Volturi raised his brows at that. “Your recollection is pristine, Marcus. My goodness, such scathing words… I had forgotten.”

“‘Go to hell, you greedy fucks’ too,” Caius added, that hint of a cruel smile earlier was now a complete grin. “Can’t forget that either.”

“That last one was not me actually.” A glower from the blonde vampire. “My sire, rest his soul-” I hope he is eternally suffering, “-should be properly credited for that.”

There was a chuckle from all three on the platform, even Jane smiled a little. Although it was better than how you had begun it still was not a good sign.

“Yes, rest his soul.” Aro tilted his chin up. “Whatever did happen to him?”

A test. Aro knew what had happened. Everyone in the room knew what had happened. Or they knew a version. “My coven at the time… handled him and went our separate ways.”

It was not a lie. 

“Yes, I suppose you did handle it.” Aro remarked. “It was startling to hear about, just like that, ripped limb from limb by your coven.” He didn’t trust you. Why would he?

You swept up the steps before him and wordlessly knelt, reaching a hand up. A young woman reaching her hand up to a young man, both centuries old. Jane and Alec stepped forward in warning, flanking Aro’s throne. Your eyes flitted between them. An impasse. Still you kept your hand outstretched to Aro who had taken a small step forward in your approach. Your eyes landed back on him. Please.

Aro regarded you coolly; it was colored by something else though. Intrigue. Curiosity. Hunger. The last time Aro had read you had been 200 years ago; you had so much less control then. You remembered him snatching his hands away from yours as your nightmares, or rather his, had sloppily tumbled toward him while he flitted through your memory. Two horrible truths slamming into one another -- a mutual bruise, the two of you. Your talents were similar, all thing considered.

“You can look,” you whispered up at him. “I am better at this now.”

Something of a warm smile dawned on him, if indeed Aro could ever be described as warm, as he crouched down. His red, milky eyes bore into yours and then, gently, one of his hands tucked under your palm and the other covered your knuckles. You bridled the lightning fast nightmares as the man pushed forward.

Just like the first time it had happened, it felt like nothing more than the pad of a thumb releasing held pages as they rushed for the cover of a book. Aro flicked through two centuries of life in ten seconds, his eyes darting between yours as he passively consumed.

The story had to begin with the truth that covens did not turn on each other. In technicality it was not that it had turned on itself -- just all against the self-declared leader who held all of you in a vice-like grip. You refused to even give him his name in your memory, yet another way to kill him back in a way that truly mattered. 

His inclinations of you showing abilities upon your turning were unfortunately well-guessed. You cursed your sire for the rest of your days for his early but ultimately rare stroke of clairvoyance. With time you would learn that he was no stranger to fear as a weapon either. 

Aro pushed forward, unreadably neutral. The memory of the first time you ever used your abilities somersaulted through your consciousness. You had gone well beyond the bounds of the perimeter that had been set for you by your captor. It was direct disobedience to your sire’s orders and the vampire passing through never saw it coming. The spooking they had done you was a complete accident. Their intentions to take the human body you were feeding on, however, were undeniably loaded with malice.

You had only intended to shoot them a glare but something about the tense moment, about them approaching you with a hand reaching out to what was in yours… that’s what started it. You heard it first, an impossibly low thunder like something far beneath the earth pushing its way up; they heard it too. Your crouch was something feral when you did it and the nightmares that crashed into that poor vampire tumbled into your mind too. To that though you were a spectator, privy to the innermost workings of what horrified that particular individual.

Tense shoulders, a talon-like grip taking control of your hands, a furrowed brow. Your eyes snapped shut; while the nightmares were never your personal bane they hardly offered any comfort. You saw it all. It would be the first of many in the coming eternity. 

Their shrinking hands slashing and clawing through phantom blood, unable to cup it, unable to consume any of it in a vicious bout of craving. Frantically pressing themselves into the ground as the endless blood on the ground began draining into the soil. They were withering by the second. It didn’t matter to the vampire that it was utterly ridiculous.

The vampire before you, the real version, collapsed to the ground; you heard it, like a snare cutting through reverberating bass. You didn’t open your eyes until their breath came out in pants, as if they were suffocating on too much air. And it stopped. Just like that. An end to the focus ending their nightmare. 

Aro cocked his head, continuing to read you. In hindsight, you wished you had cut and run right then. You would have had a head start. Your sire wouldn’t have caught you in the few moments he had made the mistake of leaving you alone. From that moment on, he forced you to be at his side. You remembered the berating you had gotten for your disobedience that followed after his wide-eyed realization that you could do what you had done to the weeping vampire.

With that, you became the prize of the coven; it was your abilities that afforded your sire his longevity. He made you play with his food sometimes; asking what you saw as you screwed your eyes shut. You told yourself it was from the effort. In truth it was not any harder than flicking down a wooden block had been in your mortal youth. 

No, you strained with the wretched knowledge that the only thing you really had a knack for was holding out a mirror. The beastly things you saw -- what frightened the most deplorable of individuals. It was sick; in every horrid vision you churned out, you saw the inner workings of the mind, of the filthy things that these monsters had done in their conscious lives. The worst thing about your abilities was that the most frequent nightmare you bore witness to was them getting what they had deserved. Revenge. Balance. Order. Justice.

It was true. Yours and Aro’s gifts weren’t really that different. You saw a lot, possibly too much of whoever had the poor luck of encountering your proficiencies.

And, oh, how your sire had loved your gift. It was precious, he said. You recalled a time he had even called it artistry. It was after you used it, after you saw the depravity of human and vampire kind that he cradled your head between his heavy hands. You learned to savor the moments where he wasn’t throwing them around. And during those times when you deeply pleased him by what you were able to do, you saw him bloat with the intoxication of power. It would be many years until you really used your gift but it took little guesswork to know then what he feared: the loss of control -- the loss of you. Motivated by pride he kept turning others, stopping at the fifth of your covenmates when he realized that he had really only lucked out on his first try -- also, you.

That was when you had been initially approached. Your sire had never once received so much as a greeting from the Volturi; he never let you forget how bitter it made him. Unfortunately, his hold on you also included passing down his opinion. By the time the Volturi got to you, you had been spoiled against them. Only time would truly tell whether you would be forgiven for it.

At this moment, though his red eyes were set on you, Aro wasn’t really looking though -- not the present-you anyways. It was subtle, the way his brows and lips fluttered up and down as if fighting his own desire to respond. His expression sobered briefly.

You had spent centuries with the man, your sire… he was brutal. Even you were not immune to his rage. Each of your covenmates were strong in their own rights but none of you were singularly stronger than him. The Volturi’s arrival and immediate departure was one of the worst days of your life. You remembered holding one of your sisters, the sixth, the youngest, after it all. She begged you to stay and endure with her. And for two hundred years the two of you, all of you kept that promise to each other.

It had been one too many cruel moments when the dam broke. It was the moment that all of you realized that while you were too individually weak, he couldn’t handle all of you. You did the honors of the inaugural blow -- undoing him with nightmares of his own demise as it came to fruition. It was the only time in all of your years of using your abilities that you hadn’t clenched your eyes shut and shrunk away. No, that time… that time you had leaned forward, eyes unblinking as you watched him writhe in fear before what was left of him was instead writhing in pain. It was easy, like dropping a heavy bucket with little care of what happened to its contents. 

