#Frank made his jacket for me bless his heart

[the-masked-hunter]

Look, I’m just saying there are some very important things you need to include on your Shane sim

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (IV)

Chapter 4 : ‘For he gave all his heart and lost’

Hi, everyone!!! Chapter 4 is here! Lots of angst in these first chapters, but we need to get the plot fully plotting!

I hope you like this series! Tell me what you think!

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Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 2888

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Never Give All the Heart

Never give all the heart, for love Will hardly seem worth thinking of To passionate women if it seem Certain, and they never dream That it fades out from kiss to kiss; For everything that’s lovely is But a brief, dreamy, kind delight. O never give the heart outright, For they, for all smooth lips can say, Have given their hearts up to the play. And who could play it well enough If deaf and dumb and blind with love? He that made this knows all the cost, For he gave all his heart and lost.

W.B. Yeats

You decided to meet in a pub. Frank was staying with his brother for now, you were keeping the flat you used to share. It felt empty without him, filled with blank spaces. Clothes missing in the dresser, a shelf unused in the bathroom, empty spaces on the bookshelves. Every time you looked up while you ate, you expected to see his face and found nothing but a wooden chair instead. And it was killing you slowly, how much you missed him, how much you missed your lives tangled together, sharing space and habits and everything in between.

Frank’s brother’s place wasn’t an option to meet up, and the home he left seemed unfitting, you reckoned that it had witnessed enough farewells already. So, a neutral land it was, a pub you knew but had spent few nights at. Laughter had been shared, along with kisses and drinks, but only a few times, nothing worth crying over.

Only, when you stepped into the pub, easily spotted Frank sitting there, on a chair at a small table with one spot left empty for you opposite him, you could feel the tears rising to your eyes…

It had been two weeks, since Frank had left, and you were still in shock. Reality had started sinking in, you were beginning to understand what it truly meant to lose him. You were beginning to realise that he was truly gone. And what a terrifying thought that was…

He smiled when he saw you approaching, welcoming, like he was genuinely happy to see you. Was he though? Then why did he leave?

You had broken up your engagement, you had to announce the news to your family, had broken down on the phone with them as you did so. You had warned all the people you had invited that this was over, that you and Frank were breaking up, that there would be no wedding, after all. The humiliation was almost as painful as seeing him again. Almost as dreadful as the knowledge that you would not hesitate to take him back, you were hoping to make him change his mind still… that was how desperate you were to get your life back on track, to set it how it should be again.

You said your hellos, you smiled to each other, he seemed emotional to see you as well. You sat down and took off your jacket like you were on autopilot. Something happening outside your own mind, your own chest, your own body. You expected him to tell you about his day, to say something about sport and any of his interests, to order some drinks for you both and to ask you what you wanted to eat tonight after you got home together. Instead, he smiled, asked you if you wanted a drink, and then he looked at you in silence for a moment.

“You look well,” he said, and you congratulated yourself for the efforts you had put in earlier that evening to look somewhat presentable.

“Thanks. You too.”

It was true, he looked surprisingly well, considering he had shattered the last six years merely a couple of weeks ago.

“Thank you for meeting me tonight, it means a lot.”

“Sure, I… I’m glad you called to ask for this. I… I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

There was so much hope within this stupid, lovesick heart of yours after those words…

You gave him a weak smile, imagined him apologising and asking for forgiveness and begging you to take him back after this crazy mistake of his…

Instead, he asked you about work, you asked him about his day, you chatted for a while, dragging the moment along as if you knew already that things weren’t meant to last anyway, that he was about to break your world again, that you were wrong to hope…

… and eventually, you got to the reason behind his call, to what he wanted to get out of this conversation.

“Look, Y/N… you know you’re important to me. So important… I’m sorry about the wedding. And I’m sorry to have ended things the way I did. I reckon that I should have handled this better, ease you through it better so you wouldn’t hurt so much.”

Every word was a slide from hope to pain, a slope that got steeper and steeper, that pushed you towards the edge of a cliff, to a pit you knew you would fall into because you loved him too much not to.

“I really hope you won’t hate me. I… I know that it was sudden, I know that it might have looked like a shocking decision, and it was, even to me. I really meant to marry you when I proposed, but then, I… I just realised that we weren’t meant for each other. We weren’t meant to spend our entire lives together. And I think that’s okay, really. I still have so much love for you, it’s just… it’s just not strong enough for us to go through with this wedding. Do you understand?”

Slowly, you nodded, trying hard not to cry.

He didn’t love you enough…?

“It’s just… Sometimes, it’s a lot to be with you, to take care of you. It’s not that you’re too much to handle, that’s not what I’m saying. You’re grand, Y/N, you really are. But your career takes a lot of space, you’re moving regularly, and you just… I don’t know. I just want something else, I think. I want… I want someone else.”

He heaved a sigh, rubbing at his forehead like he was the one breaking, like he was the tired one, like it was he who suffered when you struggled not to cry, when you felt the pain of rejection and heartbreak wash over you all over again.

“I still care about you, Y/N. It doesn’t mean that all of my love for you is gone, it only means that… I… I can’t be with you romantically anymore. Do you understand? But I… Y/N, I don’t want you out of my life. I care about you too much, you are too important to me. So, would you… What would you say if I asked for us to remain friends?”

Friends… the word echoed in a mixture of horror, pain and disappointment.

Friends… you should have been about to get married, engaged, in love… and instead he wanted friendship?

It was such a blow to your pride, your self-esteem. But then you thought about it, and a glimmer of hope was alit again, foolish and sickeningly in denial.

But if you remained friends, you would keep in touch, you would keep on seeing him.

And if you remained friends, perhaps you could make him see reason, show him that you were the one he belonged with. You wouldn’t be able to do that if you didn’t talk or see each other.

Friends…

He reached for your hand across the table, sneaking his arm between his drink and yours, hand warm against your cold fingers.

“I don’t want to lose you, Y/N. You’re so important to me. I just… don’t think that it would work out for us if we keep on having a romantic relationship, that’s all. It doesn’t change the fact that I care about you. So much, Y/N…”

You stared at his blue eyes, the blond hair you used to run your fingers through. He was making a mistake, and that was all there was to say about it.

“Okay,” you breathed out, the word escaping without you even noticing its passing of your lips.

He raised a surprised eyebrow, and yet he had a relieved expression painted over his features.

“Really?”

“Yeah, okay. We can still be friends.”

“Oh, Y/N! You can’t imagine how happy I am to hear you say that!”

Happy…

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, forced a smile.

You would make him see reason, he was making a mistake, nothing more…

Things would get back to normal, and you would have your life back. You would have your life back…

She wanted to come over, Andrew wanted to refuse at first. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see his partner, of course he longed for her company. Except, tonight, he was busy. Busy sorting out his thoughts, busy worrying about the sadness that surrounded his colleague, busy worrying about his father, whose medication had been slightly changed, busy trying to write and coming with nothing but a blank page.

It used to be easier, to fill up blank spaces. When he was younger, in his late teens to early twenties, he filled notebooks after notebooks with song lyrics and poems. When Sam and Andrew had met, it was so easy for him to write about love. He was awestruck by her all the time, and he still was, in a way. But then they had grown out of the naïve phase of youth, into proper adults; ones that thought about rent, about food, about taxes, about sacrifices, about laundry and grocery lists and the work to be done the next day. She had turned him down when he had offered for them to move in together, had always refused to speak about marriage. And Andrew tried hard to hide how much her reaction saddened him. It turned off a switch in him, the words were harder to find these days. Growing up, or rather, starting to grow older, that was tough work, tricky work. The kind that left all poetry behind.

He still wrote, the two books he had published were proof, as well as the poems he published regularly in journals. But these days, he couldn’t get a word down, and how was he supposed to communicate and let his feelings out when he struggled so much saying them out loud? Speeches had never been his strong suit, it was through the mask of metaphors, the rhythm of rimes, the cadence of alliterations that he managed to express himself. It was therapeutic, in a way.

But in the past few weeks, Andrew had not written a word. He was too worried for that. There was something off with Sam, and he didn’t know what it could be. It made him anxious. He tiptoed around her a lot these days, worried about what would happen if they started fighting over anything, no matter how small the issue. Perhaps that was why he couldn’t write, he wasn’t sure… No matter the reason, his sudden inability to produce anything even vaguely decent made him spiral into doubts and anxiety. He didn’t need that to second-guess his decisions, to doubt his own worth…

He heaved a sigh, closing his laptop, checking the time. Almost 9 p.m, Sam would soon be there. As if on cue, Elwood barked twice when a knock on the door broke the silence of Andrew’s flat.

She was early, as per usual, when he was always late to everything. It annoyed her to no end.

Andrew went to open the door, welcomed Sam with a forced smile, but she seemed not to notice. She merely hummed a hello, let him kiss her cheek, before walking inside the flat. Elwood approached, unhurried, looked up in hope to be petted. Sam granted him a few scratches, before turning away. The dog merely huffed, and walked over to Andrew, rubbing his side against his human’s leg, looking for the attention he craved for. Andrew granted it to him easily.

“How was your day, baby?” he asked Sam in a sweet tone, but she shrugged, waiting for Andrew to move out of the hallway and into the living room.

“Not much. You?”

“I’m fine, yeah.”

He wanted to talk about his research, and how he wanted to start writing a new article, how he was almost done planning out his class for Yeats’s poetry, how sad you looked still, how worried he was for his family these days. Instead, Sam claimed the conversation, and he didn’t try to fight against it so he could speak again.

“I wanted to talk to you, Andy.”

“Sure, what’s up?” he asked back, standing straighter, quitting Elwood’s petting and following Sam to sit on his sofa.

She seemed nervous, in a way she rarely was around him. He was nervous too now, had a bad feeling about all of this.

“I don’t know how to say this,” she spoke in a weak voice, he reached for her hand to reassure her.

“Straightforwardly,” he answered with a smile.

He pushed back a strand of hair behind his ear, tiredly adjusted his glasses. Slowly, she nodded, took a deep breath before speaking.

“Andy… you know how important you are to me. You’re… you’re the first man I ever truly loved, the first person I could see myself with on the long run. And I care about you, about your happiness… I care so much. And this is very hard for me to do this to you, to us, but…”

She took another deep, slow breath, and Andrew could see the tears in her eyes, the way she struggled to hold them back. He knew what was coming, didn’t want to think it true, but it was.

He knew his world was about to get shattered before she spoke the words he dreaded.

“I’ve been happy with you, genuinely happy. But this… I’m so sorry, Andy, but I think we need to break up.”

Andrew blinked at her, his brain refusing to understand her words, refusing to work now. He forced himself back to the present, forced himself to repeat her words.

Break up…

“What… What do you mean? What do you mean ‘break up’? You… you want us to take a break?”

“No, Andy. I want us to break up. For good. I’m so sorry.”

“But, I… I love you. We’re… we’re good together, we… we belong together.”

“I’m sorry, Andy. But I don’t think that’s true anymore.”

“What triggered this? Did I do something wrong? Are you angry at me? I… I can change for you. I can make things better. I can make you happy, do whatever you want me to do…”

“I’m sorry… there’s nothing to do. It’s not… it’s not you. I just feel like… we’re not on the same page, anymore. We were so young when we got together, we’ve grown into different people. I… I’m sorry.”

“Why now? What happened?”

“Nothing…”

“I know you, Sam. I know you better than anyone. I know you’re lying. What happened? What triggered this?”

“Andy…”

“I don’t want you to leave… we can make things work!”

“We can’t…”

“We can make efforts, we can…”

“I don’t want to, Andy. I’m sorry. I just… I love you, but… not enough, anymore.”

These were the words that made him break, that turned his desperate tone into silence, his begging eyes into teary ones. He started crying.

She didn’t love him anymore…

Not enough…

“But I love you…”

“I’m sorry, Andy.”

He let tears overcome him, drown him into silence. Sam was crying as well, but not as violently.

“Why? Why now?”

“I just… nothing, I just…”

But she fell silent, and Andrew wasn’t a fool.

“Is there someone else?”

She looked away, looking guilty.

This couldn’t be happening…

“We met just about two months ago. I just… I think I’m falling in love with him. And if I can love him, it means I don’t love you the way I should anymore…”

He buried his face in his hands.

This could not be happening…

He refused to ask her if she had been having an affair, Andrew knew he didn’t have the strength to hear her answer.

He was falling; falling into an endless pit and he would die once she would have left with the ground in her care.

They fought after that, he tried to hold her back. And perhaps she didn’t deserve it, but Andrew was in love, and he had thought for years that she was the one, that them, their couple, was the constant element in his life. He fought for her, there was nothing he could do. When she said she would only be happy with someone else, he let her go.

He cried all night, called in sick the next day. He answered your worried email, explaining what had happened in a clear, concise way that left out any detail. You said you were sorry. It didn’t make him feel better at all. In the evening he got so drunk he had no memory left of that night in the morning. For a moment he thought none of this had happened, the pain through his skull was too vivid for that. But then reality came back, and when he hurried to the bathroom to throw up, he wasn’t sure whether he was sick because of the remnants of alcohol in his system or because of the pain of losing her.

When she texted a few days later asking if they could still stay in touch, Andrew was too heartbroken to see the red flags. He answered yes, dreamt of having Sam back in his bed, thought about ways to win her over again, and fell asleep that night out of exhaustion and too many tears.

[jackjackal]

Now...Rec #2 on my Master List...*drum roll*

For #1 on Jack's Master TV Show Rec List Pt 1: Detective Shows🔍 please click HERE!

For a more detailed description for new watchers or those unfamiliar with the show, please click "Keep Reading"...I have a lot to say about this absolute gem :3

OOOOOkaaaay y'all better buckle up cause our second show on the list holds a very, very deep place in my heart.

Here's a little bit on the Hardy Boys Nancy Drew Mysteries:

First and foremost...this show is OLD...old in the best way however!! It's from the 70s...so if you don't like old television...maaaaybe this isn't gonna be for you. Just kidding! Anyone (even those who aren't fans of old tv shows) will like this one! Why?! Because of several, several reasons. Which I will now highlight in the next points:

Shaun Cassidy and Parker Stevenson are not only some of the best looking men (pictured in the gifs above) to have ever graced the screen...they were also LEGENDS of their time. Cassidy made his own music (which is CLASSIC by the way) and Stevenson was a pretty epic surfer (which is also showcased in the show in the most epic of ways). In addition to them...we also were blessed with Pamela Sue Martin as Nancy Drew for the first half of the series. If you don't have a crush on her by the end of the series btw then you are NOT normal haha! While we have some AMAZING lead actors/actresses, we also have phenomenal supporting actors/tresses with Ed Gilbert as Fenton Hardy, Lisa Eilbacher as Callie, and so, so many more!!!

Next reason you'll fall in love with this show...the graphics, while old as mentioned above...are so, so incredibly nostalgic! Even if you weren't around in the 70s (which I was NOT lol), this show will STILL feel nostalgic to you. To me, every time I watch it it's like I'm transported to a different, better world in which I have frizzy yet gorgeous hair, bell bottoms, and a leather jacket that somehow never makes you too hot (lol). But seriously...the show has a sort of magic way of taking you to that time and instantly relieving you of all your worries back here in the 2020s. It's literally insane how much this show can cure my bad mood. Like just watching the theme song takes my day from 0 to 100 (and that's cause the theme song is soooooooo iconic!! They even made fake book covers like the actual book series with the actors' images on them...like omg that's cool!!)

Final point I'll make for the show (cause just like with Case Closed...I could probably write a novel on this show alone) the Hardy Boys Nancy Drew Mysteries is great if not for the awesome monster makeup, plot lines, and zingy one-liners courtesy of Frank and Joe, but for the shear incredible chemistry between all the actors. Like Oh. My. Gosh! If I didn't know they were actors I would not be able to tell that Cassidy and Stevenson weren't actually brothers in real life. Their body language, the script, videography, EVERYTHING works together in this show to really sell that they're brothers. Not only that, but their interactions with Gilbert and all the side characters sell this home as well. Like I know it's all acting, but the looks they give each other and the way they tease each other during the little moments of the show like GAH! It...it just...I don't even have words for how awesome it is. Just go watch the show...you will 100% not regret it!!

Okay....now for the rating!!! I gave Case Closed a 5/5 and this show is no different. I will say that if I could, I would give this one like 1 billion stars out of 5...but I'll keep it simple and stick with the grading scale. 5/5 Stars! 🌟What a GOAT of a show!!

[officialfoxsquadron]

Home Stories: Chapter 8

Luke Skywalker learns about his impact on the galaxy at large. | 9.3k words | violence, frank discussions of sex work

Read on AO3!

Full text below the cut

The Prophet’s aft doors fell into a docking ramp, and for the first time in nearly six months, Luke felt dry desert air woosh against his face, rough and hot. It was a good wind, the type that toughened up your calluses, as Uncle Owen would say.

Dancing on that wind was a crackle of energy unlike anything Luke had felt before. It was electric and dangerous, as if the planet was rumbling, ready to tear itself apart.

“What did the distress signal say again?” He stepped off of the docking ramp and onto Laakteen’s sands. Despite the heat, soothing and warm on his skin, he felt a chill run through his spine.

“Help, come quickly, we’ll pay anything.” Pazima gave him a stony gaze. She wore all black–a bad decision, given the heat. She took a long inhale of her cigarra. “Ingloria is a direct woman.”

And they, the Fox Squadron, had answered her directly. Luke had little time to review the details of the mission before Pazima had secured clearance for the five of them to jet off to Laakteen, responding to this Madame Ingloria’s distress signal with some urgency.

Laakteen was a desert planet, but more than that, it was a pleasure planet. Desert and pleasure. It seemed oxymoronic to him. The desert was a fickle thing, uncontrollable. Beautiful, yes, but just as likely to kill you as to bless you. 

The Empire had somehow tamed it, building a massive lake and a city around it. Tenn’s Lake, as the city was called, was unnatural, a perfect rectangle around a perfect circle. The whole thing made him uneasy. He found himself, for the first time in his life, missing the simplicity of Tatooine. Things made sense there. Very little made sense now.

“Remember, you are not Skywalker here.” Pazima nearly spat out his last name.

He did not need the reminder, nor the venom. “Luke Lars.” 

“Yes,” Pazima nodded, satisfied. “With any luck, we won’t face many Imps.”

“May the Force be with us,” Luke said, flashing Pazima an optimistic smile. She only rolled her eyes.

“Oh, Paz, I thought you were supposed to be intelligent,” Jax bounded out, crossing the dock in a few long strides, smiling genially. He wore gold eyeliner that glimmered off of his copper skin and accentuated his green eyes. Luke looked again at Pazima. Her skin was smoother, some of her tattoos covered in foundation, with silver baubles in her bright blue locs. “We’re on Laakteen. Place is crawling with Imps.”

Pazima grumbled, sticking her foot out. “Keep your fat mouth shut, Fraga.”

“Aw, c’mon. Ingloria will look out for us.”

“She’s in distress, Jax,” Wedge said. He wore a jacket and Corellian bloodstripes. Luke took some comfort in that fact-he was wearing his bloodstripes too. They shared a uniform, even off of Rostah. “We should be careful.”

