three: drop

“One thing I’m not is presumptuous.”


 

That was Andrew, right before the first date. I had laughed at that, not publicly of course, since I did not want to upset him. Andrew was an alpha male who loved his pride as much as he loved his secret lifestyle. There was no way he would be able to keep his opinions to himself.

Surely enough, the morning after Tuesday, Andrew added this like it was an afterthought, “I like how you had to pull away from me caressing your hand because you enjoyed it so much.” With the smirking emoji.

Now I called him out, to which he only replied, “I’m good at reading people, remember?” Another smirk.

I only snorted and let him think he was right. I mean, if I was really reaching it, I guess a part of me did enjoy that uncalled-for hand holding session. Andrew knew what he was doing, so physically it felt good. But, as a person whose rationality completely dominates her emotions, my brain was still weirded out by the incident. Maybe one day I would give in to my feelings which he could play like a guitar, but for now? Nah.

Jokes and hints ensued. By Friday, Andrew confessed that he was getting aroused while caressing my hand. It was a good thing I pulled away, said he, or else it would have been obvious what was going on.

I was with friends when I read the message. I burst into laughter so hard that they got concerned.

That meant Andrew was enjoying it so much he assumed that I also did. I deduced that was some reverse psychology to ease his own panic/ectasy of how he was getting hard over a teenager he just met online.

So I /did/ give Andrew a boner.

I supposed I was prouder of it than I should be. Being completely inexperienced with men, for all I know they could get hard by the sight of an insect with boobs. But hey, it is not everyday an average chick like me gets a rich old man to confess that he got hard by her hand and smile alone.

My pride was greatly fueled; I could practically hear my confidence points adding up like in a video game every time I read the lines. I guess Wyatt was not wrong saying that women fell in love through their ears. If Andrew was just bluffing to get into my pants, it was working. I suddenly adored him now after one simple profession more than I did with his multiple attempts of smartass flirting. What did it mean to me anyway? A truthful compliment of my attractiveness, or a declaration of defeat in this game of courting on his side? I suspect that to him it was the former since he’d thought he’d got me already, while to me it was the latter because it was no witty remark or insinuating emoji.

Of course, I could not let him know how much my heart fluttered by that acknowledgement, lest he used that to his advantage (though I figured he would find out soon enough). I gave him a racy answer that was enough to coax the dominant side in him. He didn’t seem to budge. I guess it was really a big deal for him to tell me that.

Also, he addressed the compensation and how surprised I was to receive it. Said that it didn’t mean anything more than to prove how serious he was about this whole thing. In truth I had reconciled with the feeling of being cheap. I never doubted that he got malicious intent. I could sense it from his aura alone.

We continued to exchange words and innuendo the week afterwards. Talked a little bit about our preferences and limits. Andrew has the same hard limits as I do (which is probably why he messaged me on SA in the first place). Same preferences, more or less.

Everything was going well, with a second date set for Tuesday at a museum. I chose the place because I never got used to overpriced restaurants and endless conversations. I wanted to do something.

Andrew made a suggestive comment about that, to which I did not know how to reply without sounding like a prude. Sure, I would love to get in bed with him someday, but not in the second date. I resorted to being straightforward. It is common sense, anyway. Without even being apologetic about it, he respected my decision, but was still open for “a change of mind ;)”.

Then he got sick and cancelled the date. It was not something within either of our power, but it was such a bummer. I was more disappointed than relieved. I was looking forward to messing with him. It was in a museum, my playground, and with Andrew confessing his lust I’d grown much more comfortable around him. I was ready to give him another boner, this time more visible than the last.

We hastily rescheduled to the following Saturday. 1PM. At a museum.

8AM that Saturday, he left a message, “I have to cancel today. Just too much going on”

Yes. “Too much going on” without the period. Whatever it was, he did not even have time to finish his sentence.

To make things even worse, Andrew changed his profile picture to something that was not his face.

I freaked out. A million possible reasons ran through my head at 180 miles per hour, threatening to explode like a nuclear power plant. What did he mean by “too much going on”? Why just hours before the date? Had he been busted and now dealing with the mess? Or was he reconsidering this relationship? Was I being a burden? We surely talked way too much for two people who were busy as hell.