As Aro dug, it was only then that you realized you smiled when you’d done it. It was funny, you supposed, that your sire’s worst fear had come to pass right as it transpired just moments before in his mind. The six of you, your five covenmates and yourself, tore him to shreds. No blood that you had tasted or would ever taste compared to the delicious freedom of his eternal rest. He died, truly died, afraid. He deserved worse.

It was short-lived though. After centuries of subjugation, the sudden freedom was a blessing and a curse and not a single one of you could really agree on what to do except to leave. It was devastating in the same way you would see the final struggle of a living thing fighting off its final moments before succumbing; they were certainly in a better place. Two of them went on their own. The other three traveled together elsewhere. At the end of it you found yourself alone and not wanting to be weak again a day in your life.

While the rebellion had been justified, it was an overthrow of power, something especially dangerous in the halls of Volterra and you had been the ring leader. After all, you were the only one in the group with a talent.

Aro rose to his feet, gently tugging you up with him. “Now that does complicate the narrative, doesn’t it…”

Your eyes flickered to Caius who was in turn staring him down. “Oh, come off it, Aro. You are not honestly considering letting her in.” He stalked up to where the two of you were standing. You looked up at both of the men, still a step below. “The Volturi do not give second chances!”

“If I may, I am not asking for a second chance.” Bold… This was bold of you… “I am petitioning for membership on the grounds that it was offered once before. Your opinions of me have not changed since the initial offer.”

“Yes, they have.” Caius spat.

“Mine haven’t,” Aro confirmed. “Although I wouldn’t be so sure that is a good thing.”

Bright red eyes bore down as you finally pulled your hand from his grasp. His fingertips brushed along your knuckles before his hands lowered in kind. Him looking through your mind just moments prior felt less invasive. You directed your attention instead to the less intense of the two.

“We should have killed you the second you walked in here.”

Very well. “If it is an apology you want I will give it.” Your eyes were locked on Caius, pure impudence meeting unbridled sadism. You knew it drove him crazy.

“Foolish girl-!”

“I am sorry!” You snapped at him. The words came out more like ‘shut up.’ They were just as effective though. Caius stood silent although the sneer was still on his face. Of course that would do it for him. You knew it. It was disgusting. Oh, how he loved seeing people grovel. The hate in that man’s heart…

You suddenly remembered yourself. Aro had seen that -- your distaste for Caius, your willingness to do anything to be a member of the Volturi, your deep regret that your sire had influenced you to be so brash. That was one of the worst things your sire ever did: convincing you that his opinions were yours.

“I will repeat to you what I said to you earlier. Forgive me for the insolence of my early days. It was unwise of me to have behaved in such a way… and-” You were practically choking on your apology, uselessly panting with the effort. Admittance that you were wrong had a bad mouthfeel, especially after decades being forced to do it. “-and I was wrong about all of it. Consider me corrected.”

If Caius had been biting back any of his cruel amusement before, he certainly wasn’t hiding it now. Marcus was now standing closer having meandered nearer during the course of the apology. And Aro… Aro had the most curious of soft smiles on his face. 

You were beginning to think you had made some kind of mistake coming here. You had laid almost all your cards bare. You had shown them you were desperate which was far worse than just being desperate. This was something you were going to have to amend for a good while if they accepted you. That you begged to be let in.

“I am satisfied,” Caius remarked, eyes settling on Aro. They were standing over you, all three of them. 

Some days ago you had come across a rat moments before it was devoured by three street dogs in an alleyway on your journey to Volterra. It must have looked like something like this to that rather unfortunate vermin, you thought to yourself.

Your head dropped in complete and utter humility, eyes only on the marble underfoot. Even the pristine stone was too good for you… You had been at the mercy of the three men before you since you set foot in this dreadful place. It was only at that premature moment you still had an ounce of pride in your body. It was far gone now.

“Marcus?”

“I am satisfied.”

“As am I.” Cold smooth fingers tucked under your chin. Aro’s. You must have looked something pitiful. “And this-” Aro tutted at you, lifting your face up. “-we will work on this.”

The gesture might have been kind, intimate even, if it was anyone but Aro. You didn’t really trust him as far as you could throw him but you knew enough in having seen his nightmares many years ago that he would not tolerate an ounce of self-deprecation in a vampire beyond paying their due respects to the Volturi, to him. He had seen quite enough from you. That much was true.

“Yes… sir?” You tested the title. You weren’t quite sure what to refer to him as.

Aro’s face took on something of a delighted expression. “Look at you using your manners. See, Caius; she learns.” The blonde vampire rolled his eyes. “I do appreciate it but ‘Aro’ will do just fine.”

Ah. Well, that was embarrassing. You nodded affirmatively. Marcus’ eyes flicked from Aro to you and back before he returned to his seat. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Jane smile something wicked.

“We shall get you new attire, especially now that you will be joining the guard after some fine-tuning, but there’s no sense in putting you in anything of the sort since we’re coming up on-” The side doors swung open and Heidi led in a group of tourists who were guffawing at the ceiling. Aro’s hands flew up like a child prince being brought an expensive present. In a sense, it was -- “-dinnertime!”

Oh, so this was how they fed. Aro steered you to the side and behind him with a hand clamped around your upper arm. Heidi sidled up to you.

“Welcome to the Volturi.”

“How did you know?”

“You are still in one piece.” Fair. 

Aro leaned over to you. “Now, next time you will join your compatriots along the wall but tonight we will make an exception -- something of a welcome gift…” He extended his arm to the group of mortals before you who were clicking pictures of the room. Like fish in a bucket… or however the expression went.

You raised a brow at him. 

“You first, my dear.”

A vampire along the wall by the name of Felix bobbed on his feet, antsy. You smiled and launched off the platform for the human before you. The both of you rolled together as you slammed him into the ground. Only his limbs flailed clumsily. Yours had been a vision of centuries of practice. A trained killer.

You bared your teeth. He screamed. Humans… 

Wandering aimlessly about the grounds, such expansive ones at that and with such independence, was novel to you. You weren’t entirely sure what to do with yourself; it was beautiful. Just months ago you had been sequestered to your corner of the world, never to go beyond a painfully small perimeter. And now here you were… surrounded by the most powerful of your kind. Nearly unrestricted access to the grounds. New clothes. Fresh blood, not whatever your sire didn’t finish. Eyes never black with hunger. The respect you got as a tentative member of the Volturi guard. It was new.

And the Italian air. Sure, you didn’t really need to breathe at all. There wasn’t a function to smelling it. But the air… The breeze in Volterra was something fresh, warm, earthy, sweet, like blood. It was even more perfumy at night.

Something about the years of being on edge, even as an immortal, still ran through your veins, through the very way you functioned. Even in your most relaxed moments, you could recognize when you were being followed. And someone was following you.

You stopped in your tracks, only peering over your shoulder.

A fraction of you thought to yourself -- how odd… Aro should’ve been better at this. Then you realized two things. The first was that if Aro was truly aiming for discretion in whatever he was about to do, there was no reason for it to be him here and now. The second was that it was also entirely possible that Aro simply didn’t care that you knew he was there… or, in fact, did want you to know. Your curiosity was a helpless one; you must’ve looked like a cat.

“I was wondering when you were going to catch on.”

Only the trees in the garden obscured him from you, not the darkness. “How did I do?”

Silence as he rounded the corner. Black suit. Red eyes. Dark hair slicked back. You let him approach until he was a pace away, slowly continuing. “Ten seconds before you caught me… there are a good many vampires who would have gone much longer if noticing me at all.”