“I’m careful!” Jax insisted, after avoiding Pazima’s outstretched foot and still stumbling on the railing.

Artoo rolled forward and whistled, nudging his calf, and Luke bent down to speak to the droid. “Sorry, buddy, I think it’s just us this time. They have you on a register.”

The droid whined. He spun his dome to Jax, and he nodded.

“Luke’s right. Ajax’ll keep you company.”

“If you swindle me out of funds again, buckethead, I’ll have you fried,” said the clipped voice of Ajax, the heart of the Prophet , Jax’s pride and joy. Artoo responded in a series of indignant beeps and whistles.

“Be good,” Luke scolded, as sternly as he could without laughing. “And keep my lightsaber safe, okay? You’re the only one I trust with it.”

Artoo beeped again. Luke had hidden his lightsaber in his dome, which made him anxious. He had grown used to its reassuring weight on his hip. But Laakteen was not Rostah, and the beings here would not look kindly on any fledgling Jedi, as Pazima had drilled into him.

“Lottie, we’re waitin’ on you, babe,” Wedge called, his voice echoing off of the hangar.

“Beauty takes time, Wedge Antilles,” Luke heard her call out. Lottie glided forward on slippered feet, fiddling with a gold hoop in her ear. “Not that you would understand, love.”

Laakteen, with its singular sun, had nowhere near the intensity of Tatooine’s sunlight. The colors it revealed would be only half as brilliant. But it was a desert sun nonetheless, warm and nostalgic and comforting. That sunlight set Lottie ablaze, burning beneath her scarred skin, turning her rosy and flushed. It danced amongst her hair, her curls twirling in shades of orange and red. She wore makeup too-her face painted with black lines around her piercing eyes. Seeing her illuminated in the light of his homeworld ignited something. It was instant and powerful, this feeling, a swoop low in his gut. He could almost feel her heart pumping blood, savage and lively against her skin.

He thought of that night fighting with her on Yavin, their bodies working in tandem with one another. How strange that all he needed to do was look at her in the right light, and she would look so gloriously alive, bone and blood and soft, warm flesh.

Lottie groaned in distaste when she stepped into the light, shielding her eyes and turning to her sister, who procured a pair of dark glasses for her.

“It’s too bright,” she complained absently.

Pazima placed her hands on her hips. “Is that my shawl?”

Lottie examined the fringed fabric she wrapped around her waist. It was a fine garment, much less threadbare than her blousy top and patchwork skirt. She shrugged casually and stole her sister’s cigarra, bringing it to her own lips. “It looks better on me.”

“Yeah, it’ll look great on your corpse too.” Pazima tapped her black boot impatiently, waiting for Lottie to finish her smoke. The two bickered for a moment. Luke didn’t hear them.

“Luke?” Lottie’s eyebrows furrowed, and he realized he had been staring at her for far too long, eyes tracing her skin, mouth slightly dry, in front of everyone . He glanced at his feet and silently wished for death, as that was surely the only relief from this embarrassment. “Are you alright?”

He coughed, trying to think of something normal to say.

“There’s a restlessness in the wind.”

Good job, Luke.

She lifted an eyebrow, stepping closer to him. “Do you mean the weather or the Force?”

He hadn’t thought of that.

“The Force.”

“I have heard something from the dark ‘Net,” Jax interjected, his eyes shining. “Reports of illegal gatherings. A real bad fire, too. Maybe that affected the Force?”

That piqued Pazima’s interest, who promptly abandoned the argument with her sister and beckoned to the younger man. “Walk with me, Jax.”

Jax could not hide the grin at Pazima’s approval, bounding over as the older woman gestured him forward, shepherding him with a hand behind his back.

Wedge shook his head, watching over all of them with a mix of amusement and fondness. “If only we knew how the Force worked. Ah, well. Off to the whores, I guess.”

Luke stumbled onto the sands, eyes going wide. “The what? ”

Wedge shot a glance at Lottie before turning to Luke. “Didn’t you read the brief I sent over?”

“The one you sent at 0300 this morning?” Luke turned to Lottie for help, who only swayed innocently. “All you told me is that the contact’s name is Ingloria.”

“ Madame Ingloria, Luke,” chided Pazima, who had a supernatural ability to find opportunities to correct people.

Lottie gave him an undignified snort, covering her mouth to stop the giggles from escaping. 

“Wait until you see the sex paintings.”

“Alright, alright, make fun all you like,” he pouted.

“Oh, Luke,” she said softly, abandoning her mischievous tone and pressing one of her cool hands to his cheek. “For a killer, you can be so incredibly naive.” She linked her arm around his and smiled, pushing the dark glasses up her crooked nose. “Come, Wedge, now we’re waiting on you .”

The Fox Squadron exited the hangar, and Pazima led them to their destination, turning into a narrow side street. As they walked, they passed by many Humans, Twi’leks, and other species, half of them bumping shoulders with Luke as they navigated the winding alleys. Mixed in were stormtroopers and Imperial officers, some slumped over trash cans or leaning against a dingy window. Even in the short walk from the shipyard, it was a cacophony of sound and language-and the Imperial security apparatus, buzzing around it all like wasps.

“So this isn’t even as big as Coruscant?” Luke asked. He was baffled by it; the sheer amount of living beings crammed together in one place.

“Not even close,” Lottie said. She squeezed close to him, speaking as if she was sharing a secret. “Imagine a million Laakteens, stacked on top of one another. Then millions of those stacks covering the entire planet. That’s Coruscant.”

Her touch made his entire body light up. Lottie was so casually affectionate with everyone, he knew it didn’t mean anything. But he couldn’t help himself, it felt nice to have her next to him. Her shawl felt cool against his skin. Silk , he realized. He knew the fabric from Aunt Beru’s fashion holozines, but had never touched it.

“They aren’t slaves, are they?” he asked, determined to abate the growing panic in his gut–and find the polite word. “The..workers.”

“No, no no no. We don’t deal with slavers,” Lottie said. Luke relaxed a bit. “Are the whores on Tatooine mostly slaves?”

“Yeah,” Luke said, a familiar righteous fury lodging itself in his throat. “It’s disgusting.”

“Don’t worry. Madame Ingloria treats her staff very well. You’ll see.”

He nodded. “So we trust her?”

“We trust no one. Especially here. But she’s alright,” Lottie added. 

She bumped into him again as the crowd thickened. There were murmurs of excitement, but feverish, like the air around them was boiling. Luke tried to keep his eyes ahead of him, using Pazima’s bright hair as a beacon. He was suddenly grateful for the cool silk, a bit of relief in the stifling heat.

“So is that it on Tatooine? Your only opportunity for sex is to pay some horrid slaver?”

He was confused, but then again, this is Lottie. “No,” Luke said, smiling despite himself. For once, she was the naive one. “We have sex. One of my cousins had twelve children.”

“Twelve?!” Lottie’s voice, already high-pitched, nearly broke the sound barrier.

He stifled a laugh. “Yes. My aunt was one of seven.”

“Seven?!” Lottie repeated again, shaking her head. He let himself laugh freely now. Her cheeks can get such a pretty shade of pink.

“Kids are cheaper than droids,” he shrugged, repeating an old Tatooine proverb. “And people get married young.”

They were in the thick of the crowd now, but Luke hardly noticed. He was too amused by how confused Lottie seemed. Her eyes narrowed before she pulled away, drawing her shawl around herself and putting on airs. “I’d go up to five.”

“Five what?”

“Children.” She raised her eyebrows at him, lowering the dark glasses. “Though I suppose you’d want to get married first? So it’s proper, of course.”

“I-by the Force, Lottie.” She erupted into giggles, pushing up the glasses again. He sighed wearily. “I guess I walked straight into that trap.”

“You did. You’re very fun to mess with.”

“So I’ve been told,” he grumbled. They both went quiet. Conversation with Lottie often felt like navigating Beggar’s Canyon. Dangerous, but that was what made it fun. Sometimes, though, his mouth moved without thinking.

“You’d go up to five?” 

“I’m joking,” Lottie insisted, though her voice wavered. 

“Of course.”

Luke had forgotten his unease, but it returned as soon as he realized they had stopped moving, trapped between foreign bodies. Lottie stood on her toes, craning her neck.

“I’ve lost Pazima,” she whispered.

“Me too,” Luke noticed, with a note of panic.

“It’s alright.” Lottie put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Just stay close. You’re taller, try and find her.”

He nodded. Luke sensed a buzz amongst all of the people, and despair came creeping in. Something must be here.

Then, a Human man took a step onto a gray crate, towering over them all. He wore a tattered brown cloak, and his face was covered in dirt, his eyes rimmed red, bulging out of his skull. His skin was pulled taut over his bones, yellowed and sickly. A crowd gathered around him, entranced. When he spoke, his voice boomed amongst the crowd, pouring out of him like a waterfall. As he opened his arms and spat out his words, Luke smelled something unnaturally sweet on his breath.

“I tell you, my friends, the Jedi are amongst us again! Turn from your sins! Turn from your indulgences!” The preacher pointed to the building behind them, a sandy structure with red light pouring from its windows. “The Jedi return and we must repent!”

There was a murmur of assent in the crowd. Luke saw Lottie’s eyes go wide.

“Oh, this is bad,” she muttered to herself. Working quickly, she removed her glasses from her face, wincing again, and then tied her shawl around her head, pulling at the front of it. She looked half a girl and half an old woman. “Where’s Wedge? And Jax?”

“We have grown greedy in our indulgences. Our glorious Emperor has spoiled us with peace, we have forgotten what it was like to be at war. Tell me, my friends, how many of us lost family on the Death Star? Comrades?”

Luke’s stomach dropped. People shouted out names–the names of people Luke had killed, one after another, blurring into a great roar.

“Stick close to me,” Lottie said. Surreptitiously, she lifted her skirt; something that would make Luke blush, if she wasn’t grabbing her knife. At least one of us is armed. Their arms linked again. “We’re nearly at Ingloria’s. She didn’t tell us about this.”

“It was the Jedi, my friends, who caused the galaxy to crumble into war. Our great Emperor cut them down, creating decades of peace. What happens now that they return? One Jedi, just one, has killed millions of loyal men!”

“What of Alderaan?” called a voice from the crowd. “What of Jedha?”

Boos and hisses erupted around them, and the preacher laughed, pointing in the direction of the voice. Like a living beast, the crowd moved, shifting to find this brave being.

“We need to help them,” Luke said, pulling Lottie in that direction.

“We can try, but-”

At the very edge of hearing, there was a thud, and the crack of bone.

“Jedi loyalists. Traitors! We must purge them, as we purge our sinful vices. To beat the Jedi, we must become like the Jedi. Renounce lust, my friends, renounce your basest desires, and we shall be victorious.”

“Oi!” A window opened and a dark-haired man pushed himself forward, cupping his hands. “Preach your lies somewhere else, I don’t want a bloodbath to start my day.”

“Shut your mouth, whore!”

Some of the crowd pelted things at this poor man, mud and rotten food.

“Get-” The man ducked, rolling his eyes at the roaring crowd. Luke saw him flash his gaze at Lottie for a moment. “They’re coming, don’t you idiots know that?” He shut the window with a slam, retreating into the red light.

“You see?” The preacher laughed, sharp and booming. “You see how they abandon us? They cannot face their own depravity. These are the scum the Jedi protected.”

Another roar of assent. A rock pierced the upper window, shattering, and Lottie hitched a breath.

“Stell!” she whispered, stepping forward.

“They don’t care about you. Hypocrites, all. It is only the Emperor, only the Emperor that can-”

A blaster bolt whizzed by, and pierced the preacher in the forehead. He slumped over, flesh and brain charred and smoking.

Chaos. Luke and Lottie were crushed together as the crowd clamored to the body. Screams and those dull thuds and a hideous clanking sound mixed together. Stormtroopers marched forward, clearing their way through the crowd with a crack of batons. The blood slid off of their pure white armor, pooling onto the sands.

“No,” Luke whispered, reaching for his lightsaber.

It wasn’t there. Right. He left it on the ship, safely in Artoo’s dome, for fear of metal detectors and Imperials and a dozen other things. Idiot .

“Lottie!” 

The two of them breathed in relief at Jax’s voice. He, too, shoved people out of the way, though much less violently, making his way towards them.

Lottie wrapped her hands around Luke’s arm, willing him forward. “Come. You don’t want to see this.”

“I should,” Luke said. He felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the boot of one of the soldiers as it made contact with someone’s head, and a bloody tooth went flying between the two of them. Lottie tugged again, insistent, but Luke remained unmoved. “It’s all because of me.”

“Don’t say that!” Lottie hissed, pressing her body to his. “Not here.”

He turned his head to her. The desert air stilled around them. 

“Are you afraid, Lottie?”

Luke felt the storm within her calm, for just a moment, and the vice grip of the crowd disappeared. Only the combined heat of their intertwined bodies remained. “I’m meant to protect you,” she said quietly.

“Protect me?” Luke repeated, motioning his head to the preacher. “From death?” Then I met you too late.

Wonder and terror flashed like lightning in Lottie’s eyes. At that moment, Luke knew. He had not spoken the words aloud, but she heard him all the same.

She stepped back, withdrawing from him, and the world came crashing in between them. The crowd pushed in, jostling them together, then pulling them apart. And the troopers above it all. A blaster shot rang out, and one of them slumped to the ground, a burning hole in his forehead. Another trooper shouted for his comrade and, mad with rage, crushed a man’s skull. That trooper slumped dead too, but another filled its place, disposable and indistinguishable. It was a feast of violence, and they were caught in the middle.

Come.

Lottie pulled on his hand again, and he followed.

Luke watched on as Lottie worked quietly, suturing flesh together on the dark-haired man’s arm.

“Look Lottie,” he said, his grin masking his shaky voice. He used his other hand to trace a milk-white scar along her own forearm. “We’ll match.”

Lottie sighed, swatting his hand away before resuming her task. “So we will. I need to focus, Stell.”

Stell. That was this stranger’s name, who had called out from a balcony to try and avert the riot. It didn’t work. Stell wore what Luke assumed was a uniform, a loose top and flowing pants of green and gold. It showed off his muscular thighs and complimented his broad shoulders, but it left him exposed. It was a good thing he had the window, at least. Luke felt his own body aching. Someone’s blood covered Lottie, an ugly splotch along her middle, ruining her white blouse and colorful skirt. Luke looked at his own jacket. Tiny splatters of wine-dark blood stained the golden sleeve.

We match too , he thought dully, before casting a panicked glance at Lottie, hoping their connection had dimmed.

He and Camie Marstrap used to play house. The farmer and his wife. Luke never liked the game. That’s not right, he would tell her, I'm going to fly amongst the stars one day. But he liked her, so he played it anyway.

Sometimes, it was nice. Sometimes, it was easy to pretend that this was a life he wanted. So one day, when she wanted to play at kissing, he said yes.

Her lips had touched his. It lasted long enough for only one thought to enter his mind. 

Oh, that’s different than I expected.

She had pulled away, startled, and they never spoke of it. When they became friends again, there was something mean in her. She always had to mention how Luke was different. Luke was the freak.

Wormie, she called him, and she never explained why. Luke knew. He had wormed his way inside her head, without even understanding what he had done.

That was his early teenagehood, when he started to realize he was different. His aunt and uncle would sit him down one evening and tell him that he must hide himself away. The conversation was stern, but it wasn’t unkind, and Luke understood.

He had not even kissed her. All she had done was pulled at him, took his hand, and tried to get him to safety. Protect him.

And yet.

There must be some kind of power in her. Some magic or Force ability or something that she does to make him lower his guard, make him slip up, a careless, idiotic, reckless mistake-

A clanking sound interrupted his thoughts. Luke gasped in awe as a battle droid-a real battle droid!-walked by, dropping the medkit clumsily near Lottie, who thanked the droid quietly.

Luke turned to Jax, who was sitting next to him, staring at the droid with the same awe, though a bit dimmed. He whispered Jax’s name in excitement, nudging him with his shoulder.

“I know.” He tapped something on the datapad. “Ingloria’s got a droideka somewhere. Maybe today we’ll find it.”

The thought of a droideka hiding in this building made up for the bodies. Nearly.

“Pazima, thank the Maker,” the droid said. 

Pazima and Wedge strode forward. They looked the part of the conquering heroes, Pazima slinging a blaster rifle over her shoulder.

“Please notify Madame we’ve arrived,” she said, dismissing the droid with a wave of her hand. “I’d like to see her immediately.”

“Roger roger.”

They were gathered in a large hall. There was a bar on either side, and a stage in the center. It was built to hold hundreds of people, with doors to secret rooms dotting the wall, in between frescoes of naked beings, their bodies twisting and turning and morphing into one another. All of it was left abandoned, save for a few astromechs and other droids cleaning up the floors.

Pazima settled into a chair, letting the rifle lean against her outstretched legs. She sighed deeply and turned to Wedge, muttering something too low for Luke to hear. 

Luke looked again at the paintings. They were objectively beautiful things. There was little room for formal education on Tatooine, even less for art education. What he could find was hidden in beaten-up bits of flimsiplast and barely-working datatapes. Even then, staring between the scratch of the holograms, he found works of old masters, painters from Alderaan and Azumarre. Even better were the painters from Xuhiri, who painted boats sailing over deep blue waters in astonishing detail. Perhaps he should have been shocked at the lewdness of the subject, bodies writhing, every skin color, every position. Instead, he found himself entranced. 

He thought back to the preacher’s words. I’m a stranger here . 

What had he signed up for, becoming a Jedi? He was hardly thinking, when the words rushed out of his mouth to Ben Kenobi, when he flew off to the Death Star, when he blew it to hell . There was nothing, really, in his mind but his aunt and uncle’s charred bodies and Obi-Wan Kenobi smiling at him before dying and his best friend, who he once shared a shy, hesitant kiss with, exploding unceremoniously with his entire pilot squadron.

So much for adventure. So much for glory.

“These are your first steps into a larger world.” Obi-Wan’s words echoed in his head.

Obi-Wan called the Mos Eisley cantina a hive of scum and villainy, yet he was comfortable there. He was Luke’s Jedi Master, for however brief that was. What did Lottie say his legacy on Coruscant was? A great diplomat. Well-loved.

He would get beat up, misstep, fall, but eventually, he always found his path forward. Whatever else Luke was, he would always be a pilot, able to ride the wind however it flows, fly amongst the stars like a fish through water. He must not fear. He would find his way.

“You haven’t introduced me to your new friend,” Stell said, voice light as his brown eyes studied Luke. There was a bit of Lottie’s predator stillness in them, Luke noticed.

“Our new pilot,” Pazima said, before he could speak.

“My name is Luke,” he said, unable to stop the frustrated glance he shot at Pazima. “I thought you were brave to try and stop that riot.”

Stell laughed, which turned into a painful wince as Lottie sewed their skin together. “Brave or foolish? All of the spice fiends are preachers now.” Luke caught Lottie looking at her sister hopefully, before ducking her head again. “The whole galaxy is looking for a pilot.”

“You won’t find him here.” Pazima leaned forward, one hand lazily gripping the barrel of the rifle. “Your boss should be here soon, I’m sure?”

“Yes, but in case you haven’t noticed, we’re a bit busy.”

