#{{ and not so casually over some mid afternoon drink time as if it holds no importance whatsoever }}

[frozenambiguity]

Very long Initial thoughts and first impressions on the Caribert Archon Quest in the tags. Spoiler alert!!

[munson-blurbs]

Eddie Munson x Shy!Reader

Summary: Max and Lucas are tired of their friends silently pining over each other but never making a move, so when the Winter Formal rolls around, they take matters into their own hands.

Warnings: mutual pining, idiots in love, fluffy fluff

WC: 1.8k

A/N: Happy anniversary to the love of my life, @corroded-hellfire 💚 one year ago today, we met in person for the first time, and my life has been infinitely better ever since. Thank you for being my best friend. I love you more than Dustin loves his Weird Al shirt. Red, this fic is for you.

Divider credit to @saradika

“Kill me now.”

Three words uttered by none other than Max Mayfield, sliding her lunch tray onto the table and sitting down with an irritated sigh. 

You look at her with an amused grin. “What is it this time? Bombed a pop quiz? Got detention for flipping off a teacher—again?” Her brazen, flippant attitude provided many entertaining moments, so long as you weren’t on the receiving end of it. 

Max shakes her head, spearing a limp macaroni noodle with her plastic fork. “I wish.” She holds up two tickets to the Winter Formal. “Lucas is dragging me to this bullshit. ‘All the other basketball guys’ girlfriends are going,’” she mocks him in an octave much lower than his actual voice, “so I guess that means I have to follow suit.”

Bringing a hand to your heart, you jut out your lower lip in mock-pity. “Oh, no; your boyfriend wants to show you off at a school dance! How will you ever survive?” 

Max doesn’t miss a beat. “You could go, too,” she says, blue eyes pleading. “Keep me company when the guys inevitably bail to get wasted in the woods.”

“I don’t—”

“You don’t need a date,” she insists, reading your mind before the words can leave your mouth. “I’m telling you, Lucas is gonna ditch me as soon as Jason and Patrick show up.” She takes your hand between both of hers. “Please? I’ll even tell Ms. Kelly the lengths you went to for your poor, troubled freshie.”

You exhale, knowing that she doesn’t need to go to all of that trouble. You’d started off the school year as her peer mentor, but just a few months later, you two have become close friends. “Fine, I’ll go,” you acquiesce, laughing when she pumps her fists victoriously. “But I’m not gonna be happy about it.”

You return to your own lunch, completely missing the mischievous look that graces her freckled face. 

Unbeknownst to you, a similar discussion is had at Hellfire Club later that same afternoon. 

“Absolutely not,” Eddie scoffs, folding his arms across his chest. “Nice try, Sinclair, but I wouldn’t be caught dead at some lame dance.”

“Seriously,” Jeff smirks from his position across the table. “He’s never been to a single one in his ten years of high school.”

Eddie flips him off casually. “It’s only six, asshole. But that doesn’t matter, because I’m not dressing up in some penguin suit to drink unspiked punch with a bunch of shitty people.”

“C’mon, dude,” Lucas says, his tone bordering on a whine. “If you don’t go, I’m gonna be stuck with the jocks all night, and they just wanna suck face with their girlfriends.”

“And you don’t?” Gareth quips. 

Lucas rolls his eyes. “Not in front of everyone. And I don’t need a front-row seat to their performances, either.” He turns his attention back to the Dungeon Master. “Look, I’m desperate. Mike’ll be visiting his grandma and Dustin’s grounded because of his D-plus in Spanish.”

Eddie narrows his eyes. “What about Huey, Dewey, and Louie over here?” he asks, gesturing to the three remaining club members. 

Their collective responses are jumbled excuses; Eddie swears one of them says he’s going kayaking—in mid-December in Indiana—but he doesn’t bother to sift through their lies. “You owe me, Sinclair,” he declares, pointing his forefinger at the underclassman. “Big time.”

The next few weeks leading up to the Winter Formal are spent meticulously making plans. For someone who seemed so disinterested in this dance, Max is paying careful attention to each detail. 

You walk out of the dressing room in a velvet emerald green dress that hits just above the knee. Max is beaming as she adjusts the off-the-shoulder sleeves and smooths down any creases. 

“You look really nice,” she says, nodding her head. She’s trying to temper her enthusiasm, but you can sense her excitement. “I can’t wait to tell Lucas.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Lucas? Why would he care?” He’s a nice kid—more in tune with emotions than the average fourteen-year-old boy—but that doesn’t constitute an interest in your fashion choices. 

Max’s cheeks burn as red as her hair. “Uh, well, seeing you happy makes me happy, and seeing me happy makes him happy, so…everyone’s happy?” she finishes lamely. She clears her throat as if expelling the awkwardness from the conversation. “Anyway, let’s buy this dress so we can look for shoes.”

“Yeah, okay.” You’re not fully convinced, but you brush it off and steel your nerves to ask a question. “Is anyone else gonna be there that we know?” You really want to know whether Eddie Munson is going to be there, but you can’t say the quiet part aloud. 

“Probably,” she shrugs, a bit too quickly, but she’s pushing you back behind the curtain to change before you can inquire more. 

“Why does this stupid tie need to be green?” Eddie asks, sifting through the store’s selection with Lucas by his side. 

“Uh, Christmas colors,” Lucas stammers, fumbling for a decent explanation other than the contents of his secret phone call with Max earlier today. “And, y’know, red is way overdone, so…” he trails off lamely, going back to the display table and hoping Eddie drops the matter. 

They find exactly what they’re looking for—not without Eddie complaining about putting in too much effort just to be a third wheel—and make their way over to the food court. Eddie makes a beeline for the Pizza Hut when he stops dead in his tracks. “Shit, Sinclair; we gotta go,” he says urgently, clapping a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder and steering him away from the fast food. 

“What the hell? I’m hungry!”

Eddie shakes his head, curls brushing against his shoulders. “Look, man.” He discreetly points to his left, where you and Max are giggling at the Orange Julius. “We can’t let them see us.”

“Dude, she’s like the nicest person ever,” Lucas rebuts. “Even Max likes her, and Max pretty much hates everyone.”

“That’s not the problem.” Eddie rakes his ringed fingers through his hair, wincing when he snags one on a knot. “The problem is that she’s gonna be all, ‘hi, Eddie; what’re you doing at the mall?’ And I’m gonna be all, ‘just picking out a tie for the Winter Formal.” And then she’ll go, ‘oh, who’s your date?” And then I’ll have to say, ‘I don’t have one; I’m just playing babysitter to some freshmen like a goddamn loser!” He hops back and forth to indicate each character change.

“First of all, ouch,” Lucas quips, “second, go hide in the bathroom if you want, but I’m getting something to eat.”

Eddie exhales an exasperated sigh, giving in and schlepping over to Pizza Hut, one of the few times in his life that he’s trying to be inconspicuous. 

You pull into the school parking lot on the night of the Winter Formal and shift into park before killing the engine. Max is bouncing her leg up and down in the passenger seat, lower lip tucked between her teeth.

“What’s on your mind?” you ask, mistaking her excitement for anxiety. “You know that Lucas would think you look beautiful even if you showed up in a potato sack.” You furrow your brow. “Where is he, anyway? Why didn’t he come with us?”

She mumbles something about not wanting her mom to ask any questions about the relationship, and you take them at face value. Her eyes light up when she spots her boyfriend walking into the school alongside…Eddie Munson?

“Eddie’s here?” you ask in a hushed whisper, feeling sweat prickling under your arms. You’ve been nursing a massive crush on him for ages–one that Max is very much aware of. And now he’s here, dressed in a black suit with his hair pulled back into a low bun at the nape of his neck. “Max, why didn’t you tell me? Who’s he going with?” The idea of him slow dancing with someone else has your stomach turning.

Max just shrugs. “I don’t think he had a date.” Too casual, too blasé–she knows something. “C’mon, let’s go in.” She swings the car door open enthusiastically, leaving you shell-shocked in your seat.

“Maxine Mayfield!” you hiss, using her full government name to drive home your bewilderment, but she just skips ahead. Damn your heeled shoes, slowing you down before you can catch up to her. When you finally do, she just grabs your hand and tugs you towards the guys.

She poorly feigns surprise, jaw dropping as she exclaims, “Eddie? What are you doing here? Oh, my gosh, this is such a coincidence!” She pulls you closer, smiling far too wide. “Lucas and I both brought our upperclassmen friends! What are the odds?”

“Yeah, so weird,” Lucas says, not as loud as Max but just as transparent. He looks at Max before regarding you and Eddie. “Okay, well, we’re gonna go dance–bye!” The two of them scamper off, leaving you alone with Eddie. If their stilted dialogue wasn’t evidence enough, the way Eddie’s tie perfectly matches your dress certainly clears up their intentions.

Eddie speaks first, shoving his hands in his pants pockets and nervously swiveling his body. “I, uh, think we’ve been set up,” he says with a small, awkward chuckle. “I swear, it wasn’t my idea. Not–not that it’s a bad thing, I just meant, like, if you’re uncomfortable with this, I don’t wanna be held responsible.” His cheeks burn red. “Shit, I need to stop talking.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him with your own kind laugh, “we might as well make the most of it. Get some punch and make fools of ourselves out there?” You gesture towards the gym’s makeshift dance floor; the band has just started playing Journey’s “Faithfully.” Eddie’s nods, following you to an empty space, and you timidly drape your arms over his shoulders. Taking care to avoid an inappropriate touch, he rests his palms on the small of your back. 

His voice is low when he murmurs in your ear, “you look really beautiful tonight.” He clears his throat and speaks again. “You always look really beautiful, though.”

The two of you sway to the music, swapping shy smiles and fleeting but longing glances. As the song ends, you look over your shoulder. “We’re being spied on,” you report, noting the way the two younger kids are watching you from across the room. You consider your next words before eventually deciding to go for it: “Did you talk to Lucas about me as much as I talked to Max about you?”

“Probably more,” Eddie laughs, bringing you a bit closer. “But I’m interested in comparing notes.”

You nod, staving off any lingering nerves. “Maybe after the dance, we can split a burger from Benny’s and discuss?”

Eddie presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Yeah,” he says; you can feel his lips move against your skin, “I’d like that.”

--

[lovekz]

make me the last

syn -> famous photographer and artist rin fumbled the baddest bitch in his life.

content warnings : infidelity, drinking, foul language, idk word vomit

-

it was around six-twenty something in the afternoon, the sun was beginning to rest from the sky.

rindou had you laying in bed nude, recently recovering from a round of intense lovemaking.

"where do you wanna go for dinner baby?" rindou asks in a hushed voice, rubbing your hand slowly.

you glance at him intrigued, before giggle against his chest. "let a girl breathe first." you joked, shoving his chest playfully.

rindou laughs beside you, before pulling you closer to his much warmer body.

he pressed a kiss to your hand, tracing the ink with his eyes.

your ring finger had tatted ink around the base as though it were a ring, the moon and sun sitting in the clearing.

the skin closest to your thumb had a rose and a little heart heart beside it.

rindou had drawn these a couple years back, his first pieces of art that he published.

on your third anniversary, you decided to get them tatted and he loved it.

you huff a bit, before feeling his hand snake under your hip and roll the both of you over so you were on top of him.

"what about.. that restaurant that just opened. solace?" you suggest, pushing his hair to rest behind his ears.

he tilts his head back and thinks for a bit, before nodding with a short smile.

"think i'd like that." rindou offers a grin, rubbing the fat of your bare backside in his warm palm.

you hum quietly, muttering okay and pressing your nose into the junction between his neck and shoulder.

a few extra minutes in bed never hurts anyone, the restaurant wasn't going anywhere.

-

the two of you showered, got dressed in some casual clothes, and headed out to get to the restaurant.

thankfully, it wasn't too packed so you got your privacy and was able to take pictures and enjoy your food in peace.

most of the pictures taken was of you, eating, enjoying the drinks and music, and even posing outside.

rindou was only in some, in which he kinda hid his face in every now and then.

only people you were close to knew you were dating rindou, and by close you meant his brother and your shared friends.

other than that, it was a private relationship and thankfully no one seen the two of you on your causal outings.

"hey. i'm gonna use the bathroom and then we can leave." rindou says, pointing towards the back.

you glance at the sign and nod, waving him off and looking back to see which picture you wanted to post.

he gets out of his seat and makes his way their, stretching lightly.

the time length only bothers you when you hear your waitress clear her throat to gain your attention.

your eyes scan the room in confusion, your boyfriend nowhere in sight.

"i'm sorry, he's-" "i know where he is." the waitress cuts you off, sitting at the table with a soft smile.

you quirk an eyebrow at her, immediately sitting up in defensive mode.

you don't believe you've seen her face anywhere, but she sure as hell seemed to know you.

regardless, she's got your full attention and you want to know what she wants.

but thinking back, maybe you should've protected your peace and waited outside.

"i'm amira. you don't know me." she introduces, digging into her pocket with a short hum.

no shit, you think, tucking a hair behind your ear.

she pulls out a brown envelope and slides it over to you, before standing and taking the check book.

"get home before he does. you'll want to."

-

boy do you regret not keeping your peace. you stood in the kitchen, holding your head.

frustration. anger. horror. sadness.

you had no idea what to do, what to say.

in the brown envelope, there was a hand written letter from the waiter amira inside, along with a few polariods from the film you got him for his birthday.

it was one of a kind, because you purposely had them custom made.

it explained how she had been one of his girls up until a few months ago, when she found out about you.

said you had called in the middle of the two of them having sex, claiming a miscarriage.

he discarded it, explaining that you were 'his sister' and you needed him right this minute

his sister.

and she'd done her research, finding out about you through his brother by accident.

said she's sorry, and if she had known she wouldn't have spoken to him or even batted an eye.

the rest of the polariods were pictures of him and other girls, each one getting worse than the previous.

there were also messages of him and other girls talking, all having that same exact heart you had next to your contact.

only difference is you had the shiny ring on your hand to prove you were supposedly his.

"honey? why'd you leave without me?" rindou asks, walking in with the to go bags.

you take your hands off your face and look at him, then back at the evidence in front of you.

he squints from behind his glasses and walks up to the coffee table, picking up the first piece of paper.

he stares for a while before flipping the paper to show you in confusion.

"what's this? who's is this?" rindou asked you directly, sitting next to you and holding it.

you raise from your seat and snatch your hand away from his, walking to stand on the other side of the table.

"your pictures, your film, your texts. what is this- how dare you!" you raise your voice, mocking him.

rindou sighs, giving you a irritated look and standing from his seat.

"you don't have to yell at me. i'm in front of you. we can talk baby." rindou reassures quietly, as though he were innocent.

he was doing that thing he does.

the thing he does to ran, or shion, or anyone but you.

speaking to you as though you were a little girl who didn't know shit from shat.

so you said the only thing you could have proof of.

"where were you when i had that miscarriage?" you questioned, taking a deep breath.

"with shion. i told you this." rindou says, crossing his arms.

you scramble around the table, before picking up a polaroid picture and presenting it to him.

the picture of him and amira, the date and time presented as well as his signature and your little 'my love' in the bottom corner.

it was what made each and every one of the polaroids different from other photographer's polaroids.

"look, i don't know how someone got these, did these, but it's honestly horrifying." rindou saids, tossing his arms out.

you blinked, before nodding.

if she were to make all of this up, she'd have to go through great lengths and see one of the pictures.

that part was true at least.

so you hold your hand out and look him in the eye.

"then let me see your phone." you whisper, pointing your chin over to his phone that sat on the headrest.

he turns and grabs it, and you snatch your hand back before he could place it in your grasp.

"your work phone, haitani." you demand, pushing the tears down your throat viciously.

rindou pauses, before glancing around the room in hurried glances.

i fucking knew it.

you snatch off the ring on your finger and throw it at him, huffing a bit and swallowing your tears.

you couldn't cry in front of him. you couldn't let him make you vulnerable and easy to manipulate.

"i went through it already. cause you made the password ran's birthday backwards right?" you explain to him, dropping the polaroid picture on the floor.

you don't let him speak, just put on your shoes and sniffled.

"just leave me alone from now on. make me the last, rindou." you whisper, before stepping outside of the house.

your things were already packed in your car.

-

breaking news! : famous photographer and artist ri_tani accounts missing and supposed artist is on hiatus?

is ri_tani quitting his upcoming career? or is he planning something big for his fans?

photographer and artist ri_tani has fallen off earth? what happened?

what will happen to ri_tani's muse now that he has gone on hiatus?

ri_tani's muse is currently missing! all post from the account has been taken down. is the pair alright?

block any notifications, posts, mentions, or texts about (ri_tani) ?

no | yes

confirm?

confirmed! we will hide all posts related to (ri_tani)! enjoy your peace!

-

lights flashed as you stepped out of the vehicle, paparazzi and such taking pictures and screaming your name loudly.

you smile brightly at everyone and the cameras, showing up to your own event fashionably late.

a reporter stopped you, holding a microphone up to your face.

"miss! what made you open a art museum as a model?" she asked hurriedly.

you smile at her, tucking your hair behind your ear and looking at her.

"being beautiful means you love being surrounded by beautiful things." you explain lightly, walking further into the place.

when you make it in, everyone is standing around having light chatter and sipping on champange.

"if it isn't the lady of the hour." you hear call from beside you.

your boss, shuji hanma, stood by one of your most prized possessions wearing a grey suit.

you made your way over to him excitedly, before pulling him into a tight hug.

"this is so exciting shu! i wouldn't be here without you." you call out, shuffling on your heels.

shuji chuckles at that, nudging your shoulder lightly and having a seat near the fountain.

"don't degrade yourself sweetheart. now enjoy. got some mingling to do." shuji says, gesturing to the group of girls that were approaching.

of course where there's your boss, there was at least one girl hanging around for him.

thank goodness you weren't one of them.

you grab a glass of champange and make your way towards the big balcony in the back, sighing.

socializing immediately was not your go to.

you just wanted to have fun and enjoy your pretty fucking huge accomplishment.

you look up at the sky, counting however many stars you could and giving yourself a estimate of how much could be in the sky.

and how much you planned to put up there.

a flash comes from behind you, and you jump lightly, before turning around to face the camera.

"jesus! couldn't get my good side at least?" you joke, ready to pose for another one.

you freeze when you see the familiar face, concentrated on shaking the film to see the picture.

he doesn't look up at you, only the picture in his hand that he was aggressively shaking.

"don't worry, you're beautiful in all angles. you're the owner, right?" the man before you questions, finally looking up.

he scans your body lightly, not invading your privacy, but looking for something.

it stops at your hand, in which you hide from his view and look away.

he looks right back into your eyes, and takes quick steps to approach you.

"you need to leave. now." you demand, stepping to the side and venturing further into the party.

he tries to catch your arm, tries to speak to you, but you pay him no mind.

the party goes on, and finishes off with the entry of a new art from a few french artists.

you move on with your life, proud of your achievements and taking a break from social media and modeling.

it isn't until you go viral on the internet once more for a reason you never wanted to that you return.

former artists muse has been revealed to be our very own 'godsent' model (name)!

why did (name) hide the fact that she was a artist's muse?

after three long years of searching, former artist finds his muse at the grand opening of arts of heaven!

did former muse (name) go awol because we found her secret?

the only reason these had popped up on your phone because they did not bring up that godforsaken name.

the name you tried to block out years ago, but it seems he's made his return back into his life and you wanted him out.

you screamed into your pillow, kicking your legs like a child.

why did he have to show up that night? why did he have to ruin everything you had going for yourself?

why couldn't you live in peace?

your phone rings, and you turn over to see shuji facetiming you.

you pick it up, showing your face like he'd probably demand you to if you hadn't when it connected.

the phone answers, and he has his phone propped up on his desk.

he seems to be at home, in the office you helped him decorate a while back while he was sick.

"good. had to make sure you were okay." shuji hums in delight, glancing at the phone for a milisecond before typing loudly.

"what am i gonna do shu? i don't wanna be known as his muse." you complain, rolling over in bed.

shuji sighs, folding his hands and facing his camera completely.

he didn't look the least amount of stress, he actually looked like he was enjoying your suffering.

"you have nothing to worry about. it's under control." shuji answers, before turning back to his computer.

it doesn't reassure you in the slightest, but you stay silent regardless.

you scroll through social media, before something completely horrifying pops up on your phone.

a art gallery, digital of course, made by ri_tani himself.

what was it you may ask?

the land of fucking love.

-

when rindou hears his door ring, he leans back out of his chair in confusion.

he knows he ordered groceries online, and had a few packages come it, but he specifically said not to knock or ring the bell.

so who would ignore his wishes?

he shuts off the music he had playing in the background, and it makes him freeze.

it was louise by tv girl, one of the songs he heavily related to.

he missed his muse, badly.

the knocking and ringing of his doorbell persisted, so he quickly stormed upstairs to his front door.

it was probably ran, coming to shove his niece into his hands so he could go on some adventure with his girl.

lucky him, he gets the happy ending.

rindou just gets what he can remember and the arts and pictures of his muse.

he swings the door open and is immediately greeted with you, the girl from the opening.

"you think this is funny, rindou?" you spit out, glaring daggers and wishing dangers over his head.

you say his name with such anger, such passion. it makes his heart flutter just a bit.

whoever made you knew just what they were doing.

the way you screwed up your nose, stared him down, and even raised your voice though you knew he looked and probably was stronger than you.

he wonders how you’d look if-

‘focus rindou. no time for that.’ he thinks, inhaling deeply.

"..no? i'm sorry?" he questions, crossing his arms in confusion.

he steps to the side and lets you in, watching as you kick your shoes off and walk further into the house.

you seem to know where to go, and he doesn't seem to mind it. it looks, feels, and seems natural to him.

natural enough to let you behave like a mad woman that is.

you were probably looking for something, and knew where to find it so he'll leave you be.

not because you look like you'll throw his dining chair over his head if he moves an inch or says even a syllable.

definitely not.

rindou sits at the marble counter and stares at the chandelier, waiting for your return.

and when you do, it's his laptop you hold in your hands.

you place it down onto the counter and type in the password in front of him, before opening a few tabs.

rindou must know you, since you know a lot about him down to his laptop's password.

you slide the screen over to him and he stares at his latest digital project.

the land of love.

"yes that's mine. and?" rindou questions, resting his head onto his palm as he stares up at you.

you're fucking gorgeous, but so familiar.

the feeling you give him is full of melancholy love, and he wants to know why.

"why the fuck would you make this? i told you to leave me alone!" you exclaim loudly, ready to tear his head off.

he thinks if you huff anymore you'll pass out or maybe turn into a actual tomato.

regardless, it was totally hot.

if he had his sketch book with him he would’ve drew you right there.

"okay. calm down. do i know you?" he genuinely asks, standing from his seat.

his demeanor was definitely pissing you off, but his eyes hold genuine confusion in them.

you don't know what happened, why he was either seriously pretending he doesn't know you, or why he really doesn't.

but you weren't sure if you wanted to find out.

he stares you down, before looking at the tattoo on your hand.

"you. it was you. you're my muse, right?" rindou clarifies, grabbing your hand to get a closer look then looking back at the laptop.

you don't snatch your hand out of his, just watch him as he sits down while holding your hand.

he seems happy now, unable to contain himself.

"what is going on with you?" you questioned, exasperated tone soaking your words before you can stop it.

rindou looks up at you, and lets go of your inked hand. he gestures to the seat next to him and you take it.

"the last few years i had been taking in too much alcohol and drugs on a daily basis." rindou begins, looking at the marble counter.

it must have been after you left when he started doing this, because you don't recall him drinking or smoking unless he was absolutely stressed and couldn't reach you.

you meant a lot to him, career and personal wise. but you couldn't handle not being the only one he seeked in bed.

you deserved better, and got better.

"to the point where i was drunk everyday without even drinking sometimes. it fogged my brain. even ended up.. you know." he says, not wanting to say the word.

you don't respond, waiting for him to finish.

rindou sighs, leaning back and looking up at his candle chandeler.

"i'm in rehab though. doing therapy to help figure out what i'm missing. the uh- land of love was a release of the information." rindou explains, shifting his eyes towards the site.

the information of him losing his memories.

the information about forgetting you, the most important thing that lived and breathed near him for years.

funny part is, he knew you. he just didn't know what you looked like.

hence the art slowly fading from your back portraits to just the tattoos on your hands.

you sigh, running your hands over the counter in deep thought. there wasn't anything you could say.

but he was genuine. he wanted to know what happened that made you leave.

and you told him. from start to finish.

rindou listened the entire time, not interrupting you once.

he was finally getting the information he wanted. the information he needed to move on.

the house grows silent as you run your hands up and down the marble counter.

rindou is staring up at the chandelier again, completely still.

hearing about his past self seemed.. true enough. especially if you were this mad.

“that.. I was a douche.” rindou says absentmindedly, closing his eyes.

when he doesn’t receive a response, he opens them again to look at him.

you’re glaring at him, but it doesn’t hold the same amount of anger as earlier.

rindou falters a bit under your gaze, fixing his lips into a pout.

“I… am a douche?” he questions, obviously trying to please you.

you scoff lightly, and stand up from your seat.

rindou follows you, stumbling over his mess clothes and staring at you.

you start scrambling, picking up your keys, phone, and purse.

“I shouldn’t be here. I should go.” you say quickly, sniffling and looking around.

what were you looking for?

it doesn’t matter, because rindou grabs your hand before you can try to leave.

“stay. please. why do you have to go?” rindou questions desperately.

you pause and frown, before looking at him.

“if I do, I’ll never want to leave.” you whisper, sniffling slightly.

rindou pulls you closer, watching as your other arm goes limp.

your keys fall to the floor next to you, but he does catch your phone.

“is that a bad thing?” rindou questions.

and you don’t know what to do.

[lady-assnali]

Hello! Here’s some modern day teacher/baby model/multiverse au Anarcia because I’m currently deep into that world and Anetra hasn’t really made an appearance in it yet (even though I’ve known how she fits for weeks on end, oops!) 

           When Anetra starts her shift, the shop is relatively quiet. It’s 10 a.m on a Tuesday, so the majority of their usual daily customers hauled off to work long ago. It’s the brief, incredible break between the morning and lunch rushes, and Anetra had learned long ago to dedicate this valuable time to things like cleaning and restocking. She comes in with that plan in mind, waving to her coworkers and slipping her apron on over her long-sleeved shirt and black jeans. She starts at the window displays,  notepad in hand to take stock of what they may need to replenish. It’s a tedious job, but she’s sure as hell that the girls working with her now aren’t going to do it the right way. She’ll be damned if they’re slammed with questioning customers alongside the lunch rush.

           She’s taking notes when she notices a familiar head of blonde hair slumped over at the long bar table running along the window. The figure has one headphone in, a notebook propped in front of her although there doesn’t seem to be much getting done. She seems deflated, staring out the window with glossed-over eyes. The brunette hovers a few tables away from her, far back enough so that the customer can’t see her lingering.

           Marcia. The blonde most often comes in for to-gos, flitting through the line with radiant smiles for everyone working. Sometimes she comes in with Jan, the other perpetually perky blonde, and they stop to chat outside of the shop with their coffees in their hands and their voices lifting above the crowd. Sometimes she comes in to stay, accompanied by a few other girls who sit around the table with open textbooks that are never really looked at. Occasionally she comes alone mid-afternoon and sits in the armchair in the corner with a book in her lap, refilling her drink at least twice. This is something different entirely.

           “You wanna maybe go talk to her? Y’know, instead of standing there scrubbing the same spot on a clean table for five minutes?” She jumps at Robin’s voice in her ear, nearly dropping the bottle of cleaner she’d been holding. She looks back at her coworker with a guilt-ridden stiffening in posture, turning herself away from the table in question.

           “How long has she been here like that?”

           “I don’t know, maybe half an hour? An hour? She seemed off when she came in, kind of withdrawn. She got some sugary latte and holed herself up in that seat and hasn’t really moved since.”

           “Oh.”

           Robin takes the cleaner from Anetra’s hands, pushing her gently toward the table.

           “Just go, we can’t have your favorite customer feeling upset, can we?”

           Anetra huffs out a grumpy shut up before brushing her hands against her apron, pushing a stray hair behind her ear. When she makes it to the bar by the window, Marcia doesn’t even notice her. The brunette hovers awkwardly for a moment, waiting, but it seems like the girl is truly too focused on something else to notice her. She clears her throat then, reaching out for the empty mug on the bar.

           “Can I get you another?” Marcia jumps a bit, startled, before lifting her head. She’s been crying; her eyes are puffy, her makeup a bit smudged although the mascara stained napkin next to her proves she’d tried to wipe most of the evidence away.

           “Oh! Yeah, uh, sure. I…” She chuckles at herself, the sound wet and deflated. “I don’t even remember what I ordered.”

           “I’d get you your usual but it seems like you might need a treat today.” She broaches the subject delicately, casually, as if she truly did come over here only to refill the blonde’s drink. Marcia sighs, fiddling with the cap of a pen between her fingers.

           “It’s been a rough day.”

           “Do you want to talk about it?” Anetra hovers with one hand over the stool next to Marcia’s. If she tells her she’s alright, she’ll just leave; refill her coffee and call it a day. She’s probably already vented through her thoughts with one of the many friends that tag along with her here. There’s no need to rant to the barista who makes her refills.

           But Marcia’s lips turn up slightly in the corners, and she gestures toward the stool.

           “If you have time then yeah, I wouldn’t mind the company. I won’t hold you down with all the gritty details though.”

           “It’s never really busy until eleven or so, I have time. And anyway, you just…you seem lost. Everyone loves having you come through the line. If you’re upset, then we’re upset.”

           There’s an underlying context that Anetra won’t let slip, setting her own emotional guard up just a bit once she recognizes herself faltering. This infatuation has been carried on for weeks, and she’ll be damned if she’s going to wreck her own chances by making a fool of herself on their first real interaction.

           Anetra lifts the empty mug.

           “I’m just going to fill this for you first, but I’ll be back.” She turns quickly to leave, discarding the old mug on the bar top before sliding in next to Robin at the row of machines and syrups. Her coworker smirks, leaning one hand on the countertop while watching Anetra carefully craft a blend of tiny little pumps of different syrups, the gears in her head clearly turning at each step. In the end she’s holding a near perfect drinkable recreation of a strawberry Pop-Tart. She’d made two at the same time, one to taste and one to give, and Robin snatches the taste mug from the counter after her trial sip, holding it to her chest to claim it. Anetra rolls her eyes at the antic, pouring herself a cup of their house blend with a touch of cream before making her way over to the windows with two steaming mugs.

           Marcia’s eyes light up at the foam smiley face on top of hers. She takes a long, delicate sip, moaning with delight.

           “This is incredible.”