“Will you subtract a moment or two since I contemplated not acknowledging you?”

“Hearsay.”

“Only if you have the ability to corroborate and don’t.” You held your hand out to the side toward him, stopping in your tracks. 

Aro only looked at it from the side of his eye, not even stopping. He did grace you with a smile though. “I should like to keep my victory unnegotiated.”

Ah, yes… the cat walking next to whatever you could call it that killed it. You closed the distance with a few long strides, now playing catch up with him. “You were loud.”

“I was not aiming for stealth.” If Aro was trying to humble you, it was working.

“And what was your target then?”

Silence again. It was comfortable. In time you came upon your favorite spot in the gardens — the point at which you could overlook the better portion of the town. It was beautiful -- quiet and empty for the most part at this time of night but the evidence of mortality there, living and dying… well, you still found it charming. 

“Would now be the appropriate time to thank you?”

“For heaven's what?”

“For…” You finally looked at him beside you. He wasn’t looking at you; perhaps he was gazing beyond this little enclave in Tuscany. “For your hospitality.”

“Hospitality is for guests.”

“I was a guest for a small while.”

“You were more of a defendant.”

“Well, then, I thank you for your arbitration.”

“My ‘arbitration’?”

“Yes.”

Aro exhaled for the show of it. “Do stop your simpering and get on with what you mean.” 

You were speechless.

“I didn’t say ‘shut up,’ did I?”

You blinked at him. “I suppose… I am grateful to be somewhere nicer.”

“I can hardly be thanked for your decision to come here.” He still refused to regard you. You imagined it was a rare thing for Aro to resist such expressions of the kind. He was a proud man after all. You looked back out at Volterra.

Aro finally turned his eyes to you. It was a withering look. Now that you obliged. “I saw quite a bit in that mind of yours. It is such a shame that you were thoroughly convinced of such horrible things.”

You were confused. “The only thing that I was convinced of was inferiority.”

“Like I said,” he snipped. “Horrible things.”

“Now how is that horrible,” you inquired. Surely this did not bother him personally. Aro did not strike you as the type. “I do you no injury in my lack of pride.”

“And you think it is good for the Volturi’s reputation, for the guard’s reputation to have but one who thinks themselves lesser than even humans?” Aro seemed to shudder at the ‘h word.’

Oh. There it was. He was right. Your head lowered.

He tilted your chin up for the second time. It wasn’t as gentle. This time it was a scolding. Aro was not pleased. He released it looking back onto the town. “And you must stop that. It’s unbecoming.”

It was lost on you how to respond. “Sorry.”

“Already forgiven, my dear.”

“I guess… I just want to thank you for taking a chance.”

Aro scoffed and looked at you fully. He wasn’t a tall man; his height was hardly what made him intimidating. What made him intimidating was the stature with which he carried himself, the raw power, the hunger, the intelligence. A man like him hadn’t gotten to where he was without some impressive cunning. 

“I might find low esteem from my subordinates satisfactory on the usual occasion. I will not mince my words -- on you it is a most distasteful thing. I will forgive its ugliness for its reaffirmation but only for a time.”

If there was any functional air in your lungs, it would’ve been snatched from you. His words were not harshly spoken nor were they loudly boomed at you. Instead they broke skin like something sharp to vulnerable flesh. Aro took an imposing step forward. You took one back but it wasn’t enough. Your neck was craned up at him despite every inner instinct to shrink away; you wouldn’t dare disobey him again. You weren’t sure he would be as kind.

“There is nothing so abhorrent as one of our kind — our superior, beautiful kind — acting in the embarrassing way you continue to. If I was capable of emptying my stomach at the thought, I would.” Aro plucked something minute off your shoulder before rolling it between his long fingers and discarding it to the wind. “And as far as taking a chance is concerned, I- The Volturi- do not ‘take chances.’ Make no mistake, there is no calculated risk with you being here.”

“I-”

“If that is an apology or another meaningless expression of gratitude poised on your tongue, I would advise that you hold it there.”

You could only gape up at him. He was leaning over you still, very close.

“You will show the full extent of your gifts tomorrow. I want you officially in the guard as soon as possible.” And with that, Aro was gone, stalking away into the gardens.

With about 12 hours to ruminate on Aro’s words to you, you had decided that he had a flair for melodrama. You also decided definitively that you would never let him know such a thing unless he pried the information from you, which he was indeed capable of. This… what you were being made to do before the Volturi… You would not define it with such levity. When Aro had said that you were to display the full extent of your gifts, he had meant it. 

It wasn’t certain whether it was you or the man writhing on the ground that was the subject of the gripping fear that your nightmares brought, what with your upper body being curled in on itself the way it was. Your fingers were curled at the ends of your locked arms with effort. The unfortunate human’s whimpers rattled along the domed ceiling, merely an accessory to the deep hum in your ears. 

There was an exaggerated yawn from behind you — showy for a vampire — Jane’s. And a voice cut through the whole of it, halting your powers immediately. “No, no. That won’t do at all.”

Because you had already been shrinking away at the time of the interruption you needed only to open your eyes. The body thudded to the floor. Relief. It wouldn’t last. Aro was shaking his head as he leaned against his throne.

“You, my dear-” he pushed off his spot and stopped just behind you “-are holding back.”

The man, as far as you could tell, was only deeply phobic of spiders. It was how you had done it the dozens of times you’d done it before. Except for…

Out of the corner of your eye, Caius held a finger to his temple, rolling his eyes. Asshole… Aro’s voice pulled you back. “Try again.”

You clenched your eyes shut, your chest coiling up in kind. The man began wheezing almost instantaneously, the only sound in the room.

“No.” Aro cut in once again and you dropped focus. You turned to face him, your muscles loosening in the way that only annoyance could make them. His red eyes glimmered back at you. “That is not what I meant. Again.”

You huffed. You’ve done it once before, his face seemed to say. Who were you kidding… that was exactly what his sharp features said. When you had channeled that much power, you had been in an entirely different state of mind. That had been the raw rage you had buckled behind survival. All you had done was suddenly unleash it. You weren’t certain that you still had it in you. “Aro. I can’t-”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Nonsense. His hand straightened to a point — the human, once more. 

You faced more of your body, still tense, eyes clamping shut. Your arms locked to your sides and you willed the fear forward before you tensed — thunder in your ears. Your muscles reacted in pure instinct, the man weeping in perfect time. Despite the overwhelming physical sensation of pushing the abstract forward, you could feel Aro behind you. It was stronger this time.

Oh, the man wasn’t just afraid of spiders.

Between the spiders, flickering amidst the impossible number of angular legs and blinking sets of eyes, the insects that dribbled into every corner of his vision, there was something else. A girl with one dark eye and a knife. She was young.

You jolted backward, knocking briefly against Aro. If he minded he didn’t indicate any such sentiment. Your lip curled into a sneer. The human… he was pleading with a higher power that was certainly not listening if it was there at all. Pathetic.

When your eyelids closed this time they didn’t tighten. It was a flutter. And this time when your muscles tensed, you trembled. Where there was air between the clawed fingers at your side, you imagined the man’s fleshy neck. This… this was righteous. The girl began closing in, spiders skittering out of her path.

Aro’s voice brushed your ear. “May I?” You nodded your head, although you weren’t certain as to what exactly you were agreeing to. Aro would not harm you; you were sure of it.