Pazima rolled her eyes and turned again to Wedge. Luke watched as Lottie finished her work, giving Stell instructions for healing before getting up, beckoning for Pazima to follow her.

They made quite a pair, Lottie bloody and disheveled, Pazima with nary a hair out of place. Still, they had never looked more like sisters than now, dark and elegant as they swished past Luke and Jax.

Luke and Lottie made eye contact for a brief moment. She took off a bloody glove and touched his shoulder, letting her fingers linger over him before turning to her sister.

“This is Creidye magic, and you know it.” She was hissing in Pazima’s ear, but Luke heard it as clearly as if she was next to him.

Luke closed his eyes.

“You want to do this now?” Pazima’s voice was low and calm.

“If not now, then when?”

“Anytime else, Charlotte.”

A faucet turned on, and Luke felt Lottie take her gloves off and wash her hands. Their voices echoed in his head.

“I can fight it,” Lottie pleaded. “I’ve-I’ve been praying-I know you don’t like it-”

“Did you see his face?” Pazima scoffed. “I will not have you end up a walking corpse.”

“He was a spice fiend, Pazzy, that could mean anything -”

“Pazima!” A thundering, genial voice boomed in the empty hall, and the connection between him and Lottie severed in a violent, sudden agony.

The voice came from a short, plump Twi’lek, with shining midnight blue skin and lekku that wrapped around herself. Her hands were outstretched in a gesture of welcome. She was older than all of them-Luke couldn’t tell how much-but he could feel himself relax as she strode forward.

“Ingloria,” Pazima greeted coolly, turning from her sister. “It’s been too long.”

“I agree,” Ingloria said, wrapping the other woman in a hug. “And young Charlotte! Ah, our little bull is all grown.”

Lottie grimaced as Ingloria greeted her with the same force, but it faded quickly. “Madame Ingloria. Poor Stell has been cut.”

“Yes, I saw. But you have always had a skill in medicine. I trust you saw that business outside?” Ingloria waved her hands, gesturing for the two sisters to join them around the table. She took a glance at the rifle, sighing. “Nasty stuff, but then again, when the Empire turns against its own citizens, it’s the freaks that prosper.”

“Never religious freaks before this.” Pazima folded her legs, taking a seat next to Wedge, as Lottie sat next to Luke.

“Well.” Ingloria clapped her hands loudly. “Let’s cut to the marrow, shall we? This new Grand Moff Hayford. He’s stolen a cache of information, my cache of information. I expect this-” she gestured to the windows. “This latest stunt is only the kindling to a larger fire. Stay, protect us, and help get who you can to safety. Do it, and the information’s yours.”

“If we can find him, you mean,” Pazima folded her arms. “We’re no closer to tracking his movements. His assaults are random-”

“He’s on Jedha.” 

“Jedha?” Pazima twisted her face. “That-that ruin? Where the Death Star shot down Saw Gurerra?”

“Unstable, by all reports,” Wedge said, fingers crossed and looking over to Pazima.

“Why?” she said, through gritted teeth.

Ingloria rolled her eyes. “Take a fucking guess, Pazima. What does every assault have in common?” “Targeting Force-sensitives isn’t exactly unusual.” 

“We didn’t know how he was doing it. He’s well-hidden. But you see now, don’t you?” Ingloria shook her head. “Those poor beings…too addled by drugs to know what they’re saying. To know whose words they are saying. There was a riot three days ago, not too far from here. They burned half a block. They were after a man by the name of Janus. He was our…neighborhood Jedi, I guess you could call it.”

Luke perked up. A neighborhood Jedi?

Under the table, Lottie’s foot nudged his calf. 

For just a moment, their eyes met. She quirked her eyebrows pointedly.

Right. Sabacc face, Luke.

Ingloria was still addressing Pazima when his attention returned.

“We were fools, Pazima, to think that the death of the Jedi meant the death of these old powers. They always crawl out of the muck eventually.”

“Hm.” Pazima said nothing, looking at Wedge, and then no one in particular, considering Ingloria’s words.

The Twi’lek resumed. “A few months ago, the whole galaxy changed. A Force-sensitive blew up the greatest weapon ever built. How many died on Alderaan? On Jedha? They’re afraid. They’ve held a lock on that power for so long.”

“And what? You want to reawaken it?” Pazima shook her head in disbelief. “Have us preaching nonsense in the streets? I met Saw Guerera on Jedha, you know. He was half-mad by the end of it, muttering about crystals and mind-reading squids. Perhaps Hayford will go the same way.”

“Saw was half-mad before Jedha.”

“But it made him worse.” Pazima paused, tapping her hands on the table.

“Why just give us the information?” Lottie’s high voice was sharp, with an authority in it Luke hadn’t heard before. “You’ve worked with the Empire for years. Why now?”

Ingloria sniffed, and something between pride and annoyance flashed over her features. “Sometimes, I think the entire Imperial army has passed through their doors. Certainly all of their highest-ranking officers. I’ve learned their weaknesses, their vulnerabilities. In your capable hands, this knowledge could make skulls of them all. Save for two.” She paused. “None of us in this room, not Jax, not Wedge, not even you Reynards, has an answer for Vader and the Emperor. Except, perhaps, this mystery pilot.” She looked directly at Luke and smiled thinly. “How convenient that a new pilot has joined your ranks.”

Luke blanched. He did not like this battle, one of words and glances. He was not Lottie or Pazima, with their witty turns of phrase or regal dismissal.

And yet. He had fought worse.

“I assure you, Madame,” he said with as much confidence he could muster. “I am not a Jedi.”

“I know,” Ingloria said coolly. “However, Pazima has a tendency to find the most extraordinary beings. Has she ever told you how she and Charlotte met?”

“That’s enough, Ingloria.” Luke was surprised at Wedge’s firm, uncompromising voice. “If you want us to protect you, we have preparations to make. If you want us to help transport beings, I need to send word to the Alliance as soon as possible.” The older man shook his head. “No more games, no more lies. Tell us, truly, why we should help you.”

“Because I want the Empire gone. Because I want Vader dead.” Ingloria crossed her arms. “And even if your new pilot is not…the pilot,” she said, scoffing, “You know him, surely. And you will get them where they need to go. This is no longer a war for assassins lurking in the shadows, no longer a time for clever plans and scheming. This has become a war for heroes and legends. And the galaxy needs a Jedi.”

The Empire had left their own soldiers behind. Luke and Wedge spent the day piling them up, finding an empty building and burning them. Their white armor cracked and twisted, coughing out black fumes of toxic smoke. The two men didn’t bother to stick around. 

It was hard not to think of his uncle. It was Owen Lars who taught him how to quiet his mind with work. Oh, he would complain and whine, but truly, there was nothing more peaceful than sitting in the hot sun, working on some mechanical problem or another, the two of them barely speaking.

Burning bodies was not peaceful work. It was monotonous, slow horror. But someone had to do it.

Owen wouldn’t have wanted this. But then again, Owen wanted Luke to stay on a farm, and told him his father was a navigator on a spice freighter. He didn’t need to follow Owen’s wishes just because he was dead.

Laakteen’s singular sun began to set, bathing the world in golden light, and the work was done. When they returned, Luke was aware of all the eyes on him, the mysterious stranger, the pilot . Wedge, Corellian that he was, took it all in stride, flashing winsome smiles and flirting. Luke maintained his silence, except to ask if there was a sonic he could use and perhaps a change of clothes.

Now, Luke stood in front of a pristine mirror, wearing nothing but a pair of briefs. They had found him clothing-thankfully not the thin, loose clothing of Ingloria’s staff, but a tunic and pair of pants similar to the ones he wore on Tatooine.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had looked in a mirror, really looked. Beyond the occasional shave, he had never really cared to linger at his reflection. There had been so much else to see since the Death Star. So much beauty, and horror too. He had been so focused on the worlds around him, so entranced by the pleasant feeling of rain on his skin or the sound of men dying over comms or the different ways each of his friends laughed. He had always felt so intensely, and the past six months had been an assault on his senses. It seemed foolish, a little vain to stop and look at himself, to ruminate on something that was always there.

This time, his reflection caught him off guard. He looked like a man, he thought, or at least what some childlike part of him imagined was a man. He was still lean and sun-worn, like all Tatooinians were, but he could tell he had moved on, left the place of his childhood to something bigger, greater. His hair had certainly grown. What was once little tufts of hair behind his ears fell more freely. His body had grown too. Not in height, but he’d fleshed out a bit, muscles slowly beginning to come into definition. He absently traced his right index finger over his left bicep, feeling his own skin.

Tonight, his reflection comforted him.

He thought of the paintings on the walls, how they had captivated him. He thought to Lottie’s hands on his arm, smaller than his, softer. Clutching at him. Insistent.

A low thrill grew in the pit of his stomach. He shut his eyes, but the push and pull only increased.

He did not know this feeling. There were a great many new feelings since he left Tatooine. None felt as confusing, as terrifying, as irresistible as this.

An image came to him then, unbidden, emerging from the depths of his memory. Lottie, framed by the rising sun, stumbles onto Ethamaia’s glittery sands, her nightdress clinging wet to her skin. The soaked fabric moved and writhed over her body, like a living creature. It traced every curve, every muscle, every bone. It was pure indulgence, pure decadence to think of her like this. She was Luke’s friend. She was his bodyguard. She was his roommate.

And yet, today, in that brief flash of connection, he felt as if their very souls had kissed. As if he and his reflection had touched, as if his shadow and his own flesh were one.

Is this normal? Is this what others feel? Or am I just feeling too much again?

He thought of Ingloria's words. The galaxy needs a Jedi.

But what was a Jedi? He hardly knew. An old man in the desert? A dashing pilot and war hero, who died protecting younglings? A character in a romantic holodrama? A thousand questions nipped at his heels as he tried to navigate this path.

He stared at himself again in the mirror.

I’d like to be nineteen, he thought, just for a little while.

The last rumination made him sick of brooding. He threw on his clothes in haste, pocketed away his belongings, and left his reflection behind.

He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but when he heard a familiar clicking and muffled notes of music, he found his feet moving on their own. 

Jax was bent over an inanimate droideka, humming along to the music one of his own pocket droids was playing. The room was probably used for business-a richly curtained bed sat in the center, and Jax was sitting comfortably on the edge of it. More lewd paintings adorned the walls, and there was a hint of rich perfume, stale in the air.

“Hello Jax,” he greeted, peeking his head in the door. “May I join you?”

“Yes, please. Look at this.” He paused the music and picked up the droideka’s leg, severed from its body. Jax looked like a kind of mad scientist, tearing apart the bug-like droid for his own purposes, his eyes enlarged by his thick glasses. “It’s so well-designed. I can’t believe she had one of these just lying around.”

“Me neither.” Luke sat next to him, examining the droid. It was elegant and stately, a rusty relic of a bygone era. That made Luke a little sad. “Why does she have all of these droids, anyways?”

“She’s a collector,” Jax explained. “Weird about the Clone Wars, too.”

“What side was she on?”

“Not sure,” Jax said. “Neither side won.”

He tried to remember his lessons on the Clone Wars. They were very few, just a reshowing of Palpatine’s Empire Day speech and some Imperial propaganda.

An idea struck him then.

“Jax,” Luke said. He said his name like Lottie did, a melodic lilt. “What do you know about the Jedi?” Jax looked at him, peering over his glasses. “Not much,” he admitted. “ The Force of Love is the majority of it.”

“Yes, but that’s not real.”

“If only,” Jax replied. Finally, he sighed, putting his work down and focusing on Luke. “It’s…impressive, actually, how quickly the Empire got rid of it all. That’s why I started splicing, y’know. Trying to find what I could.”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“There was this statue, in the middle of our town square. I used to walk by it every day. It was so old, no one knew the name of it, or who built it, or really anything about it. But you knew it was a Jedi.” He smiled wistfully, his eyes going somewhere else. “It looked so big when I was young. Old, wise, holding a great lightsaber, thrust out onto the horizon, pointing to Coruscant. My brother and I would toss a coin at the Jedi’s feet, wishing for luck.” He traced a finger absently over the droid. “One day we went into town like we always did. It was gone, and instead there was this ugly, horrible statue of Palpatine. We hated it, but we couldn’t say anything about it. I went home, and I looked up Jedi on the HoloNet. Just to see where it went.” He smirked. “My parents were pissed. So I learned to be sneakier. But I never really found anything. They wiped it. Even on the dark ‘Net, it’s rare to find some.” He picked up the leg and ducked his head again. “I can send you what I have.”

“Thank you,” Luke said. “That’s a very nice story.”

Jax smiled shyly, hiding behind his dark hair. “I hope I don’t have to toss coins at your feet for good luck.”

Luke groaned. “Please don’t.” “I’m only kidding.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.” He slept next to Jax, too. War is weird.

“A twin, actually.”

“No way,” Luke gasped. “I always wanted a twin.”

“It’s…” Luke saw Jax consider a joke, but thought again. “It’s the best.”

“Can you talk to each other with your minds?” he asked excitedly.

Jax laughed. “I don’t think so,” he muttered. “Well, sometimes we can kind of…guess what each other is thinking. But only when we’re together.”

“That’s really wizard.”

Jax grinned, nodding, looking down at his droid. “Yeah, yeah it is. I miss him. I don’t get to talk to him as often as I like.”

“Where is he? If you want to tell me,” Luke added, knowing that Rebel soldiers enjoyed their secrets.

“Back home,” Jax said. “We made an agreement. One of us would join the Rebellion, and one of us would stay home to help our parents. They’re getting a little older, and they haven’t really been the same since…” He sighed, pausing, deciding that that was enough truth-telling for the night. “Since the Empire.”

“I see.” Luke didn’t need an explanation. He had heard enough sad stories from Rebel soldiers. The Empire was creative in their cruelty. “I hope you can see him again soon.”

“Me too,” Jax smiled. “We’re both still alive, so, y’know. We’re pretty lucky.”

“That is lucky,” Luke agreed.

“It’s funny. War is all about these big ideas, but it forces you to appreciate the small things,” Jax said. “Being a soldier isn’t really what I expected.”

“Me neither,” Luke agreed. 

Suddenly, Jax put his droid down again, studying Luke. “Lottie’s right about you.” 

“About what?”

“She says you have a way about you. That you can get people to talk about things that they wouldn’t normally talk about.” He smiled mischievously. “I thought she just had a crush.”

Luke sputtered out his words. “What?! No, I mean-”

“Roommates.” Lottie poked her head in the door, her hair falling in a fiery waterfall. Then, she gave a lopsided smile. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Droideka disassembly,” Jax explained.

“I meant–oh, nevermind, it’s wasted on you , Jax.” 

“This is a priceless artifact, Lottie.” 

“So it is, love.” Lottie strode over and flopped onto the bed behind them. She had changed out of her bloody clothes, into the same mismatched tunic and pants Luke wore.

“Dare I ask how Paz is?” Jax said, looking at Luke before turning to Lottie.

“Pissed off. Drunk, too.” She ran her hands through her hair, groaning. “Today has been shit. How are you, Jax?” She took his hand and twirled her fingers through it, both of them warming at each other’s touch.

“I’m okay. I was telling Luke the statue story.”

“Aww, that’s one of my favorites.” Finally, she looked at Luke, before speaking to Jax again. “And how is Jasper doing?”

“Well.” Jasper must be his brother, Luke realized. Suddenly, Lottie threw her arms around Jax, squishing him with a violent fervor before speaking.

“In truth, Jax, though I love you dearly and desperately, I came to fetch Luke.” She directed her owlish eyes at Luke, smiling coyly. “I know you don’t want my chatter while you’re working.”

Jax tilted back, resting his head on hers and squeezing her arm. “I love you too, Lottie. You two have fun.”

She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, before getting up.

“Let’s take a walk, Luke,” she suggested. “The lake is so beautiful at night.”

Lottie had undersold it.

The lake was not just beautiful. It was shimmering black glass. The lights of the city danced along its waters, tiny black stars in its own galaxy. The desert wind occasionally crested over it, creating rocking waves of obsidian.

Luke closed his eyes, reaching out to the water. He called out to it, this foreign power he did not understand. Light and playful, the water came forward and splashed against his fingers, cool and refreshing.

Lottie and I hurt people today, he thought, people who might have been good or bad or inbetween. It didn’t matter. Luke’s hands would never be clean, even if he could now wash them in water.

The whole city was different. The buzz of life, so present and infectious on arrival, was tamped down now, replaced with the drumbeat of marching soldiers interrupting a cold, hard silence. Luke turned and looked at Lottie. She perched on a durasteel bench, bathed in artificial light, her hands wrapped around her knees, her chin resting atop them. She was a desert owl, something nocturnal. He knew it as soon as she drank the night air, stepped into the moonlight. Where the rest of Laakteen was silent and defeated, she had come alive.

She was thinking of home. Luke didn’t need the Force to tell him that. It seemed to be all anyone thought about. The home, the past, that was where everyone went on days like today, when the world and the future was far too uncertain.

He strode over to her, and she perked up.

“You’re more comfortable at night,” he observed.

She shrugged. “It’s what I know.” She lowered her legs, then folded her hands in her lap, squinting at them. 

“Today, when the preacher died, I heard your voice in my head.” She said it plainly, without malice. Luke still felt a prick of guilt. She looked up at him, staring curiously. “Clearly, as if you were speaking to me.”

He didn’t quite know what to say, but he chose to speak as plainly as she did. “I didn’t mean to. It didn’t frighten you, did it?”

Lottie smiled, like she had caught him in a trap. “No. It startled me, it didn’t scare me.”

“Maybe it should have,” Luke suggested quietly.

“All that power, and yet you are ashamed.” She crossed her legs, folding her delicate hands over her knees.  “Was Tatooine very lonely?”

“I-yes, it was lonely,” Luke said, his frustration growing. He stepped closer to her, watched as she tilted her head to look up at him. “I’m not ashamed, Lottie. Far from it. I want to tell the galaxy who I am. We all know it’s only a matter of time-”

“So then what? You’d make speeches? Shake hands? Play politics?” She huffed out a laugh, looking away and smiling derisively. “You’d escape from one cage and fly straight into another.”

“I’m not so bad at speeches,” he protested.

“You’ve made one and you hated it,” Lottie snapped, standing abruptly and meeting his gaze. Her eyes searched his own, almost daring him to contradict her. “If I wasn’t in the room that day, would you have found the words?”

“So you admit it. You have power.”

“ You have power, Luke!” She groaned in frustration, running her hands through her hair. “Yes, there are…tricks to what I do. Tricks that take years of practice. The bite of a blister flea compared to your power.” She sat back down with a huff. “Any power I have is because I took it. I clawed and scraped and fought for every fucking bit of it. The second I stop, it will all-” she snapped her fingers, whistled, “-go away. And yet here you are, and you change the entire galaxy without even thinking. With a smile on your face.”

He pulled back for a moment. “Are you jealous, Lottie?”

“Of course I’m fucking jealous!” Lottie spat. “You are a miracle, Luke. You have the power, you have the name. And you had a childhood, on a farm with all the space you could want, with two parents and twin suns. I-” she shook her head. “Gods, I’m pathetic.”