At this point, my top priority was to find a way out. If Andrew decided to ghost me, I needed another sugar daddy ASAP. So I went back to the site and replied to a few messages I received. Clearly I was jumping way too far ahead, since those casual conversations soon bored me out. Only Andrew was able to pique my interests.

Only Andrew. It was an irritating thought. I did not expect him to find his way into my head this quickly. I guess once you really hit it off with someone, the rest of the world became a mundane glob of awkwardness and insincerity.

I consulted her. If there ever was a person who could tame a bull into a house dog, it was her. The way she got into my heart would be the same way I would get into his.

She told me to proceed with care. Ask him what was wrong. Offer sympathy and patience. So I did. I texted him saying he could talk to me, whatever was on his mind, and that I was more than a casual fling he found online.

By 11PM that night, he replied. Turned out I was stressing myself over nothing, since it was just his children acting up. “Sorry for the cryptic message,” said he.

I was… upset. He could have said it sooner, or apologized, or added an emoji, or anything to make his first message sound less serious. Old people and their lack of emoticons freaked me out because I could not always read through the lines to see if they were fucking with me.

I told him exactly how I felt. I did not like plans being cancelled without an advanced notice, and what he did caused me anxiety. Andrew apologized again. Then he said that he had deleted his SA account to show his commitment.

There was a smiley face after the line. I could almost see his soft smile in it.

So this was getting serious. I was getting somewhere with an older, successful man. He liked me, and I liked him, and I was going to get more than a monetary allowance out of this.

It felt exhilarating, seeing the path to your dreams slowly being patched up. The capital for this project was not socially acceptable, but it was legal, hard-earned money regardless, and I had secured an investor for it. For the first time since this money issue came up, I worried a bit less about my future.

Andrew was an excellent business consultant, and I was going to be the best investment he had ever made.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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two: andrew

“Alexander Hamilton was a dick, no doubt.”


 

Long story short: I ditched the other guys for Andrew.

I mean, not that the things I said about them weren’t true. Dude #1 was boring, dude #2 was vulgar, and dude #3 never even got a chance. However, I guessed if I didn’t meet Andrew, I would have clung onto them like a sad leech and got nowhere.

The timing was insanely perfect. He messaged me only a few days after I started being active on SA, stating that he was a Dom looking for a new sub. Turned out that he once had a sub for years, and it was just around this time, in 2017, when I coincidentally was also putting myself out there with an interest for BDSM, that he started looking for someone new again.

Oh, I guess I should talk about why I said I had an interest for BDSM. Honestly, I was okay with almost everything. BDSM is one of those things that I was familiar with but only through the media (no, not 50SoG). I guess I could live my whole life without it, but since I’m opening myself up for some fun, why not try it out in the mean time? The part that I’m still hesitant about is whether or not being a sub is for me. Sure, I enjoy being put into my place and having things done on me, but I also have a dominant side. One that takes pride in leading with efficiency, that rewards obedience and would gladly make the rebels learn their lesson. In the end, I identified myself as a sub brat, a submissive who likes to challenge the Dom instead of letting them have their way. Sounds about right.

Andrew was intelligent, hilarious, and insightful. We matched wits and shared common interests on a scary level. History, for once. Though he was into the Civil War, he devoted into this area the same amount I did with my dead kings and Founding Fathers. Dry humor was another. He claimed to have “laughed in [his] office” at my puns, and carried on my communist memes with savvy sarcasm. He was opened and understanding. He was relaxed and wise. He caught up on pop culture. He greeted my playful attempts to be bratty with grace, and I enjoyed every moment of our subtle flirtations.

Then what the hell was the catch?

That was what I was agonizing over when he asked to meet. For a person whose love life was entirely Internet-based, the idea of seeing somebody online after only a few days of chatting seemed terrifying. I told Andrew, and all he said was that he completely respected if I decided to wait a little bit more. Like a fucking gentleman he was. Andrew was perfectly what I was looking for, inside and out. Damn, even his smirk in the picture he provided caught my eyes. But I had my doubts, and there was no way he was perfect. It was impossible.