It felt like a baptism. In a way it was. Feather light, Aro’s fingers ghosted first at the base of your neck, gently pulling the muscles out to your shoulders. In the touch you were acutely aware that it wasn’t intimacy that Aro was after; he was honing you. Your nightmares were only encouraged.

Aro’s hands smoothed over your shoulders with a quiet mastery -- tender in the way a sculptor guided pliable clay between their fingers as it spun at their behest. The harshness was gone with but a swipe. 

The man bellowed. He sounded now more of a screeching animal than man. The girl picked up her pace, almost a jog. The knife winked at him.

It turned into a full grasp as Aro traveled down your biceps, tugging the astriction out. He chased the natural form of the muscle down your elbows into the joint of your wrist. The rigidity in your fingers released at the pressure he placed there -- conjoined in poise.

You pushed a stronger assault of terror forward to meet the man. Long gone were the spiders. There was a small part of you that recognized that he wished for the insects instead of the young girl with a bruise ready to bury the knife in his chest, his stomach, anywhere the business end would find purchase. She was standing over him.

He screamed. Yes, ‘scream’ was the right word for it…

You spectated his nightmare; the girl with the dark eye had already started plunging her blade into him. Again. Again. Again. Again.

Aro’s hands shed themselves from your arms but only for a moment. Your chin bloomed with the familiar feeling of his fingers, turning it and angling it upright. Proud as it was meant to be.

He whispered again. “Look.” It was a gruesome sight. 

The possibility that the man had begun gouging out his own eyes the moment Aro had begun amending your posture was a good one. If that was the case he had indeed made decent progress. The man was on his knees and his left eye hung from its socket like a generous helping of hot cheese, swinging. You almost wanted to applaud the man’s zeal. Only a desperate rodent would have done what he had. His grubby fingers pushed into his own skull again, getting around the other eye, bemoaning his self-inflicted plight. He seemed to be chewing the air. There was viscera on the marble -- not the first time it had been so defiled and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Still, you didn’t relent; you had never extended your power this far. God, why hadn’t you done it before… Sure, you- no, he had taken his eyes but somehow it wasn’t enough. The young girl brandishing the blood-soaked knife was still angry. This was justice. And he hadn’t yet paid in full.

He howled, writhing.

Marcus approached at the very edge of your vision. “Aro… is this-?” 

He was halted by an upheld hand, the other slowly falling from your chin. Aro watched you as you watched the man, watched his nightmares.

“We needn’t toy any longer.”

The thunder in your ears rumbled to silence. “This is toying? If you saw what I saw, you’d know…”

Marcus seemed taken aback. You weren’t sure if it was because of how true your words were or how right they sounded coming from your mouth.

You drifted back to the man. “He deserves it.” Your voice came out no louder than a whisper.

“It’s alright, Marcus. We asked for an assessment-” The ensuing squelch and sudden cry indicated the man had found success on his second endeavor. “-and we have indeed received one.”

You found Aro’s eyes with yours.

There was something of an assuaged smile -- his bright teeth wolfish. The feeling of your cheeks pulled up was the only sign to yourself that you had been smiling. You took the moment to look about the room. Caius was staring at the man on the floor, mouth slightly ajar.

“Well?”

He turned his head first then his eyes. A grin.

You beheld the grotesque body with a sneer. He hadn’t even had the decency to look artful as he went -- his body held upright by the leverage of his spine against his heels. Pathetic. The way he dug at his own face like that… like you were some tumor, something he could just rip out of himself if he tried hard enough and be done with. He died as stupid as he looked. Your chest flared at the offense.

Aro was still standing near you. “Par excellence.”

You digested his words. You understood now. This was what he had known you were capable of. In just moments, Aro had cured you of your affliction, the debilitation of timidity. You matched his smile.

“Would now be the appropriate time to thank you?”

It was met with a giddy laugh. Aro clapped his hands together, utterly delighted at your words, your smile. He gulped it down and stepped backward offering you an expressive bow complete with arms outstretched. “No ‘thanks’ necessary. You… you are a credit to our kind.”

You bobbed your head in courteous reply to his own bow, unable to hide your giggle.

“You were never anything but.”

“Johnny Cage, ladies and gentlemen,” the interviewer said as you laughed in kind.

He released you slightly so you could turn in his arm as you smiled up at him. You looked up at his eyes through those signature shades as he smiled down at you, abandoning all of your attention from the camera to playfully scold him. “Hey! This is my interview!”

“You look amazing.” He quirked a brow up at you, the arch slanting upward just above the top edge of the frame of his sunglasses. There was no doubt in your mind that his eyes were running up and down the length of your body.

"Well, you look good too but you don't see me crashing your interviews."

"I wish you would."

"Johnny!" You exclaimed.

“What? I’d apologize but I never apologize for seeing my favorite person in Hollywood!”

Before you could answer, the interviewer interjected, pulling both of your attention back to the camera, “Me right?” 

Johnny guided you carefully back to the duct tape ‘X’ on the red carpet, practically carrying you the short distance there, splitting it with you and being careful to not step on anything draping off of your expensive ensemble. The kerchief tucked in his front pocket was the same as the main hue of your look for the evening, the design of your agent no doubt. It complimented his charcoal silver duochrome suit. He looked sharp.

“You can be my second favorite,” he answered the interviewer, holding eye contact with them before snapping right back to you with that signature Johnny Cage smirk, not missing a single beat. You doubled over a little as you laughed at the implication and his arm held firm. “H-h…hey,” he laughed at you, looking at you from the side, “hey, I’m not that funny. A little excessive for a fake laugh.”

You straightened up again, fighting the unattractive smile that was gracing your lips and the accompanying laugh. “You’re… you’re not. You just surprised me!” 

He dropped his jaw in fake offense. “You’re not supposed to agree!” Johnny made a show of pulling his arm away and taking a step back. You reached your arm and briefly grasped his forearm before he walked firmly out of reach. The smile on his face was wide and identical to yours as you turned fully away from the camera.

“You’re such a diva, Cage.”

“A diva you’re never working with again!” He walked backwards onto the main carpet careful to avoid the droves of entourages. “We’re renegotiating your contract!”

“I’ll see you inside!” You called. How Johnny made you laugh so much was a mystery. He only smiled at you as he officially walked off and you turned back to the camera still catching your breath from the giggles. “Sorry- I’m sorry. He’s just-”

“The two of you are peas in a pod. We get it,” the interviewer answered.

“Yeah, he’s something alright…” You carefully brushed the face framing pieces of hair back a bit and smoothed your dress. “Did that answer your question?... What was the question again?”

You were seated patiently at a panel with Johnny to your left, his sunglasses sitting idly on the white tablecloth before him. A journalist led a question with your background in performing, referencing a previous production of Shakespeare you had done in your college years. Your head bobbed attentively. 

Johnny’s hand reached for the refill bottle of water between the two of you behind the table, picking it up from the ground without breaking his gaze from the journalist asking the question. As you began to answer, he pulled your glass of water closer to his and topped both off, capping the bottle and setting it back down. Your eyes flitted briefly to the activity with a small smile and you continued answering. 

“-so it was really rewarding to get to re-explore the character in a new context and-” You watched him slide the glass respectfully back to your space out of the corner of your eye. “-with a truly amazing cast including this wonderful gentleman, right here.” Johnny looked surprised to be mentioned but only for a moment as the journalists chuckled and cameras flashed when you turned your eyes to him. Your hand landed on his forearm and shook it affectionately. “He’s an excellent scene partner and someone very dear to me. I wouldn’t have felt as comfortable digging into this role without him at my side.”