“Don’t say that,” Luke insisted, lifting her by her hands and taking her in his arms. “You’re not pathetic.”

Like an animal searching for shelter, she moved forward, her forehead resting against his beating heart.

We have not hugged before, Luke realized. They had spent hours sparring, their blades kissing until their bodies grew limp and heavy with sweat and bruises. Even longer talking, sitting at night together and looking at the stars. She told her stories in an animated, musical voice and listened as he recited the makes and models of ships flying above them. Seven Corellian hells, she even slept near him. He had grown so used to her presence that now, the only time he could feel something akin to rest was when her soft wheezing breaths lulled him to sleep, filling his ears from the bunk above him. 

Still, they had not hugged.

He wrapped his arms around her, breathed in as quietly as he could. She was close enough for him to smell her, practically drink it in, a mix of smoke and spiced fruit and something earthy he could not place. He supposed that might just be her .

That same thrill again, sparking inside of him, illicit and dangerous and irresistible. She moved closer to him, humming quietly.

“If it makes you feel better, I hated Tatooine, and I think you would have too.” She looked up at him, still wrapped in his arms, her eyes wide and sparkling as stars. He brushed a lock of hair from her face. No one on Tatooine looked like her, had hair the color of a blazing sunset. His fingers felt unusually clumsy as he let it cascade gently between them. “They don’t like anyone who’s different.”

She pulled away-a quiet tragedy-and tilted her head at him, that mischievous look returning to her. “Is that what you think of me? That I’m different?”

He couldn’t help but laugh, refusing to take his eyes off of her. “I spend all the time I can with you, and I still haven’t figured you out.”

“Funny. I feel the same way about you.”

She moved slowly over to the lake, as graceful as ever. Luke followed, and watched as the wind whirled in her hair. He stood next to her, leaning on the railing.

He followed her gaze, looking out at the water. He thought of the sea on Ethamaia, boundless and unyielding. Here, on Laakteen, it was trapped like everything else.

“I don’t want to hide. But I don’t want to be a political tool either. There must be another way.”

“There always is.” She drummed her fingers on the railing, before beginning to speak. “Hayford uses his tricks to sow fear and mistrust, but Vader has him on a leash. He must direct the people’s panic towards each other, and always in the service of the Empire. All the while, the legend of this Force-sensitive pilot only grows.” She looked at him, lifted an eyebrow. “The Empire cannot deny your accomplishments. So they are trying to reignite old fears. They bring up the Jedi, when they spent twenty years pretending they didn’t exist.” She took a deep breath, looking out at the water again. “The years we have spent fighting in the Outer Rim, squabbling over this planet or that planet, it means nothing if we cannot take the very center of the galaxy. Perhaps on Tatooine, the Jedi were nothing more than myth. The closer you get to the center, the more real the Jedi become. The more people remember. I am not the only one in the Rebellion who recognized your family name. Your father’s legend holds great power. More, perhaps, than either of us realize.”

“My aunt and uncle told me he was a navigator on a spice freighter.” He looked at the lake, gathering his strength. When he spoke again, his voice wavered. “They lied to me. They’re dead, and I don’t want to be angry at them, but…” They lied to me. “They must have known what you know. They must have known more.”

“I’m so sorry, Luke,” she said quietly, putting a hand on his arm. “That is painful.”

He barked out a laugh, shrugging. “It all seems so absurd now. Especially if everyone in the galaxy knows who my father is except me.”

“I wish I knew more,” she mumbled. “Something more than a children’s story.”

He shook his head. “No, Lottie, you have given me a gift.” You are my miracle. He groaned and looked out at the lake again. “How do I embrace this power without even understanding it?”

Lottie paused before she spoke again. “You needn’t worry about living up to your father’s legacy. You’re already a hero. A legend,” she said, nudging his shoulder. “The Empire fears you. What happens when they discover who you are? Will they tell the galaxy, or keep it a secret?” She shrugged. “I’m not sure. But I don’t think you should rush into this,” Lottie said. “We have time. You have time.”

“I’ve never been good at being patient. All my life, I have been told to fear what I am. That if I showed my true self to anyone, they would report me and send me to a prison planet, or worse. It’s hard to know when I should be cautious or when I should act. Especially when…” One million and four hundred thousand dead. When Luke is being completely honest with himself, he knows he feels nothing for them, his dead bodies. “I can’t control it.”

“Yes, but someday you will.” She laughed. “Luke, you’re not even twenty. Your Jedi Master left you an impossible task. Restore a dead religion, take on the Emperor’s attack dog…your path lies on a knife’s edge. But if you succeed…”

“The Empire falls,” Luke finished. “And the war is won.”

“We are connected in more ways than one, y’know. The Fox isn’t much more than myth. A ghost for the Empire to chase.” Lottie said. “Tatooine might have been lonely, but that doesn’t have to be true now.” She sighed decisively, turning to him. “If I believe in anything, I believe that the gods meant for us to meet. I’m not afraid.”

He took her hand. His lips brushed her knuckles before he could think. “Thank you, Lottie. I’d be lost without you.”

“And I you, Luke.” He didn’t believe her. She was so capable, so clever, she didn’t need him. But no one had ever looked at him before with such warmth, such adoration. Maybe it’s true. Maybe we need each other.

She cut through his thoughts, her voice bright and sharp. “May I ask you a question?”

He nodded.

“What is it like? To have the fabric of the universe beneath your skin?”

“It’s…” He searched for the words. “More peaceful than you’d imagine. It’s terrifying, but thrilling, too. Like flying a ship. You feel so connected to everything, a part of something bigger than yourself. Like dying, and then being reborn.”

“And you feel this…all the time?”

“More and more often recently.”

“It sounds wonderful,” she said dreamily. She breathed in, straightening her back. “I convinced Pazima to let us speak to this Jedi tomorrow. He’s half-burnt and will most likely be out of his fucking mind on pain meds. Still,” she sighed. “It’s a start.”

Luke couldn’t help himself. He picked her up and swung her around, and Lottie erupted into giggles.

“Do you know anything about him?” he asked, putting her down.

“Nothing,” Lottie said. “But I think it would be smart to tell him who you are. He will know more.”

When they walked back to the ship, they walked back hand in hand. Luke couldn’t quite believe it, how easy it was to touch one another. It was like a secret they shared, and when they reached the Prophet, he was loath to part from her.

The gods meant for us to meet, she said. He knew nothing of gods. He knew barely anything about the Force, or himself, or the future. But finally, finally, he knew what this feeling was.

It was desire. Dangerous, miraculous desire.

[waywardcollective]

“  here,  take my jacket.  you look like you need it more.  ” (from Val? (:)

Affectionate Prompts II Accepting

Stay safe, everyone. God bless. As he waved goodnight to his members, Elsner was aware of two things: the temperature had dropped drastically, and he had - very foolishly - left his coat at home. It was quite mild and clear this morning, so the sight of frost upon the ground was an unexpected misery. But having grown up on a farm in Belfast, he was used to tolerating harsh winter conditions. This was nothing, he told himself, despite a shiver running down the length of his spine. With a determined huff that produced a cloud of white smoke, he shouldered his leather satchel and locked up the building, before turning to make his way towards St. Ann's. The church was only a fifteen-minute walk away from here, thankfully. But the sudden appearance of a gentleman as he faced the street startled Elsner from his thoughts, a sharp gasp escaping him. He must have looked like a deer in headlights. Where did he come from?

"Ah, give over." With an embarrassed chuckle, it took a moment for his heartbeat to settle. "Y'nearly gave me a heart attack." There was no anger to his tone, but rather amusement. Amusement at himself for getting spooked so easily. With regained composure, he continued. "'m afraid the meeting is over for tonight, but 'm always here to help. Are y' looking for something in particular?" As guilty as it made him feel, he hoped the solution was a quick one. His fingertips were already turning numb. The response caught him off-guard, however, and his eyes travelled down to the offered jacket before settling back on the other's face with furrowed brows. "Well -- that's very kind of y'. But are y' sure? What about yerself?"

There was no budge. With an ounce of hesitance, Elsner accepted the jacket and wrapped it tightly around himself. "Thank y'." He accomplished the sentence without too much wobble, despite the cold causing his teeth to chatter. At least the jacket took off some of the chill wind that whipped around the buildings. "'m actually on my way to church for a late prayer. A very late one, to be frank." A glance at his watch told him that he was overdue by a couple of hours. "How about y' follow me? Aye, the least I can do is offer a cup of tea inside as a token of gratitude. And then at least y' can take yer jacket back afterwards."

[vinaxxo]

First sample: Favor.

warnings: suggestive, sexy kind ceo man

WC: ~1.4k

A/N: didn't proofread this really.. enjoy <3

Your boss is a very kind man. And not only is he kind, but he’s painfully handsome as well. Young in his twenties, gorgeous fluffy green hair, freckles.. It’s truly a blessing to see every weekday. He comes in with his sharp, perfectly fitted suits, cufflinks, and his usual hairdo-- he makes the messy look work all too well. He always greets you in the morning, gets you lunch, gives you perks and whatnot, and it makes your body tingle with happiness at his generosity. The crush you have seems to be bubbling to the surface despite your efforts to push it back down where it should belong; in the depths of your aching, “professional” heart.

Izuku Midoriya, the owner of one of the biggest companies in your area. Your crush.

He texts you that he’s parking his car, and it’s now your queue to greet him with a warm smile and his favorite tea, your work binder nestled into your arm. You hear the sound of his car door locking, and the soft clicks of his oxford shoes getting louder as he approaches the glass doors of the second-floor lobby. You open one of them and smile before your eyes start to wander-- a crisp black suit, shined shoes, a sleek black belt, and a simple black tie.

“Morning, Mr. Midoryia. Sleep well?” He grins at you and takes his tea with a small bow of thanks.

“Just barely.” He takes a sip of his drink and hums gratefully as he begins to walk into the office building, with you following him at his side. You’ve gotten used to the stares of your co-workers, thanks to Izuku. He reassured you and suggested that you pay no mind to their.. Jealousy. The way he said that made your heart flutter, and the crush had been growing ever since that day; a curse to be frank. The ding of the elevator snaps you out of your daze, and you hurry to get into it with Izuku. Once the door closes, he takes another sip of his tea and looks at you.

“Did you set the meeting up today with the time changes? I apologize for the late notice.” His voice has a light and caring tone to it, one that makes you smile once more and nod. “The sunset will look great,” you started before adjusting the binder in your arm. “You could leave the shaders open.”

Izuku smiles warmly and puts the cup into his left hand to check his silver watch on the right. “Sounds great! Thank you, Ms. L/N.”

The elevator rings again as the doors to the executive floor slide open, and you and your boss step out to see your two co-workers making out on the couch nearby. You’re both utterly appalled... and blushing.

Izuku clears his throat. “Get back to work. Please don’t let me see that again.” He warned. The couple instantly breaks up their affair, faces embarrassed and ashamed as they scurry off down the hallway to the cubicles.

“God..” Izuku murmurs and shuffles towards his office. You give him a short side glance and find that he’s a bit flushed.

“Mr. Midoriya, are you alright?” He gives you a small nod with a reassuring smile, delighted to hear your soothing voice again. “Yes. I’m just fine, Ms. L/N. Thank you.” You step into his big office shortly after the rich man himself, your eyes never failing to roam around the space.

Izuku checks his watch again before removing his jacket, revealing a white dress shirt free of wrinkles that wrapped around his strong arms and torso. Clinging to your binder and watching Izuku look out his windows, the bubbly feeling you’ve had several times before resurfaces again. Your cheeks suddenly feel rosy and warm. “Ms. L/N?” Izuku’s looking at you, his expression a tad concerned.

“Y-Yes?”

He colors a little, holding a pen in his hand. “I’m going to write down the times that I have to leave for board meetings today,” he gestures to the blue sticky note on his desk. There’s a heavy silence that settles in his office as the pen scribbles down the information. He holds the note out to you with a charming smile, and you take it and put it in your binder for safekeeping. Suddenly, Izuku’s face is unreadable. Disappointed even-- his smile had faded a little. Did you do something wrong? But then, he restores it once more and thanks you before walking by, out of the office for the morning.

---

In your own office—yes, your own office, small but cozy— you open your binder to get started on work for the day. The sticky note Izuku gave you was stuck to your schedule when you opened the binder, and you pick it up to take a closer look.

Meetings:

9:30 - 10:20

12:40 - 2:00

3:15 - 3:45

His handwriting is neat and flowy, appealing to your eyes. Izuku’s a busy man, alright. You have lots of respect for him and the work he does. Your eyes move to the bottom part of the light blue paper quickly, more drawn words catching your eye.

Would you like to have dinner with me this evening?

You feel your cheeks heat like earlier this morning before you’re hit with a pang of realization. Was that why his expression dampened? Because you didn’t read the note in front of him? You groan and hold your head in your hands, elbows hitting the cold glass of your desk with a hard thump. You’re hoping that you can still tell Izuku your answer once you see him again and that he didn’t blow it off.

4:00

“Mr. Midoryia?” Your voice is soft as you peek into the meeting room through the doorway.

“You’re fine, come in.” Izuku returns. He looks at you from his chair, semi-surprised. He wasn’t expecting you to meet him this early, only fifteen minutes after his last meeting. Izuku looks at his watch, then back up at you. “Did you need something, Ms. L/N?” Your heart beats quickly as you hold the note out to him.

“Yes, I would love to have dinner with you this evening, Mr. Midoriya.” His expression brightens and his features grow sweet and relieved; Izuku is beyond happy.

He takes the note from you and puts it in his folder, smiling to himself and reddening a bit.

“I’ll have the limo pick you up at six, then.”

“Thank you, Mr. M-”

“Izuku,” he interrupts gingerly. “Call me Izuku.” You feel your body warm promptly, and the growing ache between your thighs makes you step closer to the young gentleman. You lean down and kiss his cheek, pulling away and scurrying out of the office before you can see his reaction with adrenaline coursing through your body.

Deep down, you can sense Izuku blushing, fumbling--working to get his papers together as he tries to clean his thoughts and clear his mind.

Your day of work comes to an end, and you look at the time on your phone before you drive home. You’ll be on time, or at least you think so.

In your fanciest dress, you sit by one of your home windows with your purse and phone in hand while you wait for the limo. Will he be in it? Peering out the window, you see the sleek black limousine stopped in front of your house. Rushing, you get out of your home and lock the door to get to your ride. A man opens the vehicle’s door for you, and you climb into your seat.

And to grant your wish, Izuku’s there, right across from you. In another suit, as expected. But this time, his dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top and his jacket was open. No tie. The view of his exposed skin makes you shift in your spot before his voice tears you away from your staring.

“Evening, Ms. L/N,” He smiles.

“Y/N.” You correct Izuku, so boldly only because this is a car and not his office. His cheeks pink a little, and you wonder how a man with such a hot body and a cute face work together so well. (It’s Izuku, of course. He can do it flawlessly.)

The car ride isn’t as awkward as you thought it’d be, Izuku was willing to make light conversation. In the back of his mind, he couldn’t get the thought of your dress sliding down your body and revealing your skin to his hungry eyes out of his head. He had to suppress his desire for now, play his cards correctly. By the end of the night, you’ll be his, though, no doubt about it.

[ghostofaboy]

Rock Bottom - Clarity

Summary: Frankie is spiraling after Tom’s death. Drugs lead to some unhealthy friendships, and too ashamed to reach out to his former teammates for help, Frankie is drawn into a world he’s afraid he can’t get out of.

Frankie confronts Tyler about his role in the video.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morale/Original Male Characters Rating: Explicit. Serious over 18s only Word count: 1314 Chapter: 8/?

Warnings: implied/referenced drug use, drug addiction, Self-esteem issues, angst, Frankie not coping, dubious consent, amateur porn, mentions of oral sex

Note: This has not been beta read, so apologies for any mistakes. This is a fic with gay and bi characters. Please make sure you read the tags/warnings. Header by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Part 7 / Part 1 / Masterpost

Gavin’s words played over and over in Frankie’s head as he drove the 30 minutes from the workshop to his apartment. The journey seemed to stretch out, making those 30 minutes feel like forever. Frankie wasn’t sure if it was a curse or a blessing that there was little traffic to slow him down as he pulled into the parking lot.

What was he going to say to Tyler? Would he scream at him? Would he punch him? Worse, though, was what Tyler might say. What if he denied it? What if he admitted it?

Frankie’s legs felt like lead as he climbed the stairs and walked the short distance to his apartment door. He needed to see Tyler, needed to get his side of things. Gavin was a manipulative piece of shit. He could have been lying. He was probably lying.

Sliding his key into the lock, Frankie turned it and pushed the door open. The sitting room area was empty, and Frankie’s stomach began to drop. Tyler was gone. Of course, he was. Of course, it had been too good to be true. Tyler had fucked him. He had gotten what he wanted. That’s all he had wanted from Frankie.

Frankie shrugged off his jacket and threw it over the couch. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Sinking down on the couch, he let his head drop down and held it in his hands. Fuck it. He still had some of the shit Gavin had given him. It was in his bedroom, in the top left drawer he always kept it in. The solution to this bullshit was obvious.

The flush of his toilet made Frankie nearly jump out of his skin. He could hear the water rushing from the faucet and the creaking of the floorboards. Then the door opened, and he saw Tyler. Tyler’s eyes lit up, and he smiled that big goofy grin that made Frankie’s heart hurt.

“It was your idea.” Frankie’s mouth felt dry.

“What?” Tyler looked at him, puzzled.

“The video.” Frankie’s voice didn’t sound like his own. It was almost a whisper. “Filming me. Gavin said it was all your idea.”

“Yeah.” Tyler nodded slowly. “But I told you that already. After you woke up. Do you remember?”

“Yeah, I remember that. You told me it was your idea to put it online, not that the whole thing was your idea.” Frankie could feel his hands clenching into fists. “Gavin said-”

“Gavin?” Tyler scowled. “What’s that little fuck been saying?”

“That, according to you, I was too fucking good not to film?” Frankie lept to his feet as his voice got louder. “That you should know all about that because it’s your job. What the fuck does that mean? What is your job?”

Tyler put his hands up as Frankie stalked toward him. He was a few inches taller than Frankie, but despite that, Tyler seemed to shrink away from him.

“Frank. Calm down, man. Just take a second. Gavin likes to mess with people. He words things how he likes. You know that. Yeah, this was my idea, and I’ll explain everything, but you need to calm down.” Tyler kept his hands raised. “Please. I didn’t know. I didn’t know about… you.”

“What about me?”

“About how you weren’t into this. About how Gavin makes you fuck for drugs.” Tyler slowly lowered his hands as Frankie turned and sat back down on the couch.

Frankie wanted to cry, and he knew he should be crying because his whole body felt like it was sobbing, but no tears were falling. Instead, Frankie just sat on the couch staring blankly as Tyler sat down next to him.

“Last year, I put up a video of me and Josh fucking onto one of the big porn sites. You know, where you can upload your own stuff. We did it for a joke, I guess.” Tyler started speaking slowly. “But it got a lot of hits. Like, a lot. Actually started bringing in some money. Not a whole lot cos it was just one vid, but it got me thinking.” Tyler paused, perhaps for Frankie to say something but Frankie’s mouth wouldn’t work. He just nodded for Tyler to continue.