Then he revealed to me that he had a wife. Could not stand the vanilla relationship, had been doing this behind her back since his last sub. I didn’t know how to react, only told him that I understood and held no judgement against him. Indeed, I did not, but I would not try to justify his actions nor mine if I agreed to this. I spent a whole night just thinking. I would have been ok if my spouse were practicing an unconventional sexual lifestyle with someone else because I couldn’t participate, but if and only if they were being honest with me in the first place. As a man in his 50s marrying a woman of the same age, Andrew must have assumed at the notion would have been impossible for his wife. But then again, lies hurt, whether you were a middle-aged Christian white woman or a teenage atheist Asian girl.

Nevertheless, I closed my eyes and called the shots anyway. Not gonna throw them away now. Andrew was a perfect potential daddy for me, and I wasn’t going to turn him down because of a little voice in my head telling me no. If karma came to me, then let it come. I was not going to fall in love with him anyway. Not in the foreseeable future.

I guessed this is how I knew I had truly grown up. If you asked me three years ago if I wanted a sugar daddy, I would have said yes, but not been willing to go out there and obtain one. Now I swallowed my anxieties to step out of my comfort zone to get what I wanted. Even going at length such as being a man’s dirty little secret.

I had never felt more Slytherin than I did on the steps of the restaurant’s door, texting him that I was there, and went in. Of course, I had taken every precaution step that I could think of. I knew what he liked, I had a safe person, and I brought a paperknife just in case. Worst case scenario was that I got kidnapped or raped; ghosting was a close second, then awkwardness.

Contrary to what I’d feared, the date went perfectly well. There was not a single moment of silence. He talked a lot, very enthusiastic as he had been online, humorous and engaging. I gladly became his audience, sharing my stories and opinions when appropriate. The food was good, the atmosphere was cozy, and I could see that he was very much enjoying himself.

Throughout the date, he kept complimenting my look, stating that I was “attractive.” I supposed he thought he could help with my confidence, but the way he looked at me was so genuine that I almost felt pity for the woman whose husband’s smiles I was taking away.

The conversation died down towards dessert. Then from out of nowhere, he took my hand into his.

I was freaked out. Why was this old dude holding my hands and staring at me affectionately? I didn’t like touching. This was escalating way too fast for my taste. But there was no way out, so I played along. His hand was soft and much warmer than mine. His thumb was stroking along my fingers, sending signals that my body eased into but my mind did not want to reciprocate.

I let him have his way for a while before pulling my hand back playfully. I swore there was something more in his eyes that I almost could have torn open. For a second, my panic was replaced with something much more powerful. The knowledge, the confidence, that I could have this man in my palm.

Andrew was an intellectual figure. He got a high-profile background, yet behind it was just a failed marriage. If even he would crack by desire, then what were the other men?

He walked back to the subway station, where I leaned in for a goodbye kiss, as per his liking. It was meant to be a peck from me, but apparently he was expecting something deeper. He complained so afterwards on Kik, and I promised to make up for him next time, with a wink emoji and all.

The train ride home was not cold, but quiet. I did my contemplating. It was nice. Everything was perfect. Andrew was even considerate enough to provide some compensation for my time. $200 for three hours of taking and laughing, three minutes of holding hands, and one peck on the lips.

I’m not sure if I should feel cheap. For once, $200 is not cheap at all. Plus, I’m not sure if I could afford to feel cheap.

Well, I don’t mind giving Andrew a boner.

one: the sugar bowl

“I always think it’s rather sad if one doesn’t have a little bit of Slytherin in them by the time they reach 20.”


 

In all honesty, I still don’t know what the heck I am doing. In my mind is an array of conflicting emotions – curiosity, fear, excitement, doubt. Yet, there is only one thing that is clear to me: I’m getting a sugar daddy.

The thought of having a sugar daddy has been in my mind for quite some time. It started out as a joke, when I was 15 and bitter at life’s unfairness. But then life’s unfairness really came to me, and by the time I was 17 I had a future of student loans and the inability to afford med school dangling above me like a starving hawk. The more I started having to worry about money, the more appealing the thought became. Of course, I did my research. The idea is that I am paid to hang out with an older guy, most likely with sexual components involved. Yes, this job and being a sex worker are separated by but a thin veil; it’s more long-term and requires more commitment, but at the same time pays better and is safer.