His left hand rested at the center of his chest. “My stunning costar, everybody,” Johnny answered, grasping your left hand in his right, planting an exaggerated kiss on your knuckles. “Makes me blush!”

You laughed as you had to look away from him, letting him continue to hold your hand under the table. “We’re never going to beat the dating rumors if you keep it up, Johnny.”

“Wanna get dinner later,” he leaned flirtatiously toward you, holding your one hand in both of his now. The room filled with the hum of amusement.

“You buying?”

“Hell yeah, baby,” Johnny answered, quick as a whip.

You pulled your hand from his to pat his cheek fondly. “You’re cute. I’ll think about it.”

He glanced down at his lap as he laughed and the room joined him, seeming to have deflated a bit. Johnny shrugged toward the room and leaned forward to address the audience. “I’ve been trying for years, folks.”

A giggle bubbled up from your throat as your hand landed on and squeezed his bicep warmly. “Any more questions?”

“Johnny!” The interviewer greeted, as he sat down across from the two of you.

Johnny said his name back in a matched tone. The interviewer then said your name and you mimicked him in kind. Then Johnny said your name and you replied his name back to him before your costar looked right into the camera he was supposed to ignore and said ‘Rocky!’

The three of you and the crew laughed. You shook your head at him, amused. He glanced at you, ensuring that his glasses were tucked firmly at the apex of his purple button down with one hand as the other found its home along the back of the couch behind you. You shifted your weight in your seat, ever so slightly favoring the side he was on.

“I love The Rocky Horror Picture Show,” the interviewer started as he settled in. 

“So do I,” Johnny piped up. You nodded in agreement. “One of the first movies I remember watching actually… In fact, Janet Weiss was my sexual awakening.”

“Speaking of, and I was going to bring this up later but the opportunity is just too perfect…” Your heart dropped to your stomach as the interviewer continued and you processed what Johnny had said about Susan Sarandon.

“Uh oh…” You knew where this was going. The sleeves of your shirt began to feel a little too tight. Your eyes landed nervously on the interviewer, outstretching your hand to him even at the far distance, attempting a negotiation. “We don’t have to tell him. We can keep this between us.”

“What are you talking about?” Johnny interjected.

“No, I don't think I will,” the interviewer replied. Brutal. This was going to be brutal.

“Please,” you begged. “I thought we had something special.”

“Sorry, I have to do this for the exclusive content.”

“No, you don- How did you even find this out? How do you know this?” You asked, desperate to stall. Johnny’s eyes were on you; you could feel it. The interviewer chuckled at your discomfort as heat crawled along your cheeks. 

“I did my research. I came prepared.”

You pushed a harsh exhale out of your lungs and looked at Johnny anxiously, your fingertips digging into your upper lip. “You have to swear to be normal about this, Johnny. I-”

“Wait, know what? What does he know?” He turned excitedly between the two of you but you could feel the small part of him that was concerned for you as one of your hands came up to visor your eyes. 

You couldn’t take it. Your body didn’t even know how to respond to this. You were usually pretty brazen with Johnny but after hearing him say what he did about Susan Sarandon just moments ago not knowing this about you… You were suddenly nervous around him and why you really couldn’t say.

“I, uh- used to…” 

“Back in the day-”

Your cheeks were hot and you were silently thankful for your makeup team as you looked up at the interviewer with a breathy chuckle, gesturing for him to continue. You picked up your glass of water, your words leading into the sip you took, “You can go ahead. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Johnny was looking at you like he was trying to figure out a huge equation in his head and your eyes held the answers. “What do I not know? You wouldn’t be blushing if this was something I knew about you.” He had a wide grin as he looked at the interviewer. “You gotta tell me right now what it is.”

“You may love The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Johnny, but your co-star is a bigger fan of this movie than you are and I have proof.”

“What? There’s no way,” He responded a bit incredulous. You shook your head resigned to it. “I watched that movie religiously for Susan Sarandon. I mean Tim Curry’s hot in the movie too but like… Susan Sarandon.”

“Johnny, you gotta stop-”

“I will not.”

“Oh, this is priceless.” The interviewer laughed. “Your co star used to be in a shadowcast of it, right?”

You nodded with your eyes clenched shut. “Yep, that’s true.” You shifted in your seat, the bundles of nerves in your stomach balling up even more. “For those who don't know what that is, I used to be a part of a cast that regularly acted out the whole movie screen-accurately of The Rocky Horror Picture Show in front of the screen in a movie theatre.”

“That’s right.” The interviewer chimed in.

Johnny’s jaw dropped in gleeful awe. “You’re shitting me…”

“Nope, I’m not. I used to, by choice, run around in the theater in my lingerie where people would yell profane things at me.” You nodded resigned to the truth coming out.

“Would you care to tell Johnny and our viewers what character you used to play?”

Another nervous giggle bubbled up from your throat as you choked out your answer. “I used to play-”

He beat you to it. “Oh my god… Did you play Janet Weiss?”

You nodded with your eyes closed. “Yeah, that’s exactly-” a clear of your throat “-exactly who I played.” You chanced a glance at him and you laughed as he diffused the nervous tension by looking you up and down with a smirk.

Johnny conspicuously adjusted how he was sitting next to you and you turned your gaze away, rolling your eyes. “... are you serious that you played Janet?”

“Yeah, I’m serious.” You couldn’t even look at him.

Silence from Johnny. The feeling that he was looking at you was only confirmed when you finally looked up at the interviewer and then at Johnny. The expression on his face was indecipherable but it was intense whatever it was. Something stirred in your stomach… no, deeper than that, as you glanced between his dark eyes and his lips that hung open almost expectantly.

You broke the quietude, rifling through your memory, anxiously again now that he was looking at you like that. “I think I still have all of my costumes in my closet actually…”

The man just blinked at you again with his mouth still hanging open.

“Johnny, would you-?! What is going on in your head right now?” Your nails itched a spot on your inner elbow over the fabric of your dress, looking him up and down. You couldn’t help but lean back a bit.

His hand found his sunglasses sloppily as he tore his eyes away from you. Johnny pulled his glasses on before resting his elbow on the back of the couch and propping his ankle up on his knee and leaning his head toward you. 

And there it was… that signature Johnny Cage crooked smile. It wasn’t the first time he had flashed it toward you but it was the first time it gave you butterflies. Then he opened his mouth with a nod, “Hey.”

The interviewer cackled but you paid him no mind.

“Hi,” you replied, coy, sitting up a little and tilting your head to meet his gaze more directly; you fought down the laugh in your chest. You twirled a strand of hair around your finger, playing along. “Can I help you, Johnny?”

He scooted closer to you and you let out one segment of a giggle. “You still have those Janet costumes?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Johnny immediately turned his face away from you, hearing the sharp exhale he expelled from his pursed lips, before he turned back. “Is there a Mr. Weiss?”

“Please, Mr. Weiss is my father.”

“Ohmygod,” he groaned gutturally as he stood up, taking a quick pace out of the frame of the camera. You watched him with confusion and you and the interviewer laughed together again. He stalked back toward you looking down at you as he gestured to your thighs, “Is this seat taken?”

“My lap?” You coughed out.

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask,” he gushed, straddling your hips and moving to settle into your lap, towering over you even as he sat.