“Well, we did more. Then more. Some of me and Josh. Some just me. Then stuff with Evan, you remember Evan? From our first, erm, time?” Frankie nodded, and Tyler carried on. “I built up a following, and the money started coming in. Then recently, some new platforms have really boosted my revenue, and yeah. That’s everything. That’s what I do full time now.”

Frankie frowned, thinking over everything Tyler had said. Taking a deep breath, Frankie looked over at the young man sitting on his couch. “So, where do I fit in?”

“Fuck.” Tyler looked sad. Guilty even. “So, since I started doing this, I’ve noticed what trends. You know? What does well. What kind of stuff gets the most hits. What kind makes the most money. Using the regular sites, it’s mostly solo and pairs. General shit. But it’s all subscriber stuff on the newer sites, and well, I have to cater to my audience more there.” Tyler took another deep breath. “The more, erm, extreme stuff gets more viewers. And I, fuck, I remember talking to Gav about it.”

Frankie nodded. He was starting to understand now. “You talked to him about the extreme stuff making more money? Stuff like gangbangs? Stuff like…fisting?”

“Yeah. I’ve done some stuff with Josh and Evan, but they weren’t into it. Josh just helps with the editing now, mostly. Evan likes group stuff but doesn’t like to, you know, receive.” Tyler shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “So when I talked to Gav, he told me about you. Told me your ass could take anything thrown at it. Hey, his words, not mine.” Tyler put his hands up again as Frankie shot him a look. “Anyway, so I asked to meet you, and well, you know the rest.”

Frankie’s head buzzed with all the new information. His anger towards Tyler had subsided, but now it had a new focus. Gavin.

“I need a drink.” Frankie sighed.

“How about food instead?” Tyler gave a lopsided smile. “I cooked, erm, I cooked for you.”

They ate in silence, to begin with. Frankie focused on his food, feeling Tyler’s eyes on him. It was Tyler who spoke first, asking him if the mac and cheese was ok. Frankie had nodded and made an off-hand comment about how it was almost impossible to screw up mac and cheese. Tyler had grinned, and Frankie had grinned back.

Now they were sat on the sofa again, but this time facing each other. Having a proper conversation. Frankie had made Tyler go over everything he had told him again. Slower. He needed the details because he needed to think.

“I think Gav has played me.” Tyler took a swig of beer.

“Yep.” Frankie nodded. “Me too. He knew I’d do anything he asked so long as he kept getting me high. Fuck, I remember this one guy he took me. They had me in this run-down gym blowing this old guy.”

“The one with the blue front and the tiny ass windows?” Tyler frowned.

“Yeah. Gavin was talking with some other guy the whole time.”

“Fuck.” Tyler stood up so quickly that he nearly lost balance. “Fucker!”

“What? Ty?” Frankie watched as Tyler started to pace around the small apartment. “What is that place?”

“That gym is run by Garth Tilly. Bad guy. Don’t know all the shit he’s part of, but I know he’s a loan shark.” Tyler ran his fingers through his short hair and looked over at Frankie. His eyes were filled with rage and sorrow, and pity. Frankie understood immediately.

Gavin. That little fucker. That little fucker had been prostituting him.

[vampiresuns]

A Little Closer To The Edge | Asra x Milenko

☽ A LITTLE CLOSER TO THE EDGE ☽

2.1k words. Written for Asra Week 2021, Day 7: Free Day. In which Asra asks Aisha to teach him how to hold a man like thirst holds water. This is set after the events of the game. Milenko is not the apprentice.

You can read the entire Asra and Milenko’s pre-game canon, ‘Like Thirst Holds Water’, here.

As a note, ‘Sasi’ is one of Milenko’s nicknames. It comes from his middle name, Sisay. ‘Sisay’ means good omen in Amhraic.

Thank you @lisa-frank-cave​ my beloved for helping me come up with asratfits. No cws apply. Happy Birthday, Asra 🎂💜

O father, O foreshadow, press into her — as the field shreds itself with cricket cries. Show me how ruin makes a home out of  hip bones. O mother, O minutehand, teach me how to hold a man the way thirst holds water. Let every river envy our mouths. Let every kiss hit the body like a season.

— Ocean Vuong, “A Little Closer To The Edge”

Asra had to excuse himself from his own birthday party, needing a moment alone after realising everyone who mattered to him was there, laughing and sharing beverages and stories of their own, talking about nothing of importance, but sharing a good time nonetheless. 

It was his first birthday after the Devil had been stopped and the end of the world averted, the first birthday he could spend with his parents after a long, long time. There was Selasi and Muriel, free and happy, finding his own footing again; there was Amparo who had kissed his cheek when she wished him a happy birthday, there was Nadia and Portia, old friends recovered and new friends made. There was Anatole, his beloved friend, who had danced with him, spinning him in circles, and now insisted on sharing his chair with Ilya, even though there were chairs to spare. 

And there was Milenko. Beautiful, joyful Milenko with his smile and the freckles on his cheeks, like the night-sky itself had blessed him with kisses. 

When Aisha found him, he immediately began crying, throwing his arms around his mother in search of comfort. All had passed, all was forgiven, and none of them had to be alone again. More importantly, he didn’t have to be alone again.

He thanked his mama for the hug, as Aisha kissed his head and reminded him of the blessing that he was, and the many blessings he deserved. 

“And you will have them, insha’Allah, Habibti,” Aisha said before they joined the dinner party again, asking Asra to lean his head down so she could kiss it again.

It was early dinner, they would later go to the theatre, Amparo had a performance and she was able to snatch good seats for Asra’s birthday, attributing it to her endless charm. When the time approached, some of them left with Amparo who had to be there earlier, while Nana, Ilya and Milenko stayed back to help clean around.

Asra didn’t know what it was, but Milenko looked radiant. His curls bounced when he laughed; a pair of crescent moon pendant earrings, gold pleated with blue topaz tears hanging from the bottom of the moon dangled from his ears. He was wearing black high waisted pants, a textured belt marking his waist. Right now, as he washed dishes with Julian and Salim as they chatted, he had pulled up the sleeves of his white, unbuttoned poet shirt. Milenko mentioned being interfaith, and his father began talking to him about it, Julian happily chiming in.

Asra noticed Milenko still washed the dishes with his hip popped to one side, and his backside sticking out.

When he came in, he had been wearing a navy blue jacket with clean lines and golden buttons that reached the beginning of his hips, too. Being 31 looked good on him, and either Asra had never stopped being in love with Milenko, or he was falling in love all over again. 

The poet changed his weight from one hip to another. Asra was going to go insane. 

“Oh, I think I know that look,” Aisha said, snapping Asra out of it. 

His cheeks went cherry red as he tried to divert the topic. Anatole, leaning against an archway with a mischievous turn in his lips, was about to say something but Asra stopped him before he could. His friend threw his hands up in surrender; Aisha, thankfully, didn’t say anything else but Asra knew his mother would bring it back sooner or later. 

Aisha laughed with Asra’s relieved face. Salim turned to her, and with him, Milenko did too, smiling at Asra once his chestnut eyes found his purple ones. Asra was doomed. 

He was right about Milenko being brought up later, but it was Salim the one who brought him up first.

“He speaks very highly of you,” he said, as he and Aisha wished Asra a good night. 

Asra’s choked up: “He does?!” didn’t go unnoticed. However, he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about Milenko. While Asra had found a new sense of comfort in openly confiding in his parents about most things that went through his mind or his heart, everything was too muddled for him to even know what to say. So he promised he’d tell them more about it when he knew what to tell them, and they let it go for the time being. 

To the chagrin of Asra’s sanity, the world wasn’t done throwing Milenko his way.

Running into Milenko once or twice a month wasn’t odd for Asra, but the more time passed, the more it seemed those chances grew. Asra was now running into him even twice per week, sometimes more. It was so much, he had discovered missing him on the weeks they didn’t run into each other, Asra turning at every possibility, perking up whenever he felt like he saw Milenko around.

On top of that, Aisha and Salim had taken kinship to Anatole’s parents —his father in particular. The three of them shared alchemy as a passion and profession. Anatole’s father, Vlad, still refused to become a palace magician, even if he liked Nadia much more than he ever liked Lucio. Still, he was always happy to stop around to see his son and meet up with his new friends, the three of them, along with Anatole’s mother, going out to dinner together rather often.

Asra knew all the Radošević-Cassano, so he needn’t be reminded Vlad was very close to his Radošević cousins: Violeta and Atanasie — Milenko’s mother and uncle. He choked on his drink when his parents told him they were just having dinner at Violeta’s and Aurora’s place. 

“Milenko asked if you would join us,” Aisha said, tapping her index on her lips. “He seemed a little crestfallen when we said you wouldn’t. Perhaps you should come with us next time.”

The Milenko conversation, or rather, confession, didn’t come out of Asra until some months later. One warm but breezy evening Asra and his parents were having dinner in The Sphinx Coffee-house. Milenko had come down through the backroom, for once not wearing a shirt that made him flash his tits out to half of Vesuvia. What he was wearing was simple, but he looked handsome and elegant: a black, high neck shirt, black pants, and a shawl with embroidered constellations over his shoulder. 

Amador, the Dos Santos sibling who was running the Sphinx that night, greeted him cheerfully, the Alnazars being close enough to hear, but not close enough for Milenko to see them yet.

“Hello, doll-face, how’d your date go?” 

Milenko’s underwhelmed reply made Asra feel like he could breathe again. Both of his parents noticed, just like they noticed the way both of them startled when Milenko noticed their presence. He ended up excusing himself, claiming he was being waited on in the Community Theatre. 

After that Asra couldn’t hold it in much longer. A day or two afterwards, he was basking in the sun with his mother when he sat up, and without any contextualisation he just said: “How do you do it, mama? How do you keep someone you love close, when you think you have lost them but maybe you haven’t?” 

Aisha looked at him, sensing her child was not done talking.

“You’ve been with Dad for so long, how do you do it: how do you make home out of ruins, how do you hold someone like thirst holds water?”

Aisha sat up, taking Asra’s hand in hers. “I didn’t know you were good with poetry, habibti.”

“I’m not,” he sighed.

“But your Milenko is, isn’t he?”

Asra’s smile was sad and lovelorn. “He is, mama, he really is.”

This time, Asra told Aisha everything, and when Salim came back from getting bread at Selasi’s, he patiently listened to Asra too. They both offered the advice that they could, but mostly let Asra say everything he was holding in, reminding him he didn’t have to keep these things to himself anymore, that he could confide in people. 

Once Asra was done talking he felt relieved. The best advice his parents could give him was that he tried. If he was honest about his feelings and communicated them like he had just done, he might realise that not everything was quite as it seemed. Perhaps he could start little by little, trying to spend time with him again. He had come so far, and he was such a wonderful person to know, that the worst thing he could do was not give himself the chance. 

They both said that it was clear Milenko cared about him too, more than Asra noticed. 

“You don’t have to take it from us,” Aisha said, squeezing his hand again. “What would your friends say? What would your Anatole tell you? Or Muriel?”

Asra laughed. “Muriel would either tell me to just do it or roll his eyes at me. Anatole would convince me to be more brave and hopeful than I ever thought it was possible being.”

Salim kissed Asra’s forehead. “Then try, you are very deserving of hope.”

His parents were invited to Aurora’s and Violeta’s in two more days, and they offered Asra to come with them: maybe Milenko would be there, and he would have a chance to at least talk to him, though Asra had insisted he did talk to Milenko, in general at least, so they shouldn’t worry too much. 

Salim hummed. “I didn’t know you had talked all that is capable of being talked to him already.”

“Dad.”

When the day came, Asra dressed as nicely as he could think of, without being obvious. He wanted to look and feel pretty, even if he was trying not to get his hopes up. It was hard not to, however. Hope was contagious. 

Milenko wasn’t around, even if Aurora and Violeta were thrilled to have Asra around for dinner again. They eagerly shared stories about Asra from the past. He tried not to feel disappointed Milenko wasn’t there, or mortified about the stories. He understood they shared them as mothers, subtly encouraging him to make his parents partake in the memories he had once made in their home. 

After dinner, Violeta insisted on showing Asra her garden for old time’s sake, taking his hand as she walked into it, guiding him through the paths of the small space, and the two micro greenhouses she kept there. One housed venomous plants only, her speciality; the other, orchids. 

Violeta turned to Asra. “How are your orchids, darling?” Asra had never told her he grew orchids, and while he wanted to suspect his parents might have told her, the way she spoke reminded him of Milenko. No, Violeta didn’t need to be told to know he did — Milenko got his clairvoyance from her after all.

“I’ve never asked,” Salim said, walking a little behind Asra and Violeta. Aisha was talking to Aurora about her latest restoration commission. “Did you teach Asra to grow orchids?” 

Violeta blinked at him. “I’m afraid not.” 

Asra rubbed the back of his neck, nervous. “If she had, I’m sure they’d grow better. I learnt from books, on my own.” 

“I can give you a couple of tips, my son is a patient man.” 

Aisha caught up with them, Asra wanted the earth to swallow him and spit him far away from there. “How romantic of you, and here I was thinking you were helpless.” 

Aurora snorted. “Don’t worry: he may have a poet’s tongue, but on the inside, Sasi is no better.” 

He didn’t see Milenko at all that night, not that Asra considered the evening unfruitful because he didn’t. He had come out of it with Violeta’s instructions for tending to orchids and he planned to apply them to the best of his capacity. 

* * * * *

Milenko was writing in the little office he had in the periodical he wrote for, though office might have been an over-glorified word for a table that was in the corner, overflowing with papers, next to a window filtering sunlight in. 

He heard his editor tell him he had a visitor, and Milenko, still half entranced by the sound of pouring water from the enchanted vases on his desk, just gave him a half-hearted hum, accompanied by an absent sounding plea to give him just a minute longer. 

Asra stood there for more than a minute, but he didn’t care. There was too much adrenaline in his veins for him to care. Nerves piled up on the mouth of his stomach but he stood his ground, watching as Milenkos curls moved softly as he wrote, his ink stained hands carefully avoiding the places the ink had not yet dried. He had seen him do this so many times, acting like an automaton as the water filtered everything that wasn’t the words and the visions outside of his sphere. 

Milenko finally looked up, mouth agape as Asra licked his lips and gave him a nervous smile, a blush expanding from his cheeks to his ears. 

“Hi,” was Mielnko’s bewildered reply as he looked at Asra, standing in front of his desk, a rainbow shawl with tiny bells on the hem over his shoulders, a raspberry shirt and deep purple palazzo pants, as he held a flower arrangement with no less than seven orchid stems, blooming into multiple flowers each. 

“I grew them myself,” Asra explained, not needing to tell Milenko who they were for.

“They’re— they’re my favourite flower.”

“I know. That’s why I grow them.”

[calypsoff]

Fifty Nine. Part 2

Clinton honestly plays at my heartstrings with Chris, just to see a good father. He is ever so attentive towards Chris and I love to see it, he just comes out with the most random things too which makes me laugh but to see a father, it’s nice to see. I don’t know what one is, it’s been tainted for me because of my own and I don’t think I know what a real father should be doing “you good now yeah? No more tears” Clinton placed his arm around Chris and patted his shoulder “no more, I’m good now. I ain’t seen y’all in a while, I missed it. You know how much I missed you when I was locked up but yeah, I’m good” Chris makes me so proud, he really does. He just so open with his emotions with his family, even with me but I love that “so what is happening in the family, how is the baby? Tell me” Clinton asked Chris, he probably wants to hear what he has to say which I don’t mind “good, erm me and Barry aren’t friends anymore. I’m not sure what he is on at all, we just not speaking anymore. He was saying things that angered me that I ended up beating him, in the middle of iHop and I got arrested and now I got a court case. So that happened” Clinton looks horrified “again!? What did I say to you about letting anyone get to you! Seriously, you have so much going for you. I said it to you when you were first time arrested, I said to you that you are not like those boys out there that need to do these types of things. Barry isn’t proceeding the way you are Chris; you need to make new friends in that field. The people of VA you leave behind, nobody is happy for you” Clinton was harsh there “we understand why you both didn’t come to the home and we appreciate that you even came to VA, I’m very happy to see you both even came but we will come to you both” Joyce added “I’m not hiding though, fuck them” Chris said “you’re not hiding son, you’re fully there and we see it” Clinton is right “move to Cali, then I can see you when I want and then when Robyn isn’t speaking to me I can see you all” Chris would mention that “no baby, your sister is here” Chris pulled a face “but I would like you to be safe, you know Robb is throwing threats” Clinton looked at Joyce “I think your mother wants to stay in VA; our family is here. Only you are in Cali” Chris shrugged his dad’ arm off “yeah the family that don’t fuck with your son, ok. It’s just me” Chris is offended by what was said, I don’t blame him.

Chris as he does he’s walked off because he’s not happy, I’m not going to get myself involved because it’s his family “Clinton leave him, he needs space and we give him that” Joyce said as Clinton was going to get up and follow him “I just don’t want him to be sad, it’s a lovely day. Seeing each other” taking in a deep breath “do you all still speak to the family still? It’s just Chris?” I questioned, I want to know more actually “they speak to us yes, but when it comes to Chris he is a bit of a taboo, Robb is the first born grandchild. Spoilt, so when that all happened they took sides and it hurts me so much because he’s my only son, but I also want my family, We decided to just keep both sides happy and not speak on either, I know my son feels I am betraying him. I don’t know what else I can do without losing the family I got and have nothing” pressing my lips into a hard thin line “but then Chris had nothing besides you three? How was that fair on him. In that situation, coming out of jail and he came back to nasty behaviour. I just feel it’s hard for him, he did what he needed to do to be out, I won’t ever say he did wrong. You both got your boy back and that alone should be praised but how you think he feels when now he’s between you and that family you want” I shouldn’t be involved in this because it’s not my issue at all “it’s ok because I will have my own family” oh Chris heard then “son, you’re taking it the wrong way. You knew this, you knew the family didn’t forgive. We would always choose you over them, it is never like that but we are ok in VA, we really are so please let’s not argue, can we not” Chris made his way over to me and sat next to me “I have no family” looking over at Chris “stop” I don’t want this to be an argument, we didn’t come here for that.

Both Clinton and Chris went out to get some groceries, they took Frank with them. I wasn’t letting them go alone, I’m not risking it at all “Joyce, it’s playing on my mind and you can tell me to mind my business but. They want to kill your son, does that not hurt you and want you to not deal with them anymore?” I’m still on it “kills me deep inside. My sister came and she said my son is suffering, I said to her so is my son as you all wish nothing but bad on him so all he keeps getting is bad, I told Chris to go to church more, he needs the blessing because there is nasty people out there that are wishing it, those people is my family. I do want a change but all I know is VA, I am comfortable here” as a mother I can imagine how hurt she is about it all “all I knew is Barbados Joyce, but I did it and I was happier, hand on my heart a change could be best for you all because he wants to protect you all too, but that’s something you all want. Chris is a hurt man and I see it sometimes, he loves Barbados, he loves my family and minus my dad but how close we are. I see his smile and then he comes here, and he has no family around, it’s a shame. All they are doing now is selling stories about him, my publicist told me, and I said deny it all, he doesn’t know that, but I do. It’s just a nasty situation where now his cousin is threatening him, I feel like someone has put some witchcraft on him, you’re right. All those bad wishes add up and maybe we need to go church, but I think if you really want a change, make it” they are thinking on moving then they need to do that now before Chris gets the house for them.