           “Thanks.” She sips at her own drink, the compliment washing over her, before sitting on the stool next to Marcia’s. Unsure of how to start the conversation (or if it was a good idea to pry at all), Anetra simply lets the moment linger. The pair sits and stares out the window for a while, sipping on their drinks. While Anetra doesn’t mind as much, Marcia soon realizes that she’s going to have to be the one to start.

           “So I had an audition on Monday.”

           “For what?”

           “A local group is putting on Legally Blonde. It’s some alumni from school who have a deal with an off-Broadway theatre, so I kind of thought it’d be my way to get a foot in the door.”

           “And?”

           The blonde sighs, looking into her coffee cup. The foam smile has shifted into a misshapen circle, and she wiggles her cup a bit to watch it wiggle around.

           “I didn’t get it.” It’s a fact that’s been running through her mind for two days, from the moment she got the phone call that she did not even qualify for a callback. It had been shocking, to say the least, and a punch in the gut. Nowhere in the audition room did she see anybody that carried themselves as professionally, or had a song prepared outside of the realm of Wicked or Les Mis or Hamilton. She knew she was going in with less experience, certainly less credentials, but she also knew she was going in with talent and heart.

           Besides, Elle Woods is her dream role. So yeah, not even making callbacks hurts particularly bad.

           “I thought I really nailed the audition.” She continues. “But then they gave me these notes…I don’t think I’m the best, but I also know my worth. And maybe I’m just wallowing in what could have been, but I’ve wanted this part my whole life.”

           The notes in question must be what she’s been staring at for a majority of the morning, one headphone in and disappointed confusion written all over her face. They seem to be about a page long, and Anetra does not want to snoop but does manage to catch the word okay.

           “I obviously have never heard you sing, but don’t sell yourself short. This was one company of people who didn’t think you fit. That’s something I’ve been told a lot in auditions.”

“You act?”

“Dance.” Anetra turns to look at Marcia then, meeting her eyes. There’s still so much fire behind the clear upset, and she knows just from the few words they’ve shared that it won’t be long before the sweet, determined blonde is back up on her feet again. “Auditions are hard-sometimes people just want to cast a certain type, or even a friend they promised the role. And that’s not fair but it’s definitely true. Even on social media, it’s all the same. No matter how many people tell me that I’m not good enough or talented enough, there’s always going to be another opportunity to try again.”

“And those people who do say those things mean nothing when you can recognize your own worth. If you know you have talent, then that’s that. You don’t have to prove anything to them, only to yourself. This pep talk’s going to go both ways now.”

“Okay then, heard.” She leans back a bit, impressed by the quick, almost protective nature in which her customer had turned the conversation on its head. There’s something about the sentiment that makes her want to adopt the attitude. If she’s good enough for herself, that’s all that matters.

Easier said than done, but over coffee and Marcia’s pretty smile, she’s sure she could start believing it.

From the front of the shop Robin catches her attention, apologetically waving. A line about five people deep has formed and she didn’t even notice, too wrapped up in conversation to care. Sighing with regret, she pushes out of her chair

“Thanks for turning that talk around on me. Your next audition? You’re going to kill it. I’m cheering for you from behind the counter.” She cringes inwardly at herself, how cheesy the line had come out. By something just short of a miracle, she thinks it may have worked. Just before turning to head to the counter she catches Marcia’s pink cheeks.

“I’ll see you in your next video.” The blonde calls, and Anetra stops for a minute, looking over her shoulder. “I didn’t want to say it before but I’m a pretty big fan of your workouts. I got four rooms of us in my dorm to do them with me in the mornings three times a week. I just didn’t want to seem like a creep.”

“No-you’re…not at all. Thanks.”

“Any time. Same coffee tomorrow? You might have me hooked.”

Anetra can barely stutter out a confirmation as Marcia winks, throwing her bag over her shoulder and heading out the door. When she joins Robin behind the counter again it takes her a few tries to read the first order, her brain stuck on Marcia’s sly smile as she walked out the door.

[corner-stories]

happy early friday

Jean Kirschtein. Pieck Finger. Offices. Internships. Doughnuts & Coffee. Modern AU. 1443 words. (ao3.)

Two weeks into his internship, Jean Gabriel Kirschtein had learned quite a bit about his co-worker.

By the nature of their situation — i.e the studio shoving their new meat into a closet-sized office and hoping for the best — Jean was bound to pick up some of the details that created Pieck Finger.

On a side note, he truly wondered who in the world carried a child for nine months and named it Pieck Finger, of all things. Was Regina Phalange already taken?

Aside from her being diligent at lettering, she often took the office’s casual dress code to heart. Today Pieck was sporting a colorful sweater that would not look out of place in an 80s sitcom, as well as a long skirt that cut at the mid-point of her calves. She also rarely brushed her hair, allowing the dark strands to drape beautifully over her pretty brown eyes and adorable nose. 

Seeing how most of the other men in the studio absolutely swooned over her, it seemed that the messy hairstyle was working out for her. 

Jean was in a different boat. He had developed a fondness for waistcoats in his college years, as he found that it was the easiest way to fit in with the trust fund babies in his class. No one ever expected that the dapper lad in a thrift store garment was just some kid from Illinois who got astronomically lucky. 

At least now Jean could put all of that behind him and focus on his internship. 

Due to their desks facing one another, it was hard for Jean to not get an eyeful of her during the workday. While he spent most of his time focusing on his drawing tablet, whenever he looked up to rest his eyes it was nearly impossible for him to not notice her. 

Jean would often catch her sitting with her elbow on her desk and her chin in her hand. Her eyes would be affixed to the window beside her, to the view of downtown Chicago and the line where the sky met Lake Michigan. Today in late spring the sun was shining on the city, and from the look in Pieck’s eyes Jean could guess that she was yearning for a reason to be outside. 

Just as Jean returned his eyes to his tablet and began coloring the medley of digital illustrations, he heard the sound of a smartphone buzzing. After checking if it was his own, he glanced forward to see Pieck checking hers. After smiling adorably, she hopped out of her seat like a bunny and rushed out of the door. 

Jean didn’t question it and focused on his work. After a few minutes, he heard the door of the intern closet opening again. 

Pieck walked in holding a pastry box and a tray containing two steaming cups. With a look of glee she set both down on her side of the desk, then grabbed one of the cups and handed it to Jean. 

“Hey, happy friday!”

Jean looked up at her with the slightest raise of his eyebrow.

“It’s thursday.”

There was a beat and Pieck looked like she was struggling to keep her cheery expression on her face. 

“Then happy early friday!” she corrected like nothing was wrong. She then placed the cup on Jean’s desk. “The donut shop down the street had a two for one coffee and doughnut deal going on, so enjoy!” 

Jean couldn’t help but smile. Pieck’s energy was certainly infectious, even when she was fighting off the dreading sensation of humiliation. 

As Jean took the lid off the cup and blew on the steaming coffee, Pieck went back to her desk and opened up her box. With one hand she typed on her computer and with the other she grasped onto a decadent doughnut topped with a handful of cereal, perhaps to justify the undoubtedly hefty price tag. 

Pieck quietly munched on her mid-afternoon pick-me-up as Jean took a sip of his coffee. 

“You really like sweets, huh?” he commented. 

Pieck gave him a cheeky smile. “It helps me stay awake.”

“I can tell,” said Jean. He sat up in his chair slightly. “Back in college I would’ve just binged on energy drinks.” 

Pieck shrugged and finished off her doughnut. “I would too, but they give me the shits.”

As she reached for another sweet treat, Jean’s eyes went slightly wide as he spent a moment recollecting himself. Suddenly, there was a certain image in his head that bombarded his brain like shoppers on Black Friday. 

“That’s… good to know.”

Jean took another awkward sip of his coffee as Pieck finished her second doughnut. She looked up to Jean and her sunny disposition had yet to fade away. 

“Where’d you go to school?” Pieck asked, picking up her coffee cup. She then pointed to herself with her thumb. “RISD, represent!”

“Princeton,” Jean answered simply, and without any of the fanfare that would usually follow. Frankly, he had grown to loathe the way some of his wealthier classmates would talk about his alma mater. Back when he was a student, he was immersed in the culture and proud to be part of it, but nowadays he only ever thought of his school as the place that gave him a piece of paper after years of study and lacrosse games. 

“Class of ‘19,” he added in a casual tone.

Pieck’s eyes went slightly wide as she nearly choked on her coffee. “You went to Princeton and you’re here?!?” 

Jean let out a dry chuckle. “You sound shocked.” 

“Well, yeah!” Pieck exclaimed. “Don’t all Princeton grads like… eat gold and sneer at the plebs all day?”

“Well, not the ones on financial aid,” Jean explained in a slightly dour tone. “And it’s Harvard and Yale alum who do that…”

While Jean was relieved to have qualified for aid, he did feel some discomfort with being the penny among diamonds for four years. Lanky, horse-faced boys from small towns in Illinois rarely went to Ivy League schools, even if their ability to play a sport upped their chances. Most dudes at the Princeton lacrosse team rarely came by the art classrooms either, as it seemed like most guys on the roster were interested in majoring in business, econ, or whatever it took to inherit their father’s company.

Nowadays, Jean expected that his classmates were doing some kind of fancy banking shit or crushing major business deals. 

And he was here, sharing space in a closet at an indie comic studio while graciously accepting the offer of free coffee.

“Wanna be in on a secret?” Jean asked Pieck. 

She nodded and put her elbow on her desk, leaning forward like a schoolgirl ready to hear the latest gossip.

“Studio art was my minor,” Jean explained. “My major was architecture and engineering.”

Pieck looked intrigued. “So why are you here?”

“Because I got into Northwestern for grad school,” Jean revealed. “That shit doesn’t come cheap.”

Secretly, Jean was very thankful for his one illustration professor who motivated him to compile his work into a portfolio. It didn’t hurt to have something to submit to internships, even if it wasn’t part of his major. He had actually hoped to fetch coffee at an architecture firm before he started school, but it seemed that the only place to give him an offer was some studio near Lincoln Park. 

Clearly, the economy and job market was in absolute shambles, but at least Jean would have something in his savings to aid his journey for a Master’s in Architecture. 

Pieck laid back in her chair, smiling lazily as she always did. As per usual, her unkempt hair fell over her forehead and eyes. Jean had to hold back the temptation to ask if he could sketch her one day. He often liked drawing hair, but he wasn’t about to ask a coworker something so forward. Even a model like Pieck wasn’t worth risking the wrath of human resources. 

“Northwestern, huh?” Pieck said, sounding impressed. “I’ve driven past that campus once or twice. Would be nice to have a reason to explore it.”

The way she eyed him was suggestive, but not in the nature of indecent desires. Instead it implied a desire to see him again. 

Perhaps Jean was a better deskmate than he expected.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Miss Finger,” he said as he picked up his stylus and went back to work. 

“You know you can call me Pieck, right?” the letterer across the desk asked. 

The look in her eyes was soft and Jean couldn't hide his smile as he said —  

“Of course… Pieck.”

[bookishofalder]

Unexpected

Spencer x FEM!Reader

Summary: In which Spencer and the reader have too much fun together on New Year's Eve. Leaving them both questioning their friendship, and Spencer watching the reader's weird behaviour.

Warnings: TW-Pregnancy, brief smut, drinking, CM style crime scene, fainting, hospital, language, fluff and emotions. WC-3,882

A/N-Wrote something sweet and fluffy about our favourite Doctor. Prequel here.

Spencer was watching you. He could tell you hadn’t noticed, despite being a competent profiler yourself. Which was why he was becoming exceedingly concerned.

Something about you was...off.

He hadn’t pinpointed what, just that you had been acting different for about two weeks now. As your best friend, he knew you too well to simply brush it off. And while he was hesitant to ask you, he couldn’t help but watch you for signs, anything to give away what might be going on.

After New Year's Eve, a night the two of you had agreed what you had done together had been between two friends, who had been drinking and who were both entirely single. 

You had been the one to throw a party for bringing in the New Year, insisting on the entire team coming because you wanted to show off your beautiful condo, your tasteful decorating skills. Spencer spent a lot of time at your condo, often staying the night on your ridiculously comfortable couch, and so it was no surprise that he enjoyed indulging a little too much on beverages that night, and subsequently remained overnight.

It had surprised you both, when he had closed the door on Hotch and Rossi-that last two to leave the celebration-and the quiet he’d been craving for a while settled and he pulled you into a tight embrace, his lips pressing to your head in an uncommonly affectionate display.

“You know, I think it’s customary to kiss someone when you ring in the New Year, (Y/N),” He had muttered, unthinking. The walls he built around his feelings for you, which extended beyond friendship, were thin-weakened by the alcohol.

Leaning your head back to meet his eyes, glassy and wide-eyed, you giggled, “I always thought that was silly, meant for couples to just show off how happily domestic they are!” You rolled your eyes, but you hadn’t moved out of his arms.

Spencer had cleared his throat, “It can be...friends, who care deeply, too.” He replied lamely.

And normally, this sort of conversation might have had you ruffling his hair before you moved away laughing. Not that he’d ever say anything like this if he was sober.

Instead, you had dropped your smile and something...different had glinted in your eyes before your tongue had wet your plump lips. That action had a strong effect; Spencer’s wall simply bursting open. He had pressed his lips to yours with a groan, gathering you closer in his arms. When you reacted in earnest to this, moaning softly, he lost every ounce of willpower to hold back, to stop.

But you had never asked to stop.

No, you had followed him down every path, eager and smiling, falling into bliss without hesitation. Spencer had never felt so whole, so safe. If it had been a movie, the viewers would have said it wasn’t sex, these two were making love.

But the alcohol, it had played its part in this crossing over the line, blatant disregard for the friendship you both cherished so immensely. It had aided the longing, the hidden feelings and tempted you both into relinquishing that control, that steady and routine pace of life.

Best friends fall in love. They make love. Then date, right?

Only that wasn’t the case here. You and Spencer had woken in the late morning hours of the first day of the year wrapped in one another’s arms. Naked, evidence of your activities abundant in your bedroom, on your skin where he had bite gently before laving his tongue to soothe. And you had looked at one another and tried to grip the slippery memories, bring them to the surface, but the alcohol had burned away too much of them...so you agreed, simultaneously, that these things can happen, that neither of you was upset and things could go back to normal.

It hadn’t even been awkward, and that was something that Spencer could never forget. Cuddled together, facing one another in your bed, you had simply talked. About the night, about how little you both remembered, about how you had both enjoyed it, how you loved one another as best friends should. He could have told you he was desperately in love with you, but he didn’t. You followed each other into an agreement that all was well, and nothing would ever come between you.

That had been over a month ago. Even with the limited memories, Spencer still replayed what he could in his mind over and over. The way you looked when your dress hit the floor, how you had let him lead, the expression on your face when you climbed into his lap and sunk onto him, taking every inch while his name spilled from your lips like a song. How it felt like the two of you were made for each other, your sloppy, lazy movements matching in the glow of too many vodka shots and margaritas. Blank spaces were there, but he did remember the moment you both reached your peak, together, moving your hips to meet and draw the feeling of oblivion out as long as you could.

He remembered saying he loved you. He just didn’t know if you had heard him.

Standing in the conference room of the Central Florida Police Department, on a case, Spencer was watching you from across the room. Listening as Hotch spoke, but his eyes assessing the way your hand move to the back of your neck as if you had a headache, the surprise in your face when you noticed you were sweating. You pulled a hairband from your pocket and secured your long locks into a casual ponytail.

Nothing had changed between Spencer and you since New Year's Eve. You still spent all of your free time together, still watched Doctor Who and went to bookshops for hours, shared a double room on cases. And yet, two weeks ago Spencer noticed small changes, things that as a profiler he knew not many would also notice, and yet still concerning. He couldn’t even pinpoint the cause, maybe that was why he was so focused on figuring you out. Because while you smiled at him the same, laughed with him, hugged him-you still didn’t seem yourself.

You had been having headaches more frequently, a little pucker between your brows appearing before you inevitably gave in and took Tylenol. You weren’t eating as much, but you were drinking a lot of water-that was something even Hotch had noticed, commenting one day when you had slipped back into a meeting with a refilled water bottle in hand. You had laughed it off, unbothered.

But Spencer had frowned, his suspicions rising.

There were more subtle changes as well, your skin had seemed clearer but your cheeks were always flushed. You had always been a good hugger, but you didn’t pull others as close to you as you usually would, occasionally wincing even when you thought no one was paying attention. The final straw that convinced him something was going on was your moods.

You had always been a very even-tempered person, especially at work. While you had strong emotions, you kept them at bay as needed. But he had counted exactly eight incidents where he saw your eyes fill with tears that did not warrant those reaction-emotional commercials or a kind word from Hotch on performance. You had blinked them back each time, just as surprised to find yourself crying as he was. And suddenly, you had a bit of a temper too, something that reared its ugly head in the forms of road rage, or impatience with local police staff. Morgan had joked that you were finally growing into your bossy side, but Spencer didn’t agree.

He just didn’t know what the hell was wrong with you. And he was afraid to upset you, to cross a line, if he asked you. You told him everything; whatever this was, he could wait for you to talk to him. At least, that’s what he constantly told himself.

“Thanks, Garcia, can you send-?” Hotch was saying, but Garcia cut him off with her usual cheeriness.

“Coordinates already sent to your phones, Garcia over and out!”

The line went dead and Hotch ended the call, tucking his phone into his pants, “Okay guys, gear up.”

Things moved at a regular pace after that, the team ready to bring in a dangerous unsub, who may or may not be at the house they were about to raid. Gearing up, Spencer and you were separated in different cars but teamed together once you were on location.

Standing in the mid-afternoon Florida heat was uncomfortable, the house they were surrounding had no trees, no shade to attempt to find reprieve. And based on the condition of the exterior, Spencer very much doubted this home had central A/C circulating fresh, cool air. You stood next to him in your vest, eyes focused on the house before you glanced up to meet his eyes, give him a gentle smile.

“Ready, doc?” You cheeked.

Spencer returned your smile, “Should be a good opportunity to see some of the potential beach houses we could rent for a vacation.” He gestured at the dilapidated bungalow. You giggled, lowering your head to press to his arm in an attempt to hide your silliness, keeping your voice low.

“Spence, there’s no beach here.”

“Then why in all the world is the street called Beach Street?” He deadpanned.

At this, you snorted, one hand gripping his arm now, trying your best to hide away from Hotch, who was still talking to the Sargent and hadn’t noticed the exchange. Spencer smiled, a rush of relief running through him every time you acted like yourself. He hoped he was just seeing things that weren’t there because of what had happened on New Year's Eve, his mind trying to torture him for it all getting so out of control. You were fine.

“Alright, let’s go!” Hotch barked, instantly snapping you both back into work mode.

Spencer had been right, unfortunately. You and he entered through the back door, which leads off the kitchen, and the house completely reeked. The steamy air simply swallowed you both when you stepped inside the dirty room, both on high alert and yet still trying not to focus on the smell, on the sound of flies.

Perhaps this was the first moment Spencer should have realized you were not, in fact, fine. But when you began to breathe steadily from your mouth next to him, he brushed it off-maybe it helped you keep your head clear in this cesspool of rotten, unkempt living.

When the main floor was cleared, silently, Hotch and Prentiss were the first to breach the basement. Climbing down the curved staircase carefully before you and Spencer and the rest of the team followed, then splitting off into groups to search the rooms. The basement was large, and it was a very uncommon thing to have a basement in this part of the world- which was one of the red flags they had spotted when narrowing down a geo-profile for the unsub.

Morgan and JJ were behind you and Spencer, watching your backs as you cleared the meagre laundry room, then the furnace room. Down a final hallway, one door stood unchecked, and you approached ahead of Spencer, kneeling for a moment to turn the knob quietly, allowing him and Morgan to burst in first and call for the man inside to freeze.

They had known this man was a butcher, a sadistic man who enjoyed cutting his victims up like it was an art. Walking into his kill room was like stepping into a preview of Hell itself, the dirty and blood-spattered surfaces nothing compared to the site of rotting flesh hanging from the ceiling, dripping fluids on the concrete floor while the butcher no doubt worked at the table that sat in the centre of the room. He was standing there now, hands raised, his latest victim already dead-for a while, it seemed-a yellow-stained smile that didn’t meet his eyes stretching his mottled face.

This was Spencer’s second clue that you weren’t fine. As you hiccuped next to him, catching his eyes as Morgan cuffed the butcher, JJ holding her gun stead on Spencer’s other side. He looked you over and you seemed to be biting something back, and he wondered if maybe you wanted to say something to the butcher, to call him a monster.

Only, then he saw the colour was draining from your cheeks. He could hear the others in the hall behind them, so he holstered his gun and turned to you, watching as you lowered your weapon.

Your hands were shaking.

“(Y/N)?”

You looked up at him now and Spencer immediately felt a shiver shoot down his back; your pupils were pin-pricks, your face now far too pale, but your expression was so devastating like you couldn’t understand what was happening.

“D-dizzy...” And then you fainted, your gun falling from your hands, and Spencer was catching you while screaming out for Hotch, for medics. He caught you and quickly raised you into his arms, knowing he needed to get you outside of this putrid basement, into fresher air. JJ and Hotch were right by his side as he sprinted outside, lowering you to the grass before seeking out your pulse. It was steady but slow and a little weak.

He was still saying your name but you weren’t waking up, and then the medics were there and they checked your eyes and you still didn’t wake up. Spencer didn’t realize he was groaning as if in pain, his mind running through the last two weeks and questioning every moment he had seen, every symptom he thought was related to what the two of you had done together.

Had he been so blinded that he missed a real condition? You were younger than Spencer by a few years, healthy and active. What hadn’t he seen?

At the hospital, what felt like hours passed but in reality was merely fifty minutes-minutes that Spencer spent pacing angrily, proclaiming his stupidity to his colleagues, unloading the burden of his worries on them when it now felt too late.

They knew they could say nothing to comfort him, and so none of them tried, they simply listened. Occasionally one of them would brush his arm as he passed, a small gesture of affection. Spencer barely noticed.

“(Y/F/N) family?” A young doctor called, and the entire BAU stood instantly, allowing Spencer to shoot forward. The doctor didn’t hesitate, “You must be the husband?”

Spencer didn’t even hear her, “Is she alright?” His voice sounded coarse, strained. He held his breath.

She gave a small smile, “Yes, she’s just being settled into her room. She’s suffered a bad case of...exhaustion and mixed with the conditions of the home you described to the medics on your way here, I’m not surprised she fainted. She’ll need to stay overnight, we’re going to get her fluids back up and monitor the-her heart rate, get some food into her. Mainly, she needs to rest. Once she’s released I expect I’ll be assigning her bed rest for a few weeks.”

Spencer didn’t remember the ambulance ride over, just that he had been the one to go, his eyes never leaving you, not until the door closed that led into the staff-only area of the hospital. Had he really told them of the house? “Can I please see her?”

The doctor patted his arm, “Of course, follow me.”

You already looked so much better, the flush back in your cheeks and a small smile on your face when Spencer appeared in the doorway, drinking in the sight of you alive and well and beautiful, so beautiful. You were left alone, the doctor closing the door as she left, and before you could speak Spencer launched himself across the room and gently pulled you into a hug, being mindful of the IV line. Your heart monitor spiked, a sound he was very happy to hear.

“Sweet girl,” He breathed, kissing your head, your cheek, your hand, “I’m so sorry, I knew something was off with you and now the doctor said it’s exhaustion and I missed the signs, I thought I was being idiotic and then you-“

“Spence,” You pressed your hands to his face, and he carefully sat down on the bed, leaning over you, “I’m okay, this isn’t your fault.” You were so sweet.

Spencer shook his head despite the kind and sincere expression on your face, “I should have mentioned that I thought you seemed weird, maybe we could have prevented this.”

You were shaking your head now, a funny smile on your face, “We couldn’t have prevented this. I mean...” You broke off, looking away as if searching for the words you wanted to say. Spencer brushed the hair from your forehead, waiting for you to speak. “When I said this isn’t your fault, well Spence, it kind of is?”

Spencer stared at you, entirely confused. Your words should have cut through him, but that smile on your face made no sense. He watched as you seemed to steel yourself. “(Y/N)? What is it?” He took your hands into his, concerned, and at a complete loss.

For a moment, you stared back into his eyes, an unreadable storm of emotions within them. You leaned back into your cushions, took a deep breath, “I want you to know, Spencer Reid-that I am so, so in love with you,” You never looked away as Spencer froze, his mouth popping open in surprise. “You’re always going to be my best friend, no matter what, but New Years Eve-what I can remember-was the best night of my life. I can’t stop thinking about you, I never could really but now that I know, w-what I do about you, how it feels to be with you, it’s like I can’t get you out of my head. I love you.”

You were so brave, he thought at that moment. You never broke your gaze, your hands squeezing his as you spoke, as you eviscerated Spencer entirely with your beautiful words. He gulped in air, but it wouldn’t reach his lungs. You had just told him you were in love with him...that you thought about him, about that night, just like he did of you. Never, ever did he think that was what you were going to say, that you could feel the same. Never.

“Oh, sweet girl,” He finally gasped, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours in a soft, sweet kiss before pulling back slightly, “I should have told you that morning, when we woke up-I love you too, so much. I felt like we left that night with nothing, despite how it meant everything to me. You mean everything to me, (Y/N).”

Your eyes had filled with tears that now leaked down your cheeks, “Well, we didn’t leave that night with nothing...we...Spencer, I’m pregnant.” Your sentence rushed out and he felt the air evaporate within him, his entire body going rigid.

He just stared at you, waiting for the punchline, but you were giving him this knowing, somewhat empathetic look.

You weren’t kidding.

Like a tidal wave, his stupid genius brain finally pieced together all of your symptoms, the water, the appetite, sweating and headaches and the fucking mood swings. “I-(Y/N), how-?”

You laughed, not unkind as you reached up with one hand and cupped his cheek, “When two people love each other, they-“

Spencer cut off your joke, “No, I remember, you have an IUD.”

You sighed, still smiling, “They did a scan, looks like it’s not in place properly, which they said could happen. They removed it, today. And then they told me.”

Spencer could feel himself choking up, emotions swirling around, overwhelming him. And yet, he could see that even though he hadn’t responded to the news yet, you remained unbothered because you just understood him so well. Understood that it took time for some things to sink in for him. Your thumb brushed softly across his cheek, your other hand still squeezing his, keeping him grounded.

“You’re pregnant.” He said it aloud, stated it, then felt himself brighten, “You’re pregnant with our baby.” He didn’t realize the wetness on his face was his tears, not until you wiped at them with your thumb, now beaming at him.

“I’m pregnant with our baby-it’s been almost five weeks, so it’s still very early, but because I didn’t think, I didn’t realize-“ You broke off then, joy quickly turned to sadness.  “They said that everything looks just fine, that I just overdid it and now that I know I can start doing, all of the stuff you do for this, but I feel so stupid. I thought I was experiencing physical reactions to the stress and guilt I felt for what we did, for almost ruining-“

Spencer cut in, “No, no sweet girl, this isn’t your fault, you aren’t stupid-you’re perfect.” He refused to let you blame yourself, “And most people who aren’t trying to get pregnant don’t notice those symptoms for what they are right away. It’s entirely normal that you assumed what you did, it’s what I thought too.”

At this, you locked your eyes to his again, frowning, “How could we both be so ridiculous?”

Spencer laughed, taking your head into his hand and hugging you to his chest, “I can’t believe this, I really can’t.” His mind was swirling, so many thoughts rushing forward as he holds you close. Knowing you felt the same had his heart soaring already. But you were going to have his baby, be a mother. He was going to be a father.

Your arms snaked up to circle his neck, where you tucked your head, pulling him from his thoughts “I know we weren’t expecting this...I just need you to know-“

“I think I should move in.”

You jerked back from Spencer in surprise, eyes comically wide, “You want to move in?” You were smiling at him. He looked at you closely, holding your gaze.

“I’m there all the time anyway, and if you’re carrying my baby then I have a lot of responsibility now, I understand if you aren’t ready. But I’d like to take care of you, both of you. And I never want to come home to a place where you don’t live, (Y/N).”

You were fully crying now, cute sniffles surrounding your reply, “Yes, Spe-Spencer, you can move in, I’d love that.”

He hugged you again, and the two of you sat together in a state of complete content. Spencer had never been happier in his life, and he knew that even though he could barely remember the best night of his life, he was going to cherish it forever knowing that it led to this, the best day of his life he was never going to forget.

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

PREQUEL

[nugnthopkns]

dance me to the end of love (v)

word count: 4.6k

warnings: fem!oc, cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of poor parenting and damaged familial relationships

series masterpost: here

a/n: and just like that we're halfway through!!! it's crazy to think about it. however, lots happens in this chapter so buckle up peeps

Soon Magdalene’s feelings are going to get the better of her.

She knows she’s heading down a dangerous path but she can’t help it. Ryan is like a drug she can’t get enough of even though she knows it will hurt her in the long run. Living with him has opened her up to the laid back, intelligent, incredibly funny man he is and Magdalene doesn’t know how she’s ever going to function in her own space ever again. They complement each other like two peas in a pod, and everyone else is starting to catch on to the shift in their relationship.

“When are you going to fess up to Ryan about your feelings?” Bette asks as the two of them sit on the lawn across from the university library. It’s mid October, but the weather is still warm enough that Magdalene eats her lunch outside. Her best friend decided to join her today, no doubt knowing that she’s feeling a little lonely. The Avalanche are in the middle of their season opening road trip and have been gone for nearly five days. Ryan’s condo feels empty without him in it, and Magdalene misses him an unfathomable amount.

“Never, if I can help it,” she replies casually, taking a bite of the turkey wrap that Bette brought her from Barn Owl.

The blonde scoffs. “Fuck off. You have to. What are you going to do when he gets back from Florida and you tackle him as soon as he steps through the door.”

“Caligula will get there first,” Magdalene shrugs. “Those two are thick as thieves.”

Truthfully, Magdalene wasn’t sure what she was going to do. This is the longest they’ve been separated since she moved in and it’s proving to be a harder adjustment than she thought. Magdalene feels a little silly missing him so much – she went nearly twenty-six years without knowing Ryan but now he’s imprinted on her soul for the rest of eternity. Living without him seems impossible.

Bette drops the conversation then, almost as if she knows Magdalene is in her own world thinking about what to do. She mentions the upcoming home opener and her plans to attend with a couple of the other wives and girlfriends. “We’re going out beforehand and you should join us! I really think you’d like most of them.”

The bell in the clock tower rings, signalling the start of another hour, and Magdalene promises she’ll consider the offer as they pack up the picnic and say goodbye. It’s a short walk back to the building she works in, seeing as they were only across the street, but it takes a while for the elevator to come around. Magdalene could have taken the stairs down to the basement but they scare her a lot more than she’d like to admit. Hopefully June won’t mind her being a few minutes late.