Your head was thrown back in laughter, muffled from his shirt rubbing against the mic clipped to your breast. His hands found your wrists to guide your palms to an ass cheek each. Johnny didn’t even falter as he brought one of his, comically in this situation, large arms around your shoulders and turned at the waist to face the interviewer with his hand on his hip. You could barely look around him and his broad chest even if you tried. Everything about Johnny was bigger than you.

He bashfully looked to the ground and then up to the interviewer. “What other questions do you have?”

“Yeah, let’s just finish the interview like this,” you called out of view from behind Johnny, snapping your fingers above your head. “Next question, please.” Your hand came back down and landed with a resounding smack back to where Johnny had initially placed it.

The interviewer laughed heartily and even Johnny guffawed out something like a yelp as he jumped. He quickly pulled his phone out from his pocket and pointed the front facing side down toward both of you almost vertically. You furrowed your brows, bit your lip, and curled your fingers into claws on the curve of his ass as the camera clicked.

“Babe, not here,” he spoke down at you, feigning embarrassment, as he crawled out of your lap finally.

“Oh, sorry, babe, I forgot we weren’t alone.”

If you thought, however, that Johnny was completely removing himself from you, you couldn’t be more mistaken. He opted to settle snugly into your side, resting his interlocked fingers on one of your shoulders. You took the cue to wrap your arm around his waist possessively, hardening your gaze and tilting your chin up at the interviewer. “Sorry about that,” you said, shrugging as you spread your legs in a very masculine fashion. It was comical for how much bigger Johnny was than you alone. You scratched the bridge of your nose addressing the interviewer and the camera. “I can’t help it. It’s just the effect I have on people.”

Johnny nodded in understanding, watching you reach down to grab your glass of water and take a sip of it. He turned his gaze back to the interviewer matter-of-factly. 

“She pegs me.”

You choked on your water.

It was Johnny’s birthday party and how you had ended up grinding on him for four, going on five, songs was beyond your rational mind. 

People were attempting to take subtle pictures on their phones of the two of you, you could feel it: one of his arms firmly around your waist, his other hand gripping your hip, back to chest, ass to… what you were going to call his pelvis in the middle of the dance floor. You stopped caring about three rounds of tequila ago with him right before he had initially dragged you there.

You were sure that if your eyes were open and you could be bothered to interrupt the moment by turning around and looking at him that you’d see in his face something very similar to what was stirring just about everywhere in your body between your closed eyes and where his hands were. If he didn’t try to kiss you or you didn’t try to kiss him, that is, which is what you were almost certain a few shots in now would happen if you turned around. And if the two of you kissed…

Instead you opted to lean into the rational part of your brain that told you to remain like this lest you ruin the relationship the two of you had built: his unabashed, utterly shameless flirting that you kept at an arms’ length distance, at least until now - right now Johnny’s hands on you were exactly where you wanted them. Dancing was just fine and if this is what the birthday boy wanted, without adding more confusion to whatever the dynamic was that you and Johnny called “being just friends,” well, you were more than okay with it. He wasn’t a bad dancer either.

It was hot… you confessed to yourself silently. He was strong and warm and he smelled really good like he always did; musky, heady, sharp.

It’s not like you could really hear yourself think anyways over the bass booming in your ears and chest. Your body continued to sway against his. You supposed you didn’t entirely hate it actually: his hands preoccupied with you at least in some capacity, his lips (you were certain) were tilted up in a smirk close to your ear, even though you fought wanting them closer elsewhere, his muscled chest and abs against your back, your bodies moving in unison. 

Who were you kidding… you liked it…

Johnny’s hand on your hip stiffened and pulled you to spin you around. You twirled, nimbly obliging it’s direction. Uh-oh…

You began swaying again to the music, feeling the hands on your hips before your eyes could actually focus on what or rather who you were seeing.

And there was Johnny. You knew that. You weren’t that drunk. But there he was. His brown eyes were looking down at you, softened by the way his lips formed a cocky expression, like he was about to say something mouthy about how comfortable you had been dancing with him. Not with him… on him. You looked back up at him, a retort poised about how strong his grip on you had been for someone so willing to hypothetically make fun of you for dancing on him.

“Happy birthday,” left your lips instead. “Having a good time?”

You knew the answer. Johnny sported a smirk. “I’m having a great time.”

“You have a good DJ.” Shameless bait, you knew it.

“And a good dance partner,” he spoke loudly, leaning down so you could hear him. Hook, line, and sinker. Although you weren’t quite sure you could say you were really baiting him if he was probably going to say something like it anyways.

There were a number of things perched on your tongue. One, ‘you’re not too bad yourself.’ Two, ‘that’s the tequila talking.’ Three, some snide remark about your ass having been flush against him so it had been no wonder he had been enjoying it. 

And yet looking at him, your boldness so directly challenged by his undistracted brown eyes, you couldn’t help but be rendered speechless- a rare occurrence for you. It didn’t last.

“If you want me to turn around and shake ass again, I can.”

“As much as I wouldn’t hate that,” he laughed, his forehead briefly knocking against yours in a dangerous way when he slumped a little. “I just like having you close.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be dancing,” tumbled off your tongue before you could stop it. 

Lucky for you, Johnny seemed relatively happy to continue. A hand latched itself more firmly on your body, this time fastening itself comfortably on your ass rather than your waist where it had been. Johnny had big hands, you realized. That was a lie. You realized it a while back when he had pulled your hips to his earlier. You started more confidently dancing to the rhythm again. You weren’t sure when but eventually his second hand slid close to his first one. 

If you had been any more sober, there might have been more nerves about Johnny’s liberties, which you were happy to give him, about touching your butt while also dancing so close. Instead your nerves had more to do with the fact that despite your eyes once again fluttering closed, Johnny’s were definitely on you. You could feel him drinking you in, drinking this moment in. No amount of alcohol would make that sensation more bearable. You chanced opening your eyes, slowing your dancing. 

You were right, against every wish that you hadn’t been. Sure enough, there were Johnny’s eyes on your face. His expression was much more sober than it had been when you first turned around earlier but no less intense. 

You stopped, the rhythm leaving your feet. You were flush against him, chest to chest, one of his arms strong around your waist. 

Words. They were somewhere in your head. But they were all wrong. And Johnny was so right. 

His stupidly attractive slightly messy hair. His eyes traveling along your face. His tongue peeking out from between his lips to wet them. His nose. Just his nose. His cologne. The flashing lights hitting your face. The tequila buzzing ever so slightly behind your eyes. Right.

Johnny’s face approached yours so tentatively, so surprising in how gentle it was, like he was worried you’d spook if he moved too fast, that by the time his lips met yours it felt like they had already been there. Warm. Soft. They belonged there, you decided immediately.

Your hands came up to hold his jaw. ‘Hold’ was the wrong word. You were drawing him closer; his arm tightening and other hand cradling the back of your head answered it. You didn’t hear him groan so much as you felt the hum against your tongue, which itself was testing just as many boundaries as you were against yourself. The deal was sealed when Johnny pulled back momentarily.

“Can I see you in one of your Janet costumes now?”

You were gonna fuck Johnny Cage.

It was so unnaturally dark when you woke up that at first you weren’t sure you had woken up at all. You were lying on your stomach, that much you could tell, and the time on the digital clock read ‘10:47’ in a knowing shade of crimson. Blinking a few times and stirring your naked body against the so-soft-it-was-cool-to-the-touch, extremely not-your sheets you realized that you were in fact awake and in a bed. Silk. Naked. Then you felt the weight of one large hand wrapped lazily around your wrist.