Joyce touched my bump and it made me giggle “my mother would be jealous right now, she just calls me on FaceTime to stare at my bump. She’s so excited about this, she’s telling me she will move in for me and she will do this and that and I’m like hold on mommy, I am ok. Chris and I are ok, I just know Chris is going to be so supportive. But I think I will let her stay for a few days and then she needs to go home, she will take over. The baby is going to be so loved, I can’t wait” she cooed out “what you guessing? My mother said boy weird enough, she said the way I am carrying so I am so unsure, also Chris and I met this guy in Jamaica called captain and he knew so much, he turned around to me and said girl, I was so freaked out” Joyce gasped “wow, well I think girl. Oh baby I hope it is a girl, daughters are a pleasure. Such beautiful, spirited kids, boys are a pain. I enjoyed my daughter then I did my son but Chris himself, he was clingy to me, forever wanting me to pick him up but I feel like when boys grow up, they grow up to not be yours” Joyce has got a point “he also said we have four kids but one is vague and I questioned and said was one a miscarriage and he said no so that scared me, I don’t know. I hope it’s not anything awful” I sighed out “impressive” Joyce said and I laughed “well” I dragged out, her son has super sperm so it could be a thing actually “would you want that many? You’re a very busy woman” I chuckled “with the help and support from the love of my life yes it can happen, even if god blessed me once I am happy” Joyce cooed out “I am so excited for you both” this baby is going to be so loved and I can’t wait.

Sweet of Joyce, she cooked for us and I wasn’t expecting that at all. She made me sit down and not do anything at all, it’s nice “you know what, this was so nice. Thank you, but leave the dishes, Chris will clean up” I grinned at Chris “what?” He said confused “you heard me but it’s getting late, I don’t want you driving home and it’s too dark for you” Chris chuckled “she is trying to make you both leave, she is bored of you” Chris is such a liar “don’t listen to him please, he is a liar. But anyways, can we take a picture together, just before you depart. I want a in-law’s picture, I’ll get Rich to come and take it” getting up from the seat “oh god my hair is not done?” Waving Joyce off “stop it” making my way to the living room to get Rich so he can take this picture of us “Rich, can you take a picture” walking back on myself “what’s bout your bump?” Chris asked “your jacket” taking his jacket from the back of his chair, I just really don’t care about hiding about the fact I’m with my in-law. Putting Chris’ jacket on and zipping it up “don’t you think it looks better on me?” I smiled at Chris “mhmmm nah, better on me” Chris wrapped his arms around my shoulders “Rich can you notice my bump? Anything at all?” I asked as he aimed the camera up “erm no, the counter covers it” shuffling to Joyce and placing my around her “ok smile” I grinned wide, I probably look a mess but who cares “done” Rich made his way over to us, taking my phone from him “awwww thank you, I love this picture. I don’t look pregnant here at all, ok family” pressing next and adding a caption ‘I have the cutest in-laws’ pressing send on the picture “it’s been honestly so nice to see you both, but honestly. Chris will clean” I am being deadass, he thinks I am joking “awww, how long you both staying for?” Joyce asked “erm, I would say a few days. Spending some quality time together” I laughed to myself because that sounds stupid, we see each other anyways.

Chris is downstairs trying to figure which home he wants to get for his parents, I spoke to Chris last night about them remaining here, they are happy to be here so why change that for them. Even though for Chris I would have liked them to come to Cali but it’s fine, just because they are happy here so he is downstairs looking at different homes, he changed his mind on what he wants to get and I don’t mind because I need sort out his birthday gift or gifts anyways, but I don’t know what I am doing with this shit so I am getting my brother to help me, I have not a clue about this shit so while he is down there I am calling him “nigga, why you take so long to pick up” I scolded him “sorry, man I was just going to have a nap under the sun” he knows damn well I miss Barbados “asshole, so anyways. Have you done your investigation for me? I told you, if I say it to him he will clock on so I don’t want to ask” he better have spoken to him “yeah, I text him and said well lied to him. I said I am moving to Cali to be closer, and I am looking to get a car, well at first we spoke about sports and then I turned it into about cars, then he said oh my car is just an Uber which made me laugh but he spoke on Lamborghini, he said once he makes his money up he will get that for himself, so there. I did it” I have no idea about cars, they cute whatever but I don’t. I have that Porsche that is in a garage that I don’t even use “right so now what? Rorrey please, you got to do this for me” he has no choice he has too “right there is a few models but I am flying over sis so we can both go and look, don’t worry about it I got you” thank god he is coming.

As I come down the door knocked at the same time “I will get it” Rich said as he got up, I need to make some lunch actually, I am hungry. Slowly walking down the last step as Rich walked by me “you don’t look happy” I said, “I was having a nap” I gasped “so in that nap you were saving me from what?” Rich chuckled as he opened the door “oh wow, hi” letting out an oh, it’s TJ “I come in peace, honestly big man” Chris jogged by me “is that you TJ?” Rich moved to the side, TJ stood awkwardly with a car seat in hand but then he placed it on the floor as Chris jumped on him, giving him the biggest hug “oh man, it’s the married man” I smiled seeing them both hugging, seeing Chris happy with his friend “oh shit, oh my god. Is this Camron? Holy shit, who this white boy” Chris crouched down to the car seat “hi Rihanna” TJ waved at me “hey, come in. Chris bring the baby, come in. I am going to make lunch, you want some?” I asked “no thank you, I just ate. I really wanted Chris to meet my son, like I am so excited about this” watching Chris as he bought the car seat over to me “look at him, he fat and white” I cooed out looking into the car seat seeing this chubby little thing with the lightest hair “wow TJ, he is you!” I spat “he is so cute” now I am jealous, I Want my bbay with me now, Camron is so cute.

Walking into the living room and sitting next to Chris “ugh, I cannot wait for our baby to be here. Look at you being all daddy, TJ your son is beautiful. He is really you’re twin, god bless him” TJ laughed “thank you, I just wanted Chris to meet him, and it happened. I just wanted this moment, when he’s older I can start taking him to Cali, he will have someone to play with when little Breezy comes along but thank you” poking my lips out “come here, you are so precious” picking Camron off of Chris, slowly placing him in my arms “you really are a charmer staring at me with those big brown eyes” I should have known, like he’s a baby and they can sniff milk “aye, wait. No, those nipples are mine” I snorted laughing moving him away from my breast, this baby is ready for milk “oh shit, I just fed him, he probably senses it” lifting him up and sat him up on my lap with my hand behind his head “take a picture for me, do you mind?” I asked TJ “I don’t, I mean after the breast thing. You can” Chris aimed the camera, placing my hand just under his chin “mind the stomach” I added “Camron, hey nephew! Yeah, you going to smile at me, awww look at that” Chris turned my phone to me “cute, post it please and put. Just had a baby the world thinks I am pregnant with, I want to annoy the rumours floating around. This will throw them off” also just that alone will upset Seiko, she will be so angry about me posting her son.

[smoochkooks]

—the (un)holy cock-up (m.)

⟶ pairing: park jimin/reader

⟶ genre: smut, angst 

⟶ word count: 14.5k

⟶ warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, profanity, unnecessary amount of biblical puns, some critic on catholic church, this is a heavy read be aware

⟶ summary: there is a quite long list of circumstances, with student loan and rent on the very top of it, that led you to work in the sunday’s spirit editorial department, a newspaper overally known among fellow catholic community of busan, with park jimin as your boss.

when your small cock-up goes unnoticeably out of your hand, you find yourself in a situation painted in all shades of wrong.

or, alternatively: when it’s forbidden, it tastes bittersweet.

a/n: please, before you read this: take the warnings seriously. this is not a light read, it touches some heavy and quite controversial topics. tit also involves a scene where a person in charge exhibits inappropriate behavior towards their subordinate which I do not condone, however it’s all done with consent.

ps. im really proud of this work so give me some love please:(

Fingertips typing furiously on the keyboards, sights focused on the computers’ screens, brows furrowed, minds utterly concentrated and all of this accompanied by angelic voices of various religious songs playing in the background.

This is how a typical day at Sunday’s Spirit editorial department goes by.

The newspaper is a local source of information for the catholic community not only in the city of Busan, but in the whole country. Its history starts in 70s, when Park Min-Sung with his wife started publishing the very first version of the Sunday’s Spirit, selling copies in front of churches. Young activists definitely hadn’t anticipated such a big success, especially due to hard times of the military dictatorship in Korea, but two decades later they have become one of the most affluent families in Busan. The newspaper remains the Park’s legacy till these days, being owned by Min-Sung’s son, with the original founder’s grandson Jimin as an editor-in-chief.

Sometimes you ponder how did you end up in this kind of situation. Sitting at your desk with eyes glued to the screen, working for the catholic newspaper with Mary did you know and other holy songs playing from the Spotify’s Blessed Hits playlist.

First of all, you aren’t quite a Jesus stan yourself. Not a regular churchgoer, Bible reader or a person who lives according to God’s will with Ten Commandments written on your heart and soul.

Someone may wonder, what a young, aspiring journalist like you is doing here? Yes, that’s right.

Money is the reason.

The perspectives of wealthy life as a presenter in the national television or a host in the radio were just a mirage, because after receiving your master degree in journalism you realised that, unfortunately, a bright future was bright only in your unreal dreams.

The case was simple. You needed money. Your bank account was literally screaming at you to get your shit together and figure something out before you end up under the bridge. So you started searching for a job, looking over various offers on the Internet for two weeks straight. A waitress? Nah, too clumsy for that. Jewelry seller? Definitely not, since you are a happy owner of a few pairs of earrings from etsy-like online shop that certainly have nothing to do with real gold. You were almost convinced you’re destined to be a sexworker but then you stumbled upon an offer from the Sunday’s Spirit.

It was your chance. A God himself decided to take pity on you.

In that exact moment the genre of the newspaper wasn’t important. The vision of bankruptcy was enough for you to wear knee-length black skirt, white button-up shirt and a pair of high heels you’ve never worn before and go on a job interview with plastered smile on your face, looking delightful like you have just given birth to Jesus Christ in Bethlehem.

All the Hollywood actresses could be put into shame after your Oscar-winning performance you acted out on the interview in front of middle-aged woman in checked jacket that no one wears since 90s. Your enthusiasm and assurance you live good, catholic woman’s life, along with your master degree and motivational letter (you added a quote from The Letter to Philipians at the end of it to spice it up) was enough to be accepted for the position of Ask and you shall find column creator.

The job itself wasn’t complex or tough. The newspaper on its online site has a page where people can create an account and send asks to the author of the column who responds to them. You did something wrong and you aren’t sure it should be considered a sin? Having problems with regular praying on mornings and evenings? Write to us and we will solemnly help you with the God’s blessing, it says.

This is basically how it works. Each week, the said journalist chooses the most interesting questions and answers to make an article to the Sunday’s Spirit’s next publication. Of course, you can’t answer those questions the way you would like. You must do it according to the catholic laws and God’s plan (the True God’s plan, not Drake’s). A woman who interviewed you even gave you a notebook full of already made-up responses and a list of things you definetely mustn’t write if you still want to be employed.

To be completely frank, you don’t hate your job that much. You actually feel kind of nice, helping other people with their problems. You’ve been doing this for six months now and during this period of time you got used to some things.

A ‘Jesus, I trust you’ framed picture you swore your mother gave you on your 16th birthday standing on your desk. Holy beats blasting through the speakers until you leave the office at 5pm. A big-ass cross hanging right in front of the entrance to the editorial. Lee Chin-sun, the Weekly News column author, rushing to Park Jimin’s bureau every day at different hours in her pencil skirts and high heels knocking on the floor.

There’s only the Pentecost in the middle of the office that could actually surprise you.

“Looks like our Mary Magdalene is going to Jesus cave again,” mutters Kim Taehyung, the newspaper’s main photographer, friend from your desk and, actually, the only friend you have here. Very much gay and just like you, in desperate need for money. “It’s her third visit today. I wonder what it is this time. New prayer to Pope Francis she found?” he whispers and you chuckle at that quietly, looking around if anyone pays attention to your conversation, but everyone seems busy doing their own stuff. “Maybe she’s sucking his dick right now and we all think they are playing Who said it? Bible edition,” he adds in a hushed tone.

You start thinking about it for a while. Is that really possible for someone like Park Jimin, the editor-in-chief of the Sunday’s Spirit to have a sexual relationship with his coworker? The man who has a smaller version of Pietà in his office?

“I mean look at him. I would smash that ass too.”

You roll your eyes at Taehyung words, going back to your previous task but every time you try to concentrate, the face of your boss appears in front of your eyes uncontrollably.

Truth to be told, Park Jimin was a sight.

Blond hair, always perfectly styled and simply parted in the middle, revealing his forehead. Dark, sharp eyes that seem to pierce right through your soul and full, plump lips which could only be described as kissable.

He wears only high fashion brands, wandering through the office in Prada and Tom Ford suits that hugs his sculpted body just right. You think that as for a person who never misses Sunday’s mass, Park Jimin has also nice thighs. And a fine piece of ass, as Taehyung would describe it.

Newest Rolex that costs probably more than you will ever earn in your entire life on his wrist, Mercedes who just got brought out to the international market standing on his parking spot in front of the building, an apartment in the most luxurious area in Busan.

Park Jimin inhales God’s mercy and exhales money.

You spoke to him more explicitly only once, on your first day at work. He greeted you and wished good luck, saying that everything will be fine because you know, God’s good. Since that day, Park Jimin seems out of your reach. You contact him only through email, sending articles for him to check and approve, occasionally receiving some short message from him to improve this and that. He rarely leaves his office during working hours but when he does, it’s either for business meetings outside the editorial or for a lunch at nearby restaurant.

There’s also one, special occasion, every Friday, that’s a sacred time for all the employees. The clock hits 12am and so it begins. The angelic voices stop singing and everybody shifts on their sits.

“Oh, Holy Judas. I almost forgot about my favourite part of the week,” Taehyung sighs, standing up from his desk. And by that, he means-

“Friday’s Bible contemplation lunch break, everyone please gather up at the cafeteria.” Park Jimin’s sweet as honey voice says through the speakers.

You stand up from your chair with reluctance. Taking food with you, you go to the cafeteria, following Taehyung.

That’s actually the next thing you got used to while working at Sunday’s Spirit. Bible contemplation meetings are, as you found out from Taehyung, Jimin’s idea after he became an editor-in-chief almost one year ago. Every Friday all the workers sit together, eat their lunches and listen to Jimin as he reads a certain chapter from the book with true admiration written on their faces. After that, he usually asks some questions holding a discussion among the participants who, unlike you, happily takes part in.

The cafeteria looks rather normal, like any other lunchrooms you see in offices. Painted in bright yellow colors, with a few tables and a typical kitchen set in the back. Except for one thing.

A replica of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper hanging on the wall.

You decided a long time ago that you don’t want to know how much money it cost Jimin to have something like that here.

The newspaper’s workers, almost like the twelve Apostles, sit together by the tables. Lee Chin-sun at the very front, looking completely mesmerized by today’s Park Jimin’s appearance. He’s wearing navy blue suit that Taehyung swears it’s from Hugo Boss. The place next to Chin-sun is always occupied by tall, black-haired guy named Choi Eunwoo, main graphic designer, hopelessly in love with her since his first days at work. Behind them there’s a group from emendation department, with their leader Min Yoongi and other journalists. You always sit with Taehyung at the back, near the kitchen, not necessarily paying attention to what’s happening in the front.

Jimin, as on every Friday, walks to the small podium, designed to look like a pulpit in the church and opens the Bible. But one thing is odd: Jimin ain’t no priest or altar boy himself and he certainly dosen’t look like one, flipping through the pages of what you think it’s New Testament this time.

From your point of view, you could practically see how Chin-sun sighs with content expression on her face, lacing her fingers together on the lap and straightening her back. Eunwoo, on the other hand, shifts uncomfortably on his seat, sending Chin-sun quick glances full of unspoken longing she never acknowledges, to his dismay.

Then, Park Jimin clears his throat and the whole cafeteria goes quiet.

Truth to be told, you never really listen to what he’s reading. This time is no different. You just chew on your avocado sandwich, occasionally taking a sip of coffee. Your boss’ smooth voice reaches your ears faintly but you don’t pay attention to it, focusing on eating and Taehyung’s hushed rumbling instead.

“Look at our Mary Magdalene, she looks like she might burst a nut just by listening to CEO Jesus,” he says, making you peek at the girl.

Mary Magdalene is a nickname that Taehyung made up for Chin-sun when he started working at Sunday’s Spirit, mainly because of her attitude and relationship with Jimin. It’s rather platonic, at least for now. She looks at him with pure admiration on her face and she literally melts everytime he smiles at her. But Chin-sun’s ‘stalking’ isn’t unreasonable. Her father is a well-known philanthropist in Busan. He donates catholic charities, churches and, what’s the most interesting – he has some connections with Jimin’s father, the owner of Sunday’s Spirit.

And here’s the thing: Chin-sun’s hare and hounds definitely have some hidden reason. Maybe the whole marriage thing that has become a gossip in the office is true. Which makes poor Eunwoo’s situation even worse.

“Sometimes I wonder why has he fallen in love with her in first place,” you whisper, pointing at the graphic designer. “He knows he stands no chance against Jimin.”

“What can I say, you can’t help who you fall in love with.” Taehyung muses almost poetically, shrugging his shoulders.

You hum at that, placing your coffee cup on the table and looking around the cafeteria. It seems like Jimin has ended his reading session for today and now he invites everyone to join the discussion about the topic. He flashes Chin-sun a gentle smile and you could swear the girl is biting her lip.

On the corner of your eye you see Taehyung smirking.

“What?” you ask.

Taehyung takes a sip of his coffee lazily (it’s always caramel macchiato), peering at Jimin. “Oh, nothing. I was just wondering if our boss really wants to settle not only with Chin-sun, but anyone in general,” he says languidly.

You furrow your brows. “What makes you think that? I mean, look at him. He probably waits with sex till marriage.” you snort.

Taehyung chuckles at your words. “Ah, sweetheart, you really know nothing about Park Jimin.”

“What do you mean?”

He moves closer to you, leaning towards your ear. “What I mean,” he whispers, “is that Park Jimin isn’t such a prude everyone thinks he is. At least he didn’t use to be.”

You raise your eyebrows at him with disbelief. “What? He’s secretly gay?” you mock.

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I wish, but no, he isn’t,” he answers with a sigh. “Do you know Min Yoongi from emendation team?” he then asks, pointing at grey-haired man with feline eyes sitting behind Chin-sun.

You nodd your head. Min Yoongi is a hard to read guy. Always suspiciously silent, practically never leaves his office. Something makes you wonder how did Taehyung end up befriending him enough to casually gossip about the boss. You will ask him about this on another occasion.