So I went ahead and created an account on SA anyway, on my 18th birthday, when I was alone, tipsy, and brave. The 18th birthday was such a milestone for me because it was the first time I experienced true freedom. Legally, I was now an adult, so technically no one would dare undermine me for being a child anymore. That meant that I could finally live my life the way I wanted to be. The time when I could finally take charge instead of turning around, waiting for my parents’ approval. On my 18th birthday, I wrote a long letter to my mother expressing my pent up frustration with this family, asking for understanding, demanding for respect. On my 18th birthday, I downed 3 bottles of Mexican beer in a country where it was illegal for someone my age. On my 18th birthday, I created an account on a sugar dating site.

Ok, so all I needed to do was to become a guy’s eye candy / personal prostitute, and then I would get enough savings for my later years at this goddamn school – that was my thought process. Funnily enough, my first problem was not a moral dilemma between being a good pure citizen and making money, it was my look. For so long, I have been put down because of my mediocre appearance that I was not sure if I was “pretty enough” for the field. That if any of those old men would have found attraction in me. It was a depressing thought, but judging from experience it was realistic. Perhaps it was because of my look, my aura, or my personality, that guys my age, or any guys at all, did not find interest in hitting on me. No compliments, no confessions, not even cat calls. And honestly, I had been fine with not being a guy magnet, until realizing that the job that I want to get into requires look as an entry ticket.

That diffidence delayed my way into the sugaring world, or the sugar bowl, by months, up until I had settled for college and finals were kicking in. In a spur of stress-induced whim, I downloaded the SA app again and properly reinvented myself this time. I tried to be as straightforward as I could be while remaining on my fun side. A catchy headline yet a down-to-earth introduction. “I’m not pretty, hot, or experienced,” was the first thing I threw into those guys’ faces; I guess that weeded out a bunch of them already. Then, a tad of courage to upload my selfies onto the site, changing the private ones multiple times to get the best angles. Stress did a couple of funny things to me, one of them being the ability not to give a shit. I uploaded my last pictures onto the site 5 days before a major test, then passed out in bed.

By the time I woke up, I was astonished to see that there were actually people messaging me. What even surprised me more was how polite they all were. None started with a dick pic or a suggestive line. Only a few asked for private pictures right away. Most were men over 35 saying hello and telling me how much they liked my honesty. My pessimistic self was pleasantly proven wrong.

I got about 30 messages in the first 3 days, and I replied to almost all of them. I was desperate. Impatient to make some side bucks on my own, to truly become an adult. All the men who engaged back were very positive to me. I guess being online provided me with this elegant, witty charm that I would not have been able to muster up in real life. I enjoyed talking with them, flirting with them. I used certain emojis for certain men and certain wordings for others, depending on the way they portrayed themselves. It was fascinating to see how eager they all were to me, even though I found my replies completely a fraud. It sounded cheerfully fake, but still they went and loved it.

Eventually, there were about 4 left. I created a Kik account for easier contact since I was not comfortable sharing my number. The first was an Indian-American man who, despite my subtle signs of disinterest, went ahead and made himself feel at home anyway. Our conversations were boring and shallow. He saw my replies almost instantly, like he was doing nothing but waiting on Kik. After a while, I stopped replying to him altogether. I realized I did not have to entertain every single one of them anymore, that I actually had my worth, that I could ditch any of them whenever I wanted. Chatting with these men made me feel much more confident about myself. I was human too, with a life on my own, with time that I’d rather not spend flirting with every man I met.

The second was one of Italian descent from Wilmington. He claimed to be in law enforcement, working as an investigator for the Supreme Court. I liked him because he was genuine and kind, and being into forensics, I was interested in his work. We chatted for a while, and all was going well. Then I added a little innuendo, and suddenly he became much more crude than he appeared to be. I really did not think it was going to work. Though I had almost no standard, I still preferred a sophisticated one than one who easily succumbed to his lust.

The third one was the same. We had no chemistry, and I guess it was better for me to stop instead of wasting my time.

Then there was Andrew.

zero: foreword

Let’s get straight to the point: I am a sugar baby. Since I am a newbie in this business, I’m writing down my experience in its entirety. Yes. The sense, the sex, the sentiment – everything. I want it to be an accurate record of this unconventional lifestyle, for reference as well as for contemplation. A millennial memoir, perhaps. Something to stumble across and chuckle on when I am older. If this could serve you as a guidance into the sugaring business, I’m glad I could help.