Her boss doesn’t look too pleased when Magdalene strolls through the door almost seven minutes later then she should have, but as soon as she tosses the cookie Bette brought her in June’s direction all is forgiven. They work in near silence all afternoon, background noise provided by the small stereo in the corner and their respective grunts of frustration when an image doesn’t digitize properly. The university has finally decided to undertake the massive project of making all their school records available to the public online, and Magdalene and June are in charge of getting all the files ready before sending them to IT for installation into the website. It’s a huge task and is going to take them the better part of a month and a half to finish. Magdalene spends the rest of her work day finishing up a box of graduation records from the 1870s and leaves smelling of very old paper.

On the drive home she considers the invitation Bette extended to her. Magdalene knows she’ll be attending the game, having promised Ryan before he left that she’d be there, but she doesn’t know how to feel about going out for dinner and drink beforehand – especially with people so involved with the team. She isn’t like them, in nearly every sense of the phrase, and doesn’t want people to get the wrong idea. It wouldn’t be fair to Ryan for people to assume they’re together in case he ever does want to bring someone around, but Magdalene can’t help thinking that the speculation wouldn’t hurt. Perhaps it would be the clue that shows him how she feels.

The invite stays in the back of her brain while she heats up leftovers and eats quickly, knowing that Ryan will call soon. He’s like clockwork with his precise game day routine, and he always calls shortly after four o’clock when out east. Magdalene’s phone buzzes from the spot beside her on the couch and she quickly scoops it up and accepts the call.

“Hey,” she says, a little breathless because she’s so excited to talk to him.

“Hey yourself. How was work?” Magdalene can tell Ryan’s got a smile on his face even though she can’t see him. She indulges the question, telling him all about the stuff she digitized and what’s next. Though she always tries to get out of talking about work, fearing it will bore the daylights out of him, Ryan insists on hearing every detail Magdalene wants to share. He finds it all fascinating and tells her so every chance he gets. During her monologue Caligula wanders over and becomes extremely invested after he hears Ryan laugh at something Magdalene said. The small white cat jumps onto Magdalene’s lap and tries to paw the phone away from her ear.

“Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker. Little boots would like to talk.”

At the sound of Ryan’s greeting, Caligula starts meowing up a storm. It’s as though he’s actually holding a conversation with the man, waiting for Ryan to say something before he continues to make noise. Magdalene laughs through what could barely classify as a conversation until the cat gives her space to talk again.

“So,” she says, drawing out the word in an attempt to make Ryan laugh. “Bette asked me to join her and some of the other girls for drinks before Friday’s game.”

Ryan’s responding before Magdalene has finished uttering the last words. “That’s great! I think you should go.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says sheepishly, “It would be nice for you to know someone other than Bette.”

Magdalene is surprised at the response, but tries her hardest to keep her tone light and teasing. “Why, you plan on keeping me around Mr. Graves?” She can tell Ryan is struggling to come up with an answer because there’s a fair amount of sputtering on the other end of the line.

“I’d be stupid to let you go.”

All the breath in Magdalene’s lungs escapes her. She didn’t expect him to say something like that, and it sends her mind reeling. What does he mean? Unable to process the comment, Magdalene makes up an excuse and hangs up as quickly as possible. She spends the rest of the night wondering if Ryan was trying to make a move and deciding how she should handle his homecoming in a few days.

☼☼☼☼

When Ryan gets home Thursday morning Magdalene is at work. Caligula is happy to see him, practically pouncing on him and purring so loud Ryan’s sure the neighbours heard the cat. For an animal so small, Caligula can make a lot of noise if he wants.

“Hi boy,” Ryan coos, adjusting his grip on the cat so he doesn’t get dropped while the two of them move around the house. “Did your mom talk about me while I was gone? Been thinking about her a lot lately.”

The cat doesn’t respond, of course, but Ryan finds comfort in vocalizing his emotions. Multiple times on the road trip Tyson made fun of him for the silent pining he’s found himself participating in since Magdalene moved in, and hinted that she might have said something to Bette. Neither of them are great at keeping secrets, but Ryan also knows they want him and Magdalene to get together and aren’t above manipulation to achieve their goals. He doesn’t know how Magdalene actually feels, but Ryan isn’t willing to risk losing their friendship. Just a couple of months ago she sat on the deck of the lake house and told him she wasn’t looking for a relationship – he has to assume that’s still her position because if he doesn’t Ryan isn’t quite sure what he’ll unleash. Though the two of them are close, closer than most friends, Magdalene stills keeps a lot of things to herself and Ryan doesn’t want to pry. When, and if, she’s ready he knows she’ll come to him.

Exhausted from the countless hours of travel he’s endured over the past few days and the pains that come along with being a professional athlete, Ryan falls back onto the couch cushions. He hurts in places he didn’t know existed and wants to do nothing but sleep. Caligula settles into his stomach, purring contently, and though he knows he should unpack his gear, Ryan can’t find the energy to move himself or the cat. Everything will still be there when he wakes up, and hopefully Magdalene will be on her way home. She texted Ryan earlier in the morning, no doubt just before she headed out the door, to say that she was taking some holidays to have a long weekend and would be home around noon. Sleep comes easy with Caligula nestled against his body, and Ryan dreams of Magdalene as he frequently does.

☼☼☼☼

Despite Bette telling her countless times she shouldn’t be, Magdalene is nervous. The significant others of the Colorado Avalanche are a tight knit group and are very particular with who they let in. Magdalene is a nothing, has no true connections to the team besides being Tyson’s girlfriend’s best friend, and she’s worried she won’t make the cut. If it wasn’t for Bette picking her up in the morning Magdalene would have found a way to get out of drinks, but the blonde made sure she couldn’t make a run for it.

Sitting in the elevated booth, she not-so-casually sips her glass of wine while Bette tries to calm her down. “They’re going to hate me,” she groans, lowering her head to rest it on the table.

“Shut the fuck up,” Bette counters. “You literally know most of them, and Livy will be here if you get too uncomfortable, but most of them were at EJ’s back in May.”

Magdalene can’t argue with the truth, so she rolls her eyes and finishes her drink. By the time she flags down the waiter for a refill the other girls have arrived. They take turns hugging Bette and shuffling into their seats. Magdalene feels awkward with no one acknowledging her, but she does her best to buck up and deal with it. It means a lot to Bette, and Ryan, that she’s here trying to make friends so she’ll at least make an effort.

A blonde who looks a little older than the rest addresses her first. “I’m not sure if you remember me, but I’m Mel. I think we met last season at a game.”

It takes Magdalene a second to recall the face, but then she recognizes Mel as the person who alerted her to the fight Ryan got into to defend Tyson. “Oh yeah,” she chuckles, though it’s still got a nervous quality, “You’re the one who was yelling about Ryan’s fight.”

Everyone looks at her like Magdalene had confessed to seeing a ghost. “What’s the matter?”

“No one ever calls him that,” a petite girl with tight curls explains. “We all just call him Gravy.”

“Oh.”

Magdalene isn’t sure what the comment is supposed to mean, or if it even meant anything at all, but she does her best to push it aside because Livy is trying to catch up with her. The rest of the outing goes well – Magdalene keeps quiet until someone gives an inaccurate analogy about Rome and she has to correct them. It may make her seem stuck up, but she really hates when people spread misinformation. Everyone laughs, and after that it’s hard for Magdalene to stay silent. She talks about work and college, but when someone asks about home she shuts down. Bette notices the shift in her behaviour before Magdalene’s face has even dropped, and shifts the conversation in another direction. Soon it’s a respectable time to head to the arena and they all pay their tabs, Magdalene going first and then ducking out of the bar that became crowded while they were sitting down.

The fresh air feels good against her skin, and she takes the time alone to regulate her thoughts. There’s still several hours until she can return home and cry in the shower over the mention of her family so it’s important to present a calm facade. Bette comes out slightly ahead of the other girls and checks in with her friend, but Magdalene assures her she’s okay. It was a bit of a spook, but the other girls have no idea about how fucked up her familial situation is so Magdalene can’t hold it against them. The arena is a few blocks over, so the group walks towards it at a brisk pace. Magdalene’s mind is still churning from the bar when they step inside, so she peels off from the rest of the group. Warm ups are about to start and she knows that seeing Ryan will help to calm her down, at least until they can go home and she can sequester herself away from the rest of the world.

She finds a space against the glass and strains her eyes for her new favourite number. Ryan hasn’t made it out on the ice yet, but Tyson gives her a big wave when he skates past. It takes a few seconds, though it feels like years, but Ryan eventually steps out, all long limbs and hair and dazzling smile as his teammates give him big hi-fives. Magdalene doesn’t want to intrude but she needs to spend a few moments with him to feel completely present. When he skates by she waves shyly, and Ryan doubles back once he realizes who it is.

“There’s my favourite girl!” he shouts over the crowd, making sure Magdalene can hear.

The phrase brings a smile to her face, which in turn makes Ryan light up more. “Hi Ry,” she yells back. “I just wanted to come and say hi.”

Ryan’s heart warms at her words, but he knows that’s not the only reason. He’s lived with her long enough to know that something is bothering her but he isn’t going to push. There isn’t much time to have a conversation, so Ryan takes the time to make plans for after the game. “You riding home with me?”

Magdalene nods. “Yeah. Bette picked me up this morning so I didn’t drive.”

The loud sound of sticks clapping against the ice startles them both, and it’s Ryan’s teammate’s way of getting him to refocus. Magdalene says goodbye and before Ryan heads back to the bench he flips a puck over the glass for her. She smiles brightly, and watches him skate away. On her way up the stairs she hands it to a little girl wearing a much too big Graves jersey. It makes her night, and Magdalene returns to the private box she’s watching the game from feeling much lighter than when she entered the arena.

☼☼☼☼

Later, much later, after all of Ryan’s post game media and sitting through the traffic of downtown, Magdalene opens up about what was bothering her at the arena. The two of them are curled up in Ryan’s bed buried under a mass of blankets with several pillows strewn about. It’s become a frequent place for them to spend time, and every time they lay down Magdalene rests her head on Ryan’s chest and he keeps her in place with his arms wrapped tightly around her. Magdalene’s clutching his hoodie tighter than usual, her voice small as she speaks into the darkness of the room.

“I didn’t just want to say hi earlier.”

Ryan isn’t surprised by her confession, but wants to know what caused the surprise visit. “No? What was it?”

Magdalene lift head and shifts to face him, propping herself up with an open palm. “It’s kind of stupid,” she mumbles, feeling dumb for even bringing it up. Ryan doesn’t want to know the sob story that is her past life. “But it’s mostly okay now.”

“You don’t have to tell me, and I don’t want to push, but I think getting it off your chest will help,” he whispers, feeling like talking in a normal voice could startle the girl in front of him.

He’s right – Magdalene knows it. Telling someone the truth, as much of the truth as she can share, other than Bette would do her some good. Her therapist once said Magdalene needed to work on letting people in, and she figures there’s no one better than Ryan. “One of the girls asked me about home when we were getting drinks, and it’s just a really sore subject for me. I shut down and just needed to see you to ground myself.” Ryan goes to talk, but Magdalene continues. “No one really knows, but I left for Denver as soon as I graduated high school. My parents weren’t the greatest, and I suffered a lot emotionally at home. When I told them I was leaving, they told me never to come back and we haven’t spoken since. So yeah, that’s pretty much it. And I just needed to see you to remind myself that I’m okay without my family. You’re part of my family now, the one that really matters.”

Ryan is speechless. “Oh bug,” he sighs, heart hurting for all the pain Magdalene has experienced in her life. “I’m so sorry.” He wants to scream for her, maybe even break something, but all his anger dissipates when he looks down and sees her crying. Silently, Ryan wipes away the tears with the pad of his thumb and holds Magdalene until she stops trembling. They lay in silence for a while, sitting with the weight of the confession she just made. At some point Caligula shuffles in and finds a spot at Ryan’s side that isn’t occupied by Magdalene. The three of them feel like a little family, and it’s too good for Magdalene not to do something about.

“Can I kiss you?”

She’s never been so confident while asking a question. Magdalene knows he wants to kiss Ryan, has known for a while, and after baring her soul to him it seems like an appropriate time to take the plunge. They’ve never truly been just friends and everyone around them, including themselves, knows it.

“Mags,” Ryan says in a gentle yet stern voice, “I’m not gonna kiss you. You’ve just been very vulnerable with me, which I appreciate, and though I really really want to fucking kiss you I’m going to take advantage of you like that.”

If it were possible, Magdalene’s heart would expand so much it would be close to bursting. “I promise this is what I want and that I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. So please shut the fuck up and let me kiss you.”

She leans forward to connect their lips, and it feels like a fire has been ignited in her veins. Ryan is soft and gentle with the right amount of grit to make Magdalene weak in the knees. They move in tandem, giving and taking where necessary, and by the time they pull apart for air Magdalene thinks she’ll never be able to kiss anyone other than Ryan. When he looks at her, eyes kind and glimmering with light, Magdalene is certain kissing other people is off the table.

Neither of them make an effort to talk about what just happened or what it means. Instead, Magdalene kisses him again, and again, and keeps going until she’s completely out of breath. There’s no protest from Ryan, and he looks as blissful as Magdalene feels. She rests her head on his chest again and he cards his fingers through her hair as they sit in the comfortable silence that surrounds them.

☼☼☼☼

Magdalene keeps kissing Ryan, and he keeps kissing her. It’s always in the safety of his apartment, oftentimes with Caligula in the way, but wholesome and loving and warm. They haven’t defined their relationship, and truthfully Magdalene is glad. She likes being friends with Ryan and doesn’t know how the added pressures of dating would affect them – though she might like kissing him more than just being friends.

It becomes routine for either of them to reach for a kiss before heading to the door. Magdalene gets one every time she leaves for work, and if she’s there before Ryan has to leave for games he’s pulled into her lips by his tie. It’s fun and it’s new and Magdalene never wants it to end. She keeps the secret for a couple weeks, but eventually it becomes too much to hold in and she tells Bette one Saturday when they meet for brunch at Barn Owl because the boys are away.

“I kissed Ryan.” It’s out of her mouth like a bullet, cutting through the air and ringing out. Bette is shocked, jaw dropping, only to open further when Magdalene corrects herself. “Been kissing Ryan, actually.”

“You’re fucking joking,” Bette laughs, still not one hundred percent sure Magdalene is being serious. When the brunette nods her head, she squeals in what can only be presumed as delight. “Shut up! Tell me everything!”

Magdalene indulges her friend, and spills every detail she’s willing to share. Part of her wants to keep a bit of her life with Ryan a secret so she does, but Bette is more than willing to work with the information given. She listens carefully while Magdalene talks and waits until there’s nothing more to say before diving into a long list of reasons why kissing Ryan is the best thing that’s ever happened to her friend. Magdalene isn’t sure that it’s great because Bette will always have someone to go to games with, but she is in agreement that it is one of the best choices she’s ever made. They spend the rest of the morning giggling like school girls over potential love and Magdalene heads back to Ryan’s place feeling light and airy.

☼☼☼☼

The first thing Ryan does when he comes home is kisses Magdalene. She’s sitting on the couch with Caligula on her lap reading a book, and he doesn’t even bother to drop his bags on the floor before leaning over the worn leather and connecting their lips. It feels heavenly after the days-long absence and Magdalene chases his lips when Ryan pulls away.

“I missed you.”

They’re three words that shouldn’t mean much, but coming from him they send Magdalene spiralling. He missed her? The girl who spends her days geeking out over old documents and talks to her cat? Regardless of how true the statement is she appreciates it, because Magdalene missed Ryan more than she could ever explain.

“How was the flight home?” she asks, twirling a lock of his hair around her index finger and pulling him down for another kiss. Ryan happily obliges, and kisses her until Caligula begins to meow for attention. The cat practically launches himself into Ryan’s arms as he rounds the corner to sit down next to Magdalene, and purrs loudly at being reunited with the tall man.

Ryan laughs at the animal’s antics before wrapping his spare arm around Magdalene and pulling her close. “It was fine. We hit a bit of turbulence that made it hard to sleep but I managed,” he replies, and reaches for the television remote. Magdalene hums in response, resting her head on Ryan’s shoulder and returning her attention to the book in her hands. It’s silent except for the low buzz of the television as Ryan reviews tape, but neither of them mind. Co-existing is enough for both of them, and it’s peaceful and easy. The occasional conversation occurs but they mostly do their own thing, enjoying the feeling of being together again. More than a few kisses are shared, and Magdalene eventually pries herself away from Ryan long enough to make dinner.

They stayed glued to each other until Magdalene falls asleep. Ryan doesn’t even notice when it happens, but eventually he tries to leave the couch to get a glass of water and finds dead weight on top of him in the shape of the girl he just might love. Magdalene’s snoring softly, and he’s positive there is nothing more adorable in the entire world. A glance at the clock on the wall alerts Ryan to the fact that he should go to bed too, and he begins to brainstorm how to get Magdalene into bed without waking her. She’s been exhausted lately, working extended hours, and he knows she needs all the rest she can get.

It takes a few moments to coordinate, but Ryan gets himself upright without Magdalene realizing she’s no longer using him as a pillow. Gently he scoops her into his arms and pads down the hallway, careful not to hit her ankles on the walls or door frames. Once inside her room, Ryan tucks Magdalene into bed and makes sure her phone is on the nightstand just where she likes it. She looks so content in sleep that he can’t help but lean down and press a shirt kiss to her forehead.

“Night Mags,” he whispers into the dark, wondering if she’ll wake and hear all the adoration his voice holds.

Magdalene stirs at the noise, and opens her eyes to see Ryan’s retreating figure. “Night Ry.”

It’s late, approaching two in the morning, when Magdalene’s phone starts ringing off the hook. Though Ryan has told her multiple times that she doesn’t need to turn her sound on before she goes to bed, she can never find it in her to heed his words. What if there’s an emergency somewhere and some hospital has to get a hold of her? Magdalene would never be able to forgive herself if she was too late because she slept through the incoming calls.

Despite her underlying fears of missing something important, Magdalene considers letting it go to voicemail. She’s exhausted, between the high maintenance projects at work and trying her hardest to go to every Avalanche home game she can, and if it’s urgent she’s sure the person will call again if they need her. It rings three more times before Magdalene decides to pick it up – if only to stop the incessant noise.

Not bothering to even see who’s calling at such an ungodly hour, Magdalene speaks in a sleep-laden voice that betrays what she was doing not even a minute prior. “Hello?”

Bette answers her, offering a quick but sincere apology for the time but explaining that it couldn’t wait. Magdalene groans in contempt, thinking that it most certainly could have waited a few more hours. She doesn’t voice her opinion however, instead waiting for her friend to spill whatever news was making her bounce up and down on the other side of the line.

She’s about to hang up when Bette utters a sentence Magdalene’s been waiting for but never thought she’d hear at one fifty-seven am. “I’m getting married!”

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy @samsteel @lovethepreds @cutiesara23 @hockeyallthetime @stlouisbluesbrat21 @denis-scorianov @danglesnipecelly @c-tangerine @stormingroses @spine-buster @rapidfever @bb-nhlqueen7 (add yourself to the taglist!)

[andrea-lyn]

The Recs (Less Travelled)

I’m excited to bring you the first installment of my ‘roads less travelled’ recs! I will be doing another round of this, probably once the Ted Lasso fic tag hits about 25 pages, and then I’ll also grab a couple more fandoms to collect in there! 

The Rules:

Each fandom/pairing was sorted on Archive of Our Own by completed works. Anything recced here was not in the first ten pages when sorted by kudos at the time of reccing. There may be some more well-known authors on this list, but the specific fics I’ve picked are ones that didn’t crack that top ten or just didn’t get much traction and I think deserve it, so hopefully I have also balanced it out with other under the radar (and still great!) works. As ever, I have a pinned post of my other recs (none have been duplicated from there), so you can also check those out! Under the cut you’ll find 10 recs in each fandom for:

Raven Cycle

Roswell New Mexico

The Old Guard

Inception

Star Trek (mainly Kirk/McCoy)

The Raven Cycle

savor all the little pieces by littlelionvanz

“Since when do you garden?”

Ronan snorted, “Since I grew up on a fucking farm, genius. Jesus who gave you permission to pursue higher education.”

the old grip of the familiar by littleseal

"There is a single black feather and a printed out picture of Gansey, Blue and Cheng standing in front of some fucking monument Ronan didn’t care enough to remember the name of. Gansey sent it to Ronan’s phone some time ago, but it sat in his messages until Adam picked it up and grinned at it so hard that, one afternoon later, Ronan cursed and kicked and glared his old printer back to life in order to print it out.

Fuck, he thinks, I’m in love with a hoarder."

Adam collects things. Ronan is in love with him.

No Sweeter Innocence Than Our Gentle Sin by gansey_is_our_king

Ronan Lynch has wanted to kiss Adam Parrish for a long time.

(alternately titled: four times that Ronan could have kissed Adam)

Cheers to Another Seven Years! by skyermirth

Adam left Henrietta for Harvard and never returned. Now, seven years has passed, and an unexpected work assignment has brought him back to a place and people he hardly recognizes.

Row, row, row your boat by emmerrr

“What. Why are you smiling at me,” he says suspiciously.

Adam shrugs. “You’re cute.”

“I’m not cute, I’m terrifying.”

“Terrifyingly cute,” Adam says.

and now the world is ours to take / and every single move is ours to make by thatlittleblackcat

"Adam was the scientist, Ronan was the data, and Orphan Girl was the key that explained the strange outliers that Ronan presented, his previously unexplainable actions."

//

Adam sorts out his feelings, Ronan helps him, Gansey is the number one dad friend, Blue is the number one mom friend and Henry tries to make Ronan smile. Otherwise known as the story of how Orphan Girl became Opal.

All These Things You Make Me Feel by SilverOpals394

It was late. Adam could feel the long day catching up to him as he left Boyd’s, all his energy exhausted. When he started his car, the tape deck whirred to life once more. He sighed and raised his hand to turn it off, but before he did a soft melody began to play.

AU in which the mixtape Ronan made for Adam only plays the murder squash song until Adam realizes he's in love with Ronan, too.

Ways to Communicate by Jalules

Blue Sargent reflects on an early memory (and gets busy with her boyfriends.)

(The two things are related, trust me.)

Hold Me Closer, I'm Safe in Your Arms by actuallyronanlynch

“You wanna tell me why I had to hear from Henry Cheng that my boyfriend was at the hospital?” Adam hissed, though his voice wasn’t as acidic as it could’ve been. Ronan took small victories where he could.

“You don’t have a cellphone,” Ronan pointed out flatly. “It’s not like I could’ve gotten a hold of you.”

arts and crafts and the inevitability of death by sunshineinthestorm

Adam comes to the public library in search of a study spot, not a boyfriend. 

But it must be his lucky day—because he ends up with a bit of both.

 Roswell New Mexico

a conversation between insignificant others by Bellakitse

“Hey…have you noticed that our boyfriends are madly in love with each other?"

“You noticed that too, huh,” she answers dryly, letting out a huff of reluctant amusement.

***

Forrest and Maria share a drink and a conversation and start a friendship.

Own Personal Hell by BeStillMySlashyHeart

Now that Isobel's getting the hang of her telekinesis, Michael decides to test out his telepathic abilities. It backfires. Badly. Now Michael's trapped inside his own mind and only one person can break him out.

Drop the Hammer by brightloveee

Max makes a new friend at the shooting range, who turns out to be even more bad-ass than he expected.

(Takes place mid-S1)

Boys Like You by forgadgetsandgizmos

Curly, dirty blond hair (the mere description ‘curly’ felt like an injustice) twisted in every direction off his head, a sharp contrast with the scruff darkening his strong jawline and scowl-ridden face.

Alex made a mental note to compliment Maria on her excellent taste in men.

—

Or, Alex has coffee with Maria's one-night stand, a man who he definitely does not have a crush on.

let's exchange the experience by lostin_space

Michael decides they need to quarantine.

OR

Michael floods Alex with love and care over and over and over.

This Is Hardcore by Anonymous

Michael makes a proposal. Alex accepts. Michael wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into.

i don't know what to think (but i think of supernovas) by Milzilla

michael discovers that the console can talk. then, he discovers it can do far more than that.

iridescence on skin by Lire_Casander

In a world where (almost) everyone has a tattoo on their right wrist with one set of coordinates that point to the place where their soulmate is born, Alex thought he wouldn't be any different. He couldn't be more mistaken.

He has two.

The Real Thing by elliebird

Max checks on Michael the morning after Michael saves Max’s ass from Wyatt Long and his dumbass buddies. He sees more than he’s supposed to.

Written for a Tumblr anon who one of their friends walking in on them or anyone of them finding out about Michael and Alex in an interesting way 

Sundering by romancandles 

“You know it was just an Air Force balloon, right?” says Alex.

Michael smirks. “That’s what they want you to think,” he says, with a wink.

The Old Guard

Peer Reviewed by ishandahalf

[From:] Journal of Medieval Studies (jms.eds@jms.com)

[Subject:] Ad-hoc note from the editor

I have noticed an uncommon level of animosity in your responses to your reviewers (or rather, one reviewer in particular). I am writing to ask if you would please do your best to keep your interactions civil. In fairness, I have also sent a similar request to the reviewer you seem to have this friction with. I trust you will both try and remain more professional in the future.

Again, thank you for submitting your work to this journal.

Sincerely,

James Copley, PhD

Editor-in-Chief

Journal of Medieval Studies

An (accidental) academic epistolary romance as (inadvertently) documented via a (theoretically) rigorously blinded peer review process.[citation needed]

third for a word and the song keeps going Macremae

It was honestly shaping up to be a pretty uneventful year before the Vatican got on Nicky’s bad side.

Or: three times in 2008 that the team genuinely thought about killing Nicky if only to get him to shut up about the changes to the Catholic English Mass and his unrelenting opinions on them, and one time Nile did.

Apex Predators In Island Ecosystems (Freeman et al., in press) by Sixthlight

Palaeobotany PhD student Nile Freeman and her supervisor Joe al-Kaysani are invited to billionaire Stephen Merrick’s new project – a theme park full of cloned dinosaurs. What could possibly go wrong?

This Rough Magic by Marivan

When Joe came to Scotland to study the sea, he did not expect to also encounter a beautiful man claiming that A. he’s a selkie and B. they’re married because Joe picked up his scarf.

It sounds like a fairy tale and that’s a problem. Because Joe’s a scientist. And selkies don’t exist.

Wars for the broken by Yuliares

Five years into his exile, Booker is joined by a companion he never expected to meet. Together, they try to work on healing.

Sometimes they go down to the sewers just so she can scream and scream. “I like to hear it echo,” she explains. “Underwater, you can’t hear anything. Here, at least I can be heard.”

“I don’t feel like a warrior anymore,” she tells him, throwing bread crumbs at pigeons. “I feel broken.”

“You’re still a warrior,” he says roughly. “This is still fighting.”

a good (eighth) impression by deanniker

Over the next few months, Joe runs into Nicky every so often at the farmer’s market. Some weekends Nicky doesn’t make it, because of his work schedule - Joe doesn’t understand it because he doesn’t ask, though he does start to recognize when one of those missing weekends is coming up because Nicky will stock up on things with longer shelf-life. When they do run into each other, they make small talk and move through the stalls together.

Joe doesn’t mention it to Lykon when he stops by, because it is kind of weird, that Lykon’s ex-boyfriend texts Joe things like - If you’re here, the apples look particularly good this week and thank you for that recipe, I did not know what I was going to do with that much couscous

Or,

Joe wouldn't usually consider starting anything with his best friend's ex, but as long as they keep it casual, it shouldn't be weird... right?

get back to where you once belonged by tenderjock

Nile takes a sip of her cappuccino and closes her eyes.

(Booker and Nile get that coffee. Life happens, along the way.)

a house; a home by mehm

“Is this a kidnapping?” Joe asks as Nicky checks both their seat belts. “Like, I don’t mind. It’s just not quite what I expected for my birthday.”

In which Joe gets a birthday surprise, because that’s the stuff you have time for when you and the love of your life become mortal at the same time.

the ties that bind by damaskrose

“There’s a story I heard many times,” Andy begins, “in the Mediterranean. Threads of fate and three sisters. One to spin, one to measure, and one to cut.”

Clutter And Croutons by flawedamythyst

Joe and Nicky have an argument, and then Nicky talks to Nile about what it really means to be in a relationship for 900 years.

Inception

My Big Fat Slightly Annoying Wedding by jibrailis

Arthur and Eames elope for ~tax reasons. Certain people in their lives are not happy at the lack of a wedding.

Remember Sydney by pathera

When Eames shambles into the safe house outside of London, he finds a red light blinking on the phone.

For the inception_kink prompt:

Arthur is on a plane which is about to crash. No way anyone is going to survive. Instead of panicking he calmly calls the team's office and gets the answering machine. He hangs up before the plane crashes.

Give me Arthur's last message to the team.

 (TW: Character Death / Angst)

Of Such Deceitfulness and Suavity by delires

In which emotions manifest themselves in unusual ways.

YO, K2tog (it's like a code) by lazulisong

“Oh my God,” moans Arthur. “I’ve paid less for Somnacin. Good Somnacin.” A horrible thought strikes him. “How much is the yarn --”

“I want you to have an unguarded reaction,” Eames tells him, and pulls him up from the floor.

(They run an extraction on a knitter.)

hit the ground running by orphan_account

"I travelled halfway around the world for you. I dealt with the French for you."

Valley by wldnst

It's an old story: a knight, a prince, a kingdom in peril.

If This Is Rain Let It Fall On Me and Drown Me by Brangwen

We used to be so brave, Eames thought. Of the two of them, Arthur had always been the more fearless.

a gentle familiarity by jollypuppet

Two weeks later, Eames is on his doorstep with bad Italian takeout and a grin, and Arthur tells him he can sleep on the couch.

Your Crisis Cannot Be Completed As Dialed by sevenimpossiblethings

Arthur doesn't do snow, Ariadne is determined to be as Midwestern as possible, and blizzards make cell phone service unreliable.

Let’s Say I Do (I Do) by xsilverdreamsx

There were, perhaps some things worse that this, Arthur thinks, as he glares at the letter in his hand with his name printed clearly in bold ink, indicating his presence in two weeks for his esteemed marriage to one William H. Eames, III, at St. Catherine's Church in London, England.

Star Trek (predominantly Kirk/McCoy)

Show the World That Something Good Can Work by knune

Leonard McCoy is a doctor, not a personal assistant, and maybe that's why he can't stand working for Jim Kirk.

It's in the little things by winterover

Bones is bemused by a persistent secret admirer.

"Wedding" Away with It by pendrogon

One morning, Bones wakes up and he's single. By the same afternoon, he's married to Jim Kirk for Arbitrary Fic Reasons(TM).