“So here’s the thing,” Taehyung begins, lowering the volume of his voice. “He used to study at the same university in Seoul with Jimin. They even had been together in the fraternity. Yoongi-hyung told me some juicy details about our boss’ life back then.”

You frown at his words. “And you are telling me this now?!” you hiss.

“I found out literally two days ago!” Taehyung exclaims, maybe a little too loud, so you quickly place your index finger on your lips, shushing him.

“Fine. Continue.” you whisper, looking around to see if anyone pays attention to you.

“Well, Park Jimin used to be a trouble back then. A golden boy of his family in Busan, but a campus fuckboy and obnoxious heartbreaker in Seoul. He smoked cigarettes, drank enormous amounts of alcohol, got wasted on every weekend, missed classes and changed hair colors as often as his girlfriends. By the way, don’t you think he would slay pink hair?”

“Taehyung can you please–”

“Okay, okay. Enough thirsting over Jimesus. So, as you can see, there was no place for Sunday’s mass and Bible contemplation meetings in his life. And here’s the awaited plotwist. His parents somehow found out his son wasn’t living good catholic life on his studies and got extremely pissed off. They simply gave him an ultimatum: if he doesn’t stop his shenanigans, they will cut him off their money and they won’t make him Sunday’s Spirit heir.” Taehyung stops his rumbling for a while, letting you proceed all the bewildering informations about your dear boss he has just revealed.

Your eyes simply widen at the revelations.

Park Jimin, the man who organises Bible contemplation lunch breaks, a regular churchgoer, someone who you always thought has a cross tattooed on his back, was a playboy who slept with a half of the female community in the university?

Interesting.

“Rest of the story is simple. He changed his behavior, got a master degree in journalism and came back to Busan to work here. What is funny, his first position was the same as yours now,” Taehyung ends his story with a light chuckle. “Now you understand why it’s hard for me to believe he really thinks about getting married and having at least three kids.”

You look up at Park Jimin, who’s standing now in the centre of the cafeteria, with his arms crossed over his chest, nodding at one of the journalists words. His gaze is so intense and filled with such an authority that makes you understand why Chin-sun literally squirms when he looks at her that way.

It’s not hard for you to imagine him in much different surroundings.

Him, standing with a cup of beer in his hand in the middle of the crowd of drunken people at some frat party. There’s a leather jacket on his shoulders and he’s wearing tight-fitting pants that hugs his gorgeous thighs much better than his usual slacks he puts on every day before he sets off to work. He scans the room with a mishevious smirk dancing on his features, biting and licking his lips as he looks for his prey for tonight.

He then spots her, his pick for the night. He runs his fingers through his silky locks and approaches the girl, whispering dirty promises to her ear as he sways their bodies to the rhythm of loud music blasting through the speakers. Later that night he has her underneath him, begging him to touch her. He fucks her hard, leaving bruises all over her limp, exhausted body. There will be soreness between her thighs in the morning and a few violet love bites on her neck, a gentle reminder that all of this wasn’t just a dream.

But there’s no warm body next to her she could wake up to, no ‘good morning, baby’ or a second round of love making between the sheets. Because Park Jimin isn’t like that. He waited until her breath slowed down and eyelids fluttered shut, drifting her off to sleep. He left in the middle of the night, a cigarette caught between his swollen from kisses lips. He fumed the poison and smiled to himself, wondering what his parents would think when they found out. A golden boy of his family, future heir of the Park’s legacy, coming back from one of his sexcapeds with girl which name he didn’t even remember.

The Lord himself must have already cursed him and he’s currently planning the punishments for him in depths of Hell. But does Park Jimin look like he really care?

You stare blankly ahead, imagining those scenes in your head. You can’t help but squeeze your thighs because God, yes, Park Jimin is hot, even if he reads Breviary before he goes to sleep. What a shame he has changed. 

A smooth like honey voice pulls you out from your airy-fairy slumber.

“Miss Y/N?”

You jolt in panic after hearing your name, glancing around and praying that wasn’t the person you think it was. But this silky, melodious voice you would recognize everywhere.

God hates you though, he knows what kind of scandalous things you were daydreaming about and now it’s his time to punish you.

Looking up, your gaze settles on no one other than Park Jimin, who stares at you with his left eyebrow raised, pursing his lips. He extinguishes the aura of pure dominance around him and you involuntarily blush, squirming under his intense glare. You’re royally screwed.

You clear your throat, trying to calm down rapidly beating heart. Without success.

“Yes, sir?” you manage to answer innocently. Certainly not like you weren’t thinking about being fucked by him minutes ago. You don’t even have time to be surprised he remembers your name.

Park Jimin looks unamazed by your sweet tone; he almost seems bored, but definitely irritated. “I asked you a question and I’m waiting for your response.” he says lowly.

Fuckfuckfuck. God have mercy on you. What was the question? Shit, you don’t even know what fragment he had read before.

In act of complete desperation you elbow Taehyung for help but this little shit pretends he has no idea what’s going on, looking at The Last Supper with sudden interest.

You are purely, loyally, utterly fucked.

You adopt the most charming smile you could muster, knowing that it will have zero affect on Park Jimin and ask, “Could you repeat the question one more time, sir? I’m afraid I didn’t hear you correctly.” Jesus, when has your voice become so high-pitched?

A cruel smirks forms on Park Jimin’s lips. He shakes his head, tsking. Taehyung mutters something under his breath that sounds dangerously close to “It was nice meeting you, sweetheart.” You gulp, waiting for your sentence and hoping Pontius Pilate will be gracious to you.

“My, my,” Jimin muses. It makes you feel like a little girl being scolded by the teacher due to her outrageous behavior. You bite your lip so hard you might draw blood, waiting for your boss’ next words. “Of course you didn’t hear my question, because you weren’t paying attention to our discussion.”

In the corner of your eye you see Chin-sun shaking her head with detestation. What a bitch, you think to yourself.

You take a deep breath then, nails digging crescent moons on the skin of your palms. You don’t like being in the spotlight, you never did, but now you have no choice but face the consequences. “My deepest apologies, sir. The behavior I exhibited was highly inappropriate,” you say, bowing your head. Jimin eyes your figure from head to toe and you might actually feel his burning gaze on your skin. Your cheeks flush in crimson even more.

The editor-in-chief seems to deliberate with himself for a while, turning his head slightly to the side, not breaking the eye contact with you. Finally, after a moment that seems to last an hour, he speaks.

“I think you need a lesson that will teach you to pay attention to our weekly discussions, miss Y/N. That’s why I want you to write a 4000 words long paper about the role of Mary Magdalene in Jesus Christ’s life which we had discussed today but you, unfortunately, didn’t acknowledge it.”

You freeze. Like a scene in the movie, everything stops. The embarassement you felt earlier is quickly replaced by pure anger and irritation. He wants you to write a fucking paper? What is this? University lectures?

Never before in your entire life have you felt so humiliated. All eyes are on you; you could practically sense how they are trying not to laugh out loud. Eunwoo and Taehyung look at you with apologetic faces while Chin-sun smirks, whispering something to Jimin’s ear.

“I apologize once again, sir,” you grit through your teeth with a forced smile. Jimin nods then, not even bothering to look at you again. You’re dismissed, that’s what his behavior is saying.

“Our meeting is over, you can go back to your work.” Jimin announces and walks away from the cafeteria with Chin-sun by his side.

You wait for everyone to leave and the you let out a groan of annoyance, burring your head in your hands.

“Hey, it could have been worse. He didn’t fire you after all.” Taehyung laughs but he quickly shuts up as soon as he sees your glare. You stand up from your chair with a scowl written all over your face, and storm out of the lunchroom.

And may the God help you.

Later that unfortunate day, you sit by your desk again, scrolling through the Ask and you shall find page absentmindedly and waiting for the new asks to come. Everyone has returned to their work like nothing has happened but it doesn’t stop you from feeling all those eyes constantly on your back. Maybe you weren’t fired but the humiliation and embarrassment of being told off by your boss publicly makes you want to disappear and never show up at the editorial again.

“Y/N,” Taehyung’s deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You look up at him and find the man smiling at you lightly. He’s wearing a long, camel coat and a big scarf around his neck with ridiculous patterns that reminds you of Persian diwans. He places his black camera bag on the desk, which means he’s leaving the office. “I’m free of office work for today so I just wanted to say goodbye.” he explains and you just nod.

“Bye, Taehyung. See you on Monday.” you say maybe a little bit to wryly and he feels that, letting out a long sigh.

Taehyung seems to deliberate with himself for a moment before he decides to speak again. He clears his throat audibly. “And I, uhm, I’m sorry. It’s my fault that you are in this situation. I started this conversation and I should be the one writing this stupid paper for Mister Prude.”

You can’t help but chuckle at the new nickname Taehyung gave Jimin. The anger you felt before drifts away from you slowly, and you smile at your friend apologetically. “Oh, God, Tae. I’m such a bitch sometimes, sorry,” you blurt out.”I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at him. Besides, maybe that’s good I’ve got homework. I don’t remember when was the last time I wrote some-”

Your words are interrupted by a loud laugh that resonates through the office. You look in the direction of the voice just to see Chin-sun with her manicured hand on Jimin’s chest, throwing her head back from the laughter, too dramatically for your taste. She seems to have changed her clothes, a black pencil skirt long forgotten and replaced by a red, bodycon dress. Her dark hair is also styled differently, curled and loose. She looks beautiful, matching Jimin’s appearance perfectly.

“Where are they going?” Taehyung whispers to you, furrowing his brows. You shrug your shoulders, tearing your eyes of Chin-sun and Jimin. “Maybe our Mary Magdalene’s plan to win Jesus’ heart is working. Poor Eunwoo,” he sighs, looking at his watch to check the time. “Anyway, I gotta go. I have to drive all the way to some shithole near the city to take photos of an old lady who swears she saw saint Francis or other dude with halo speaking to her,” he grumbles and you giggle at his words. “Good luck with your paper, sweetheart.” he leans and places a small peck on your cheek.

“Bye, Tae.” you say, watching him leave the office right after Jimin and Chin-sun.

You let out a long, tired sigh, counting the time to leave the office and finally be back home, with a bottle of red wine and new season of Game of Thrones that are waiting for you to watch the whole week. Then, when you’re about to stand up and make yourself another coffee, a new ask pops up in your inbox with the title ��Sex S.O.S’.

You raise your eyebrows because honestly, what kind of title is this? Curiosity wins the battle with a hot cup of an americano and you click the show more button. You put on your prescription glasses and start reading.

Dear Sunday’s Spirit editorial,

My name is Kang Seoyeon. I study medicine at the University of Seoul, I’ve got an amazing group of friends and a loving boyfriend. And here’s where the actual problem begins. I’m from the catholic family with long traditions, and as you can guess, he isn’t.

We’ve been together for almost 2 years now and since my parents don’t want me to live with him before the marriage, there’s also no sexual life between us. I was actually surprised they agreed I can date a non-religious person in first place, so the rules weren’t that horrible at the beginning.

My boyfriend always seemed to be understanding about the fact that I’m catholic and he has never had issues against it because I stated this on the start of our relationship, but lately… he’s been distant. We meet up less often and I feel like simple kissing after 2 years isn’t enough for him. I even thought about initiating something that wouldn’t necessarily involve the real intercourse but I’m too inexperienced and shy for that. We are slowly drifting apart.

I don’t know what to do. I love him so much and I don’t want to lose him just because of some stupid rules I need to follow. I’m scared he will leave me for some other beautiful girl who wouldn’t have anything against sleeping with him, especially after considering the fact that he isn’t virgin unlike me and he experienced this kind of pleasure before.

I hope you will help me.

Yours faithfully,

Kang Seoyeon.

You blink once, twice. Read the message again and then, something snaps in you.

To Hell with these stupid, old-fashioned rules straight from the Middle Ages. To Hell with celibacy till marriage, masturbation prohibition and living according to God’s will. To Hell with Park Jimin and his ridiculous moral code (and his Bible contemplation lunchbreaks).

Unofficial eleventh commandment: If a girl wants a dick, she deserves to have it.

And that’s exactly what your response to the girl is in a nutshell.

Your blood boils in your veins with anger as you’re typing furiously on the keyboard, not even bothering to check if your sudden outburst makes any sense.

Dear Seoyeon,

It’s Y/N here, the journalist who you wrote this message to.

I don’t know what kind of response are you expecting from me but honestly? If you think I’m going to recommend you some praying to Saint Rita then you’re wrong. I’m done with this shit.

Let me make this straight: if you want to fuck your boyfriend, do it. Maybe God wouldn’t approve that but don’t worry, he won’t send you to hell because of some dick in your pussy.

They are plenty of worse things in this world than having sex with the person you love. Look at me. I’m literally writing to catholic newspaper while using words like ‘God’ and ‘Fuck’ in the same sentence. And that’s not even a small piece of what I’ve done in my life.

So you go girl, suck your boyfriend off. Make him beg. He will never leave you after this. You have my blessings and Jesus is giving you metaphysical thumbs up from above. Sex is amazing thing and you don’t have to wait for it until you say ‘yes’ in front of some guy in black cassock. Just go with the flow.

 May the God help you!

Love, Y/N.

P.S. Watch out that guy. He seems suspicious. If he’s been really sex deprived for two years he will die after you give him a head.

Sent.

You exhale loudly, staring at the screen. You did that. Six months into working in Sunday’s Spirit and the time when you lost your temper has finally come. You should probably feel ashamed or have some type of conscience pangs but actually you aren’t even near this state.

Grinning to yourself, you delete the message you had sent to the girl from your inbox and check the time. It’s almost 5pm and it looks like you haven’t even realised you’re the only person at the office right now. Since it’s Friday and Jimin has already left, seems like everyone has decided to set off earlier too.

You turn off your computer, packing your things to the bag. Wrapping a scarf around your neck tightly, you leave the building, welcoming the coolness of the early Spring evening in Busan.

When you’re about to cross the street, your phone buzzes in the pocket of your coat. You stop for a moment, smiling to yourself when you read the message.

[04:23pm] from Tae: hey

[04:23pm] from Tae: i know you are probably planning an evening with mary magdalene n jesus but

[04:23pm] from Tae: wouldnt u want to go for drinks with me tonight?

[04:23pm] from Tae: same place as usual

[04:24pm] from Tae: as a wise man once said: nothing helps better for the writer’s block than vodka

[04:24pm] from Tae: so what do u say?

You don’t need to think twice when you quickly type a response. Game of Thrones and wine can wait till another time.

[04:26pm] from me: how could i say no to kim taehyung and vodka?

[04:26pm] from me: see u there

Kim’s is a place like no one other in Busan.

You wouldn’t even know about its existence if it wasn’t Taehyung who took you there first when you started working at Sunday’s Spirit, solemnly promising free drinks. Who would you be if you didn’t agree to that?

When you arrived at the bar, it eventually turned out the alcohol was costless hence it’s his family business since over thirty years and his brother Namjoon is a bartender, not because Taehyung willingly decided to pay for you.

Kim’s is located in rather industrial part of the city, sandwiched between factories and huge housing estates, not looking really inviting at first glance, but the place has its own, unique charm. There are some stories, shrouding the building’s history in mystery. Some people say it used to be headquarters of the most dangerous mafia in Busan, some even believe it served as the secret arsenal during the Korean War.

But what’s definitely true, it’s the fact that Taehyung’s parents bought this place in swinging times of 80s for a small amount of money and turned the place into disco bar which had become a must-go spot for young people in Busan.

Kim’s on the outside, with its large red neon sign hanging above the entrance, looks more like a night club than a bar, but on the inside the magic of kitschy 80s still remains the same (Taehyung swears retro is in fashion these days and that’s why he didn’t let his parents redecorate when they wanted to).

You always feel like you’re traveling back in time when you visist Kim’s.

The place is quite big, with a large dancefloor in the middle and red leather sofas strewn around the place along with the tables. Walls are made of brick and colorful, vibrant neon lights are shimmering on them. Oh, not to mention the huge disco ball on the ceiling. Everything accompanied with the quality music provided by Namjoon.

There are few billiard and foosball tables in the corner of the bar, always occupied by the same group of middle-aged men on weekdays and university students on weekends. But the thing that attract attention of the customers the most, is the bar with Namjoon behind it.

When you enter the place, you spot Taehyung and his blond mop of hair immediately. He sits on one of the bar stools, talking to his older brother. He’s wearing beige pants and floral button-up shirt that seems to match colors with his pinkish-looking drink he holds. You notice a new pair of sapphire earrings and a huge ring from the same collection on his forefinger. Classy, as always.

Taehyung grins broadly when he sees you. He puts his drink on the counter and stands up to greet you. His breath smells like strawberries and vodka when he leans to place his usual, small peck on your cheek. “Hi, sweetheart,” he says with his signature smirk plastered on his face, scanning your figure. “You look gorgeous. Last time you did this kind of make-up you wanted to get laid.”

You rolls your eyes at his words, sitting on a stool next to him. “Hi, Taehyung. Thank you for appreciating my efforts to look like a decent human being but no, I’m not planning on getting laid tonight.” you answer, waving to Namjoon who makes drinks for a group of girls a few meters from you. He smiles bashfully at you, showing his dimples.

“I’m not saying you want a fuck, calm down. I just assumed since it’s not everyday that you put eyeliner on,” Taehyung explains himself. “So let me do that again,” He takes a deep breath, placing a hand on his chest in a dramatic manner. “Y/N, you look absolutely breathtaking. I could stare at you for hours and I wouldn’t mind that even a bit. My homosexuality is at risk right now.”

You ignore his exeggarated outburst, rolling your eyes. “I’m not using eyeliner everyday because there’s something called dresscode in our work, you know?” you say. “Besides, my mum says you should look good on every occasion because you don’t know when you will meet the love of your life.”

Taehyung puts a hand on his heart and sighs with relief. “Thank God I always look good.”

You chuckle and then your eyes wander for a moment to Namjoon, who seems busy listening to whatever the pink-haired girl is telling him with polite smile on his face.

“Here,” Taehyung nudges your side, bringing your attention back to him. He hands you the same pinkish drink as he was drinking when you arrived. “Hyung told me it’s their new specialty or something. It’s called Flamingo’s Beach,” he says and you take the glass in your hand. “I have no idea what Namjoonie-hyung put here but as long as it looks good, it’s good. Cheers!” Taehyung sips his one and watches you with raised eyebrows as you’re taking a generous gulp of the drink. “And…?” he asks.

You lick your lips, humming to yourself. “Not bad. Tastes like strawberries.”

Taehyung opens his mouth to say something but he gets interrupted by his brother. “Y/N, hi. How are you?” Namjoon approaches you with two beer mugs in his hands.

His hair is back to his natural brown color now, purple strands long forgotten since the last time you saw him. It looks like he’s been working out lately, his posture more bulky and it makes his black shirt stick to his body tightly. Namjoon’s good-looking, you always knew that, but he seems to be even more handsome now.

“Hey, I’ve been good, thank you,” you greet him with maybe too much enthusiasm for your liking. You always had a weak spot for him. “How’s the bar going?” you ask.

“Busy, as you can see,” he replies, chuckling to himself. “I would love to talk to you more but I have some work to do in back room, so…” Namjoon trails off sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head with his hand.