A note: as I progress through my writing career, I do notice that I tend to romanticize things. I apologize – I guess I could never get rid of my flair for the dramatic. I will try my hardest to keep these pieces as truthful as possible, in the matters of events as well as reflection. However, there is no guarantee that my emotions would not distort memories, as I am one with greater pride than I should be.

I will update biweekly as least, and with details. And although I am not an erotica novelist, the bedroom part will still be there, so this is going to be NSFW. I hope you enjoyed this journey as much as I have been.

Teeming

Gemini/Virgo. College AU.

Word count: 1194.

A/N: What’s with the title? I don’t know, the word just sounds super insinuating to me. Writing this one was fun, there’s no doubt in that 😉

Virgo spoke like an English PhD. student who literally swallowed an unhealthy amount of 18th century letters; this was not news. SAT words and Founding Fathers’ quotes seemed to comprise his vernacular vocabulary, which made half the debate club nervous and the other half irritated as hell the first time they spoke to the kid. Despite constantly sounding like a smartass, Virgo’s syntax was reserved and respectful, so soon enough everyone got over the feeling of being patronized. As they progressed through the years, it had become a running joke that whenever the debate club needed to refer to Virgo, they would describe any character from a Shakespearean play holding an alarmingly large glass of whatever alcoholic drink that was on their mind.

What the debate club never found out was that Virgo’s diction had a number of variations that was unconsciously utilized depending on his mood. The kid became much sharper and more defensive when he was tensed. He quoted Voltaire whenever he was being sarcastic. When he was on the debate floor, Gemini could hear the trumpet sound of vanity in his almost musical tone the moment he knew he had the opponent in his palm.

Gemini would not call the other kids stupid for not recognizing the difference in their president’s word choice despite being in the same team as Virgo for years. Most of the time, the distinction was subtle. It required more than just listening to him speak, and Gemini admitted he did use his teaching assistant privilege to do a little bit of poking into the kid’s whereabouts before coming to the conclusion. If anything, he was thankful that nobody ever found out about this. It made their affairs more exclusive, to both of their liking.

“Apologies for my tardiness, please do continue with your work,” rushed in the president of the debate club. He was 20 minutes late, and his coat was less tidy than normal. “Gemini, won’t you fill me in?”

Fill me in. Now that was something.

Gemini only shrugged before informing him of what the other kids were doing. Just basic warm-ups, nothing to be twitchy about; also, their advisor took a day off but he guessed he knew already. The kid nodded and thanked him quietly, albeit Gemini swore his eyes did twitch at the word ‘twitchy.’

Gemini sank back into his chair and returned to his homework, though he never kept his eyes off the kid. Part of being in debate club without actually being in debate club was that he became their unofficial supervisor, and that meant he saw all and knew all. For example, it seemed that today the president of debate club was not in a pleasant frame of mind.

“Cut the kid some slacks, V. She’s a newbie,” Gemini called out from his seat. The poor girl was turning green as Virgo basically pulled out fallacies for every two lines of her opening statement. As much as he loved Virgo’s critical comments, it was too harsh for a freshman.

“As a PreLaw student, Joanne needs arguments that could hold in the court of law,” coldly retorted Virgo.

“And don’t I know the beauty in the art of courting,” slyly replied Gemini with a shit-eating grin. The girl almost broke into giggles. Virgo only rolled his eyes, but he left the girl alone and turned to the group instead.

“Mock trial,” he simply declared, and the kids got into assembling the chairs and tables. Their mock trials resembled a Socratic seminar, in which the jury was replaced with a circle of observers taking notes on not just the two sides, but also the judges. Virgo took a seat where the judges were.

“Gemini, will you do the honor?” said Virgo, gesturing to the seat next to him.

Do the honor, you said?

“Gladly, Your Honor,” snickered Gemini as he sat to Virgo’s right. The kid glanced at him, but before he could respond, another junior took the left seat.

The mock trials started with the upperclassmen to help preparing them for the upcoming tournament. It was obvious to not just Gemini that the main judge was being extremely fastidious. He asked shrewd questions and kept pressing on until both sides were rendered speechless.

“Somebody is having a rough day,” Gemini joked after the second trial.

“Don’t blame me for being more penetrative,” was his reply. How descriptive.

By the fifth round, Virgo became an attorney. Maybe it was just Gemini, but his opening statement, however, sounded more…  entertaining than usual.