The realization, or rather reminder, that you were neither in your bed nor alone came embarrassingly slow to you. You smelled it before you saw it. It was too dark to rely on your sight anyways.

And you’d recognize that cologne anywhere…

The panic of what the two of you had done, what you had done to him, what you had let him do to you hit your adrenaline centers like seeing a spider crawl across your hand. Like feeling his hand on your wrist.

Your sheet-tangled legs wheeled you back for the edge of the bed behind you, away from the man, the face you knew you’d find if you had pushed forward against the silk sheets instead of pulled back like you were doing right now. You knew what you had done last night. Boy, did you know… And the scary thing was that you hadn’t hated it one bit if your memory and the sudden fluttering in your stomach served you right.

His fingers strained against you yanking your wrist away from him… then tightened the moment your foot, nay, your ankle rolled. The joint was jelly the moment it hit the cold marble floor, gravity pulling the rest of your lower body and the sheet wrapped around you with it. You heard a grunt as the fall tugged your now-awake counterweight ever so slightly toward you. You grunted in response when he released you and you fell fully backward.

There was a click of a button and the L.A. morning began to shine directly in your eyes. Your hands acted instinctively: one shielding your eyes and the other blindly tugging the sheet up around your body, hastily covering what you could. As if Johnny hadn’t seen all of it hours ago… 

You rose to your feet, more wobbly than expected. Were you… sore? Johnny was already standing, tugging a pair of boxers over him, his back muscles flexing as he did so, angry pink scratch marks running along his shoulder blades… You bit your lip and clenched the sheet tighter between your fingertips. Really… that’s where your mind is right now… 

Johnny turned to his nightstand rummaging through it. “Here.” A tee flew in your direction and you fumbled it between your occupied hands. You could feel the beginnings of Johnny’s smile as he watched you with those goddamn brown eyes. No. Not happening. Not again… not soon anyways.

“Turn around.” You demanded. 

Johnny dropped his jaw, throwing his arms out from sides. “What are you-?! Are you serious?”

“I’m so serious, Johnny.” You said, stone cold. The sheet wrapped around you betrayed your modesty, sliding down, exposing more of your chest. He silently watched, even standing on his toes momentarily as if to get a better vantage point. “Johnathan Carlton.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ! Fine!” It was at this moment he regretted telling you his full name. There wasn’t much else he regretted with regard to you though, especially with how it had led to last night.

You dropped the sheet and hastily pulled the shirt on once he obliged. “Boxers too!” You called tugging the shirt down. It wasn’t short on you per se. It was just… breezy.

“So bossy…” he grumbled, making sure you could hear him, but immediately obeyed, grabbing you a pair and threw it to you with alarming accuracy over his shoulder. “You decent?” he lilted, still turned around. 

Gilda reference… 

“Me? Yeah, I’m decent,” you answered, unable to hide your amusement as you finished the exchange with as deadpan of a tone as you could manage. Johnny turned to face you again right as you began looking around the room.

A table that usually rested against a wall? Toppled. 

The vase usually on top of it? Shattered. The painting hung on said wall? Propped against the floor crooked. 

The hutch that framed the other side of the doorway? Random drawers hung open. One was halfway off the track and broken. There were clothes, yours and his, littered along the path to the bed, shoe scuff marks trailing off the heels of yours and his shoes on the otherwise immaculate marble. Upon closer inspection of the windows you noticed a crack spidering near where it met the next window about the height of Johnny’s biceps. The lamp on the nightstand of the opposite side of the bed was on the floor. 

You don't know why you didn’t look at the bed itself sooner but when your eyes landed on the bed frame off kilter in favor of the right-side of the foot and the head of the bed broken in no less than three different places, your hand came up to your mouth, eyes landing on him. Speechless. As if on cue, the lamp on your side of the bed, his bed, dropped to the ground.

“You’re awfully quiet.” He remarked. 

You simply closed your eyes and shook your head in disbelief. You couldn’t believe that the two of you, just the two of you, had left his room in such a state. It looked like someone had broken in and entered just to smash shit and make a mess of his room. “I just…”

“You weren’t quiet a few hours ago.” Johnny’s smile was back. His arms were crossed over his broad, bare chest. Bruises. Hickeys, actually. The broken bed was still between the two of you.

You tilted your head at him and blinked, eyes locked on his stupid handsome face. “Really? You had to say that?”

“I don’t know what you’re so grumpy about. I had a really good time last night-”

“-I’m not grumpy-”

“-like a really really good time-”

“-Okay, that’s-”

“-like a great time last night-”

“-Johnny-”

“-Best birthday present ever in fact.” He finished pointedly, never once having broken eye contact with you. “Which, by the way, if you keep looking at me like that we’re gonna have to go for round 6. Round 8 for you.”

“Johnny!” you scolded, finally allowing the laughter to escape your body, hearing him reply your name to you in the exact same tone. You felt like you couldn’t do anything but chuckle for about ten seconds.

“I’m pretty damn sure I wasn’t the only one that had a good time,” he replied, throwing his hands up in surrender and sauntering over to you at a casual pace. You watched him walk up to you putting his hands gently on your upper arms. “Am Iiii…. wrong in thinking that?”

Your head lolled up to face him, eyes rolling as you couldn’t quite meet his. A sheepish “no” is all you can manage.

“Okay…? And…?”

Your heart finally got comfortable directing your eyes to him. Just like right before the events of the previous evening your words were once again failing. What could you even say right now? There were a lot of things you had realized in the last twelve-ish hours that past you would’ve been jarred to learn.

“Why are you being so quiet? You’re freaking me out!”

“I’m sorry!” You replied frantic, one of your hands rubbed roughly the side of your face. There was truly no way for you to formulate thoughts, not while he was touching you. “I’m sorry. I’m just… thinking! There’s a lot to think about!”

“Like…?” He led, his hands still on your arms as he began rubbing them.

“Would you get your hands off of me? I can’t think when you do that!” You snapped. There was no anger behind it. Just frustration.

A laugh. You should’ve known he was going to laugh. 

“Okay, while you think, also think about what you want for breakfast. We can order brunch too. I don’t really have a preference.” He pulled you close and you let him press a kiss to the side of your head. It was such a sweet and normal gesture that it startled you how little it startled you. He began walking around back to his side of the bed to grab his phone and moved to head for the bathroom, sticking his head out of the doorway as the shower faucet turned on. “Anything you want. My phone’s on the counter, just add it to the cart.” Johnny haphazardly told you his phone password as he hopped into the shower. Complete trust.

You stared at the doorway to the bathroom like it had just spoken to you. That would have been less confusing than what was running through your mind right now. In less than a day, you had celebrated your costar/“friend”’s birthday, danced on him drunk, gone multiple rounds with him in his mansion bedroom, woken up in his bed, and now he supposedly wanted you to stay for breakfast.

“You can use my toothbrush by the way! And if you hate the shirt you can grab whatever!”

A man notorious for his sex-capades. A bold flirt. Someone you knew had a history of many, many one night stands. Wanted you to use his toothbrush. Why wasn’t he kicking you out?

Your feet carried you swiftly to the bathroom before you could stop them. “Johnny. You’re not kicking me out.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t meant to be one. You didn’t know what it was supposed to be.

It was his turn to be confused. “No?” He poked his head out from behind the foggy glass partition, shampoo in his hair, suds running down his chest. “Why… would I kick you out?”

“Don’t you usually kick people out after?”

“Yes?” His form went back behind the foggy glass.