How Long Will You Stay (For Your Whole Life) by withthepilot

Jim Kirk, deputy director of the Enterprise parks and recreation department, sees all of his hard work fall to pieces when budget specialist Leonard McCoy arrives from the state capital to cut Jim's budget and threaten the livelihoods of his colleagues. But thanks to a major parks project, Leonard finds a place in the department, as well as in Jim's life—and when all is said and done, Jim doesn't want him to leave.

All-Time Favorite by mardia

What to do when your best friend suddenly starts making new friends. 

Joy Ride by Cards_Slash

While running for their lives from an alien species Kirk had accidentally enraged, they come across a car. And well, if you were to come across a car while being chased by aliens that wanted you dead, and you possessed some lingering knowledge of how to drive a car similar to said car, you would have decided to drive it toward the nearest cliff too.

Also a gunfight.

Syncytia by epistolic

He’d signed up for Starfleet on an impulse, but Starfleet meant James Tiberius Kirk: the first – and second, and third, and fourth – big mistake of Leonard McCoy’s life.

Renovation by canistakahari

Jim has a whammy put on him by an alien death ray and he suddenly craves domesticity. He's crazy with longing to shop at space!Ikea and get potted bamboo and he starts looking into adopting AND HE HATES HIMSELF AND CANNOT CONTROL THE SHIT. Luckily, McCoy is drunk all the time and plays house.

17:08 by butterflycell

She'd watched the news holos with a sick feeling, searching for information that was completely obvious in its absence. Amidst the reports of the the Enterprise's miraculous recovery and the damages sustained, there had been next to nothing about the crew or her captain. Jim had been mentioned only in passing, his name shied away from as his first officer limited interaction to the bare essentials.

The Honey of Hybla by shrift

"Bones, prepare to be my date."

[bluejayblueskies]

agape

n. selfless, sacrificial, and unconditional love; love that motivates action, often for the sake or care of others 

Words: 2.3k Relationship: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood Tags: AU - Tea Shop/Bookstore, Fluff, Asexual Jonathan Sims Warnings: internalized acephobia/biphobia (minor,), fear of homo/ace/transphobia (brief, unfounded)

|| Ao3 ||

.

Martin remembers, with crystal clarity, the first time that he saw Jonathan Sims. Martin’s tea shop opens at seven in the morning to accommodate the morning commuter crowd, but they’re really busiest in the afternoon, which is when most people deign to take a break from whatever work they’ve got for the day.

 Jonathan Sims is not most people. At promptly seven, the jingle of the little bell that Tim had hung over the door once as a joke but that had lingered out of sheer practicality had cut through the gentle humming of the kettle, the small one that Martin preferred in the morning as it took no time at all to heat and the small volume of customers generally didn’t warrant the larger, stainless steel water heaters that sat along the back wall. Martin had had a box of loose-leaf English breakfast in his hand as he turned; he remembers the way the bitter smell of the leaves had mingled with the cool blast of winter air that swept through the door, carrying with it the scent of something acrid and ashy.

 Cigarette smoke, his mind helpfully supplied. Then, Martin’s eyes found the man who had entered the shop, his mouth forming the automatic greeting the bell always elicited from him, a well-trained habit that made him feel not dissimilar to Pavlov’s dog.

 “Welcome to Blackwood Blends! What can I get started for you?”

The man—and the likely source of the burnt smell still lingering in the air—startled slightly at the sound of Martin’s voice, like he hadn’t been expecting to be addressed directly. He was wrapped in a comically large scarf, knit from chunky yarn and laced with warm yellow and midnight black, and he looked like the kind of person who might blow away in the wind if he wasn’t careful. His hair, long and brown, was streaked through with grey and seemed to be fighting a losing battle with the hat that was currently struggling to keep it contained. There were at least two jumpers of startlingly different colors peeking out from underneath a heavy black pea coat that was missing a button near the bottom.

 He was also quite possibly the most beautiful person Martin had ever seen.

 He was there and gone before Martin quite knew what was happening, cradling a steaming travel mug of Ceylon close to his chest like it alone could drive away the January chill, and Martin found himself watching him through the café window as he crossed the street with barely more than a cursory glance in each direction, fumbled with something in his pockets for a moment, and finally vanished into the building across the street.

 Beholding Books & Antiquities, the sign above the door said in curling calligraphy, barely visible from this distance.

 Martin wondered, briefly, if they had poetry.

 Martin knows now that they do, but that the man—whose name, he’d learned on the man’s next visit to the tea shop, is Jon—wrinkles his nose when people purchase them like they’ve caused him some great offense. He knows that Jon never gets the same tea twice in a row, and though he’s cycled through every possible blend that Martin’s shop carries, he’s not a fan of herbals and finds himself returning to earthy greens and floral blacks. (Which, unfortunately, includes oolong, which may be the only kind of tea that Martin can’t stand.) He knows that the bookshop opens at ten in the morning (but that Jon never arrives later than eight) and that unlike the surge of afternoon customers Martin’s shop gets, the bookshop receives a steady trickle of local customers and curious tourists throughout the day.

 He knows that Jon smiles like it’s a secret he can’t quite decide if he wants to share and that Jon’s fingers are warm and soft when they brush against Martin’s as he hands Martin his new purchase and that he might be just a little bit in love with Jon.

 He spends quite a lot of time browsing for books nowadays, to Tim and Sasha’s eternal amusement. But he can’t bring himself to mind.

 Now, the nip of winter air is far behind them, and the lovely warmth of June seeps in through the cracks in the windows and in bursts as the door opens and closes. He always gets more business in winter, when the promised warmth of a cup of tea lures customers in from the cold, but it’s steady enough in the summer. And though Martin’s always been a lover of bulky jumpers and drinks that warm you from the inside out and breath that fogs in winter air, he can’t help but love the onset of summer, because it brings with it June and his favorite yearly tradition: Pride month tea blends.

 Martin finishes scrawling the various specialty drinks onto the chalkboard he keeps propped up on the counter, feeling a little burst of pride at the new tea blends he’s selected for this year. He creates them all himself, making little changes from year to year and brewing cup after cup for Tim and Sasha to try until he thinks they must be sick of tasting ten different versions of fruity Earl Greys. It just feels nice, to put a piece of himself into each cup he makes, and beyond that, the shyly excited looks some customers get when they order a certain blend fills him with a warmth that tingles in his veins for hours after.

 It feels nice, to take care of people this way. To let people find themselves in his tea and to share a bit of himself in kind.

 So when the bell jingles and Martin glances up from the blackboard to see Jon standing just inside the doorway, blinking as his eyes adjust to the dimness of the café, the thrum of affection that always overtakes him when he sees Jon is magnified tenfold, accompanied in equal part by a bite of nervousness. Because, he realizes, for all that he and Jon have talked about their jobs and favorites and hobbies and everything in between, they’ve never talked about this.

 Martin’s never been shy about it. His jacket is plastered with rainbow-striped patches, his bag adorned with enamel pins in purple-black-white-greys and in blue-pink-whites. He knows Jon’s seen them. Jon has to have seen them. He’s just… never mentioned it. And Martin gets the brief, terrifying, and completely unfounded worry that it’s because Jon is bothered by it.

 He shakes the thought off as quickly as it had come. No, he knows Jon. He knows that behind the prickly exterior, Jon is kind—so, so kind, and that he cares more about other people than he lets on. With a small, anxious laugh that Martin barely keeps contained beyond a brief exhalation, Martin realizes that he also knows that Jon is possibly also the most oblivious person Martin knows. It’s infinitely more likely that Jon hasn’t noticed—or has noticed and has decided not to say anything—than that Jon is somehow a completely different person than the one Martin’s gotten to know over the past five months.

 “Are you all right?”

 Martin startles so badly that he drops the chalk. It rolls dangerously close to the edge of the counter before a thin-fingered hand captures it mid-motion and holds it out toward Martin, the dusty white stark against his brown skin. Martin takes the chalk with a sheepish smile and says, “Ah, sorry—got a bit, er. Distracted.” Then, in a quasi-professional voice, because he is at work: “What can I get for you, Jon?”

 Jon doesn’t even glance at the menu; Martin’s almost certain that he has it memorized by now. He taps a finger on the counter, and as he thinks, his eyes wander downward, landing on the chalkboard that’s still laid flat against the counter, the bottom left corner slightly smudged. “Are these new blends?” Jon asks, eyes bright and curious. He tilts his head, trying to see the words better, and Martin quickly stands the chalkboard up on its wooden feet and returns it to its spot on the counter so that it’s easier to read.

 Well, no time like the present, I suppose.

 “They’re, ah, my seasonal blends!” Martin says with a smile he hopes doesn’t look as nervous as it feels. “I always do them in June.” He lets out a little, disarming laugh. “My own way of celebrating Pride month, you know?”

 Jon’s eyes are scanning the chalkboard with an intensity that makes Martin shift from one foot to the other at a pace far too quick to be casual, his hands finding the edge of the counter and gripping it like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. He can’t read Jon’s face; there’s something there, just below the surface, but he can’t get a handle on it. It keeps slipping away like wet bar soap when he tries too hard to get a grip on it, and eventually, he just gives up, waiting for Jon to finish with his heartbeat sitting high in his throat.

 Finally, after a period of time that feels just shy of an eternity and certainly too long to have been simply considering the merits of one tea blend over another, Jon looks at Martin with an expression that feels strangely vulnerable. “I… I can’t decide,” he says quietly, like this decision carries the weight of the entire world. He points a thin finger at the middle of the board, where bisexual berry is scrawled in spiraling letters that constitute Martin’s attempt at calligraphy. It’s an herbal blend, with bits of freeze-dried blueberries, raspberries, and strawberries. “I like most of this blend,” he says, “but er. Not on its own?” His finger moves down, nearly smudging the words asexual almond as it comes to rest atop the ingredients below them—Assam tea, almond flavoring, cinnamon sticks, and little white blossoms that Martin includes purely for the visual effect. “Some people think that black tea wouldn’t go well with herbal,” Jon says, studying the board like it has the secret to life itself scrawled upon the dusty black, “but they’re really not that different at all. It’s all tea, and- and liking one kind of tea doesn’t preclude you from liking another kind, right? So asking me to- to decide between one kind of tea and another is—well, it’s just ridiculous. There’s tea that I like and tea that I don’t and I don’t have to pick just one.”

 Jon’s still staring at the blackboard, his forehead creased in what could be concentration but could also be irritation. It’s still early enough that the tea shop is empty save for them; Tim and Sasha don’t come in until after noon as usually, Martin can handle the morning crowds by himself. And Martin is really quite sure that this isn’t about his tea at all. So, in the gentlest tone he can muster, Martin says, “You can order more than one kind of tea, you know.”

 Jon jerks his hand back, almost like he’d forgotten Martin was there. “I—what?”

 Feeling significantly less nervous than before, Martin adjusts the sign so that he can see it better and says, “These are all just suggestions, Jon. Blends that I like and ones that I’ve found that other people like too, but they’re not set in stone—people have all kinds of preferences, and when it comes down to it, it- it’s all just tea.” Then, because apparently he’s feeling bold today: “I- I can make a new blend if you’d like? One that, er.” Just say it, Martin. “One that’s for you, specifically. Whatever you’d like.”

 Jon’s eyes are as wide as saucers as he stares up at Martin, and Martin can’t help but shift nervously under his gaze. Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that, that was weird, what a weird thing to say when someone’s coming out to you with bad tea metaphors, fuck fuck—

 “If- if you’d like,” Jon says quietly, slamming Martin’s thought spiral headfirst into a brick wall and nearly knocking him off his feet as he registers that Jon just said yes. “I’d like that. Though I- I do enjoy the flavors of berries and almonds together.” He smiles then, a wry thing that sends Martin’s pulse into the stratosphere and his stomach aflutter with butterflies whose wings gleam an iridescent rainbow against the backs of his eyes. (Not his best bit of poetic imagery, to be true, but he’s a little too busy being utterly in love with Jonathan Sims to think about much else.)

 Martin makes the tea, choosing the black over the herbal because elaborate metaphor or not, Jon really isn’t a fan of herbal teas. Blueberry is a strong enough taste to pair with the bitterness of the black tea and it couples well with almond and cinnamon, creating a flavor profile not unlike that of a blueberry muffin. And because Martin can’t help but think of Jon every time he smells it, he switches out the Assam for a Lapsang Souchong and Earl Grey blend—smoky and floral, smooth enough that it won’t overbalance the other flavors but robust enough to stand out.

 When Jon accepts the mug and takes his first hesitant sip, his face lights up in a way that Martin wants to see all day, every day for the rest of his life. And when Jon smiles at him, says, achingly soft, “Thank you, Martin. I love it,” and cautiously, gently places his hand over Martin’s where it sits on the counter, Martin thinks, for the first time, that maybe he can.

 Wouldn’t that be nice, he thinks. And the smile he gives Jon in return feels like a blank-paged book, waiting to be filled.

[fleeting-queen-of-pepperland]

Yardbirds Of A Feather

Robert Plant x Reader

Category: Fluff

Warnings: None 

Word Count: 3K 

-----------------------------------

Ethereal.

That was the only word that could nearly encompass Robert as he dominated the stage with his presence; his arms moving delicately in the air, his back arching through the higher notes, and the way he interacted with the audience as the music seemed to flow through him with every step he took across the stage. 

Seeing him from such a short distance almost felt like a religious experience. 

You smiled and leaned against one of the walls, hidden backstage in what felt like your own V.I.P spot. You had been a roadie for the band for nearly four years. Getting to know the rest of the boys and being talked into into their alcohol fueled misadventures more times than you’d care to admit had been one hell of a ride, and no matter how crazy, hectic and challenging that lifestyle had proven to be, you wouldn’t change it for anything in the world. 

Well, perhaps for one thing only. Something related to the curly-haired frontman who covertly turned to look your way and smiled goofily before turning to the roaring audience once more and lifting his arms. 

Robert and you had the best of friends since you were teenagers. After your family moved next door to his, it didn’t take long for him to come up to you one afternoon and interrogate you about your taste in music after claiming to have overheard Elvis Presley music coming from your room, in that extroverted and friendly way you had grown accustomed to. On the other hand, your first instinct was to bashfully blush and apologize for the noise. Since then, you had become practically inseparable. 

Despite your noticeably different personalities, Robert had a knack for reading people, and he knew it was just a matter of time until you came out of your shell. It only took one year of innumerable afternoons at either one’s house, the park, or all the local pubs; talking music, films, or literally anything. By now you were certain you knew each other better than nearly anyone else, and Robert was one of the few people you were a completely different person around, shedding that taciturn and somewhat reserved layer.

However, as time went by, you began to realize your feelings towards him had begun to change, without knowing exactly when or how. 

Suddenly, you’d feel especially tense and even coy when he did things such as putting his arm around you or playfully throwing you over his shoulders to carry you around; things you didn’t use to mind. At least not as much. You were no fool. Of course you knew what it meant and, moreover, you were aware of the consequences romantic feelings could have on your friendship, so you had decided you wouldn’t risk it. You’d wait until the strain you felt in your chest whenever he leaned in too close and the subconscious smile that crept onto your cheeks at the first sight of him in the morning disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared. 

However, back in the present, it wasn’t until he threw you a questioning look that you realized your eyes had been on him all along, even in the middle of Jimmy’s guitar solo that had the crowd going absolutely mad. Literally everyone in the venue, even some other roadies that stood next to you had their eyes fixed on Jimmy as his fingers strummed the chords of his guitar with dexterity. Everyone but you. 

“Shit”, you thought as you attempted to smile nonchalantly, waving at him awkwardly before retreating behind the stage, putting your hand over your eyes in a chagrined manner. 

You nearly crashed into Gage, a fellow roadie who was laboriously pushing one of the cases in which the equipment was stored. 

“Hey,” he greeted “Is everything alright?” 

You nodded and got behind the massive black rectangle, next to him.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Where do you want this?” 

He gestured towards the spot through which the band would be coming through when the concert was over, and both of you began pushing. By the time you got there, both of you were sweating. Fun aside, being a roadie was also exhausting. 

You reached your meant destination as Robert’s voice resounded through the venue and reached your ears.  

“I want to thank each and all of you for being here tonight! We love you, and good night!”

The multitude cheered, mixed exclamations of excitement and desolation for the end of such a wonderful show filled the air for several more minutes. 

You reached out your arms as the boys strode off the stage and made their way to the back while still waving at the crowd. 

Jimmy smiled at you and placed his guitar on your hands before receiving a paper cup filled with something that probably wasn’t water from another roadie.  

“Thanks, Y/n.” he said before pouring the contents of the cup down his throat. 

“Great job, guys,” You said, smiling kindly at Jimmy and nodding at Bonzo and John as they walked by. Then you turned your attention to Robert, who seemed to be ready to engulf you in a sweaty hug as he often did after his shows. 

However, this time he didn’t. 

Instead, he seemed to catch himself and pulled his arms back before patting you on the back with a smile before walking towards his band mates. 

Well, that was odd. He probably thought you hadn’t noticed, but you could definitely see him change his mind mid-second and decide otherwise hugging you. 

A new, frightening possibility invaded your mind as you carefully placed Jimmy’s guitar back in its case and left it with the rest of the equipment. 

“Was I too obvious?” You internally wondered, “Oh god. He knows. He definitely knows and he feels uncomfortable around me.” 

You furrowed your eyebrows and shook your head sternly, decidedly putting a halt to your anxious, overthinking brain. Robert couldn’t possibly know. He hadn’t said or implied anything, and you had made sure to hide your infatuation as best as you could. 

“Hey, Y/n!” Bonzo yelled, abruptly pulling you out of your thoughts. “We’re heading down to the pub, you coming?” 

You turned to Robert, who was busy lighting a cigarette and didn’t look up. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself, that brief moment of panic had made you feel paranoid, and you decided it was better to call it a night and not hang around Robert in that state, so jittery that it could be obvious something was up with you, and you weren’t a good enough liar as to take that risk, let alone with a couple of beers in you. 

On the other hand, you always went to the pub with them. You couldn’t just decline and expect none of them to think it was odd. 

“No, sorry. Not tonight, I’m…not feeling well.” you quickly put an excuse together and even cleared your throat a little so it was believable. 

“Oh, come on,” John protested, “You showed up to work, didn’t you? You’re fine!”

“I came to work because I love you guys,” you said with a soft chuckle, your eyes unconsciously drifting to the still oblivious Robert. Good lord, even that innocent phrase made your stomach churn. This was bad. “I just need to lay down. I’ll be as good as new tomorrow, I promise”

“Alright, see you tomorrow, Y/n.” John said disheartenedly before walking away, Jimmy and Bonzo following after saying their goodbyes to you. 

And so, you went to grab your things, relieved that your excuse had actually worked and you’d be able to walk out without raising suspicion. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

A voice behind you said apprehensively. Your body stiffened and you made your best effort to casually turn around, lifting your closed fist up to your mouth and faking another cough as you nodded. 

“Yeah, don’t worry,” you said with a smile. Robert didn’t return it. The blond singer just stared at you up and down, his lips pursed in a concerned grin. 

“Okay,” he finally said before nodding and going after the others, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The moment he disappeared behind the corner, you released a long, shaky breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. 

You sighed as you threw your key in the bowl next to the entrance before closing the door behind you. However small and hideously furnished, at the moment that hotel room was the coziest, safest place on Earth. 

You looked inside the mini fridge in search of something to drink, finding only a couple of beer cans. You shrugged as you took one and opened it, a pleasant fizzing sound emerging from it as your made your way to the couch before turning on the television, even though you knew you probably wouldn’t pay any attention to it. Robert’s odd attitude had planted a seed of uncertainty in your heart, and you were seriously struggling to pay it no mind.

“Alright,” a soft, tentatively hopeful voice in your brain whispered. “but what if he does feel the same way?” 

You even shook your head at the possibility. Or impossibility, would be a more accurate way of putting it. This was no longer Rob, the quirky teenager who wrote songs in his notebook and only dreamed of one day singing them to the masses. 

This was Robert Plant, The Golden God. Girls –beautiful girls– seemed to throw themselves at him wherever he went, or stared at him with amazement and even devotion from the pit when he was onstage. Perhaps he was even flirting with one of them at that very moment. 

“Seriously, why are you doing this to me?” You asked your brain out loud with a groan. You’d positively go insane sooner or later if you continued like this. Now you had actually begun to regret your decision of returning to the hotel in instead of going out with the boys and having fun, as it looked more and more cowardly with each passing minute. Sure, he’d be there but maybe the more naturally you acted around him, the faster your crush would disappear? 

It sounded logical to you. If you repeatedly acted as if nothing weird happened, then you would end up believing it and everything would go back to the way it was. 

“Yeah, right,” you said to yourself begrudgingly before standing up. You wouldn’t let some stupid, insecure thoughts ruin your night. 

Picking up the phone, you dialed the front desk to be met by a familiar beeping sound for a couple of seconds.

“Good night, how can I help you?” A lady answered in a sweet voice. 

“Hi, I know it’s late but is your room service still available?” you asked, picking up the small menu that laid on the nightstand. 

“Yes, it is, what would you like, Miss?” 

“I’d like a large pepperoni pizza, please.” 

After thanking her, you marched to the bathroom to take a quick but well-deserved shower. Not even five minutes later, right as you were walking out comfortably wrapped in a towel, a knock on the door made your stomach instinctively growl.

“Well, that was fast,” you thought as you made your way to the door and swung it open. 

However, instead of the room service person you expected, you were met by Robert’s surprised glance as he helplessly stared at you for the single second it took for both of you to react, you slamming the door shut on his face with a yelp and him repeatedly apologizing, immediately looking away even after you had closed the door. 

“What are you doing here?!” You asked, bewildered, as you made your way to your closet and found the oversized t-shirt you wore to bed, throwing it on as you hurriedly made your way back to the door, opening it to find the poor singer looking awfully flustered. 

“I want–” he stammered and cleared his throat, “I just wanted to see if you were still feeling better. I mean, if you were feeling sicker already.” 

He blinked a couple of times and shook his head bashfully, frustrated at his involuntary lapsus. 

“What about the boys?” you asked, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion. Robert just smiled and shrugged dismissively. 

“They can do just fine without me. How are you feeling?” 

“Golden!” you said, your voice raising almost an octave out of nervousness. Yeah, you were many things, but a professional liar wasn’t one of them. “Do you...want to come in?” 

He nodded and both of you stepped into the room. It wasn’t until then that you realized he had brought an acoustic guitar with him. After looking around the room, Robert finally deposited it atop the coffee table. The room probably seemed small compared to the much, much nicer ones the hotel where the band was staying at had, but he couldn’t care less. 

“I brought you chicken soup,” he announced, lifting the paper bag he was carrying. “Seemed to me that you were coughing earlier, and the cabbie said there was a small restaurant not far from here and...I hope it helps.” 

“Thanks,” you said, a warm feeling spreading through your chest as you gifted him with a sincere smile. Now you almost felt guilty about lying to them about being sick. 

“So,” he said, gesturing towards the T.V. “What are we watching?” 

“Oh, I wasn’t really paying any attention to it,” you admitted, to which he chuckled and settled on the couch. 

“You just needed some background noise?” he asked, familiarized with your habit that stemmed from your hatred of silence. “Don’t worry, I’ve got just the thing,” 

He patted the guitar case and then the spot next to him on the couch, which you settled in with just a little hesitation. 

“With what tale of vikings or Celtic legend will you grace my ears tonight, Rob?” you asked, to which he half-heartedly laughed. 

Your smile fell a little. There it was, those odd gestures that had become increasingly frequent and made you so uneasy. He pressed his lips together until they were just a thin line and took a deep breath before shaking his head. 

“None, really. I wanted to show you something I’ve been working on. Well, we’ve been working on, the melody is Jimmy’s but he said he wanted me to put words to it and...never mind, I’m rambling again.” 

You nodded in agreement with a shaky snicker as you brought your knees up to your chest and hugged them. Robert carefully placed his fingers on the strings and began to play, only to interrupt the melody after just a couple of chords. 

“It’s just...It’s not done yet, alright? This is just...a sample, if you may.”

“Quit stalling!” you said with an impatient laughter, shoving his shoulder playfully. He normally wasn’t afraid to show you the songs he wrote, so you knew there was something about this one. 

“Alright,” he said quietly before he began to strum the chords gently once again. He swallowed hard as he parted his lips and began to sing in that clear, whispering voice of his. 

“It is the summer of my smiles

flee from me, keepers of the gloom

Speak to me only with your eyes,

it is to you I give this tune…”

The melody was gorgeous, but that was no surprise. Jimmy had an amazing talent for those things. However, it was not the melody that had captured your attention. It was the lyrics, and the evident feeling with which Rob vocalized every one of them. He kept singing, humming during the bits he still had no lyrics for. 

“I’ve felt the coldness of my winter

I never thought it would ever go 

I cursed the gloom that set upon us, ‘pon us, ‘pon us

But I know that I love you so

But I know that I love you so…” 

He strummed all the chords one last time to close the song and stared at you nervously. 

“That’s...that’s all I have so far. What do you think?” 

“Rob, that’s beautiful.” You said, almost breathlessly. It really was. Even though to you his lyric writing ability was unbeatable, and this had been just a small display of it, he truly had something special there. “I can’t wait to hear it when it’s complete. I don’t know where you get all these beautiful words and ideas from.” 

“I do.” He blurted out. You looked at him and tilted your head, puzzled. He did? What was that supposed to mean? Of course he did, that was kind of obvious. However, as you looked at him inquiringly, he just kept staring back, like he expected something to fall into place in your head at any moment. Suddenly, he moved his hand forward and placed it on top of yours. 

“Y/n, I didn’t come here just to check in on you. I need to talk to you about something.”

Those words sent a jolt of electricity down your spine. This was it. He knew. What else could that possibly mean? You were about to blurt out any excuse to explain your recent behavior, try to dig a new way out of that situation, figure out a new escape plan; until you felt the warmth of Robert’s palm when his free hand cupped your cheek. 

Then, he so slowly began to lean close to you, closer than he had ever been, until his warm, musky breath hit your face. 

“I know where I get those words from. I’ve known since the day you got me that notebook and told me it was where many songs that’d go down in history would be written. And I’ve known since you fell asleep on my shoulder during that first flight to America, and you can’t possibly know how many moments of my life wouldn’t have been complete without you ever since. And before I start rambling again I need you to know, I love you Y/n.” 

“You do?” you asked, half expecting to wake up from whatever hope-fueled dream this felt like, but as that smile you loved so much that hadn’t changed in years tugged at the edge of his lips and his hand squeezed yours tighter, you realized this was all real.

“Me too,” was all you managed to say, breathlessly, overwhelmed by all the emotions coursing through your chest. 

It didn’t take him a single second to close the breach between your lips and his, bringing his other hand to cup your face as well before slowly letting them fall down your neck, finally settling them around your waist, pulling you closer and allowing you to carefully slide your arms around his neck. 

“I knew it was a bad idea to hold myself back,” he said with a chuckle after slowly pulling away from the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. “I just thought...I don’t know, you were acting so oddly around me lately that I thought you knew and you were trying to push me away, you know?” 

“I guess we are two birds of a feather, huh?” you said with an amused smirk. 

Robert didn’t say anything. He just smiled as he brought you in for another kiss, and you knew that neither of you would have it any other way. 

[itspufflehuff]

Adventureland- Steve Rogers Imagine

Summary: You and Steve are the only single people left in the Avengers Tower. Instead of sitting around your rooms all day Steve takes you around Brooklyn as a tour guide to his old spots from the 1940′s.

MATERLIST // TAGLIST

Word Count: 2,573

~~~~

Valentines Day at the Avengers tower was a very quiet day, at least for you and Steve. Everyone had their own dates and plans for the day. Tony, of course, is vacationing somewhere romantic with Pepper. Clint was spending the day with his wife and family. Thor was out trying to woo Jane. And most surprising of all, Natasha and Bruce were having a lovely dinner together.

It was just you and Steve left in the tower to fight boredom and loneliness on this miserable holiday.

You were in your room laying on your bed with your head hanging over the side when you saw an upside-down Steve standing in front of you with his arms crossed, "What are you doing?" He chuckled.

"Absolutely nothing and it's killing me!" You let out dramatically.

Steve laughed and sat on the floor in front of you, "Can I do nothing with you?"

"Yes! Please!"

For a good thirty minutes, you and Steve sat on the floor of your bedroom playing hand games. You started with patty cake, then rock paper scissors, thumb war, you tried to teach him slide for a while but he wasn't getting it so you moved on to hot hands, oh man was that a bad idea. It was fine at first when you were the one trying to smack his hand but the second he went to hit yours he forgot about how strong he was and hit you a little too hard, "OW! I don't like this game anymore." You whined pulling your hands away from him.

Instantly feeling bad he held your hands and softly rubbed them with his thumb, "I'm so sorry Y/N!"

The both of you sat there for a while not even noticing your hands were still in his. "Why don't we go out and do something? Instead of staying here being bored out of our minds?" Steve suggested.

"Like what?"

"I don't know, explore the city?"

You thought for a second before you perked up with an idea, "Why don't you take me around Brooklyn and show me the places you used to go to? Most of it is still there."

He smiled, "I like that idea. Let's go." He stood up first finally letting your hands go, but not for long as he held one hand out to help you up from the floor. "I'm just going to put my shoes on then grab my bag so we can go." You said as he made his way out of your room.

When you were ready to go you met him by the front door. He had two helmets in his hand along with his keys, "Ready to go?" You looked at him smiling as you nodded your head, "Ready."

~~~~

You held onto him in the back of his motorcycle as he drove you over to Brooklyn. The first stop he made was in front of an old apartment building. Steve parked his motorcycle and begin taking his helmet off as you hopped off.

"Where are we?" You asked.

"Y/N, welcome to the birthplace of Steve Rogers." He said looking at the building with his hands on his hips.

"Birthplace? You mean the place you grew up in?"

"Oh no, I mean birthplace," He looked at you amused, "my mom didn't realize she was in labor until it was too late. She gave birth in front of her bedroom door."

"Wow you're mom must've been really tough to not know she was in labor."

"Yeah, she really was."

"I guess you got it from her Mr. I could do this all day." You mimicked his catchphrase causing him to laugh.

He walked you around his old neighborhood showing you his school, favorite dinners (or at least where they used to be), and the theater he would go to most often alone but on the rare occasion with Bucky on a double date.

"I forget you weren't always like this, a stud women chased after all the time." You joked.

"Well, I wasn't the best looking back then. Bucky- Well he was always the one getting women. He tried to help set me up with some but in the end, they were never interested."

"Well, they missed out on an amazing man." You looked up at him as the both of you stood in front of the abandoned theater.