“Judges and jury, please indulge me for a moment and cast aside all your prejudices about Mr. Lee,” said he. “Let him be a man instead of a beast with no self control as portrayed by the media.”

His eyes met Gemini’s. It was a quick second, but they were twinkling in devilish mischief. “Now, I would like to compel you on why that is the truth.”

It was a great delivery, no doubt on that. For the next 20 minutes, he managed to get his imaginary client acquitted of all charges.

Things got intensively more fascinating during the thoughts and comments session. Though he had an apt for this type of thing, Virgo was not without flaws. Nevertheless, he accepted the criticisms with grace.

At one point, somebody addressed his ego issue, to which he replied, “I admit that I must find a cure to my ecstasy.”

He made eye contact with Gemini at ‘ecstasy.’

Gemini needed to test something out.

“You could work more on your second rebuttal,” said Gemini as both took a seat at the jury circle, taking a five-minute break before their last trial.

“I did not expect him to play the veteran card so soon,” sneered Virgo, bitterness in his voice. “Could have breached him there.”

Testing time.

“Could have lubricated your climax,” Gemini raised a brow, trying to sound as innocent as his phrasing let him.

“I beg your pardon?” Virgo immediately squinted.

Bingo.

“Your climax was using the veteran card against your opponent since that’s their strongest argument,” explained Gemini, tone as light as a feather. “But since he played it out too soon, it cut off your flow and threw you off balance. You should prepare for that situation to keep your reasoning smooth.”

“Ah, yes,” Virgo simply said. Whatever was going through his mind, he certainly knew that Gemini was telling it apart because the next trial was carried out boringly normal.

Debate practice ended after Virgo made a short speech on the upcoming competition. As Gemini made his way out of the meeting room though, Virgo called him back.

“About my arguments regarding the veteran state of the victim,” Virgo started cautiously. “My… climax.”

“Yes?” Gemini played dumb.

His next few words came out quickly. “I was wondering if you could help me on that.”

Jackpot.

“I thought you were perfectly capable of refining it alone,” Gemini pressed. It was hilarious to see Virgo’s eyes shift in embarrassment.

“I am,” muttered the kid, “But I feel that it needs some touches from an outsider. To be more…  appealing, you know?”

Gemini almost burst at ‘appealing.’

“If you so achingly insist.”

Screech

Gemini/Leo. Merfolk AU.

Word count: 1030.

A/N: I love the flow of this one. It seems verbose and pompous, but that’s exactly how I imagine Gemini’s trail of thoughts sounds. Same AU as the Capricorn/Leo one? Your choice.

“Settle down, won’t you,” scolded Gemini, tapping his pen on the tank, and the siren lunged toward his fingers with a vicious bite from the other side of the glass. Upon seeing that it did not successfully chomp off its captor’s hand, the monster swam up to the water surface and expressed his fury with another deafening screech. Chuckling in amusement, Gemini continued to write down his observations.

It was a funny story, how he came to meet this creature. Gemini was not a marine biologist, not a scientist even, but a professor of politics in the city. He was on a summer trip to the area, expecting sunshine and fresh air, when he had the idea of rowing to the rumored cursed island alone for an adventure. Halfway through the ominous water, he saw the siren’s silhouette circling his boat, and soon enough there was singing; however, it seemed that the creature had no idea how terrible of a job it was doing, for its voice was loud and scratchy like a schoolboy going through puberty. At first he was going to ignore the siren and its pathetic attempt to lure him into his death, still it kept approaching his boat, oblivious to the fact that Gemini was not at all mesmerized. It took him quite a struggle to bring the creature back to shore – like a schoolboy, it was strong and obstinate, and it was truly a miracle how he could sneak the siren into his rented room on the second floor without his landlord noticing. But he went and did both, quite successfully even, and now he got an angry siren in his room.

At first Gemini was not sure what to do with the creature. He did not have the need to study it, and his catching it was but a whim. But after a day of holding it in the bathtub, Gemini quickly grew fond of it. The siren was stubbornly trying to appear dangerous (and in truth, with its claws and pointy teeth it had its reason to believe so), hissing whenever Gemini came near and splashing water all over, although the lack of sea water and the confined space of the tiny tub were visibly draining it out. Luckily the professor managed to find a larger glass tank, and by the end of the third day his little monster was swimming around and sneering at him again.