“But not me.”

“No.”

Your brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Because I like you?” He popped back out, lathering his hair. “I’m sorry, was it not clear before we went at it several times last night that I like you?”

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the steamy mirror you were in front of. You could barely make out the t-shirt you were wearing. A ‘When Harry Met Sally’ graphic tee over some baggy brown checkered boxers. This would be what you were wearing right now…

His hand wiped his face as he regarded you. “Wait, you know we fucked last night, right?”

You scoffed. “Johnny.”

“Like multiple times. ‘Cause that’s what I meant by round number 6. And if you didn’t know what I meant by ‘round 8 for you,’ I meant that-”

“Johnny!”

He expelled air out of his pursed lips before disappearing again. “Okay, let me level with you. You’re saying my name a lot in that annoyed way that you’re doing and while it’s a lot different than how you were saying it last night, it’s still kinda turning me on-”

“Oh, Jesus Christ-!”

“Actually, you know what? I think it’s the general annoyed tone. I’m discovering something about myself right now.”

“Johnny!”

“Babe, you have to stop, like seriously…”

You were silent, still standing there, annoyed. Babe. There was steam rolling out of the shower but you were certain that if there were any onlookers to this intimate moment they might also see steam coming out of your ears. Your gears in your brain were running in neutral. What was happening?

“You like me?”

“Yes.”

“And you want to have breakfast together?”

“Or brunch, yeah. You want mimosas? I can order us some champagne. I’m in the mood for celebrating.”

You shook your head but not to the mimosas. Mimosas sounded great. “Is there something I’m missing here? You want to get breakfast after last night and you are being so casual about it. What is going on right now?”

The water turned off and Johnny stepped out. As it would turn out you had positioned yourself right next to where his fresh black towels of various sizes were hung. He stopped right in front of you. Tall, buff, dripping wet, naked, and looking down at you. You were fighting to keep your eyes on his brown eyes. You weren’t sure if it was anymore of a relief to look at him like that though.

“Pass me a towel?”

You scowled at him as you shoved one into his chest and leaned against the wall, using your hand as a partition on the side of your face between you and him. Your jaw was set, frustrated.

“Guess what?”

“What.”

“It’s you looking annoyed that does it for me too.”

“Oh… my God.” You stomped back into the room, taking a seat on the crooked mattress and rubbing your temples.

He called after you from the bathroom. “I didn’t think you’d be so frustrated by being told how sexy you are right now. And you were amazing last night too. Seriously, even better than I imagined.”

“You imagined it?”

“I imagine it with most people.” You furrowed your brows and looked up in contemplation as he said that. Johnny Cage. What a guy. “Did you think I didn’t imagine it with you? I mean, we’re both hot and had some serious ‘will-they-won’t-they’ tension. We’ve played romantic opposites. I hit on you regularly and I’ve definitely been interested in you for some time now. Wait, had you never imagined it with-?”

“Stop, stop, stop,” you waved your hands in front of you. “You’ve been interested in me?”

“It’s basically a habit for me to flirt with you.” The last part of his sentence came out muffled as you heard him take a toothbrush to his busy mouth. “I do it about as frequently as I check my phone.”

“I thought you were joking.”

Silence. Complete silence. Then, “... are you sure you know that we fucked last night?”

“Johnny.”

“Babe.”

You rolled your eyes. “Can we rewind to the part where you said that you’ve been interested in me supposedly for some time? Is that true?’

There was the sound of a spit in the sink and then the faucet running briefly. Johnny appeared in the doorway, leaning with the towel clinging to his hips. Dangerous.

His arms were crossed over his chest and there was a serious expression on his face. You thought to yourself that this was one of very few times you’ve ever seen him wear such sobriety on his features. His dark eyes were suddenly piercing like this. You weren’t sure you liked it. “Okay, what’s wrong? Do you regret last night? Because if you do we can pretend this whole thing never happened. I mean it. I can be a paragon of professionalism as I try to get over you. It’ll be hard but I can do it.”

“No. I don’t regret last night at all. I just…” You wrung your hands together in your lap. “When you talk like that, it makes me think that you actually like me and I can’t tell if you’re joking anymore because I like you.”

“I think you’re the only person to ever think ‘this person hit on me so much that it must mean they don’t like me.’” Your chuckle mingled with his and he pushed off the doorway, beginning his approach to crouch in front of you. His fingers interrupted your wringing hands, gently intertwining them with yours.

And there he was. That was the thing about Johnny - he was always there. There with his brown eyes that always seemed to twinkle like he was about to tell a joke. “I like you, okay? I have liked you. I will probably continue to like you until you give me a reason to hate your guts which will be really, really hard to do.”

“And you’re not kicking me out.”

“Fuck, no. I’m not kicking you out.” He said in a low voice. The two of you were close together. He didn’t need to be any louder.

“I can’t do ‘casual’ with you, Johnny,” you said. You were serious. Your eyes darted between his earnestly.

“That’s perfect because I can’t either.”

Your brows furrowed. “... To be clear, I want this to be serious.”

“Babe, we’re holding hands and you’re sitting on the bed we broke in my clothes and I’m crouched in front of you in nothing but a towel.” He brought your knuckles up to his lips to kiss them.

“Right.” You shook your head, as if to clear the worries. Johnny pressed his lips to your forehead. “Right. And you’re serious?”

He tilted his head at you, incredulous. “I’m not going to ask if you’re sure we fucked again because now I think you’re just fishing for compliments. You’re sexy and great in bed.”

You laughed out his name.

“You know what? I think it’s you saying my name too.”

A playful shove to his shoulder did nothing to deter him from leaning forward to kiss you through the laugh. “You’re way too horned up to talk any kind of sense right now.”

“Yep!” He replied instantly, leaning forward. Johnny’s big hands, with which you had gotten well-acquainted last night, planted themselves on either side of you. Your own hands found his cheeks. “Wanna ‘not talk’ with me?” He whispered against your lips.

You laughed again feeling his smile along your neck as he began traveling downward. He was pushing you back toward the mattress. “Tempting… but I’m hungry…” 

“That’s perfect. So am I,” Johnny practically growled as his hands settled on your thighs, beginning to pry them apart. You obliged, giggling. 

You laughed again. “Johnny…”

“Babe, you have to not-”

“It’s your name!”

“I can’t help it. I’m like that guy with the dogs and the bells.” His fingers toyed with your waistband. Well, his waistband… but who was getting technical?

“Pavlov?”

“Kinky.”

You stood halting him and he stood with you, pulling you into a hug. You needed to clean up at least a little bit. You rested your chin on his chest.

“Mimosas.”

“Okay.”

“A shit ton of pancakes and breakfast sides.”

“Got it.”

“I’m gonna get in the shower. After you’re done ordering, you can help me.” You walked to the bathroom and he slapped your butt as you left.

“Will do.” Silence. “Hey, babe.”

“Yes, Johnny?” The shower turned on.

“I think it’s just you.”

Safe

Sweater Weather

Leaves Changing

Warmth

Treehouse

Notes

Sick/Illness

Grief/Mourning

Aftermath

Sadness

Comfort Show/Movie

Dreams

Baking

Late Night Phone Calls

Plushies

Coffee/Tea Break

Heirloom

Cuddles

Loved Ones

Shopping

Relapse

Cry

Anxiety

Blankets

Rain

Friends

Soup

Flashbacks

Sleepover

The New Normal

Alternative Prompts:

Books

Baths

Travel

Candles