His head hung down as he chuckled, "You mean the stud I am now?"

You smiled, "No. You don't need to be a stud to be an amazing man. Any woman would have been lucky to have you then or now. They were just too focused on looks to see that."

He wasn't quite sure what to say. You were such an amazing girl and no doubt attractive. He had always been so focused on Peggy that he didn't realize there was a girl for him in this time.

You both looked into each other's eyes smiling. For a quick second, he looked down at your lips then back up to your eyes. He didn't think you would notice but you did. Clearing your throat you looked back at the theater, "So Mr. Rogers if you were in the 40s right now where would you take a lady out on Valentine's day?"

"Well back then they used to have a fair on Valentine's day. They'd have rides, food stands, a fortune teller, and a photo booth. I went once on a double date with Bucky but my date left me halfway through, it was not fun." He let out a small laugh at the end.

"Let's do it." You said making your way back to the apartment complex where he left his motorcycle.

"What?" He caught up to you quickly.

"Let's give you the Valentine's Day fair you deserved."

"How?"

"There's a small amusement park not too far from here. They have rides and no doubt food stands. I'm sure they'll have a photo booth set up somewhere."

~~~~

"Welcome to Adventureland. Today tickets are half off for couples." The man at the booth greeted you both with a smile.

You grabbed Steve's hand happily, "Well it's a good thing we're a couple right Stevie?"

"Of course, darling." He said in an unconvincing tone wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

The man eyed you two for a second. Whether or not he

believed you, you weren't sure. He said nothing and gave you the price for the tickets. Before you can even reach for your wallet Steve grabbed his and paid the man. He handed you each a wristband that would give you access to the park.

Excited, you grabbed Steve's hand and ran into the park. He followed behind you laughing.

Gosh she's so darn adorable.

The amusement park wasn't as busy as you expected it to be. Most of the guests here were teenagers. Then there was you and a one hundred year old man in a 20/30 year olds body. You didn't care that you two were the oldest people there. You promised Steve you'd give him the Valentine's Day he deserved and you were sticking by your promise.

"So what shall we do first? Carousel, bumper cars, the spiney wanna be teacups- oh! Or the tunnel of love?" You said wiggling your eyebrows.

In that moment both of your stomachs growled.

"How about the restaurants?" Steve laughed.

"That might be a good start." You laughed along.

Neither of you even realized it but you were still holding onto his hand. As you walked to the nearest food place you're hands swung together in a child like way. When you walked into the restaurant there was a small line of people waiting to order. As the both of you stood in line you looked up at the menu together, still hand in hand. It wasn't until it was time to pay you both realized you'd been holding hands this whole time. You were going to reach for your wallet as Steve went for his when you tugged onto each other's hand. Quickly you let go and while your mind lingered on the feel of his hand in yours he took his wallet out first paying for both your meals. He thanked the cashier and took the receipt with the number of your order on it before leading you to an empty table.

"You paid for the tickets, I should've paid for the food." You frowned.

"Well you should've gotten to your wallet faster." He laughed at you and winked.

"That's not fair! I was... distracted."

"On what? My devilishly good looks?" He pretended to flip his hair causing you to laugh.

"Yes let's go with that."

You both ate in silence as you had both not rated since that morning and it was mid-afternoon. It was safe to say you were starving. As you and Steve got to your last bites you asked, "what should we do when we go back out?"

He leaned back into his chair thinking, "well we should start somewhere slow. We did just eat I don't want anyone getting sick out there."

"Right. Right. So... tunnel of love?" You raised an eyebrow as you took a sip of your drink.

He dropped his head laughing then nodded, "yes tunnel of love."

"Yes!!" You had only two bites of your food left so you quickly shoved it in your mouth then threw both your and Steve's trash away. He was barley understanding what was happening when you grabbed his wrist and pulled him along with you towards the door.

You were in line for the tunnel of love within 40 seconds of leaving the diner. Steve couldn't help but laugh, "Why are you so excited for this ride?"

"Umm hello!? Its Valentine's Day. This is THE Tunnel of Love. We would be missing out on a great opportunity if we didn't get on this ride today." You said as a matter of fact.

~~~~

When you exited the ride you both couldn't stop laughing, "That was the lamest ride I've ever been on." You were able to manage saying.

Steve nodded in agreement unable to say anything. You both finally calmed down taking some deep breaths. "Come on let's walk around and see what else we can do here." Steve nodded his head toward the other side of the park you had not explored yet. He put his arm around your shoulder as you two made your way to the other attractions.

"Come right up and test your strength!" You heard coming from the right of Steve. Peeking your head around him you gasped, "Oh my gosh, Steve you have to try that!"

"What? Why?"

"These games are also rigged so that strong men will never make it to the top. But you're not just strong your super human strong! You'll for sure beat the game."

Steve just shrugged her shoulders, "You convinced me." He let go of your shoulders dropping his arm to his side's then walked over to the man at the booth, "I'd like to take a crack at this game." Steve casually said.

The man looked a bit nervous, obviously knowing who Steve was and just how strong he could be. "Are you sure about that sir? There may be some other games you might find more fun than this boring old thing."

Steve just smiled at him overconfident, "This one looks just fine. How much to play?"

"Only $3 my good sir."

Without even looking down at his money he handed the man three dollar bills, then took the mallet getting ready to strike. Almost as if it were nothing Steve hit the button causing the bell to hit all the way to the top. A ding indicated Steve was 'Stronger than Captain America' or at least that's what the board said, but what does it know? It's just a board after all.

You watched him in amusement as he picked the biggest prize they had on display, a narwal stuffed animal the size of Steve's head.

He proudly walked back over to you, "Here you keep it."

"Thank you. What should we name it?" You asked as you both continued walking throughout the park.

This time Steve stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, "Umm how about Twinkle. It looks like it has stars here on its tail." You turned the animal over proving him right. "Ok Twinkle it is."

As time went on and the food in your stomach settled you both moved onto better rides. The one you were both excited about was the bumper cars. You buckled twinkle up in the seat next to yours as you chased Steve around trying to crash into his car. Somehow in that tiny room you lost him and crashed into some teenagers. Then you felt something crash into your side. Sitting in the cart next to yours was Steve laughing mischievously. You were ready to chase after him when the ride ended.

You two started getting tired when the sun began to set. Instead of leading you to the parking lot Steve rushed you both over to the Ferris wheel insisting it would be the last ride of the night. When you were both strapped in you set Twinkle down between you both. Steve rest his arm around you as your compartment rose into the air. The higher up you went the colder it got. It didn't bother Steve but he could tell it bothered you. He felt your shivering grow the closer you got to the top. He pulled you in closer to him and rubbed your arm with his hand. When you reached the top your breath hitched at how beautiful the view was. You could see the lights of the amusement park being lit up as the sky turned into colors of oranges, pinks, and purples. By the time you reached the bottom the sun had completely set and the park was illuminated with street lights.

Steve hopped off first holding his hand out to help you. When you stepped down Steve didn't let your hand go, instead he interlocked your fingers together.

On your way back you spotted a small photo booth tucked away in one of the parks corners. Excited you started to tug in Steve's had with a wide smile, "Let's go this way!" You didn’t wait for his response when you turned directions toward the photo booth. He almost tripped over his own feet at the sudden change. Then without saying a word you pulled him into the booth with you. Taking advantage of his confusion you took your money out to pay for the photos. “Smile!” You said excitedly as the first of three pictures were taken. The photo booth was a bit old and didn’t have a screen to show you what the photos looked like right after they were taken.

You and Steve exited the booth excited to see your pictures. The first one you were smiling as Steve looked at you confused. The second photo he had his arm around your shoulder but his hands were making bunny ears as you both smiled. In the last photo you kissed Steve’s cheek. Sadly only one copy was printed, “You keep it. I’m sure we’ll take more in the future.” You said walking away.

He stood there and smiled to himself looking at the picture, “there definitely will be.”

[arieswonjin]

my go-to (barista/cafe au)

pairings: goo jungmo x reader

genre: fluff, enemies(?) to lovers if you squint

summary: dealing with customers has never been your favorite part of being a barista. especially customers like goo jungmo. and now you have to train him to become one? that’s just great. 

word count: 3.2k

warnings: none

song inspo: 커피를 마시고 coffee - reprise

masterlist | request here! | how to request |

"sir, may i ask if you’re going to order or not? you can step aside first if-"

"wait, wait. how different is the iced latte from the iced caramel latte?" says the man while still looking up at the menu overhead, lips parted, eyes squinted, and hands on the side of his neck, mid-scratch. you tapped the cash register impatiently and took note of how his sharp jaw moved as he scrutinized the menu. was it possible to hate someone at first sight? he was only your first customer of the day yet your blood was already boiling. either finals season was getting to you or this guy had a knack for testing your patience.

you walked to your part-time job every day at the break of dawn just in time for you to see most of the commercial establishments opening. people were going about their own mornings preferring to be undisturbed, you included. earphones in, you savored the few peaceful moments you had to yourself before the chaos of a morning shift.

more often than not, your shifts were totally and utterly uninteresting: you would be prepping ingredients to be used for the rest of the day and office employees or the occasional student running late for a 7 am class would be walking in and out to get their morning fix. there was also a bunch of cleaning left for you. the night-shift employee was simply not thorough enough to distinguish which mop to use for the spills. to this, you did your first of many eye-rolls for the day.

that being said, you weren’t exactly the most patient among your colleagues; however, the laid-back atmosphere this friendly neighborhood cafe had when it was not teeming with customers around the early afternoon almost made you forget about your subtle hatred for human interaction.

but today, as you started your shift at 6 am in the morning with your eyes barely open and a man who has been standing in front of you for more than three minutes, you remembered just why.

"well, sir, obviously, the caramel latte...has caramel." you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at the stupid question, whispering the better part of your sentence to mask your tone. but as they all say, the customer is always right. what a nonsensical saying.

"give me a second. i’ll just call a friend to ask what to order here.”

to your distaste, the older male leisurely took his phone out from his brown coat and scrolled through his contacts like he had all the time in the world. oh, if he could only hear your inner thoughts.

“wait-” he flashed you a friendly smile while fumbling with the gadget. “hey, serim-hyung-"

the man flinched, almost too dramatically, when you placed both your palms on the counter with just the right amount of force to shake its contents. he expected to see you fuming but instead saw the softest expression on your face which, frankly, was scarier.

"one caramel latte, hot, with an extra shot of espresso and a pump of dark chocolate for?"

"goo jungmo." he replied, suddenly alert, phone still pressed to his ear. the dull sounds of a confused friend on the other line now went unnoticed.

"...goo jeonmo. coming right up," you punched in the order while holding a fake smile that started to hurt your cheeks and exhaled a breath you didn't know you’ve been holding. breathe, y/n, this will be a fine morning. he’ll be out of here in just a few minutes.

“it's actually goo jung-"

"5,000 won, please." you extended your palm to him without making eye-contact.

jungmo just stared at your hand for a few seconds, still dazed with your outburst. could that even be considered an outburst? how strange. "oh. here." and it just started to sink in that you practically made his order for him.

"hey, i didn't ask for a-" he leaned in to take a peek at the monitor, ready to protest against the sudden turn of events. all he wanted was to get a new kind of morning coffee at this new place before walking to the university, yet it seemed like the way you two met was enough to shake the morning drowsiness out of the both of you.

"it's good. it’s my go-to. consider it a secret special," you said nonchalantly and turned the monitor away from him. you handed him the receipt and gestured him towards the claiming counter. "next customer, please."

jungmo slowly slid to the side as he placed his hands inside his pockets. he just shook his head, trying to wipe away the amused smile he now unconsciously had on his face while thinking about the humor in this encounter.

“oh shoot. sorry, hyung. did i wake you? my bad... but i guess you have to get up now, huh?” he laughed mischievously, getting back to the phone call left unattended a few moments ago. “oh, it was nothing! i’ll tell you about it later. it’s funny, really.”  

with a quick glance at your nameplate, he started to think about what other interesting encounters would take place in this cafe in the following mornings. maybe he just found his new pre-class route.

the rest of the week was uneventful to say the least. your encounter with the unrealistically good-looking yet annoyingly slow customer was now far forgotten. as per usual, university kept you busy outside of work.

you’ve always thought your part-time job jived well with your college degree. after all, there’s nothing like the scent and taste of coffee to keep a pre-med student awake in front of their brick-like pathophysiology books. all those extra shots of espresso and doses of dark chocolate are enough to keep your eyes open and your mind running for countless all-nighters.

and that was exactly what you were planning to do tonight. clad in your most comfortable sweater which replaced your coffee-stained apron, a cold drink in hand, you made your way to the haneul university library.

seoul started and ended its day just like any other famous metropolis. jungmo observed this everyday as his feet took him to where he needed to be like it's second nature. but that one wednesday when he broke his routine and entered a new side-street cafe, his morning became unlike any other stroll to the university and he was sure to go back.

for two very unexpected reasons.

first, because he was surprisingly offered a part-time job (a funny coincidence. who would’ve thought the cafe owner was his father’s high school bandmate?) and second, well, because he found himself craving your go-to drink. that genius mix really got to him. and to think that he didn’t even order it himself.

he pondered dropping by the cafe before his first day of barista training tomorrow as he stood up to exit the university library. jungmo just spent most of the evening finishing a 10-page world history paper, his last agenda for the day.

“agh… my back hurts.” he stretched before grabbing his jacket and the last of his things from the study table.

“y/n? the book you were looking for was just returned here,”

jungmo involuntarily snapped his head towards the front desk, reacting to the name called out by the resident librarian. he scratched his neck in confusion as he looked for the source of the voice.

“ah, thank you. i’ll take this,”

so it’s really that y/n from the cafe? he followed you with his eyes as you walked back to the library table that you were occupying alone. jungmo, his mouth frozen in a small ‘o’ at yet another coincidence, might just have a change of evening plans. haneul university was truly full of surprises. and good ones.

“long night?”

you abruptly looked up from the stack of notes you were studying intently, unable to properly respond to jungmo’s small talk. nonetheless, the look of recognition on your face was enough to urge him to continue.

“one caramel latte, with an extra shot of espresso and a pump dark chocolate for y/n. but you seem to be having it iced now?” he looked over at the drink on top of your desk, trying to use his wide smile to start a conversation. it’s how people almost always immediately warmed up to the charming and childlike goo jungmo. he silently hoped you were not an exception, even if he straight up just mocked your lines.

“you study here?” you asked when you recovered from the sudden greeting, if you could even call it that.

“well, obviously, i do.” jungmo mocked you again, all in good fun. he successfully replicated the tone you used with him during your not-so-pleasant cafe encounter.

you sighed in defeat. you really did feel sorry for the way you acted. it was a good thing you still even had your job. “i’m sorry for how i acted that morning. i guess it was the stress getting to me. jeonmo, right?”

“goo jungmo, actually.” he laughed, finally succeeding in correcting the mistaken name at which you just facepalmed in embarrassment. “no worries. i was really slow, wasn’t i?” he scratched the back of his head, a tinge of realization crossing his facial expression. you nodded with pursed lips.

“but hey, at least i got three good things out of that morning in bt cafe.” he casually sat on the chair next to you and pulled up three fingers, counting down while he spoke. “the drink was good, and i got a new job there, and...”

“wait, you’re the new recruit i have to teach?! you know i have to work nights now, right?”

maybe it was the way he sat down beside you so comfortably or how adorably foolish he looked with that habitual scratch to the neck, but holding a casual conversation with this jungmo wasn’t hard at all. the first impressions my 6 am-self created are really unreliable.

“you make it sound so sketchy. it’s a cafe job, not some underground cult.”

you rolled your eyes at his joke and scoffed, internally thanking the heavens for his humor that’s making this sudden interaction so light-hearted. he waved the previous statement off and continued. “turns out bt cafe stands for boys in trouble, my father’s band back in high school.”

“your father is mr. kim’s bandmate?! he talks endlessly about his band phase!”

“shhh!” both of you bowed to the librarian who was peering at you through the shelves on your far-left.

“best bandmate, mind you. it’s the reason why i picked up some guitar skills growing up.” jungmo gets immersed in your now-hushed conversation, making himself lean back on the library chair despite not having any work to do. you did the same, unconsciously leaning in to hear more about your boss.

your pending tasks were left undone for the meantime and you and jungmo were subjected to about three more glares from the librarian that night.

night 1: bt cafe

the training starts.

“coffee beans. they all look the same.” now wearing an apron identical to the one you had, jungmo stood in front of the cafe pantry trying to decipher the coffee beans you’ve been introducing to him without their respective labels.  

“that’s what amateurs always say,” you teased. from the previous night, you already established how fun it was to see his reactions to even the smallest attempts to irritate him. it was a good thing trainings took place in the early evenings when you actually had the energy for a bit of fun.

“well, i am an amateur. that’s why you’re teaching me, sunbae.” jungmo jabbed back and followed you around the main counter, hands clasped together as he tried to act like a cute and enthusiastic junior.

you pretended to cringe and broke in laughter when he whined. “back to the coffee beans…”

night 7: bt cafe

within a week, jungmo got the hang of working the bulky and stubborn espresso machine. he has yet to produce a perfectly good batch without burning himself, though.

“i’m surprised you even have the time for a part-time job, pre-med.”

“i could say the same to you, mr. pilot. don’t you have plane diagrams to memorize--ow! that’s hot!” you retreated from the hot cup he was handing to you.

“shit, did I burn you?” jungmo instinctively took your hand and started to look for any redness and swelling, turning your hand over in his. “where does it hurt?”

“.....i’m okay.” you looked up at the much taller male and slowly slid away, finding the sudden proximity quite foreign.

“a baristas hands are precious. let me get a cold towel,”

you followed his retreating figure with your eyes, noting how easily he blended in with the rest of the cafe, apron and all. with a shake of your head and a repressed smile, you might have just thought about calling him cute.

night 10: bt cafe

“....then, after that you just let the coffee drip by itself for about 15-20 minutes- yah.”

“hmm?” jungmo straightened up from having his head on his palm, elbows against the counter. “sorry. you kinda looked...cute...when you were focused.” he said softly without making eye-contact as he mimicked the coffee drip set-up you just made. he realized that it was a weird feeling, suddenly being timid like this.

“tch. focus.” you turned your back to place some ingredients back on their shelves, taking this opportunity to smile and recollect yourself before going back to watching jungmo’s progress.

night 14: university grounds

"you really don't have to bring me these to track your progress..." you saw jungmo waiting outside the biology laboratory for the third time this week, thermos clutched in hand. a few days ago, he insisted on buying his own coffee drip set to get some practice at home. talk about being thoughtfully extra.

"i mean, yeah, we're together every night but you have to see how i do it on my own!"

"shh! people will take that out of context, idiot!" you looked around at the waves of people piling out of the laboratory, worried someone might overhear. jungmo just teased you by wiggling his eyebrows, earning him a smack to the shoulder.

night 20: bt cafe

“yes, y/n, to what do i owe this pleasure of a phone call from you?” jungmo answered his phone after several rings. you were beginning to worry that he got into an accident. why was he so late to his training tonight?

“where are you?”

“i might not come tonight. important presentation tomorrow and we might have to pull an all-nighter. don’t worry! i already told our boss. wait, you’re actually looking for me.”

“i mean, you’ve been coming every night so…”

“y/n misses me.” you almost hear his teasing face through the phone lines. jungmo heard your eyes roll in turn.

“uhm, no, thank you. i’m hanging up.” you put your phone back inside your pocket only to retrieve it after a few seconds when you received a message notification.

don’t worry! i miss you too!

night 30: haneul university library

“agh. how am i ever going to save lives like this?” the sound of resignation in your voice made jungmo look up from his laptop. aside from the regular trainings, you and jungmo have arranged regular study sessions. it’s safe to say that you’ve been spending a good fraction of your week with your fellow haneul student, workmate, and, as it now seems, a special friend.

“you’re keeping me alive just fine, though, doc.” jungmo walked over to your side of the library table and ruffled your hair while your face was still buried in your textbooks. his previous statement went unnoticed. “you should go home early tonight. i’ll take you.” he pulled you up by the arm, shaking you to encourage you to stand up as you grunted.

“thanks, mogu.” 

he just nodded at you with a smile and held out his arm to drape around you while you walked. “let’s go.”

night 40: university garden

“hey, you never told me about the third thing.” you sat on the garden bench, stopping jungmo’s strides and pulling him to sit too.

"hmm?"

“the third good thing you got from that day at the cafe. you got a good drink, got a job and….?” you urged him to continue, expecting the answer to be something trivial. after all, it was something he told you on the first day you properly met. would he even remember what the third thing was?

“that? the third thing is that..." jungmo took his time and pretended to fix his jacket, intentionally stalling until you glared at him.

"....i met you.” the casual tone in his voice and the giggle that accompanied it made it seem like it was something he said everyday.

"liars go to hell. and you're full of cheese."

"but you love cheese." he shrugged. knowing you couldn’t deny this, jungmo stood up and pulled you by the hand, ready to walk you home like what the both of you have gotten used to.

night 50: bt cafe

“so you sold your coffee drip set to wonjin because…?” you were fixing up the last of today’s orders with jungmo waiting beside you to place them on their cup holders.

“i don’t need to make coffee for myself anymore. you speed up my heart just fine throughout the day now.” he secured the cups and held them out to the waiting customer. “come again!”

“goo jungmo.” you turned bright red and hid your embarrassment by slapping jungmo’s arm. “don’t fool around like that.”

“ey. i just confessed, can’t you be a little more accommodating?” jungmo ran to the door and flipped the cafe sign from open to closed. “should i have written it in latte art or something? i like you. would 8 letters fit in that tiny cup?”

“you call that a confession?” this earned the iconic whine from goo jungmo. "hey, idiot!" you called to him from across the empty cafe and scratched your neck like he always did, for effect. "i like you, too."

night 77: bt cafe

“shift’s over. what are you doing?” you leaned on the counter to take a peek at what jungmo was doing. there were no customers anymore so you were wondering what was keeping him so busy.

“one caramel latte, iced, with-“

“—an extra shot of espresso and a pump of dark chocolate...” you continued his sentence, nodding your head in time with the words.

“...for my y/n,” jungmo finished and handed you a cup with both hands. you took it with a playful squint of your eyes. 

you took a sip, keeping your eyes on the expectant jungmo. a moment of silence ensued.

“jungmo. i love you….but-”

“i love you too.” he hurriedly replied without hesitation.

“…but i still make the best version of this.” you smiled victoriously, sticking your tongue out at him before drinking the rest of the latte which you admitted tasted pretty close to your specialty. jungmo just raised his hands up in defeat and proceeded to watch you drink his version of the go-to drink that brought you two together in the first place.

“if i get to see you smile like that, do i really want to get it right?”

[bisexual-horror-fan]

December 31st. New Year Sex. “Sugar To Ring In The New Year.” Stu Macher X AFAB Reader.

AYYYYYYY! 

Well here we are! The very last day of Kinky December! A huge, massive, endless amount of thanks to @horrorslashergirl​! This event was so unbeleiveably fun for me! Writing for new characters and old, well worn familar kinks and some different ones, I am so proud of myself for commiting to and doing the whole event (17 enteries! More than I initially planned!) and not being late a single day! I said “Oh it’ll be mostly drabbles” at the start but every single entry ended up being over 1k! Go me!

So we needed something BIG to finish out the event, it’s New Years afterall. Now I put a kink in here I have never publically posted (mostly because I don’t have this one personally but it fit too damn well and it can be very fun to write about so fuck it!)

But what IS it Bex?

You can thank the lovely @mostfandomstrashcan​ for the inspo. She made this post the other day-

-and I mean I HAD already planned to do Stu and give him his own solo peice since I did one for Billy and it was only fair. I mean “ape-shit”?! Lalila. How could I ever ignore THAT? I hope you all enjoy this, I spent a lotta time on it! I also may do something else with this in the future. (And of course Billy is mentioned in this because duh.) So let’s all indulge eh? Mathew Lilliard still be looking damn good, so why not? Older Sugar Daddy Stu Macher AU LET’S FUCKIN’ GO!

---

Rating. Explicit. Length. 4.2K  Warnings. Established Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby Relationship. Age Gap. Public Sex. Dirty Talk. Sex Toys. General Daddy Kink. Remote Control Vibrator. Pet Names. Praise. Dirty Talk. Mild Tempature Play. Mentions Of Kidnapping, Knifeplay, Bloodplay, Ropeplay and Poly!Ghostface. We Respect Sex Workers Of All Kinds In This House. If You Don’t? Get Out.

--

Sugar To Ring In The New Year.

---

You had spent such a long time getting ready for tonight.

But it was so very worth it. Rather, HE was so very worth it. 

You looked yourself over in the full length mirror. You looked fucking incredible. You turned slowly, admiring yourself, he had picked your outfit for tonight, paid for it himself and whatever else you needed. He told you money was no object and it certainly never seemed to be with him. 

See it was New Years eve and you had a party to attend. A very nice party, probably nicer than any you had ever been to. 

A ding from your phone, you picked it up off the nearby table. He was here. You shrugged on your coat and gave yourself one last look before grabbing your bag and heading out the door. Door locked and now in the elevator, pressing the button for the ground floor with a manicured finger. Humming lightly to yourself, looking your nails over as you descended. 

To say you were excited was an understatement. You loved getting to see him and the holidays were crazy with his line of work, you didn’t see him nearly as much as you’d have liked this past month. Soon the elevator doors slid open and out you stepped, heels clacking over the polished tiles of the lobby of the apartment building you lived in. 

You stepped out into the cold evening air of downtown, smile crossing your painted lips to see him waiting for you, leaning against the towncar hands in his coat pockets, grin widening when he saw you. 

“Hey.”

You called to him with a coy smile, he held a hand up signaling you to stop, you did, a few feet in front of him, he signalled you to turn to show him the whole look and you of course obliged. Hands in your jacket pockets, holding your coat open as you did so, letting him drink in the sight of you, a low whistle as he did so. When you were sure he was satisfied you closed the space between the two of you, hands out of your pockets now, reaching out and taking hold of the scarf he had on, hanging loosely over his jacket. 

“I reiterate. Hey.”

He held up one finger signaling you to wait as he said-

“Hang on just a second-”

One of his hands coming up and finding the back of your neck and he pulled you closer to him, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss, you gripped his scarf and tugged him closer, a soft hum from you. He broke the kiss and still so close to you he said softly,

“Hey.”

That drew a small laugh from both of you and then you let go of him, taking a step back and he opened the door for you and you teased him,

“Was that really necessary?”

“Yes. It was important.”

His hands gripping the top of the car door, he said it in such a serious tone it drew another laugh from you and a wide grin from him. 

Adorable.

You leaned over the door separating the two of you and pressed another kiss to his mouth before getting into the car. Soon he was beside you and you were off. Your hand in his and talking casually, catching up, it had been too long. 

You were recounting something funny that happened the other day at a gift exchange with friends when you caught him staring at you and you stopped, asking in that usual playful tone when you were with him,

“What? Something off with my make-up?”

“No, no, far from it. You look amazing tonight.”

Well that was so damn nice to hear, you certainly hoped so. He picked it all out afterall. You thanked him of course. And the drive passed by quickly. Soon you were being ushered inside, coats checked, and walking into the main room with him, his hand on your lower back as he led you to your table. 

“Oh we get a table?”

You joked and he pulled your chair out with a scoff,

“Of course we do, baby. Look at who you're with."

The over exaggerated gesture to himself when he said that made you snicker. Of course, how foolish, of course you get to have an actual table. He took his place next to you and had ordered you drinks in the next minute. You really enjoyed these dates out to events like this pertaining to his work, he was so in his element, different than how he was when he was totally alone with you. Conversation always flowed so easily with him and you enjoyed yourself immensely.

Drinks were brought and he held his glass up to you, that same smile you loved so much, you held up yours as well as you asked,

“And what are we toasting to?”

“Hmm how about to me having the absolute finest date here?”

How could you say no to that? You smirked as you offered up,

“So it’s to both of us really.”

“Exactly! Always so smart y/n. To us.”

Glasses clinked and you were still mid-sip when he asked it,

“So are you wearing it?”

You glanced to him, he was looking at you, pose relaxed, one elbow on the table, glass held loosely in his hand, fuck he looked good. 

See we should talk about the nature of your relationship with Stu Macher. It might be obvious to someone else looking at you two. He was significantly older than you, professional, established, very well to do. And you were the pretty young thing, always dressed to impress and on his arm for all of the events you were allowed to attend. 

The nature of your relationship was very clear, it started off a bit more business like but it quickly evolved into more than JUST that. 

“Why Mr.Macher! I have no idea to what you are referring.”

You couldn’t hold back your smile, leaning forward on your elbows, fingers laced together and tucked under your chin, a faux innocent batting of your eyelashes and he gave you a look. 

“Baby.”

That delicious tone. More serious. You gave in with a wider smile and said,

“Yes I am.”

“Good. If you didn’t admit it I was going to have to test it already.”

Your thighs pressed together under the table, you knew he was going to use it at some point, there would be no reason for you to wear it if he had no intention of using it. 

Some coworker of his came over and took some of his and took his attention, you sat next to him, patiently waiting, you were very used to this. It was more appropriate to say colleague you supposed but ultimately it didn’t matter. Fingers on the rim of your glass as you look around the well decorated room and the well dressed people. You contemplated getting some food in a minute, surprisingly hungry, but your thoughts were interrupted, a hitch in your breath as you felt it.

Your eyes flicking to Stu, you saw it, he had his phone pulled out, semi-hidden under the table, next to his thigh, you were sure he knew you could see it. He was still looking up to his co-worker, engaged in their conversation, but you saw the open app on his phone and there was no mistaking it.

In case it wasn’t obvious enough by this point. Stu Macher was your sugar Daddy. And he had some particular tastes. Taste and appetites that you helped him satisfy. That is how your arrangement initially began but it had grown into more, you were much closer but he still insisted on spoiling you, buying you things, paying for your rent and giving you an allowance. He seemingly got off on providing for you and who doesn’t love to be spoiled by someone so attentive? You weren’t going to say no. It would be cruel to deny him that frankly. 

To be perfectly fair if you had met him in some other circumstances you were certain you would have pursued him. He was nice and sweet, so fucking handsome, funny, there was so much more to him than what he could provide financially. 

Things were so good.

So what about tonight? And what was going on right now? Stu loved getting up to all kinds of filthy things with you. One of his favorites was doing things in public spaces with the risk of getting caught. He had sent the bags over earlier with your outfit for tonight. Along with the dress and make-up and accessories and shoes, he provided the lingerie for you to wear under your dress and the panties were very important. You recalled that text he sent you that afternoon and the instructions. You followed them to the letter. The panties had this perfect little pocket in them to slip in a remote control vibe. The one he was controlling on the app on his phone right now. While you were less than two feet from his coworker. 