Five days had passed since the siren’s unfortunate encounter with Gemini, and the professor was genuinely impressed how no one had yet to knock on his door and ask about the constant piercing sound coming out of his room. Within the first 24 hours after regaining its strength, the siren had made no less than 3 attempts to escape, from pushing the tank toward the window to attacking Gemini when he was filling up the sea water for it. After that it seemed to realize that there was truly no way out without the professor’s help, so the following nights it started to howl the off-tune melodies in hope that he would be hypnotized and help it get back to the ocean; its effort only soured Gemini’s mood for he was unable to sleep with that horrific sound that resembled a bitch in heat. In the morning the monster dipped around and observed Gemini’s every movement, waiting for when a limb of his was close enough to be bitten off.

The siren suddenly let out a distressing sound, and Gemini decided that it was time to stop the paperwork to have some fun with his monster. Putting down his pen and papers the professor went to grab the pork leg he had just bought at the early market. The siren’s attention immediately shifted to the smell of pig’s blood, hazel pupils stretched wide as its gaze trailed after the raw meat, making its face even more boyish than usual. Swimming down to the tank corner where Gemini was sitting, the siren pressed its nonexistent nose flat on the glass, the gills on its neck opening and closing more slowly as if it was taking in the tangy odor in deep breaths, and its claws seemed to be protruding from its fingertips.

With a raise of his eyebrow, Gemini picked up his pen and wrote down what he saw. Interesting.

Seeing that its captor’s focus was not on it anymore, the siren let out a demanding hiss.

“You’re more of a cat than a siren, you know?” Gemini burst into laughter, his gaze back on the tank, and slowly the professor started to wave the pig’s leg from side to side in front of the creature’s face. As if hypnotized, the siren’s body swayed to the movements, its gaze locked on the bloody meat.

The professor stopped his motion, and the siren followed suit. Its eyes were perfectly fixed on its meal, so intently that did not even react when Gemini put his other palm on the tank surface to stroke its youthful cheek.

The creature was majestic – full, slightly opened lips and marble-like eyes that could match any celestial being. Even with the nonhuman features it was strangely captivating, like a painting from beyond the mundane world, turning heads with its every curve and edge. It was hard to believe that behind the unadulterated naivete in its countenance was the swift strike of death lying in wait.

With a sigh, the professor threw the pig’s leg into the tank. It was beautiful, indeed, but it was not his. Soon he would have to leave it for the human schoolboys and their battle roars in their fistfights and their makeshift duels. Soon he would have to leave his monster for the deep blue sea where it belonged, for the hunting trips that were in its blood, and for the poor souls that would have crossed it someday. Soon his memories of the siren would quickly fade into a blurry mixture of hazel eyes, soft mouth, and stubborn cries that echo through the darkest nights.

The pork disappeared like it was never there, and the siren whipped his glance back to Gemini. From its throat, a low wary growl escaped.

Gigantic

Capricorn/Leo. Modern AU.

Word count: 1118.

A/N: I love this one so much lol what a gem

It only took Capricorn a turn against the sheets for him to realize he had made a gigantic mistake.

This is not my bed. His eyes immediately shot open. A look around the unfamiliar room confirmed his fear. Sunlight shone through the thinly veiled windows, illuminating a bedroom that was much less spacious and much more untidy than his own. His clothes were scattered on the floor next to a pile of magazines that seemed to be kicked around mercilessly. As a matter of fact, it was. Capricorn vaguely remembered tripping on the stack and almost falling on his behind as he was stepping backward to the bed, eyes and hands occupied by the stranger who (hopefully) lived in this place. The memory brought pain to both his head and his foot like a phantom limb haunting its ex-owner.

In silent panic, Capricorn sat up and glanced to the other side of the bed. Empty. He listened for the sound of water. None. Jumping to his feet, he frantically scrambled for his clothes. This was way too much and too embarrassing for him to process.

It was a book café.

Were it a club where he was deadbeat drunk, Capricorn would have felt less lowly of himself. But no, it was at a damn book café where he and the stranger had met. Capricorn was enjoying his Saturday afternoon trying out the new café when he was approached by the guy asking if he could join in. At first he did not even look twice. Sorry, the stranger had said, a bit too apologetically. Don’t bother, the place is packed anyway, he had answered, eyes not even off of his Locke. But then the other’s book cover caught the corner of his eyes.