You swallowed hard and gripped your glass, attempting to breath evenly, managing to quell the moan attempting to break free. He didn’t make it easy. Your eyes peaked at his phone and watched as he manipulated the controls with one hand, increasing and decreasing the vibration. You were thankful for the loud overall party atmosphere covering up the sound of it. 

A bite of your bottom lip, eyes breaking away, focusing on the table in front of you, trying to take deep breaths and mercifully it stopped. You let out a sigh and looked over to Stu who was looking at you with a grin, his coworker gone His hand fell to your knee and he squeezed as he praised, 

“Good job. You didn’t give yourself away at all.”

“Thank you.”

You took a sip and felt a bit of pride, until he said,

“Guess I’ll just have to try harder.”

Fuck.

You sighed again and took a healthy swallow from your glass.

Really by now you should be used to this. You had prepared yourself for the fact he’d want to use it in public because I mean of course he would, however you should have also been ready for the fact that he would make it as difficult as possible on you. 

That reminded you to ask.

“So where’s Billy tonight?”

He squeezed your knee again before letting go and picking up his glass again as he responded,

“A different party. Shame he couldn’t come but he had his own thing and I could only bring one guest with me.”

Makes sense. They were in different lines of work after all. It had been a while since you last got to see him. See that was another interesting angle to this arrangement. So you had met Stu with the understanding of your arrangement, the initial process went great, you seemed compatible. Multiple dates, he paid for all and spoiled you and of fucking course the sex was incredible. A little ways into it you remembered him sitting you down and bringing forth the idea of it, that he had a friend, his best friend, they were very close, he loved to share and wanted to share you with him. 

You were open to it and met him and were so thankful that you did. He was equally attractive, a good job, not exactly as high profile as Stu’s but he seemed more than comfortable. One of the things you liked best was how Stu acted around him, more relaxed, you found out they went way, way back and seeing the other side of Stu? Amazing. Made you like him a lot more, might have made you fall for him a little sooner. 

Turns out sex with Billy was pretty fucking great too. You remember the first full weekend away with them to really test the dynamic and it was unreasonably fun. Hot, boundary pushing. They had to be sure about you before trying out what they really wanted. A rented house and a complex role play. It was all discussed beforehand, limits, safe words, signals, the whole nine. You pretend to stay there alone. A phone call, they ‘break in’, there was costumes and ropes and knives and fucking Christ why did you LIKE it so much? 

The memories of that weekend were some of your favorites.

It couldn’t have gone better and yep they wanted to ‘keep you’ and you wanted that too more than anything. Basically the whole time you saw Stu you only saw him. Not like you needed to see anyone else, he more than took care of your monetary needs, emotional and sexual needs being satisfied by him were a give in. Now add Billy as a regular guest in your life and you were fucking set. 

You smiled as you teased him, keeping it light as ever, you were sure with whatever he had in mind the mood wouldn’t stay that way forever,

“And you decided to bring me? I’m so flattered.”

He scoffed with a smile, obviously he was going to bring you, he felt no need to say it though so instead he said,

“Finish your drink.”

“That an order, Stu?”

You asked as you picked up your glass and as you started to drink, eyes falling closed as you did and what happened next almost made you choke, while you were distracted for that moment he turned the vibe back on. His phone was out on the table and he had flicked it back on easily. You managed to swallow your mouthful and threw a look to him, he had finished his own drink now, staring you down. You wanted to ask ‘what the fuck?’ but he spoke first,

“Why are you calling me that?”

You watched as his fingers lingered on his phone screen, turning it up slowly and you swallowed your moan, one of your hands was gripping the cloth napkin in front of your place setting. You forced yourself to respond,

“Because we are in public. At a work event. It’s yo-o-our rule.”

You almost broke but managed to hold strong even as he nudged it higher still, fuck you almost wanted to shake, pleasure simmering low inside of you. 

“Hmm it’s a special occasion. Indulge me.”

He was leaning much closer to you, face inches from yours, you wanted to kiss him, a bite of your bottom lip and you whispered it, low enough just for him to hear, indulging him just as he wanted,

“Of course, Daddy.”

You actually pulsed when you said it. Not just because of him still having the toy turned up but from breaking this previous hard and fast rule of his, saying this in public at a work event. That smile alone made it worth it. The kiss he gave you afterwards, forget about it. 

The rest of the night was too fun. 

More drinks, amazing food and he kept teasing you on and off. 

The range on that thing was unreal. 

At one point you were coming back from the bathroom, and once you were in his line of sigh he turned it on and watched you almost stumble on your way back to the table. He was still laughing a little when you hit him playfully on the shoulder and mouthed ‘stop!’ he of course, did not. 

Picking the worst times, when you were in the middle of eating or drinking, at one point when you were dancing. You thanked God he was right there, it went from fully off to full tilt and you would have dropped were it not for him holding you up. 

Eventually you ran into a friend you knew from sugaring. Both you and her standing near the table, casual conversation, it was nice, you hadn’t seen her in a while,

“So you here with-?”

Unlike you having just Stu she had a few regulars in rotation, you offered it up, question open ended and she rolled her eyes,

“Dickhead. I mean-”

Covering her mouth with her hand with a laugh that you joined in on before both saying,

“Dickinson.”

She had told you about him. While he paid great money he kinda sucked. 

“Why’d you agree? I know you have other options, why spend New Years with that-”

And you were so caught off guard. Not expecting it at all, you nearly dropped your drink and couldn’t stifle the moan this time, you managed to quiet it but not completely. You took a deep breath and looked around, trying to find where he was, nowhere in sight, your friend reached out, hand on your shoulder,

“Jesus, you good? What’s wrong?”

You swallowed hard and looked over to her, trying to keep your breathing steady,

“Fuck it. So-”

And you filled her in, telling her all about what was going on and the naughty secret you had currently concealed in your panties and the game he was playing with you. 

“Ugh see you are so lucky! He’s so good to you, so playful, he always has fun shit for you two to do together.”

It was fun. Even as you were struggling standing here, he never settled on one pattern or strength for long, constantly mixing it up, not letting you adjust at any point. You understood her jealousy, I mean if you didn’t have him and had to watch someone else parade around with him you were certain that you could feel similar. 

Finally the pleasure ceased as the toy turned off, you were so wet by this point you could feel it on your thighs, thank God for the length of the dress he chose. 

You looked to your friend who seemed to be looking behind you, big smile, you felt him before seeing him, his hand on your lower back, he knew your friend obviously and greeted her,

“Hello. Keeping her company for me?”

“Of course Mr.Macher. Great suit tonight by the way.”

You didn’t mind if your friend flirted with him and you kind of like when he would flirt back, he didn’t do it super overtly but he did compliment her in kind, she looked great herself, before he asked,

“Thank you so much, do mind if I steal her?”

“By all means. See you later.”

And then he was leading you away. Away from the party and down one of the hallways lined with office doors, not fully lit up since no one was working. Hand in hand as he asked,

“I’ve never actually showed you my office, have I?”

Surprisingly he had not. You shook your head and he stopped in front of one of the doors before pushing it open,

“A damn shame truly. C’mon.”

You jumped at the chance. You knew how to behave at one of these events but you were desperate by this point. Aching with need. You wanted him so much, he was too good at arousing you. The light touches and teasing, the things he whispered to you tonight when no one was in earshot, and of course using that damn vibe on you. 

You would have been more impressed with his office if you weren’t so preoccupied. You walked around slowly, you had your mind on one thing, that big beautiful desk. You were certain you were going to get bent over the side of it and thrown down on top of it. You turned to see where he was and he was on you, hands on your waist and you were backed up into that desk, sat on top of it. Far enough away from the party you allowed yourself to let go, moaning against his mouth. 

“You did so good in there, baby.”

“Mmf thank you.”

You had your hands gripping the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him closer, his hands on either side of you on the top of his desk, you couldn’t help yourself now that you had him alone, kissing him so passionately. 

He pulled away too soon and took a step back, discarding his jacket, throwing it over the desk, rolling his sleeves up as he said, 

“Pull that dress up. Let me see.”

You obliged all too quickly. Jesus he looked so good. Hands scrambling to pull your dress up, hands in the folds of the fabric, hiking it up your legs, eventually hands on the hem you held it up, legs spread.  One of his hands on your inner thighs as he looked,

“Fuck, baby. You’re soaked.”

A nod, hips pushing out a little further, wanting his hand higher, wishing he would touch you. His fingers brushed over you and your head fell back with a moan,

“Need it bad, hmm?”

You responded quickly, breathy,

“Ye-yes Daddy Please?”

Then both of his hands were on you, hauling you up onto your heels. 

“Keep holding your dress for me, baby.”

You could only nod and you expected to be forced over the desk but no, that’d be too easy, instead you were pulled over to the window. He was right behind you, he took your hands and pressed them flat to the glass and whispered in your ear,

“Nice view, isn’t it?”

You looked out the window and it certainly was. Downtown, late at night, high up, what floor was this? You wondered what he was getting up to, hands on the straps of your dress, sliding them down off your shoulders, what he wanted was made clear and your breath hitched as he said it,

“Think anyone could see us up here?”

He noticed how it affected your breathing, his mouth ghosted over the side of your throat, and he chuckled before saying, 

“Oh I think you like that idea.”

Hands trailed down your arms and sides and then his fingers found your panties and slid them down, you let them pool at your feet and he encouraged you to step out of them, he kicked them aside. One hand sliding down your stomach, your hands twisting in the fabric of your skirt and soon his hand was between your thighs, strong fingers dragging through your folds and you moaned. 

“Do you want something to see you like this?”

His fingers circled your clit and his opposite hand tugged down your dress further, bunched around your waist, straps still on, holding your arms to your sides, hands still on the glass. You were sure you were fogging up the glass but who fucking cares when he makes you feel like this.

“Well since you indulged me earlier than allow me to do the same.”

And then he pressed you forward, you almost yelped, it was winter, the glass was freezing, he let out a small laugh from your reaction, 

“Cold?”

“Very! Fuck-”

You pushed and tried to back up but he kept you pressed there, he tsk’d before saying,

“Now, now baby. If you want it-”

He rubbed your clit harder and you squirmed against him,

“-and I think you do. Then you are going to stay right here. Understood?”

You relented and he eased off, only to dispose of his pants, you listened to the jingle of his belt and soon he was back on you. One hand on your shoulder and one hand under your thigh, adjusting your leg just so and soon you were blessed with the feeling of him splitting you open. The stretch was wonderful and you moaned long and low forehead pressed to the glass. He only held in you for a moment before he began moving, and it practically already had you panting. 

“Filthy. This how you like to celebrate? Getting fucked out in the open? Praying someone sees you?”

All you could do was moan out yes, over and over in time with how he fucked you. The thought, how he spoke to you and of course again, how fucking wonderful it felt. 

“I loved watching you struggle. Trying to act normal and proper, you did so fucking good for me baby. So proud of you.”

This is the best. Treating you like this, taking you like this, so open and rough and possessive while still lavishing praise over you. Pushing back onto him, completely lost in it, hardly registering what he was saying but you caught bits and pieces, like this next part-

“I’ll try not to mess you up too bad. No promises though. Still have to go back out there-”

And that is what did you in. The thought of having to go back out there. Acting normal, like you didn’t just get fucked against his office window like a whore, trying to look and act every part of the prim little arm candy his office had gotten to know while his cum leaked down your thighs under your dress. That is the thought that finally made you cum, thankful he had you pinned to the window or you would be on the floor. Breathing so hard on your come down, he paused, buried all the way inside, a harsh grind as he whispered in your ear,

“Happy New Years Baby.”

You couldn’t hold back your laugh as you replied, still breathless,

“Happy New Years Daddy.”

What a way to ring in the New Year.

[torialeysha]

Cold feet - Part 16

Bakers redemption

A/N: I’m on a roll guys! Your love, patience and support for this story fuels my fire for writing, a fire I thought I had lost and for that I am eternally grateful. Thank you all <3

Songs: Carry me home - Jorja Smith ft Maverick Sabre

Can’t buy happiness - Tash Sultana

Fortunately the awkwardness of the journey home was lost on you as all you could do was think about Alfie. You questioned the sincerity of his visit and wondered why it had taken him so long to realise you had lied about the ridiculous possibility of him not being the father of your unborn baby? He had asked you for forgiveness. A shot at redemption. Could you give it to him? Could you allow him another chance when he had already let you down not once but twice? Were you foolish enough to give him the opportunity to do it again? Would he do it again? He said that he had seen the error of his ways and that he really did want the baby. Did he mean it? Could you believe him even if he did? He said he could prove it to you and you were curious to see how. Silently you pondered, driving yourself insane with question after question that regrettably you didn’t have the answers to.

After a tedious battle with the London traffic the car finally pulled up outside the opulent townhouse Charles was renting. The atmosphere still frosty and tense as you crossed it’s threshold. You were in the process of removing your coat when one of the butlers collared Charles.

“There’s a Mr Changretta waiting for you in the lounge, sir.” He announced casually as he took your coat. Your hair immediately stood on end.

“Ok. I’ll be right there. Meanwhile, could you please fetch Ms Y/L/N something to eat.” Charles hands his coat to the butler then turns to you. “I won’t be long. Feel free to start without me.” He told you coldly. But you were no longer worried about food and more concerned about the fact that Luca Changretta was in the next room.

Fraught, you staggered to the dining room and began to pace, anxiously wondering what the occupants next door were discussing. You manoeuvred towards the wall that separated the lounge from the dining room and placed your ear against it, hoping that the divide was thin enough to be able to hear their conversation. Their muffled voices vibrated through the wall. You edged closer to the crack of the locked double doors that connected the two rooms and the voices got slightly clearer.

“...And you really trust this broad? You’re sure she isn’t the problem?” It was Luca’s voice.

“Of course I trust her! I wouldn’t have involved her if I didn’t.”

“How much does she know?”

“Hardly anything. She asked me some questions about the club. Why I bought it for her and why I insisted I put it in her name and not mine, but her curiosity is only natural, Luca.”

Your stomach rolled realising they were talking about you.

“What did you tell her?”

“I fed her some bullshit about wanting to give her the world.”

“Nice. So she doesn’t know anything about the money coming in from New York?”

“No, I take care of the books and I keep them locked in my safe.”

“Good.”

There was a brief silence before Luca spoke again.

“Tell me, Cuz, what are your feelings for this broad? You still intend on marrying her when this is all over?”

Cuz? Why would Luca call Charles that?

“Yes. I love her.”

Charles’ confession made you feel sick.

There’s another long pause before Luca speaks again.

“Then you have my blessing. But I’m warning ya, I don’t know if my dear Aunt will be as accepting. You know how she only wants the best for her son.”

Cousin? Aunt? Son? You felt the colour drain from your face as realisation dawned on you.

“Y/N is best for me. Now can we please stop discussing my personal life and get back to business.”

“Of course. I hear what you’re saying about the Jew but we need him alive for now. I think he’ll be able to help us deal with Thomas Shelby.”

“Solomon’s is tight with Shelby. There’s no way he’d sell him out.”

“Oh, he will.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse... Don’t look so worried, Chuck, all will be revealed soon. You just carry on doing what you’re doing and remember that we’re doing this per la famiglia. Luca’s foreign tongue made you shudder. “Once Solomon’s, Shelby and Sabini are dealt with. London will be ours for the taking.”

You pulled away from the door just as Charles was asking about Sabini. You had heard enough.

It was worse than you or Tommy had anticipated. Charles and Luca wasn’t just business relations, they were blood relations. His money was their money. Your time and efforts had been in vain. Any hope of sabotaging their connection was gone. Replaced with an overwhelming sense of alarming trepidation. You had to leave. There was no way you could stay now knowing what you know.

The main door of the dining room swung open, startling you.

“I’m terribly sorry miss. I didn’t mean to scare you.” The flustered housemaid apologised as she shuffled in with your supper.

“Please don’t apologise.” You told her shakily.

“You’re white as a sheet! I must’ve given you a proper fright. Poor thing. Sit ya self down and I’ll fetch you something to drink.”

“No, no. I’m fine. It’s just-I’ve received word today that my friend isn’t well and it’s come as quite a shock. I would like to check on her to see if she’s feeling better. Could you let Mr Fenton know that I’m going to visit her and I won’t be back until later.”

“Of course, Miss, but what about your tea?” She signals to the silver tray she’s carrying.

“I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. I’ll eat it when I return.”

“Ok, Miss. I’ll put it by for later.” She took off with the tray of food and without a second thought you made for the door without even stopping for your coat or purse.

In a daze you wandered down the street, feeling hopelessly lost in a city that had been your home for 20 odd years. You headed north, knowing that regardless of your current uncertainty towards Alfie you would have to warn him and get word to Tommy. Without your purse you had no money to jump on a bus or the underground. Your only option was to trudge the busy late afternoon streets to your destination. It would take roughly an hour to get from Central to Camden, probably the same amount of time it would take Charles to suspect something was amiss. It was a distressing thought that caused you to pick up pace. To make up time you decided to take a shortcut that lead you along the river and down the canals. It was a risky move as the muddy banks of the canals were refuge to some unsavoury characters - mainly drunkards - desperate men that would find easy prey on a young woman trekking the waterways on her own.

The sun was slowly sinking into twilight by the time you had reached Camden lock. Despite your exhaustion you were relieved to have made it in one piece but you shouldn’t have spoke too soon. In the distance you could see a group of what looked like 3 men huddled together along the path which you needed to pass to get across to the bakery. Your blistered feet slowed but it was too late, they had already spotted you. You quickly tried to think of an alternative route. The only other way was to swim across but jumping in and braving the grim green water that was frothing with rubbish and other questionable substances wasn’t tempting to say the least. There was nothing you could do now except carry on walking with your chin held high as if their shady presence didn’t intimidate you. You argued with yourself as you approached that maybe you had jumped to a brash assumption and that they were in fact a harmless trio who would just let you pass without a second glance. As you got closer they rose from their makeshift perches and swayed towards you. It was then you knew that your brash assumption had been correct.

“Evening treacle.” One slurred. “What brings you down ‘ere then?” He smiled, revealing a row of yellow teeth that were gradually rotting a browny black. You ignored him and tried to pass but he obstructed you.

“Let me pass!” You ordered him.

“Now then, that’s not nice. You could at least ask nicely. Say please.” He slurred.

“Please let me pass.” You said through gritted teeth.

The other two came to stand beside him. Panicking, you tried hard to conceal the trembling of your body.

“Beg.” He tells you through a snarl.

“I love it when they beg.” One of the other men chimed in, earning a chortle from his soapy comrades.

You laugh as if joining in with their sadistic merriment. Then quick as a whippet you tried to barge through their burly blockade, effectively knocking one of the men into the drink. The middle one grabbed you. You turned as he did so, kneeing him between the legs. He dropped to the floor and you made to escape but was grabbed again by the last remaining man. His filthy hand covered your mouth, cutting you off mid scream. You thrashed in his arms. Your eyes widening as the man on the floor rose slowly.

“We’ve got a feisty one ‘ere, Del.”

“Let’s see how feisty she is once I’ve finished with ‘er.” The man you knocked to the floor was now fully upright, stalking towards you.

You closed your eyes, helplessly awaiting your fate.

“Get your filthy fucking hands off ‘er!”

Your eyes shot open at the unmistakable voice coming from behind you.

The man turned suddenly with you still in his arms. Your eyes landed on Alfie and Ollie and you wanted to cry out in relief.

“Mr Solomon’s - I was only helping the poor Lass. She was lost, ya see.” He muttered a sheepish reply. His arms loosening around you. You pushed away from him stricken and lurched into Alfie’s arms.

“Are you ok, Yahalom?” He asked, pushing away the hair from your face and checking you over for any sign of injury.

You noded, clinging to him.

“Run!” One of the men shouted and they both fled in opposite directions. The one who had hold of you tried to leg-it past Alfie who with a flick of his cane tripped him before he could get any further. Alfie pushed you to Ollie, and pounced on top of the fallen man. Savagely he landed a shocking set of bone crunching blows upon the sputtering and sobbing man on the floor.

You started to shake uncontrollably. Your chest heaving to draw in breaths.

“Alfie, stop now. You’re scaring ‘er!” Ollie yelled at Alfie who stopped immediately.

“Get ‘er out of ‘ere!” He shouted.

You felt Ollie tug on your arm.

“No-I c-can’t go-I need t-to talk to A-alfie.” You chattered numbly.

“It’s ok, Y/N. Let’s wait for him inside and you can talk to him then, yeah?” Ollie asked you soothingly. You stopped resisting, allowing him to guide you over the bridge of the canal and inside the huge double door entrance of the bakery. He set you down on a crate.

“Are you ok?” Ollie asked. Kneeling in front of you.

You shook your head from side to side, unable to speak through the loud chattering of your teeth.

“We were just leaving. You’re lucky we spotted you, ya know.”

You didn’t answer him. Instead you reached out and gave his hand a grateful squeeze.

Alfie exploded through the doors, making you and Ollie jump. His blood splattered face was a fit of pure rage.

“How many fucking times have I told you not to walk the canals on your own? If me and him would have left ‘ere half hour ago like we were supposed to, what would have happened then, ay?” His eyes flickered as he tortured himself pointlessly with the sickening possibilities.

“Alright, Alfie. Calm down, ay? We left at the right time and luckily Y/N weren’t hurt-“ Ollie started calmly before Alfie interrupted him.

“- You sure they didn’t hurt you?” Alfie asked.

“I’m sure.”

“The fuck was you thinking, Pet?” His stern voice was slightly softer now.

“I-I wasn’t-“

“-Where’s your coat?” He asked suddenly. “Them cunts take it?”

“No, I left it behind-there was n-no time- I had t-to get out of there fast-I left my coat behind along with my p-purse-I’ve had to walk from Central-thats why I t-took the sh-shortcut.” You stuttered senselessly, barely pausing to take a breath. Alfie took off his coat and draped it over your shoulders. You pulled it tightly around yourself. His musky scent clung to the heavy wool material that was still warm with the heat of his body. You inhaled deeply, feeling instantly calmer. “I couldn’t stay there, Alfie. I had to leave, I had to get out of there!”

“Calm down, Yahalom, and tell me exactly what’s happened?” He ordered, his eyes wild.

“It’s Charles. He and Lu-ca Changretta are related. They’re cousins. I-I overheard them talking. They said something about money coming in from New York and taking over London. They’re going to take down everyone in their way - you, Tommy, even Sabini. Everything Tommy said is true and there’s nothing I can do about it. We have to warn Thomas.”

Alfie exchanged a look with Ollie.

“Did he know you were listening in on his conversation?” Ollie asked.

“No. But he’ll know I’m missing by now and maybe he’ll put two and two together. I told the housemaid to tell him I was visiting an ill friend but I’m not sure he’ll believe that.”

“Right then. Well, first things first.” Alfie put his arms around your shoulders and lifted you gently from where you rested. “I need to get you out of here.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stay here and help sort this.” You told him wilfully.

“You’ve done all you can, pet. Let me and Tommy deal with this now.”

“So all of this was for nothing? Me staying with Charles, weeks of misery and sneaking around. That was all for nothing?”

“This isn’t your fight, Y/N. It never was your fight.” Alfie sighed.

“They’re planning on killing you, Alfie - the father of my unborn baby. Tell me how that isn’t my fight?” You sobbed angrily.

He grabbed your shoulders, shaking you lightly.

“Look at me.” He said firmly. Your wide eyes rose to his. “I can handle it, right. What I can’t handle is the worry of anything happening to you. Which is why I’m getting you out of ‘ere, even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming. I’m taking you and that unborn baby of mine to safety. You ‘ear me? That’s our priority now, yeah?”

“...Yeah.” You whispered, knowing he was right.

“Come on.”

You held on to him as you walked, your weary feet stinging with every faltered step you took.

“You need me to carry you?” He asked.

You shook your head weakly.

The sun had now almost set but the brightness outside was still blinding as you emerged from the darkness of the distillery.

“Get in the car.” Alfie ordered.

You did as he said, sliding into the front passenger seat and trying to avoid looking across the canal where your attacker still lay, a lifeless crumpled, mess on the floor. You blocked it out and focused on Alfie through the windscreen instead. He was leant into Ollie, telling him something. Ollie gave him a contrite nod and handed him what looked like a set of keys. With a pat on the back, Alfie left him to climb in to the drivers seat. He started the engine.

“Isn’t Ollie coming with us?”

“Na. He’s got to sort a few things out for me.” He replied, shoving the shift stick into gear and pulling off. You watched him intently. An unsolicited heat crept over you as he manoeuvred the machine with a confident ease that you couldn’t help but find alluring.

“Where are we going?” You asked croakily.

“Let me worry about that, right. You look exhausted. Rest your head and I’ll wake you when we get there.”

Too weak to argue you did just that. Leaning your head against the window which was slick with condensation. The soft purr of the cars engine lulled you rapidly into a deep and dreamless sleep.

You were roused from your confined slumber by Alfie as he lifted you from the passenger seat into his arms. Your neck throbbed where you had laid awkwardly propped up against the window for God knows how long. You let the aching heaviness of your head rest against Alfies chest as he carried you. A whooshing noise echoed familiarly in the blustery background, intertwined with what sounded like crunching gravel beneath Alfie’s feet as he walked. Curiously your sluggish eyes peered at your surroundings. You could just about make out the silhouette of a building and an unusual looking tree against the dark blue of the night sky.

Exhausted, your head fell back onto Alfie’s chest and you buried your face in the crook of his neck to shield it from the tenacious chill of the night air. He came to a stop holding you tightly with one arm as the other searched his trouser pocket. A jingling of keys and the sound of the lock turning, then you were finally inside and out of the cold.

The smell of fresh paint and varnish filled your nostrils as he carried you over the foreign residence. After kicking the door closed with his foot, you felt him ascend a set of stairs in the darkness, effortlessly, as if he was already well acquainted with the steps. A door creaked open and then shortly after you were being lowered. You unfolded from him as he placed you on the soft cushioning of a mattress. Your head sunk into the fluffy pillows, your arms stretching across the width of the spacious bed. Your eyes opened when you realised Alfie wasn’t joining you.

“Don’t leave me.” You begged.

“Sssh.” He soothed softly. His heavy hand brushing back your hair from your face. “You’re safe now, Yahalom.”

Your eyes closed, his reassuring tone and tender touch settling you back to sleep.

You awoke with a start. Looking around the huge room that was now highlighted by an orange hue emanating from the fire that crackled and danced in the fireplace adjacent to the bed. The ceaseless whooshing you heard earlier broke in from a set of french doors to your left and you raised from the bed to investigate. Pulling back the floor length curtains that decorated them, you were shocked to see the mosaicked balcony and the beach landscape that it overlooked. At a glance it appeared that Alfie had stolen you away from the perilous situation in London and brought you to Margate - your safe haven. But what was this place? It wasn’t a B&B or a hotel because you remembered that Alfie had entered with a key - you assumed the same key Ollie had handed him before you left. You glanced around the room once more, the unfamiliarity of your surroundings causing you great unease. And it was quiet, too quiet. Where was Alfie?

You poked your nose out of the bedroom door and peeked down the length of the darkened hallway. A sliver of warm light shone from a partially open door of one of the rooms and cautiously you ambled towards it. You lingered outside, your nerves settling when you heard Alfie’s hushed tone beyond the wood.

“Did you get hold of the rabbi?”

There was a long pause before Alfie spoke again.

“I don’t care what fucking time it is just keep trying. I want him up ‘ere by the end of the week, before the fight... Yeah? Well make-fucking-sure.” You heard a crashing bang which you guessed was the receiver of the telephone being put down on whoever Alfie was talking to.

“Are you gonna stand out there all fucking night or you gonna come in?” He shouted out to you, causing you to smile.

You entered slowly, stalling in the doorway.

Alfie was sat at a desk, a much neater, more fancier desk than the one he usually occupied at the bakery.

“You alright?” He asked, watching you intently as you came to sit in front of him.

You nodded absentmindedly, too busy taking in the plush interior of the room.

“Did you speak to Tommy?” You asked eagerly, your eyes finally meeting his. He waited a moment before answering you.

“Na, I ain’t been able to get hold of him. I’ll try again in the morning...You sure you’re alright?”

“Where are we?” You queried, ignoring his question.

“Margate.”

“No, I mean here.” You pointed to where you were sat. “Whose house is this?”

“This is our house.” He said casually.

You look at him stunned. Your mouth agape.

“Our house?”

He nodded simply.

“W-when? How?” You stuttered, dumbfounded.

“I bought it a while back, after I saw you again at the Eden. It was in a bit of a two an’ eight when I bought it. Taken me an’ the boys a little while to do up.”

“I’m confused.” You shook your head. “You’ve bought a house in Margate? But we’re so far away from London, from your businesses. What about the bakery?”

“I’m retiring, Yahalom. I’ve sold up all the properties I own and I’ve handed the bakery down to Ollie. This was my plan all along. The only way I knew I could keep you safe.”

It took you a moment to process everything and still you were stunned speechless.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“I thought this was what you wanted?” He cites.

“It was-“

Alfie narrowed his eyes at your use of past tense.

“-I mean is.” You corrected swiftly before carrying on “It’s just come as a bit of a shock is all.”

“Hmm.” He let out a suspicious grunt. “It’s not the best timing after the day you’ve had, I get that. But that was out of my control wern’it?”

You nodded solemnly. Still trying to wrap your head around everything.

“I thought you’d be happy, Yahalom?”

“I am.” You frowned.

“At least show it then. Crack a smile or summin. You’ve got a face like a slapped arse at the minute.” You heard a frustrated annoyance creep into the grimmess of his voice.

“I don’t know how I feel about it, if I’m being honest. The last few months have been a whirlwind for me. I haven’t slept properly in days, weeks even. Weary to the bone. Wracked with guilt and worry. I honestly don’t know wether I’m coming or going. And now you’re telling me that you’re selling up. Leaving behind everything you’ve worked so hard to build and for what?”

“For us!” He barked. “For us to be together without the worry of someone hurting you to hurt me. And yeah, I’ve worked hard, I’ve earn’t my money, however, it’s time for me to rest now and enjoy the fruits of my labour.”

“I’m not sure, Alf...” You hummed uneasily.

“What’s there to be unsure of?”

“I still ain’t sure this is what you really want!” You snapped frustratedly. “A quiet life by the sea, a child you never wanted...I just can’t see it.” You admitted sadly.

He exhaled harshly, rising from his desk and stepping round to extend a hand to you.

“Come with me. I wanna show you something.”

Reluctantly you took his offered hand and let him guide you back out into the hallway and along to a room that was situated next to the one you had been resting in earlier.

He opened the door and moved aside for you to enter.