“Is that the 1st edition of Capitalism in Crisis? By Fidel Castro?” he asked.

And the rest was history.

All they did was sipping on their coffee and talking. The man – Leo, as he introduced himself, was also son of an ex-politician. He looked small and young, and for a while Capricorn was very impressed by his knowledge of the Enlightenment until he learned that Leo was 27 and not 17. 27, like him. Books jumped to politics which jumped to a hilariously ridiculous debate on the DNC vs the Green Party. Leo was bright yet eager to learn, and there was an optimistic aura in his voice that let Capricorn become an idealist for a brief moment when he spoke.

And yes, Capricorn swore his eyes did not linger on Leo’s neck as the man leaned forward to get his drink. He might, however, speculate that Leo was doing that to him, though it could have been just a friction of his imagination.

Nevertheless, it was Leo who noticed that the skies had turned dark.

“My dad left me his whole collection since my brother refused to take it. You wanna– you wanna go check it out?” He asked. Capricorn could hear the nervousness. He knew far too well what that was code for.

And now here he was. In Leo’s bed. The bookshelf in the living room, untouched.

A gigantic mistake coming here, he told himself while fixing his sweater. A gigantic mistake coming to the book café in the first place.

Capricorn was not sure of what to do. He couldn’t just leave without an explanation. That would be rude, especially to a gentleman such as Leo.

What was he gonna say anyway? Sorry this is my first time hooking up with somebody please don’t judge me or think that I only talked to you because I wanted sex I must leave now there’s money on the counter for the condom I used and the sheets I ruined thank you for everything goodbye–

Capricorn burrowed his face in his palms. A gigantic mistake.

He was about to come up with something less cringe-worthy when Leo’s unruly head poked in, startling him. “You’re awake already?”

Shit. “Uh. Yes. Now I have to… uh…” What was it what was it what was it–

“Have breakfast?” Leo raised a brow.

“Yes! No, I mean, I really should go.” He stuttered like an idiot.

“Aw, why?” the man stepped toward him, and Capricorn almost flinched. “I’ve already made pancakes. C’mon, it’s from scratch.”

Capricorn could only stare. Leo looked drowned in his oversized sweater and apron and boxers and–

“Stay?”

Good Lord above.

The kitchen smelled like Christmas morning. There were eggs, bacon, and three stacks of pancakes neatly presented on porcelain plates. As quiet as Capricorn tried to be, he could not stop his stomach from grumbling.

Leo laughed, “I hope you like chocolate chip pancakes, ‘cause I made a ton.”

It took him some nudging to finally picked up his fork and knife and get himself some food. Leo, on the other hand, happily filled his plate with pancakes and maple syrup. He was halfway through his serving when Capricorn suddenly said. “I hope you understand that I don’t do… that often.”

That being sleeping with strangers from a book café, or sleeping with strangers per se, but Capricorn thought Leo got the memo.

“I understand.” Leo told him, voice full of sympathy. “I don’t do that either.”

Capricorn solemnly nodded. There was a chance to save this friendship after all. It would be a shame if he had to run away and never see Leo again.

“I… uh, I apologize for causing you any trouble.” he continued. It was good getting that off his chest.

“No way, you were very fun to talk with.” Leo chuckled, then cheerfully added. “And that- was… good… too.”

His words trailed off into awkward silence, and suddenly Leo was intensely studying his pancakes. Capricorn honestly did not know how to respond, gaze also fixed on his bacon. Apparently Leo knew more Spanish than he claimed earlier. A little bit of Latin, too.

Not that it mattered, of course.

For a while, all there was was the sound of silverware and chewing.

“I should probably apologize though.” Leo tried again, grinning sheepishly. “Didn’t even get to show you my bookshelf.”

“We could do that another time.” Capricorn replied, nonchalantly putting food in his mouth. Then he realized what he had just said, and heat bloomed on his ears.

Another time meant they would see each other again. Probably some time soon. Hopefully some time this week.

Capricorn felt appalled at himself for coming up with that. How old was he, twelve?

“Another time, then.” Leo beamed, pearly-whites blamelessly showing, food debris and all. “Next Sunday at the book café?”

A gigantic mistake, a part of Capricorn protested.

“Sure.” He smiled. A gigantic something, his heart corrected. Something. Anything, but a mistake.