The waxing moon shon brightly through the bare windows, lighting up the room with it’s spectacular lunar glow. You stepped through noticing immediately the cot that lay new and empty against the far wall, next to it was a matching chest of drawers and a rocking horse that looked like it had been plucked from a fairground carousel.

Your eyes shot to Alfie whose bear like frame was leant in the doorway studying your reaction.

“When did you do this?”

“A couple of days ago. The room needs a lick of paint but I thought you might wanna choose the colour.” He came to join you in the centre of the room.

“So you did all this before you come to see me? Before you were even certain that the baby yours?...Why?”

He was silent for a moment, deep in thought.

He shrugged. “I s’pose deep down I knew you were lying and that the baby was mine... or maybe I didn’t fucking care, I dunno... doing this...it just felt right.”

“But you said-“

“-I know what I said but saying don’t mean fuck all does it. Actions speak louder than words.” He motions to the room. “And this speaks fucking volumes, dunnit. I mean if this doesn’t prove to you that this is what I really want then I don’t know what will.”

Reassurance drifted over you as you looked once again around the unfinished nursery.

“Say something.” He requested quietly.

Wordlessly you rushed to him and threw your arms around his broad shoulders.

“You like it then? You’re happy?” He confirmed uncertainly.

“I do. I am. It’s...wonderful! Thank you!” You choked a reply, your voice struggling past the forming lump in your throat.

He pulled you closer, his shoulders relaxing as if a weight had been lifted off them.

“You want me to show you round the rest of the house?” He whispered gruffly into your hair.

“Not tonight. Show me tomorrow in the daylight so I can properly take in the beauty of it all.”

“Alright. Well, what shall we do now then?” You were sure you heard a seductive undertone in his question and took full advantage.

“Take me to our bed.”

“You ain’t gotta ask me twice.” He said. His eyes lighting up at your words.

You squealed when he lifted you in his arms and carried you to the next room.

“Cor blimey. You’ve got heavier already.” He huffs.

“Oh give over, I ain’t even showing properly yet. You’re just getting weaker with age, old man.” You teased him.

“Oi! I’ll have you know that there’s nothing wrong with my stamina and I will gladly prove that to you in a minute.” He threatened hotly. Sending your pulse racing. “There’s just one more thing I’ve got to do first.”

He set you down carefully on your own two feet.

“Can’t it wait?” You whined as he stepped away from you and headed towards the door.

“It won’t take me a minute.” He assured you.

You stood in the middle of the once unfamiliar room that you now knew was yours and Alfies. Sighing happily, you glided to the french doors and tried the handle. They opened willingly under your touch. The chill of the night air was refreshing as you stepped out on to the balcony. Leaning on the stone balaustrade, you observed the unrelenting waves that stretched the distance, relishing in the peacefulness of their crashing melody. Nothing could ruin this moment, not even the ugliness of the Changretta situation. All that mattered right now was your future with Alfie, a future that this morning never even existed.

“Yahalom?” Alfie called, having returned.

You spun to look at him. He marched skittishly towards you, his hands behind his back, as he joined you on the balcony.

“I know I’ve asked you this before but as you so poignantly pointed out to me the other day, it’s a proposal that has since expired. So, I’m gonna ask you again... Y/N Y/L/N will you marry me?” He asked gruffly, his eyes so intense you thought they could set you on fire. You gasped unexpectedly. Although it was the second time he had asked you, it was the first time you had heard him say those words aloud.

“Oh, Alfie. Of course I’ll marry you.”

“Thank fuck for that. Here then.” He produced a ring that was hidden in his clenched fist behind his back. Grabbing your hand he slipped it on your finger. You stared down at it in awe. A ruby once again burned brightly on your finger but it wasn’t the one you were used to. You frowned down at the foreignness of the rings delicate beauty and the circle of winking diamonds that surrounded the red gem like a halo.

“I searched high and low for the other one in the bakery but couldn’t find it. So I bought you another one. D’you like it?”

“It’s beautiful... I was just expecting to see the old one.” You replied, your heart sinking at the thought of your first engagement ring being lost forever. It was only supposed to be a temporary ring, taken from Alfie’s pinky finger until he had gotten you a proper one. There wasn’t much to it just a thick gold band with a faceted ruby so red it was hypnotising. Back then you had persuaded Alfie not to buy a replacement, that you wanted to keep his one as every time you looked at it it reminded you of him. Now, thanks to yourself you’ll never see it again.

“That’s old hat now that one though, innit? a token of who we used to be. We’ve been through a lot of shit, right, shit I wanna leave in the past. I want us to have a fresh start, a clean slate, and this house and this ring is where it begins.”

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Tag list: @storm-bjorn @alsheyra @lililolli @jaegers-and-kaijus @lightwoodt @stars-trash-18 @anrm1 @innerpaperexpertcloud @alitheamateur @hardygal69

[nugnthopkns]

dance me to the end of love (ii)

word count: 3.3k

warnings: fem!oc, alcohol consumption, cursing

series masterpost: here

a/n: part two baby! thanks for all the love on part one, it means the absolute world. i have so much love for this story and i hope people are enjoying it :))

Life is settling into a comfortable rhythm.

After spending a good chunk of her young adult life being incredibly studious, Magdalene can finally have the social life of someone in their mid-twenties. Though she’s still spending a fair amount of time by herself in the basements of the University of Denver’s library, Bette convinces her to go out more. Magdalene tries to fight, citing extra work or a good book as an excuse to stay home, but it doesn’t work very often. The pleas of her friend are how Magdalene finds herself currently lounging poolside at Erik Johnson’s house on a Sunday afternoon.

“How’s the new career treating you?” Tyson asks. “I feel like we haven’t seen you in a while.”

Magdalene laughs. “I’ve seen Bette plenty,” she says, “She thinks I won’t take a lunch break unless she shows up.”

“Would you?” the blonde girl questions with a quirked brow.

“Probably not.”

“I rest my case.”

A small crowd gathers around as Magdalene begins to detail the specifics of her job, but she doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as she once would have. In the month or so since graduating school she’s found herself slowly being incorporated into the Avalanche family. It’s almost certainly because Bette and Tyson championed her case, explaining that she doesn’t have much of a support system beyond the two of them, but she doesn’t mind. A few of the guys ask her questions about her work, curious as to why someone would want to spend their life combing through piles of old things. Everyone stays engaged in the conversation until there’s a shout from the kitchen that dinner is ready.

Magdalene shuffles in line behind André, filling her plate with various pasta salads and a hamburger. Once situated with enough food for two meals she returns to the pool deck, sitting on the edge and dipping her toes into the cool water. Bette comes and finds her a minute later and the two of them begin to eat.

She’s still relatively new to the group’s dynamic, but Magdalene can’t help but notice that Ryan is never around. In fact, Magdalene hasn’t seen him since her graduation party. Taking a casual sip of her wine cooler, she asks her friend about the man’s absence.

“Why is Ryan never at these sorts of things?”

Bette shrugs. “Isn’t a huge one for parties. He was supposed to come today, but I guess something came up.”

“I’m not huge on parties,” Magdalene huffs, “But that doesn’t stop you from dragging me to every single one.”

“Unlike you, Gravy gets enough regular social interaction that his absence is permissible. If Tyson and I didn’t take you out you’d talk to your cat more than normal.”

She wants to fight back, but knows it’s pointless. Bette has a point – if it weren’t for her the only people Magdalene would interact with are her boss and her cat. Instead, she grumbles under her breath and changes the subject to the trip Bette is in the middle of planning. It’s coming up in a few weeks, and Magdalene wants to hear a bit more about it before she commits. Despite what she thought about taking time off so close to starting work, it was encouraged by June, but she's refraining from telling Bette that. If it doesn’t sound like she'll enjoy it, Magdalene is banking on being able to use the excuse.

Bette explains that she’s renting a large lake house that is perfect for a relaxing week away from adult responsibilities. The property has kayaks and a hot tub, which pretty much ensures that Magdalene will want to be in attendance. She’ll hold onto that information for a little while longer though, if for no other reason to make Bette squirm a little. At some point Tyson comes to sweep his girlfriend away and leaves Magdalene at the party alone. She makes polite conversation with some other players for a while before heading home herself. Ryan never shows up, despite how much Magdalene hopes he will. At the very least she wants to properly thank him for doing her a favour, though her hoping to see him is much more selfish. He intrigues her and she wants to know more about the tall man with the dazzling smile and a proclivity for wearing all black.

☼☼☼☼

Barn Owl Book Company is filled to the brim when Magdalene approaches the store from the side street it annexes. She should’ve expected it – it’s the first of the month and their newest books are hitting the shelves. However, Magdalene doesn’t exactly have time to wait in line. June gave her only fifteen minutes to run and grab them coffee before they continue the massive task of digitizing a private collection that has just been donated to the university. She estimates it will take almost a month of extended hours to get everything done, and Magdalene believes it. There’s so much to wade through but she knows the end result will be satisfying.

Luckily the café line is fairly short, and Magdalene reaches the counter in a timely manner. “Hey,” she greets the barista warmly, “Could I just grab two medium iced cappuccinos?”

“Anything else?”

“No, that's everything. It’ll be on debit,” she smiles. Magdalene reaches into her backpack to grab her wallet only to find that it’s missing. Shit. The barista has already left to make the drinks, completely unaware that her customer is unable to pay.

Magdalene hears a voice from behind her say, “I’ve got it, don’t worry.” She turns around to find Ryan Graves standing there with a book tucked under his right arm.

“You’re a lifesaver,” she mumbles appreciatively. “I don’t know how my boss would take it if I showed up empty handed.”

Ryan laughs shyly as he pulls his card away from the machine. “I get it, everyone needs a little caffeine this time of year.” The barista comes back with Magdalene’s drinks, which she takes with a smile and a wish for a good day. The two of them head towards the exit, and Ryan pauses once they’re on the sidewalk. “Which way are you headed?”

“Back to work,” Magdalene says, nodding her head in the direction of campus. “I’ve got approximately five minutes to get there before June rips me a new one.”

“June?”

“She’s my boss,” she explains.

Ryan nods in understanding. “I’ll see you around Magdalene,” he smiles, turning on his heel and heading the opposite direction.

In a moment of bravery, Magdalene yells at his retreating figure. “Will you? We never seem to cross paths.”

“I’ll be at Bette and Tyson’s this weekend, and I’m counting on your company.”

Magdalene finds it incredibly hard to focus the rest of the afternoon. She keeps thinking about what Ryan said, which makes her a rather lousy archivist. June sends her home just after seven even though they had plans to stay until ten, citing the fact that she’s scanned the same photo three times before noticing. Caligula’s meowing for pets when she gets home isn’t even enough to distract her from the comment. The absentmindedness continues for another day or so, and it’s becoming so bad Magdalene is worried that June is going to fire her for incompetence.

It’s only when Bette calls to invite her over for dinner and drinks that her mind levels out. “I was wondering when I was going to get the call,” she chuckles absentmindedly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” is the response Magdalene receives.

“Well,” she explains, “I ran into Ryan at Barn Owl the other day and he paid for my drinks because I left my wallet on the table at work, and he said he expected to see me at your place this weekend. So if you never invited me I was just going to show up.”

Bette is smiling, that much Magdalene can infer by the lull in conversation. “I haven’t got the time to call you yet,” she concedes, “But consider this the official invitation to our house for a small party.”

“Anything we’re celebrating?”

“Nope. Have you ever needed a reason to party?”

Magdalene laughs. “Yes. Need one almost every time actually.”

The rest of the week passes fairly quickly. To make up for her blundering earlier in the week Magdalene offers to work a full day on Saturday, by herself, to get the project back on track. June accepts the proposition eagerly, and Magdalene lets Bette know she’ll be coming directly from work. Saturday rolls around and she spends most of her time getting lost in the past lives of the artefacts she’s dealing with. If someone were to ask Magdalene what her favourite part of archiving is, that’s the answer she’d give. There’s nothing more satisfying to her than holding a piece of history in her hands and imagining all the stories it would be able to tell if it could speak.

By the time she’s put in a full work day and finishes locking up the basement floor her department occupies, Magdalene is pretty sure they’re ahead of schedule on the project. She genuinely feels terrible about her misperformance and hopes June will be able to forgive her. On the way to Bette and Tyson’s Magdalene listens to the Leonard Cohen greatest hits cd that came with her car. The previous owner was presumably a big fan, and over the years Magdalene has come to appreciate the folk singer. She never got to see him in concert before his death but turns to his music when she needs to relax. Right now is the perfect time to listen to ‘Hallelujah’ on repeat because she’s seriously freaking out about the idea of spending the night talking to Ryan. Though she still wants to properly thank him and possibly become friends, something about him makes Magdalene nervous.

There’s no way for her to tell if Ryan is there when she parks in front of the house. She doesn’t know what kind of car he drives, or if he caught a ride with someone. Magdalene debates texting Bette to see if he’s there already but decides against it, knowing she’s an adult who is more than capable of pushing down nerves.

She doesn’t bother knocking and just steps into the respectably sized home. The music is loud enough that no one would have heard her anyways. It’s much more of a party than Magdalene was expecting – Bette invited her for dinner and drinks, not a gathering that could pass as a frat party. There are bodies everywhere, and she isn’t sure if she’ll ever catch a glimpse of her friend.

“You seem to be dressed for the wrong kind of party,” a voice chuckles from behind her.

Magdalene turns to see Ryan leaning against the wall, eyeing her business casual attire. “I came from work,” she explains, “And didn’t know it was this kind of party to begin with. I would’ve at least brought a change of clothes.”

“You look terribly out of place,” he agrees. “Can I grab you a drink? The hosts are too busy playing beer pong to, you know, be hosts.”

A giggle escapes Magdalene’s lips at the comment. Ryan seems to have a similar sense of humor to her, which will be beneficial for passing the time if Bette is already on her way to being wasted. “A glass of red wine would be nice.”

Ryan pushes off from his perch and heads towards the kitchen. The crowd parts for the six-foot-five hockey player, and Magdalene follows in his wake quite easily. Knowing the space as well as her, Ryan grabs a wine glass from the cupboard Bette keeps them in and pours the dark red liquid into it. He waits until Magdalene has situated herself on the island before handing her the cup. She takes it with an appreciative hum and waits until he’s grabbed a beer for himself before raising her glass in toast. Ryan does the same, and their glasses clink before each of them take a sip.

“What exactly is it that you do? I bet it’s something super cool and studious, but I seriously don’t know what the hell being an archivist means.”

Magdalene explains her job to Ryan, who is extremely interested. He asks nearly a hundred follow-up questions that she answers sincerely, throwing in a few jokes that luckily crack him up. Conversation moves to his career and then life. Magdalene learns that he’s from Nova Scotia, though he stays around Denver these days, and that if he wasn’t playing professional hockey he’d like to have a career in publishing. Ryan doesn’t press too hard when Magdalene refuses to open up about her family, which she appreciates. It’s a delicate subject that she keeps guarded close to her chest, and a friend’s kitchen in the middle of a party isn’t the place for her to divulge her deepest secrets.

The two of them get refills before exiting the room. Even more people seemed to arrive since Magdalene walked through the door, and the kitchen is no longer an empty safe haven. The music is so loud she can feel the bass thumping in her chest, giving the living room a club-like atmosphere, and it’s too much. Magdalene tugs at the hem of Ryan’s sweater to catch his attention. “Want to go somewhere quiet?”

“I doubt there is such a place,” he yells over the crowd going crazy over some early 2000s hip-hop track.

“Follow me,” she says with a smile, pointing over her shoulder in the direction of the staircase to the second floor.

It takes a minute for them to wade through the throngs of people, but it goes much faster once Ryan takes Magdalene’s hand and splits the crowd. A few boys, who don’t look older than twenty-one and almost certainly snuck into the party, notice where the pair are going and shout congratulations. Ryan shoots them a glare so sharp it could cut stone but doesn’t drop Magdalene’s hand. Once safely on the much quieter second floor, Magdalene makes a beeline for the bathroom.

“Are you coming or what?” she asks when there doesn’t seem to be footsteps following her.

Ryan hesitates. “I, uh, can just wait out here while you’re in there,” he stammers.

Magdalene’s laugh rings out through the empty hallway. “I’m not going to the bathroom. We’re going out the window.”

He isn’t sure how that’s any better, but Ryan follows the brown-haired girl into the room. It takes considerably more work for him to fit through the frame, but after some directions from Magdalene he makes it onto the roof. She sits down and pats the space beside her, encouraging Ryan to do the same. They stay out there, discussing anything that comes to their heads, until the party’s numbers dwindle drastically. Magdalene makes sure to properly thank him for both attending her graduation and spotting her coffee money, and she thinks Ryan might blush a little when she offers to get the next round. He asks about her love of The West Wing, and they launch into a long conversation about the show and cast. The sun fades to black and the cold sets in, and Magdalene finds herself wrapped in Ryan’s sweater without asking. It’s only when she notices it’s approaching midnight that Magdalene clues into how tired she is.

“I think I’m going to head out,” she yawns. Ryan nods in agreement and holds the window open for her to slip in through. Once downstairs, Magdalene goes to lift the sweater from her frame but Ryan stops her.

“Keep it for drive home. I’ll get it back next time we see each other.”

Still feeling bold from the alcohol that left her system hours ago, she reaches out to poke him in the chest. “And when will that be, hm? You seem to enjoy leaving our meetings up to chance.”

It’s Ryan’s turn to laugh. “Think you can swing an extended lunch break on Wednesday? I’ll be at Barn Owl all afternoon. Maybe you can join me for a coffee.”

Magdalene likes the sound of that and agrees. She leaves without seeing Bette or Tyson once, but she doesn’t mind. They’d be happy for her blooming friendship – or at least she’s pretty sure they will be once she calls to fill them in on the details.

☼☼☼☼

Wednesday rolls around without incident, and Magdalene is given a full hour to eat instead of thirty minutes. Walking time has to be accounted for, of course, but she should have nearly forty-five minutes to spend with Ryan if she plays her cards right. There’s no crowd this time, and it’s incredibly easy to spot Ryan sitting in the window she loves to claim as her own.

“Hey,” Magdalene greets, “Did Bette tell you to sit here?”

He shakes his head, perplexed at the question. “No, why?”

“It’s just my favourite seat in the store, that’s all. I thought she told you how to gain some extra brownie points.”

“Should I be concerned about the amount of points I have?” Ryan teases, sliding a cup and pastry bag across the table and into her hands.

Magdalene shakes her head, smiling widely. “You’re doing alright so far. Keep up the good work.”

They eat at a comfortable pace, taking breaks to engage in interesting topics of conversation or take sips of their drinks. Ryan insists his life is boring, but Magdalene is enthralled by the stories he tells. It’s completely different from hers and she feels as though she can live vicariously through the tales of walking through the historic downs of the east coast and swimming in the Pacific Ocean on days off in California. After squeezing every story possible from the man Magdalene shifts gears slightly.

“So, are you going on the trip in a couple of weeks?”

“It’s looking that way,” Ryan shrugs with relative indifference, “Nate doesn’t think he’ll be able to come back, something about a development camp he’s running having the dates switched. He’s asked me to take his spot.”

His neutral mood confuses her. When Bette mentioned his probable attendance months ago, it sounded like he was enthusiastic about spending a week with friends doing nothing to swimming and drinking. “You don’t want to go?” Magdalene probes.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, but sometimes the group parties a little harder than I like to,” he sighs, raising a hand and running it through his hair. That’s something she understands completely, having spent a few too many nights being the sober one out.

“I’ll be there.” It’s Magdalene’s turn to shrug, but the comment holds an incredible amount of hope.

“Well then, that changes everything.”

Was Ryan flirting with her? She spends the rest of lunch thinking about the possibility, and truthfully, it occupies her brain for the rest of the day. However, she keeps her focus and June is none the wiser to the butterflies in her stomach. Work finishes without much fanfare, and her dinner is silent save for the few meows of conversation Caligula offers. It’s late by the time Magdalene falls into bed, cat snuggled into the pillow beside her. On a whim she decides to check Instagram and sees a message request from none other than the man who’s smile has been replaying in her mind. A follow request accompanies it.

Thought that maybe we could quit leaving our meetings to chance and plan something next time :)

He has to be flirting. There’s no other explanation for the witty banter they’ve shared this week, or why he’s reaching out to her on social media. The butterflies in her stomach multiply tenfold as Magdalene types out a reply.

I don’t know, it’s kind of fun being shrouded in mystery. However, I now have the opportunity to stalk your profile ;)

Before she can overthink her use of the emoji, Magdalene shoves her phone in the drawer of her nightstand and rolls over. A slight smile can’t help but appear on her features as she falls asleep, already curious about what his reply will be.

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy @samsteel @lovethepreds (add yourself to the taglist!)

[hanawrites404]

One Dance

Game : The Arcana

Pairing : some slight hints of various pairings

Characters : Asra Alnazar, Nadia Satrinava, Julian Devorak, Portia Devorak, Muriel, Lucio Morgasson, Wynne Toprak, Lyra Slaquer, Sèbastien Slaquer, Raymond Slaquer (the Slaquers belong to @the-soupiest-artist) and Maura Hickey (who belongs to @puzzle-piece-angel)

Warnings : None

Timeline : Modern-Dance AU

This story is based of this song :

And this story is an introduction to the Vesuvia Dance Company and its members, so come along and let's see what does it have in store ✨✨

3rd person POV

"Tch. Boring......."

The wind whooshed against her as she tucks her flowing strands of hair behind her ear. She was leaning against the railings of her balcony, her hands resting on the cold metal as she examined her painted black nails.

To her, black was always the perfect colour. And she nearly never altered it to any other shade. It would be too tedious again.

The woman crossed her legs as she drank her Limoncello from the rim of her glass, the bubbles of the alcohol fizzed inside. Her throat bobbed with every sip and jingled the translucent crystal attached to her dark choker. The liquor quenched her dry throat, pricking it with its gas bubbles and bitter taste as she sighed the cold air.

The sparkling alcohol matched with her eyes as they stared upon the heads of the people walking past her apartment from the balcony. The cars driving away looked like playthings to her, and the trees swaying against the soft gust seemed like shrubs. Nothing was of interest to her outside as she continued to drink her beverage and blink away the yawn from her eyes.

She thought of going to bed again since she had nothing to do either inside or outside, but then a simple phone call from her friend changed all her plans.

"What is it Asra?" She answered, not a good afternoon, not even a hi. She wasn't in a mood for this.

"Heya Wynne! How are you doing first of all??" The person from the other side of the phone didn't seem unfazed by her disinterest because of his experienced friendship with the woman. She sighed and replied, admiring her nails again. "Nothing much, just passing my precious time as always" she chuckled at the last phrase. "What about you? What's the occasion for calling me?"

"Well, I missed you dearly-"

Wynne instinctively made an expression which spoke out 'Oh really?'

"And I have something to propose to you"

The girl blinked from curiosity and pulled away from the railings, walking inside her penthouse, still holding the glass of Limoncello and her phone near her ear as she told him to continue.

"So! You and I both know how much you love to dance right? You have also given performances at your workplace and you just love to lose yourself to the club music. You are a very awesome dancer, Wynne. And you don't mind showcasing your moves to everyone"

"Yeah, so what?" Wynne rubbed her temples, Asra was sure taking his sweet time and her forbearance.

"Well, I have sort of an offer for you. Why don't you meet me at the address I'm gonna text you and I'll spill everything when you arrive"

"Wait what?!" Wynne places her hand on her coffee table, her voice of disbelief and bafflement. "You got to be fucking kidding me Asra. Please tell me what is it and don't you dare cut off like this"

"Sorry Wynne, but I am busy. I promise I'll tell you everything there. Goodbye!"

"Asra! ASRA!!!" but she was too late.

"UGH, fucking bitch....." Wynne snarled as she clutched her phone tight in her palm. The device then vibrated in her hand and she rolled her eyes, opening her phone to find that Asra had sent her the destination in their chat. It was an address that was unfamiliar to Wynne, and thanks to the wonder which had already accumulated in her mind, she growled, and finally decided to reach the place.

Wynne swallowed the last sip of her drink and looked down at her clothes. Assuming that Asra was calling her to a public place, she decided to change from her casuals to a sleeved black crop top and matching palazzos and chunky heels. She combs her blue hair and applies her dark lipstick before grabbing the keys of her old red Cadillac, and she descended the stairs after locking her house.

"Asra, this better not be a prank or I will slap you to grave" she murmured grimly as she started the engine of her car and drove to the address. With a bit of traffic and breakers in between, it took her somewhat half an hour to reach an unknown college building. Now, why would Asra call her here? Was it perhaps for a college reunion? Then why was he talking about dancing? She had so many questions, and Asra owes all the answers to her after leaving her hanging on the phone like that.

"Winnie!! Over here!!" The woman turned her head to the call to find her best friend trotting while waving towards her. It didn't take her long to notice the tie-dyed rainbow shirt and glitter pants with sparkle sketchers, as Wynne just nodded and waited for Asra to finally stop by her car so she could give an earful to him for leaving her edged at the cliff. But calming her urge to denounce him, she patiently asked.

"Alright, I'm here. Now what? Why did you call me near a college?"

"A college?" Asra snorted and burst into a laugh. This made Wynne even more confused and annoyed as she snarled silently and eyed him, unamused. By phoning her at an unknown place when she was in a particularly bad mood only to laugh at her, she had set up her mind to drive away right in front of him and crush him with her car. But then, he luckily spoke on time before she could act her frivolous murder.

"Boo, this is not a college. It may look like one, but it's not. Trust me" Asra winked at her. Wynne, still being unamused, leaned her forehead against her fingers as she replied lethargically.

"Well, what is it then? Care to explain after calling me here without any proper explanation?" She already wanted to leave honestly. And can't she just sleep?

"Of course. If you would follow me, Milady" Asra being the gentleman offered his hand out to her though he was aware of Wynne's already increasing irritation. He stayed patient because he didn't want to reveal the surprise yet to her. The vexed girl grunted again and got off her car, placing her fair hand over his tanned one. Asra gently squeezed her hand in his with a warm smile on his face. That seemed to lower her irritation as she squeezed his hand back. Asra with a small blush spreading across his golden cheeks led her near to the campus, and Wynne followed him gradually.

Soon both of them were near the polished mahogany doors after passing the lobby inside. And before he could enter, Asra checked on his friend with another appreciative smile. Wynne raised her eyebrow. To her, Asra looked very gladder than usual. Though he was known to be a happy guy, he looked....... exceptionally optimistic today. Was today someone's birthday? Was today her birthday? She had no idea what the hell was going on and what the hell was wrong with Asra.

"What's the matter?" She asked. She sounded calm, but inside she was bubbling with novelty that what exactly he had in mind.

"This is not a college, Wynne" Asra repeated what he said before.

"Yeah, so what? Please don't pull another suspense now" the woman placed her hand on her lip. She loved the suspense, but too much of it makes her feel lazy.

Heh, as if she wasn't feeling lethargic already.

Asra chortled and patted her head, and he finally pushed open the huge doors to uncover something imperial, stupendous and incredible enough to leave Wynne's mouth gaping and her eyes caught mesmerized.

Inside the so-assumed as college, was a tremendous majestic dance theatre of what looked like belonging to a prosperous french period. It glittered with gold and red, as a satin rose sprinkled with dewdrops glimmering of sunshine. The walls were delicately painted with a royal maroon gloss and regal purple imprints of what left an impression of lavender flower. Even the hall gave off the scent of apricot and apple orchards. The hefty velvet curtains hemmed the rectangle stage elegantly, the spotlights modern, and the footing was simply immaculate.

"Asra......This is-"

"Alluring? Captivating? Hypnotising??? Is there any other English word I am missing??"

"Well, I would say that yeah. But...this place is like a fantasy!!" Wynne exclaimed as she idolised the beautifully festooned and pleasingly symmetrical ceiling. "I know right? Told you so. I'm glad you liked it. It's one of my favourite places to stay at" Asra joined her as she entered in, the click of her heels grating into the carpets of the theatre.

"Yeah......it's like this has come straight from the golden era of art. Like in one of my school history books! I...I never would have guessed that it would even more wonderful in real life. I thought it was more of a vision of romantic people which were just left as dreams" Wynne skimmed the sides as she examined the details closely, thinking internally about how much work must have gone into creating such a painting over such a vast canvas.

"Well, this theatre runs on donations and funds, but it's sure undeniable that this dance studio is glorious and alluring" Asra shrugged.

"Yes...it is........ Wait" Wynne stopped in mid-sentence and turned to him, her hand still on the wall. "Did you say, dance studio?". Before Asra could open his mouth to reply to her, another unfamiliar voice echoed from a corner. It sounded soothing, pleasant and graceful, but Wynne could not recognise who it was. However, the source was soon revealed as she walked towards both of them, and both of their eyes got fixated on her.

"Oh! A guest! Is she the person you were talking about, Asra?" The fair lady enquired, and Asra nodded in agreement. "Yup! She is the one. The 'blueberry syrup' " Asra winked at the unknown lady.

Wynne was now really questioning her existence....... blueberry syrup..........

Seriously?

"Oh! Now I see why you called her that" the soft ravenette chuckled, even her laugh chimed blissful which can send anyone to ease. Asra giggled and agreed to her, his dimple delicately forming on his cheek like a tiny crescent moon.

"Anyways, here she is. Wynne" Asra introduced the bluenette to the foreign lady, who smiled sweetly at her and Wynne waved for a greeting.

"And Wynne, this is Lyra" Asra finally disclosed the name of the gentle lady, who then stepped closer to Wynne and reached her hand out for her to shake, which the other lady gladly took after staring at her pale hand. And as she had guessed, her hand was soft like feathers.

"Lyra Slaquer, but you can call me Lyra. It's a delight to meet you, Wynne. I hope you enjoy your stay over here" she spoke with another cute smile. Wynne nodded and took her hand back, breaking a small grin herself. The name 'Slaquer' whistled a bit familiar to her, but she had never met Lyra before so it was kind of odd, but she pushed the thought and quickly replied to her.

"I too wish to enjoy my visit over here. This place is still kind of anonymous to me since Asra did technically blackmailed me to arrive here" the woman stared at the white curlyhead with narrowed eyes.

"What?!" Lyra gasped as her hand partially covered her mouth. "He did?! I'm so sorry for that, Wynne! He usually does not do that though" she grabbed her chin in her two fingers.

"Wait, I never blackmailed you" Asra's purple eyes widened in scepticism.

"You provoked me. You fed my curiosity and you left me fucking dumbfounded by your sudden hanger, you agitated me so much that the urge you aroused in me won. And whose fault do you think it is??" Wynne crossed her arms and stared at him, with her weight on one leg.

Asra's cheeks lit up with bright pink by the lady's question. It was not a surprise that Wynne caught his fib about being busy just to bring her here. He had known her ever since they were kids, and Winnie was the most attentive one out of the two. A smirk engraved on her dark lips as she tapped her foot on the floor, waiting for a comeback, though she was already aware that he doesn't have an answer. He was caught, he was very badly caught. And he sadly had nothing to objectify with.

Lyra meanwhile just looked from Asra to Wynne, then back to Asra. She was waiting for one of them to speak, but someone calling her name, presumably from backstage, snapped her out. "Coming!" The twirly ravenette replied, and she rushed to attend to her call. But soon after she stopped at her heels for a moment, and turned back to gently grab Wynne's hand and then finally walking with her.

"Come on Wynne! Let's make you meet everyone. I'm sure they will love you" Lyra notified her and she continued dragging her. The blue-eyed lady sounded so favourable and eager that Wynne couldn't muster the will to pull away and refuse her. She was better than deterring the warmth of a civil lady like her, and Wynne peeked back at Asra, who just waved at her, mugging 'have fun' to her.

'I will kill you.....' she gestured back at him with a scowl and flipped him off until Lyra and she completely disappeared behind the stage. And good thing she didn't notice Wynne being blatantly horrible and rude.

Not that Asra minded her cynicism anyway, he still loved her for how she was.

"Guys, listen up! We have a visitor here. She is Asra's dearest friend!" Lyra with a sunny smile as twinkling as the moon inaugurated her to everyone present backstage.

But little did Lyra know that Wynne already knew four motherfuckers present inside.

"What the heck? How are you all at one place?? And most importantly, what are you guys doing here???" Wynne pointed her finger from puzzlement at all of them and questioned the troop she knew very well through conventions and clashes she would never forget. Some of them which she found awful, and some of them surprisingly candy. She honestly never wanted to meet any of them at all, but profoundly in her heart, she was obliged that she was oriented with the six awesome and decent idiots.

"WYNNE?!!" A particular red-haired fellow, a ginger girl, a raven head man and a purplenette lady, together cried out the lady's name. The four were in a greater shock than she was in. Because neither Asra told them who the guest was, nor did they expect her to be the visitor out of any other persons they could have guessed. Now that's quite a shocker eh?

"Oh~ you know them???" Lyra bent towards her, her blue eyes shone with inquisition. "Yes...Yes, I do" Wynne sauntered towards them, this time, with a wooden floor, her heels gave off the clicking like of a ticking timepiece. Her hands were crossed, and she was tickled that how all the pals she was intimate to were existing in the area.

"Since when?" Lyra strolled with her. "Long story, Dear. It's all thanks to Asra, you can say. He is the cause why I know all of them. Like I met Nadia during one of his get-together parties, and then I met these two siblings- what was their name again? AH! Julian and Portia, at a grocery store when I and Asra wanted some stuff. And like that, I met his other best friend, the giant guy over there, Muriel"

Wynne brought up each one of them as she enunciated about them to Lyra. The ravenette listened to the bluenette with peak attention. She adored the manner and the refinement she held up while chatting to her. It was ethical, posh and highly lordly, just as a splendid black swan.

"And that's the story in a nutshell. Now tell me" Wynne kept her hands on her hips and glared at the four. "What's going on here?". "Wait, Asra didn't tell you what exactly is this place and what is our purpose here??" The physician asked her with mistrust.

"Well, no. He told me nothing. But he did say that this is a dance studio" Wynne tapped her chin, trying to recall what else he had asserted.

"Well yes, you are correct on that. This is a dance studio. Which includes the theatre along with the backstage, the rehearsal rooms, a canteen area with the lobby, a recreational cabin and the dorms. Our dancers live here and we provide them with a comfortable and hygienic place to stay along with necessary hospitality, and they all perform for the company" Nadia replied.

"Wait, the company? You guys are running a corporation together?" Wynne cocked her eyebrow again. This all was very new to her, and pretty intriguing too.

"You can say like that. This is Vesuvia Dance Company, and I'm proud to say that we all are like a close-knit family here. I run the company and also work as the organiser. Portia is the set painter. All the lavender imprints you saw on the screens were done by her" the umber woman referred to the chubby girl as she waved heartily at Wynne.

Judging by Portia's denim suspenders splattered with numerous sorts of pigments, she did look like a very hard worker. Just like how Wynne always knew her to be.

"And that gentleman over there, Muriel, he does the building work. So the stage and every scenery of the bureau is retained by him. During performances, he also makes sure the lights and every other piece of equipment are operating appropriately. Portia occasionally teams up with him for the arrangement of struts and special effects. Without him, the true magnificence of the dance would never have reached the audience" Nadi commended.

Muriel's cheeks blossomed pale red as his jade eyes shyly lowered down. Portia had the opposite reaction though. She just grinned and locked arms with the giant man catching him off guard and turning him more rattled than ever.

"I-It's not that much of a big deal" he mumbled abjectly. Wynne chuckled at the scene and muttered 'cute' before facing Nadia so she could introduce the medic next.

"And you must know Dr Devorak. Just as his profession speaks, he takes care of the condition of every member of the company and assures the safety of everyone from likely injuries or illnesses. He also schedules a diet plan if required, and he is also quite sincere in his work, and the members easily recover, all thanks to him"

"And....did any previous member die even though he was around?" Wynne heckled, and Julian fell right into her mockery as his face burnt deep red, the vivid colour spreading across his porcelain skin. He was positively ashamed, and Wynne snagged him so badly he was staggering. But luckily, Nadia seconded him up as she soughed.

"No Wynne. No one has died. The doctor is a qualified physician, and every one of us relies on his skills of treatment. He is also very humble, so there is nothing for us to be concerned about in terms of health" She retorted. "Alright. I believe you" Wynne shrugged with a sly smile, although the flush on Julian's cheeks didn't vanish. Wynne was like a harpy when it comes to disparaging someone, which sometimes makes Julian fear her. Other than that, Julian did like her, she can be cute sometimes and he has seen it. But just like every ambivert, all she requires is the right time to express it.

"And moving on, Asra is our principal dancer, so he is the one who comes with most of the choreography, but he also ensures to give opportunities to the other dancers to suggest any addition. With his and everyone's aptitude, the event comes out to be beautiful" Nadia affirmed with a low smile on her swift lips.

"I see....." Wynne held her chin in her fingers and nodded.

"And the thespians along with Asra are, Lyra, Maura, and-"

"Hello guys! What's up?"

"Woah Woah Woah!! Take it easy! We didn't go anywhere" Julian stumbled back onto a table as he attempted to brace away from the not-so sudden jumpscare of the stranger who appeared to have popped out in between out of nowhere. Well, a stranger to Wynne, to be precise.

"Haha, sorry Ilya. I was just excited to meet the new guest, and I didn't wanna miss them!" The outsider gleefully met the sights of the new lady with his azure ones, a purple glisten romped within his iris, just like how the gold flapped inside the matron's lustrous eyes. Other than his apertures, she noticed how he looked a bit similar to Lyra, contemplating the same type of hair and complexion of the skin. She then looked down at his clothes. The uproar he was wearing captured her eye, reasonably. Wynne was stringent, and a fashionista filled with critique, but what the man was having over him wasn't so terrible to her at all. She could see the striped black-white sweater, baby pink pants,

And were those turquoise crocs he was wearing???????

"Interesting...." Was all that Wynne could say.

"This is Raymond. He is our pianist, and he with his band performs along with the dancers. And he also conducts the music" Nadia enlisted. "Oh, so he is the soul of the performance huh. Pretty....... eccentric" Wynne eyed Raymond who glanced innocently back at her. She rasped and dabbed Raymond's shoulder as she reacted. "But sure. He is cute".

"Oh! If I'm cute then you are the loveliest girl in the whole world, and the ebony fabric on your fair body is like shadows surrounding the glowing moon" Raymond's eyes sparkled with esteem and cherish towards her, like a child recognizing their favourite superhero. That wasn't a good sign for Wynne at all. Especially deeming that it has only been minutes since he and she got introduced to each other. But, inferring that he was the type of guy to give random sweet compliments to anyone, she coolly answered.

"W-Why thank you Dear. You are.....pretty yourself. I like your hair".

"Thank you, Ms Wynne. You are too nice" he blushed with a wide beam. "Yeaaaaahhhhh" Wynne internally winced but tried not to show it to not come off as rude and anguish the cute boy.

"Alright! I think that's everyone in the area. There are three more people who are left to be introduced, but other than that, I hope everything is to your liking, Wynne. Asra brought you here so you could think about joining the company" Nadia rolled a strand of her long hair around her finger.

"Wait, join you all???" Wynne asked.

"Oh my gosh, you are gonna join us??? PLEASE DO!! I would love you for that!" Raymond practically jumped on his feet with enthusiasm.

"W-Wait, but why??? Why do I have to??" Wynne struggled to justify.

"Well, why not. We all have seen you perform before, Wynne. And you would make an exceptional dancer! Also, it's very fun hanging around with everyone and dancing too, don't you think?" Portia added.

"Yeah Wynne, Pasha is right. We know you don't like being around people so much, but we would give you space when you need it. We may stick close, but we will make sure to not bother you much" Ilya gently smiled at her. She did frighten him sometimes, but Julian would be happy to have a bit of her insolence and sarcasm hovering around. Everyone would love to have that.

"I agree with Julian. You are a wonderful lady, Wynne. It would be our absolute pleasure to have a talented entertainer as you dance with us. I promise I won't talk much if that annoys you. But I want to get to know you better, Wynne. I bet you would be very fun!" Lyra playfully whacked her shoulder, only to receive a deathly grimace from the bluenette's wolf-like eyes.

"O...Oh...." Lyra cautiously procured her hand and backed a bit away from her. She wasn't dreading of her if anything. She just got more.....intimidated. She had never met a woman with such grimness flooding out of her, yet be so nimble as a twilight waft along with the gloom she hauls. Lyra felt like a little butterfly just witnessing a vicious spider open her gapes and watch it flash with yearning and malevolence, but close enough, she could see the dignity and that dwelled deep in those gazes.

And those golden orbs had apprehended her just like a tempting spider's quagmire.

Wynne was never known to miss her target anyway.

"S-Sorry....." Lyra's diamond orifices veered under and a weak rosiness escorting her cheeks.

Wynne just shut her eyes, sighed softly, and immediately gawked at Muriel who was typically tight-lipped the whole time. But she decided to inquire him too because his opinion also mattered after all. "What do you think, Big Guy? Would you be happy to have me over?" She straightforwardly asked. The huge man was taken aback for a bit, he had believed that Wynne won't bring any mind to him, and obviously, she proved him wrong. And now he had to respond to her because everyone else had their eyes on him too.

"I......." He started.

"Mhm?" Wynne waited.

"....................."

"I won't mind" that's all he said.

Everyone in the room breathed a sigh of solace and rejoiced while Muriel just reddened and pouted. He wondered what made the people so relieved when all he did was say 'yes' for the new girl to stay. But what it truly meant was that they were ahead in favour by one more vote.

Wynne snorted. "Yeah yeah, celebrate all you want, but still. I haven't agreed to this yet. So technically there is still be left to decide. Now don't get too much excited already" she stated.

"You are certainly right on that. But we are willing to wait for your final decision, Wynne. Whether positive or not" Nadia told her, and the others agreed to her, nodding and muttering to each other. "Good. I don't like rushing things. I'm glad that you understand" Wynne's lips curved into a slight smile, and everyone else in the room returned a grin. "Of course. We want you to be comfortable after all. You are our friend" Julian added. "And we promise to support ya!" Portia said. "You can speak to us if you ever have any trouble, Wynne" Lyra peered at her. "And we promise to not irritate you at all!" Raymond assured her with a bright grin on his lips.

"We......We would take care of you too....." Muriel softly smiled.

Wynne softly chuckled, shaking her head delightfully and placing her hands on Raymond and Lyra's shoulders. She gleamed at both of them, and she thanked all of them for the patience and hospitality they all gave to a newbie like her. She truly felt honoured and warmly greeted by all of them, and she felt much pleasanter than she was feeling appearing for the first time. Nadia was pleased to see how everyone welcomed Wynne. She was looking forward to the guest making herself comfortable among the partners and come to be a valued part of the small artsy gang and relish the beauty of dance and music together with everyone.

And am I missing someone important to introduce?

"So! What did I miss, lovely ladies and gentlemen?" Some other unidentified person barged in like a typical theatrical garish zealot. Just as assumed by his way of the fashionably late entry, his clothes were incredibly contemporary and vogue and his shirt were half-buttoned to expose his semi-hairy chest. The unknown man rested his elbow at the frame as his piercing emerald eyes stridden around on everyone's faces until it spotted its victim. A certain gal in black.

"Ah! Gotcha" the stranger grinned and grazed his teeth over his lower lip. He pushed himself back on his feet and walked towards his prey. His hand brushed through his curly dark locks, the hooves of his shoes made a satisfying click with every step he got closer to Wynne. He wasn't focused on anyone else other than her, his eyes glimmered under the daylight, like lush green leaves after monsoon showers.

Wynne perked up her eyebrow up. Who is this guy now, she pondered. She glanced at his shirt for a moment and noticed patterns of peacock feathers with splats of prominent blue and white matching the print. Very remarkable, she thought. But also somehow very familiar too. The design on his cloth was something she had seen somewhere before, but she couldn't recollect when exactly.

Nevertheless, the unfamiliar man wearing the familiar clothing gently took hold of her hand and locked his emeralds with her gold.

"And you might be......" She started.

"Sèbastien Slaquer at your service, mademoiselle" he fervently kissed her knuckles, nurturing the sweetness of her skin on his lips.

"Ah...Slaquer......french....Wait a minute" Wynne interrupted.

"Yeah, what's the matter? Remembered something important?" He tilted his head and looked at her, his eyes taking in the charm of her marvellous face and dusk merging with her rosy skin.

"Slaquer.....no wonder why it was sounding so weird to me.......I think I have heard this name before.....in a brand name" Wynne held her chin.

"Oh, you have? I don't know. My brand sure is well-known--"

"Wait, did you say, your brand???" Wynne gripped him. "Yes of course" he shrugged. "Hmmm.....that explains your shirt..... the peacock designs..... peacock designs???"

Wynne suddenly gasped. "You are french, aren't you?!"

"Oh, are you giving me a racist remark now?" Sèbastien knocked and chuckled at his joke. "But yes, you are right. I'm french. And so is my little brother and my cousin behind you" he gestured to both Raymond and Lyra who were currently casually conversing with each other. "Ohh those are your siblings? Alright," Wynne nodded. She wasn't surprised because the three of them did kind of resemble each other. The opaque curly hair, ivory skin, thrilling eyes.

And speaking of Raymond and Lyra, Wynne noticed how personal they were. Both were standing near one another, and Raymond never halted eye contact with Lyra, and Lyra also had her entire attention on him. They didn't seem to mind anything happening around them. They just talked, but every word they said to each other pertained only to them. They were just cousins, but Wynne was mildly amazed how they behaved like mutual siblings who loved each other to the brim.

It thawed her heart, but also made it ache as soon as she realised she doesn't have such a person whom she can call a sibling. Her mother was never there to give her a sibling.

Wynne was always alone at such times.

"Anyways, what do you call a peacock in French by the way? Maybe that would remind me" Wynne turned to the tall man. It disturbed her how he towered over her. She was fundamentally disturbed by how ALL of them towered over her.

Heh, looks like someone has taken Portia's place of being the smallest.

"Oh, Paon" he answered within a second.

"AHH! I got it! That's your fashion brand, ain't it so?" She banged her fist on her palm as soon as she ultimately understood the name she was trying to remember all the time. "Well yes, you are correct again. Wait, you mean you know my work??" He gazed at her. "Mhm. I have seen it. Peacock layouts are your trademark, along with the colours, royal blue and brine green. Your type is modern, but also have a slight tinge of French flavour, dating back to the eighteenth or nineteenth-century or so. I have even seen the blogs that talk about you, very impressive I must say" she complimented him.

"O-Oh...Why thank you for your tributes, mademoiselle. You are pretty vigilant and almost figured out my whole style. Not many people can, you know" he laughed. "Of course, no problem Mr Slaquer" Wynne giggled. She found Sèbastien relatively interesting already, even after knowing him only for instants. Not only she liked his judgment of fashion, but also how he and she shared the same passion for design.

"Oh please, call me Sèbastien. It's my upmost pleasure to meet you, Miss......."

"Wynne. Wynne Toprak" she said.

"Toprak?? You mean, Priddell Toprak??" Sèbastien asked her. "Yup. I don't use my middle name too often, actually" she mentioned. "Ohhh I am have heard about you a lot, Ms Toprak. I have witnessed your works too, but I just wasn't lucky enough to see your beautiful face until now. Lucifer's Wings, that's yours right?" He questioned.

Wynne's cheeks turned a slight pink. She always thought that she can improve her style more and more, so she never found her methods perfect. And someone just breaking it to her that they admired her works and call her beautiful on top of that turns her shy and flustered.

"I-I...Thank you. And yes, that's my brand. I started it when I was like, 15 years old or so" she replied. "Woah, now that's a young talent I see. Very terrific, Ms Toprak. And I love how you make black match every other colour of your clothing. Your mode is very diverse and comfortable for anyone. Now that's how I want fashion to be. It should be dispersible to everyone, without any discrimination. And also with being unique, but also not too bizarre, if you know what I mean" Sèbastien's eyes shot to Raymond for a second.

Wynne bobbed her head. "I agree with you. Clothes which are different but also not too much of it. We don't want to walk around looking like piñatas now, do we?" She shrugged. Sèbastien broke into a fit of laughs and he shook his head. His laugh sounded like harmony to her, she chuckling with him too.

"Also, I am guessing you work with Nadia in designing the dresses for the dancers?" she continued. "Yup. Right. I have a contract with her for that. And Raymond has one too for his band to perform in the theatre" Sèbastien rubbed his neck. "Ahh...I see......Well, my friend had invited me here to take a look, and decide whether I should join the company with all of you or not" she noted.

"Oh! So you are going to design with me too?? Like a collaboration??" He sounded pretty energetic about it. "Well, maybe. But I also am a dancer. So let's see what happens" Wynne shrugged again.

"Woah...what a gifted lady. I'll be looking forward to work with you, mademoiselle" he softly kissed her hand again. "Oh it's nothing much. Trust me, Dear. But sure, I'm anticipating too" she sadly smiled at him. She still wasn't sure if she should join or not. But seeing so many likeable people who welcomed her so sweetly, made it hard for her to refuse. But also, what worse can happen if she joins? She loved dancing, and maybe along with fashion, she can make her career in another field too.

But still, she needed a bit more time. Though her mind was already telling her to agree to the contract and sign in. But she still needed to wait. Not just yet, please.

"Ohh!! What a lovely lady in the house!" Wynne heard another adorable voice from the entrance. She glanced at the new blonde woman, her long hair as golden as daffodils and her eyes as green as polished malachite. She also noticed the dress she was wearing. A long red skirt and a white buttoned top. It was simple but pretty, along the black ghillies with distinguishing neat white socks.

"Oh hello there. Nice to meet you" Wynne turned her attention to the blonde dame, whose cheeks lightened to blush as she bashfully smiled at Wynne.

"Nice to meet you too! I'm Maura. You must be Wynne, right? Asra told me about you" she replied. "Yeah, that's me. In flesh" she snorted.

"Ah, Wynne. Maura is the one who planted all the flowers and plants in the garden. And she always knows what type of flower would suit anyone. Also, not only she is the gardener, but she is also a prudent performer of Irish stepdance. It looks very difficult to me, to be honest. But Maura always does it so effortlessly" Sèbastien added on. Maura blushed harder and timidly thanked the man for the compliment, who just patted her head with a playful wink in return.

"Oh! Now that's very sweet of you. I absolutely loved the sunflowers in the garden by the way. They are my favourite. Every other flower in the garden were beautiful too" Wynne smiled at her. "Of course! I'm glad you liked them. I love sunflowers too. They sure a happy radiant flowers, don't you think?" She glinted at Wynne. "Definitely. I love them because they remind me of my mother, that's why" Wynne sadly smiled, the fond portraits of her precious mother as her hair and eyes lustrous as the cloudless floral elegance of nature flooding into her psyche. She dearly missed her, too bad she was no more.

"Oh! That's wonderful! I'll make sure to make a bouquet of sunflowers for you once they fully blossom. You can even gift them to your mom. And tell her I said hi" Maura twinkled. Wynne was seized aback by her abrupt tenderness. People were being too much nice to her today that it seemed so alien to her. But appreciating her generosity, Wynne warmly smiled.

"Thank you, Maura. She would like it" she still couldn't believe that such kind people still exist.

"My pleasure, Wynne. This is the least I can do" she smiled back.

"Also, Irish dance, now that's very interesting. You gotta show me some moves and teach me one day" the bluenette placed her hand on her hip. "Ohh for sure! I would love to. What dance do you do? Or do you specialise in some other thing than dancing" Maura leaned her head.

"Ah! I'm usually into hip hop and ballet. I learnt a bit about belly dancing too, it's also called Raqs Sharqi in Arabic. And other than dancing, I also run my fashion brand, and that's my real profession. It's called 'Lucifer's Wings'. I still remember how I took days to come for a decent name" she facepalmed and chucked at her forenamed naivety.

"That's a very nice name! You gotta show me your works someday then. I bet they will be very very beautiful and elegant, just like you!". "O-Oh....thank you for the.....compliment, Dear. And of course, I'll show you my latest designs, if that will satisfy you" Wynne brushed back her bangs. "I am sincerely honoured, Wynne" Maura grinned at her, her hands behind her back and her cheeks pink.

"No pressure. Your welcome" she raised her shoulders. Alright, she had to admit. She had started to like Maura too. Who wouldn't? And it was funny how she presently was liking the Slaquers and Maura more than the six she already was aware of. Maybe it's the benefit of the joy of meeting new people. Maybe........

"Also, I have a small question, would you mind me asking?" Wynne blinked. "Not at all, sweetie. Ask away" the blonde replied.

"Asra said this place runs through funds" Wynne blinked again.

"But who exactly is funding you all?"

Maura wasn't the one to answer her question. And neither was Sèbastien. Or Raymond. Or Lyra. Or any of the five.

It was the one out of the six who was known to be snooty, and robust, and blond.

And a passionate pup person too.

In came the notorious devil with two of his faithful albino pair of hounds growling at everyone in the room. His garnet coat with gold trimmings and the spotless Tom Ford Customs, obviously costing so much it would make our pockets spontaneously explode, were dry cleaned and smoothed very strictly, and his hair was huddled back with shower gel, replacing the pleasant smell of vanilla in the air with a tincture of mint.

"How are you all losers? You missed me?" The man removed his Gucci glasses and straightened his silky black gloves on his hands as he looked down at everyone.

"Tch, not him again" Wynne heard Sèbastien scoff and cross his arms. He looked irritated, and so did Maura, but she didn't have any frown on her face like him. She just looked..... unsettled. Meanwhile, others in the room were feeling as uncomfortable as both of them too. Muriel was looking away, Portia began to mind her business, Julian hid behind his papers, Lyra and Raymond tried to ignore the man and Nadia just sighed tiredly and rubbed her temples to give some comfort from the headache she just got. Possibly because of the new blond who entered.

"Hello Lucio" Nadia was the one who bothered to greet him, and she didn't look like she had a choice.

"Hello, Noddy! So how are my wife and her useless crew doing?" He cocked.

"Ex-wife, for your information. And they all are doing better than you, anyway" she scowled.

"Ah, still defending them huh? You do know this won't stop me" he smirked and kept his hand on his hip. Nadia closed her eyes, breathing calmly. "I don't care if you stop or not, but you are wrong. You always will be. My crew will always be committed and hard-working. And they all mean a lot to me no matter what bad you say about them"

Nadia's words effectively dissolved the tension in the room. Wynne just kept up at her place, listening to everything. She wasn't stunned to find him here. If her five friends would be here, then so would he.

The surprising fact was that she preferred the blondie over everyone else due to their previous relations and memories. It may sound unbelievable, but Wynne knew Lucio more than anyone, and it probably was the same with Lucio too, that he knew Wynne more than he knew anyone else. She was just a kid she met the guy when he was younger than today. And it has been two decades since, yet they kept in touch and their love never deteriorated.

Maybe.....maybe Wynne did have someone to call a sibling.

"So good to see you here, Lulu" she sounded pleasantly happy. That adds to another reason for joining the company.

"Wait- WYNNE?!!" The man was startled, finding his close friend at a place he least expected to. His lips widened to a grin and he forgot about everything, only to dash to the lady and tackle her in the biggest hug he can ever lend. Wynne laughed, and simply held his back, embracing his nostalgic warmth and scent close to herself, remembering every time they spent together merrily.

Sèbastien was dumbfounded, his mouth agape. Maura too was a bit astonished, that a sophisticated lady like her would be friends with such a flamboyant and hyperactive person. Well, she didn't judge it. Opposites do attract, you know. Maybe that was the case here. Maybe......

"What...What are you doing here??? I didn't know you were coming for a visit. Noddy never tells me anything" Lucio implored, fretting at the last sentence. "Well, it was more like a surprise visit. Nadia didn't know, so don't blame her" she replied. "Arrgh, fine. If you are saying it, then I'll gladly listen" he winked at her."Good" she cracked a tiny smile, snickering in the middle, and he joined her with the laughs.

"Now now, do you work here too??" She asked as she stopped.

"Work?! No!! I don't work with these idiots. THEY, work for me" his chest surged like a roasted turkey's bust.

"Oh yeah???" She raised her eyebrow, her eyes darting to Sèbastien. He shook his head, denying Lucio's statement. He then crossed his arms, and behind Lucio's back started mocking him by making his hand talk like Lucio and mouthed the gibberish with his eyes rolled up.

Wynne almost got caught by wheezing and cackling like a witch. Luckily her convenient hand covered it up.

"--And that's how I brought them all here. I am their saviour, Wynne. I raised them from the streets and gave them homes and look how they repay me. Not even a decent formal greeting!!" He bragged. Wynne already knew that the 'saving' part was not true no matter how fondly she thought of him, but she still played along to not dishearten her best friend.

"I understand, Monty. They are pretty tired too, you know. You can excuse them for that" she augmented, perfectly roleplaying.

"Excuuuuuse me?!! I work for hours at the meeting of the cooperations and look at me!! Not even a sweat on my brow. Oh, come on!! Are you all that lazy??? You are such losers for god's sake UGHH" Lucio hysterically placed his hand on his hip and cited them all. None of them were diverted, just as predicted. But Lucio was just pouting as always, and Wynne was feeling hotter and also sheepish. Were the two things even proportional?? She imagined so.

"U-Uhhh" she slowly walked to him and carefully placed her hand on his shoulder. She clasped her fingers around his joint and sighed peacefully.

"Hey...Lulu. I know you are worried about them and thinking that they are not....... trying harder, but they all deserve a break, you know. They all are like you after all. You all are humans, you need rest. You need fresh air"

She stopped and breathed a bit.

"And you know what you and your mates want??" She asked him, with a small beam of mischief on her lips.

"Huh??? What do I need??" He raised her eyebrow at her. She then grinned and booped his nose.

"You need ice cream, Silly! Ice cream! Who doesn't want a sweet cold treat on such a hot day hmm?? Come on all!! Let's have ice cream outside! I'm sure Asra can cover us up on that, free of charge" the bluenette invited everyone over, melting the potent tension just like ice cream under the giant ball of burning gas, leaving sweetness and chill dripping all over.

Everyone agreed to Wynne and relaxed from Lucio's outburst. They were finally keen to take a break they deserve and make their way through the other side at the exit. Lucio and his pets already ran to where they would most probably find the ice cream guy of the house, while everyone else silently thanked the blue lady for preventing Lucio to turn things worse. Some shook her hand, some gave her a quick hug and a bright smile, while some gave her thankful glances. She welcomed all of them with a simple nod, happy to help of course.

"You did great, Wynne. Thanks for shutting that asshole up" Sèbastien patted her head before moving out, shoving his hands in his pockets and whistling away a loud ballad. Maura followed Sèbastien, but she stopped to gently shake Wynne's hand and give her one of her confectionary smiles, also thanking her for saving her from the virago.

"It was nice to meet you again, see you soon" and she went away, her skirt fluttering with the inside wind, as the bluenette saw her walking.

"Hey...that was considerate of you, stopping Lucio from flaring on all of us. I never liked him screaming at anyone, but thanks to you, now I can finally breathe fresh air" Lyra humoured and Wynne chuckled with her. "No problem, Lyra. Lucio and I have been together since my childhood. He had been like this since his college days. So it's not shocking that he is still like this. I honestly love it" she laughed.

"That's great, even for him. I'm happy that you have someone close to you" she gladly smiled. "Yeah, I am happy too. You also have awesome siblings, take care of them just like they take care of you, okay?" Wynne leaned on her weight. "Ah! Of course! Ray Ray is my closest confidant. We are just cousins, but I treat him as my brother. Sebby is also very sweet to me, but he is one thirsty man for gossip and he often turns......scandalous" Lyra whispered the last thing to her.

"But I'm really glad they are here for me, and I'll be there for them too! I'll protect them at all costs!!" Lyra puffed her cheeks with resolution and adherence. Her adorable reaction made the goth lady guffaw from amuse. She held her stomach, one of her hands fanning her face and gashes of laughter accumulated at the nook of her eyes.

Watching her laugh was like watching a thunderous hurricane reflecting a widespread rainbow, or like a broken glass casting an bewitching silhouette.

"You are such a sweetheart. Keep it up like that" Wynne patted her shoulder out of appreciation. Lyra shied a little, she found the other lady's laugh so mellifluous as a psalm's ensemble. She creased a ringlet behind her ear and ogled fondly at the shorter woman.

"I am trying my best, Wynne" she timidly replied to her. "I know, Dear. I know" she closed her eyes and exhaled. She unfolded them again, only to glimpse back into her sapphire watches. Lyra was so captivated by her that her heart skipped a beat when she observed the golden blaze and crystal frost inside her. It was enthralling.

"Also, may I ask for a favour?" Wynne gently held Lyra's chin and poked it up her lips. She didn't even realise that her mouth was open in awe that she blinked rapidly, and stammered a bit, her face flickering to an apple glow. Soon she regained her composure and answered back to her, not making her wait for long.

"Yeah?? What's the matter?"

Wynne stayed silent for a bit.

"......................."

".............................."

".................."

"......................................................"

"Can you show me the contract papers? I gotta sign up"

The clock strikes at 11, and so does the cap of Wynne's pen. Finally, she wrote her name on the paper and learned to become one of their family. She was having fun and was impatient for her first performance.

Well.....maybe Asra did the right thing annoying her huh. Bless him for that, and everyone else of the Vesuvian Dance Company.

Now let the extravaganza begin!