“Oh, it’s okay. We can catch up another time.” You smile at him and you could swear his cheeks flushed.

“I’ll be going. See you.” Namjoon stammers out, not even waiting for your response before he disappears from your sight.

The pregnant silence sets in between you and Taehyung, something heavy hangs in the air and you feel it, tapping your fingers on the counter to the rhythm of one of the ABBA songs, waiting impatiently.

Taehyung looks like he’s debating with himself in his head. You narrow your eyes. He’s adopted a face you know pretty well, too well even. He looks everywhere but keep avoiding your gaze. He wants to ask you something, you’re sure of it, but he doesn’t know how.

Finally, after a moment of awkward quietness, Taehyung finally opens his mouth. “So, here’s the thing,” he starts and you wait for the bomb to drop.

Last time when he approached you like that, he asked you if you would be down for a threesome with him and some guy he met on Tinder. Your eyes almost popped out of your head when you heard his blunt proposition. You were eating lunch at cafeteria and the words casually slipped from between his lips as he chewed on his egg sandwich, like he didn’t just propose you having sex with him and instead asked for a lift to home after work.

Taehyung begged you for a whole week, pleading and convincing it’ll be fun. When you eventually agreed (sex draught make people do stupid things), the other guy didn’t show up. You ended up drinking tequila shots with Taehyung that night in his apartment, and you can’t quite recall how it happened, but somehow you found yourself unzipping your friend’s pants and the rest is history. He passed out right after he came. Now when you think about it, you feel a sudden urge to ask him if he remembers that.

You will do it next time, you promise yourself.

Taehyung though doesn’t ask you about having a threesome or robbing Park Jimin’s house this time. His intentions are pretty much different.

“See, Namjoon split up with his girlfriend few weeks ago,” he says and you prick your ears. “He’s not in good condition right now, as you can see. It was a nasty break up, he found out she’s been cheating on him,” He lets out a long sigh. You bite your lip, imagining Namjoon’s disappointed face when he discovered the truth. What a bitch cheats on someone like him? “So, I thought maybe you could… cheer him up a little bit?” Taehyung ends hesitantly, with a glint of hope in his eyes.

You frown. Cheer him up? Did he just imply what you think about?

“Look, I get it, he’s sad and angry, but what the fuck, Taehyung? What do you want me to do? Do you want me to be his rebound? Make him forget?” you exclaim. Taehyung quickly shakes his head but you don’t let him say anything. “I feel sorry for Namjoon but I’m not going to take advantage of him when he’s literally still hurt.”

“No, it’s not like that!” Taehyung rushes to explain. “Well, maybe it sounded like that but I swear, I didn’t mean that!”

“Then what should I do? Wipe his tears? Tell him a joke? Or maybe-”

“Of course he wants you to suck his brother’s heartbroken dick, doll.”

A sudden, low voice interrupts your conversation. Your eyes follow the direction when it comes from, looking to Taehyung’s left where not even a meter away a very familiar grey-haired man with feline eyes sits.

“Min Yoongi,” you say matter-of-factly.

The leader of emendation team from Sunday’s Spirit editorial raises his hand in which he holds whiskey, greeting you and Taehyung. “Hello, doll. Hello, Taehyung,” he says, not even bothering to look at you.

You elbow Taehyung searching for explanation but he shrugs his shoulders, turning to face the man as well.

“First of all, since when do you call me ‘doll’? We have never spoken a word to each other. Secondly, how long have you been sitting here and listening?” you ask Yoongi.

He snorts, smirking. “Long enough to know how Taehyung comforts his brother after break up.” he simply answers and Taehyung’s cheeks blush in crimson at his words.

“You come here often? I’ve never seen you here before,” you continue, crossing your arms over chest.

Next to you Taehyung lets out a sigh. “Yes, he does. Albeit I haven’t seen him for a while here,” You look at him in confusion. “Yoongi-hyung is Namjoonie-hyung close friend from university days.” he clarifies.

You raise your eyebrows at that. “So Namjoon went to the same school as Park Jimin?”

“Not the same. We met under different circumstances.” Yoongi cuts in.

“They’ve been together in underground rap group, or some shit. Didn’t like each other at first but eventually stuck together till the end of studies.” Taehyung ends and grey-haired man nods.

You can’t help but chuckle at that.

“What’s funny in that?” Yoongi scowls.

“Nothing. I just imagined you and Namjoon in snapbacks, rapping about the unfairness of social hierarchy,” you say, grinning at him.

“Well, you may believe me or not, but we even made a mixtape.” Yoongi reveals proudly, taking a sip of his whiskey.

Your eyes widen in curiosity. “Then what happened? Why aren’t you in Seoul now, still producing music? Why do you work in this stupid newspaper and Namjoon’s a bartender?” you ask interrogatively.

“Life happened, doll. We didn’t have enough money to publish our works so we decided to quit it.”

“Oh,” you breathe out.

You could see the nostalgia written across Yoongi’s face. You feel sorry for him, for Namjoon. Everything is always about the money. That’s why you’re working in Sunday’s Spirit even though it was never your dream in first place. Even though you have much higher ambitions than being Ask and you shall find column author.

Ever since you were little, you loved writing. You never complained, not even once, when your teachers in school assigned you to write something. They kept saying you have an extraordinary talent and it would be a shame if you didn’t do anything with that.

During your high school years, you were the leader of school newspaper’s team, still writing your own works every time you didn’t have something different to do. After that, you got to the university in Seoul, your another dream came true. You got a master degree, an apprenticeship in the Korean version of highly popular, world-widely known magazine. And then, nothing. No job applications available. No newspapers or publishing companies wanting you, dismissing you right away because they didn’t have any vacant places.

This is how Sunday’s Spirit, even if that’s not your dream job, happened. And quite literally saved your ass.

“I’m sorry.” you say after a while.

Yoongi smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t be. What’s in past, stays in past.” he ends the conversation, drinking the rest of his whiskey.

You find this as a perfect possibility to do what you’ve come here for: get wasted, forget about this prick Park Jimin and his stupid assignment. You turn around on your stool to face the bar again, calling for the red-haired bartender named Hoseok who’s substituting Namjoon right now. You order a round of tequilla shots and quickly pours two of them in one go.

“Easy, tiger,” Taehyung teases, still sipping his pink drink as you wipe your chin with the back of your hand. Taehyung has stated a long time ago that he enjoys only casual drinking, which makes you and you lightweightness snort at him.

“Loser,” you mumble under your breath, deep down knowing you’re oh so much going to regret this after.

You focus your attention on the dancefloor now; technicolor lights glittering as the crowd of sweaty people bounce to old Madonna hits. You feel like your spirit might actually experience new kind of awakening during the chorus in Like a Virgin. You mouth the lyrics, the vodka already half-way to your bopping head. Your drunken self almost asks Taehyung and Yoongi if they would agree to be your backup dancers.

You eyes scan the room carefully and then, you spot him. He’s sitting in the corner, his arms splayed over the backrest of the red couch. A devil himself. A black horseman of the Apocalypse. A man who looks like every girl’s next mistake. Taylor Swift’s ‘we are never ever getting back together’.

A true sin.

Jet-black hair parted in the middle, onyx eyes and lucious smirk written across his lips as he bites them purposefully. He’s wearing a leather jacket and you wonder for a while if you would find inked tattoos on his body. He cocks his head to the side, his eyes glued to the same spot as he waits for something, or rather someone.

“Who’s that?” you ask, not even hiding your curiosity at this point.

Taehyung turns around as well, his eyes glancing to the dark-haired man briefly. “Ah, this, sweetheart, is Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin’s best friend.” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You raise your eyebrows, watching as Jungkook’s face expression immediately changes when waitress approaches him. He says something to her that makes her roll her eyes. She tightens her grip around the tray she’s holding, asking him for his order.

“Don’t worry. You are not the only one thirsting over him. I would let him top me too,” Taehyung whispers to your ear and you flinch.

“I’m not thirsting over him! I came her for drinks, not to get laid, I told you.”

“Okay, okay, loosen up a little. Tequilla makes you aggressive. Besides, it looks like he’s got his pick for tonight.”

Jungkook stretches out his hand and fixes the waitress’ glasses that seem to rode down her nose a little. The girl frozes in place because of his action and he grins, calling her cute.

“He’s trying to ask her out for two months,” Yoongi interrupts suddenly, again. It looks like he has nothing better to do tonight. “I’m serious. He’s here every Friday. Normally, he would have given up after the second time she had rejected him but there’s might be something in this girl that makes his dick hard and his heart soft.”

Jungkook’s eyes girl’s body as she bends to pick up the glasses from other tables and maybe that’s the alcohol swimming in your veins but you could swear his face lights up when she sends him another irritated glare when he calls her name.

“Does Park Jimin comes here often as well?” you ask before you could stop yourself.

Both Taehyung and Yoongi shake their heads.

“I don’t think so. Jeon comes here because he lives nearby in this huge ass apartment complex. His father runs a chemical factory and he works there.” Taehyung explains.

Jeon? Chemical factory? Something clicks in your brain. Right, you know who his father is. The King of Washing Powder. Another rich as fuck Busan’s snob.

“God, I hate him. I fucking hate him. What a prick. Douchebag. Asshole of the century,” The string of profanities leaves poor waitress’ mouth as she walks to the counter with tray in her hands. “How’s your day, love? You look beautiful today, love. Fucking leave me alone, love!” she mutters to herself, taking the beer mugs from Hoseok abruptly which makes the bartender raise his eyebrows in confusion.

“How’s your assignment about Mary Magdalene going on, doll?” Yoongi asks then, startling you.

You roll your eyes at him. “I literally got it today, Yoongi. I haven’t started yet.” you answer, gulping another shot.

On the corner of your eye you see Yoongi’s smirking. “I’m surprised, to be honest. You aren’t the only one who doesn’t pay attention to shit Jimin’s says,” he trails off. “I work for him from the moment he started this ridiculous Bible lunch breaks and I swear, he’s never called out someone like that before.”

“What do you mean he’s never called out someone before?” Taehyung joins in curiously.

“Look, I slept through the majority of these sessions and Jimin knows it, but he has never lecture me about it,” Yoongi remarks. “Maybe you’re an exception. Or he’s become more strict because of this bitch Chin-sun.”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. You know Chin-sun has been making heart eyes for Jimin for a long time but what why it might have an influence on his behavior?

“Lee Chin-sun? What the office’s Mary Magdalene has to do with that? Besides the fact that she’s drooling for his dick every time she sees him,” Taehyung snorts.

Yoongi chuckles lowly. “Oh, so you two really know nothing about what’s going on between them right now,”

“What’s going on right now? Spill.” Taehyung says abruptly. You sigh when you see the way his eyes flicker with mischeviousness. One thing Taehyung loves more than photography and fashion is gossiping (and dicks).

“First of all, Chin-sun is a fucking bigot. And well… she might be closer to being miss Park than we thought.” Yoongi muses.

Taehyung eyebrows practically disappear in his hairline. You’re sure you mirror his expression right now.

Yoongi asks Hoseok for another glass of whiskey and continues. “My friend Seokjin’s wife is Jimin’s personal assistant and secretary. She heard this and that, quite juicy things I must say,” he says in a lower tone, like he’s revealing government secrets to them. You lean closer into his direction along with Taehyung. “Chin-sun’s father recently bought the claims to the most popular, conservative TV station in whole South Korea. But, what is more interesting, it looks like Park senior has some shares in it as well.”

You’re astonished. You knew there’s something looming in the air but you didn’t expect this. A TV station? Even your slightly drunken brain can calculate it’s very interesting.

“So the marriage between Chin-sun and Jimin would be pretty convenient for their families, especially after considering the fact that Jimin is the heir.” Yoongi adds, gulping the first sip of his new whiskey.

“Poor Eunwoo,” you whisper to yourself.

“But why so soon? Why do they want to legalize their relationship so suddenly?” Taehyung asks.

Yoongi lets out a heavy sigh. “There’s a rumour going around that Jimin’s father isn’t in good condition right now. Seokjin-hyung mentioned something about the heart disease. So, if that’s really true, you have the answer why he wants his eldest son to settle down already. Everything’s about the money, I told you.”

Taehyung whistles. “Woah, so Mary Magdalene is really about to be CEO Jesus’ wife soon!” he exclaims, clapping his hands. “Brilliant. Finally something spicy is happening in this boring editorial.”

“I wouldn’t be so enthusiastic if I were you, Taehyung. This kind of business never ends well,” Yoongi says coldly, placing his glass on the counter and standing up from the stool. He glances at his watch and throws a few bills next to his empty glass. “I’ll get going. It was nice talking to you, doll.”

“What about me?”

“Shut up, Taehyung, you’re not pretty lady.”

“I feel offended.”

“And I don’t care,” Yoongi mutters. Maybe that was alcohol swimming in her veins but you saw Taehyung lifting the corners of his lips in amusement. Weird. “Good luck on your assignment, doll. See you all on Monday.” Yoongi glances to your way one last time, adjusting his jacket.

“Bye, Yoongi.” you wave to him and a small, even sincere smile appears on his face when he as well raises his hand lazily and leaves. “Why didn’t you tell me he’s actually nice, Tae? I was always too scared to start a conversation with him because I felt intimidated.” you say after a while.

“I’m sorry, should have I set you up for a date with him?” Taehyung mocks.

A groan escapes your lips. “Could you please stop insinuating things?”

“You need to get laid, seriously. Like soon-soon. You get easily irritated recently. You need a d i c k,”

“I don’t need a dick!”

“A cock, Y/N,” Taehyung emphasizes. “A penis in your precious vagina.”

“Shut up!”

Several shots and a few drunken dances to Cindi Lauper and Bon Jovi, you’re pretty much wasted. And maybe, just maybe, you need a dick. And Taehyung, like a dipshit he always is, thinks that’s actually funny.

“Don’t wanna homff,” you slur, supporting your weight on Taehyung’s arm that shakes with laughter at your drunken antics, as well as his whole body. “I wanna danfce witfh somebodyyy,”

“Holy Mother of Jesus, you must be really drunk if you started referring to Whitney Houston’s songs. And you smell like booze,” Taehyung mutters under his breath and you whine, tugging on his arm.

“TaeTae, Taehyungie, pffleasee, can we go back?”

Taehyung ignores your grumbling completely. He exists the bar, walking (or rather dragging) you to the cab. As he tries to push your body to the car, he sees in the corner of his eye Jeon Jungkook, standing in front of his black SUV. The waitress from earlier accompanies him as well. It looks like he’s trying to convince her to let him give her a lift to home. The girl shakes her head at first but eventually gives up, stepping into the car. Jungkook grins to himself then, clenching his fists in gesture of pure triumph.

“I fuckin’ hate Park Jimin and his stfupid newspaper,” you mutter incoherently as you bury your head in the crook of Taehyung’s neck in the back of the cab. Old, korean songs are playing in the radio when you’re driving back home. Taehyung smiles to himself, hearing your light snores. But then, he falters.

Ah, yes, he almost forgot. It is going to be a long way to the third floor of your apartment building.

Next day, you wake up in the middle of noon with raging headache and an abrupt need to throw everything up. Frankly speaking, you had worse hangovers during you university days but it doesn’t change the fact that the state you’re currently in still sucks.

“Oh, good God, what have I thought?” you mutter to yourself while standing in the shower, letting the water cool you down.

Truth to be told, a drinking escapade when you have a whole ass paper to write in two days wasn’t the smartest idea you could come up with. You know that for sure, when you’re sitting down in front of your laptop with prescription glasses on your face and a cup of tea in your hand.

There’s a blank document opened on the screen, with only your name written in the corner and the title in the middle. You feel pathetic and useless, staring at it for 30 minutes straight. If you keep sitting like this, you might actually call Park Jimin right now and beg him not to fire you due to your incompetence.

“Get your shit together, Y/N.” you say to yourself, clenching your fists.

At first you fought about making some mind-map, outlining the most important parts of your essay, as you always used to do when you were studying. But there’s a huge difference between what you’re working on right now and what you usually did during academic days. Above all, at that time you were writing about things you had more knowledge about, not about Mary Magdalene and her role in Jesus Christ’s life.

“Ah, fuck it.”

You open an online Bible page and quickly type ‘Mary Magdalene’ in browser. All fragments when she’s mentioned shows up in front of your eyes. You fix your glasses and before you could stop yourself, you whisper, “Let’s get it.”

You don’t know how much time has passed since you started reading, but when you glance a the clock it’s nearly 7pm.

You went through every single page in the Bible when Mary Magdalene appears or when for some reason her name comes up in conversations. You read two thesis in which you found quite interesting facts about the heroine of your work. Also, you watched some conspiracy theories on YouTube about her, in which people claim that she was actually Jesus’ wife. You were bewildered, even in your post-hangover state.

And after all of this researching, you have settled a plan. You’re a journalist for God’s sake, you’ve been writing your entire life and none assignment will break you. So you start typing on the keyboard, filling the blank document pages with words, hoping that Park Jimin will approve your efforts.

On Sunday, you look like a ghost.

You’re a mess, cured from hangover but still in bad shape, especially after spending the whole night writing in front of your laptop. There are bangs under your eyes and you hair looks like you could cosplay a scarecrow. Your eyes are sore from staring to the screen for so long and you feel like you might collapse anytime if you won’t drink coffee in five minutes.

In between writing next paragraphs, you answer a call from Taehyung.

“How’s your assignment going, sweetheart?”

You let out a long, exhausted sigh. “It’s fine, I guess.” you respond to him.

“That’s lovely! I knew you would slay this, babe,” you hear him saying.

“I’m not done yet, Tae. I still have like a half to write,” you mumble and then let out a yawn, closing your eyes for a brief second before you speak again. “I would love to talk to you more but I really need to get this shit done as soon as I can, so I could have some decent sleep before Monday. I don’t want to look like an old witch when I hand in the paper to Park Jimin.”

“I know, I know. You got this, sweetheart. I’m sure you will make Mister Prude’s dick hard because of this.” Taehyung assures you.

You crack a tired smile even though you know he doesn’t see you. “Thank you, Tae.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” he says and hangs up.

You take another gulp of your coffee and start writing again.

It’s a little past midnight when you’re, with your last amounts of force you posses, typing the last words of the paper. As you look at your laptop screen, eyelids half-closed, you dream about nothing but going to sleep.

You did that. You really did. You wrote this stupid paper for Park Jimin and you’re actually proud of it. You carefully save the document three times (to be hundred percent sure) and as soon as you close your laptop, you pass out.

Little did you know what is waiting for you in editorial in a few hours.

You stare at your reflection in small mirror you hold, thanking God that he has enlightened the person who discovered make-up. You won’t say you look stunning but, after five hours of sleep you had in last two days, you would risk it all and say you appear much more than decent looking. You’re wearing your new black jumpsuit that makes your legs look longer and you even used a different shade of lipstick, painting your lips in crimson red.

And all of this for nothing, because when you stormed into the Sunday’s Spirit editorial to give the paper straight to Park Jimin’s hands, his secretary with polite smile said he’s coming to work later today.

You pursued your lips and handed the woman your blood, sweat and tears (you’re actually sure a few tears rolled down from your face on the keyboard while you were writing it), wishing you saw your boss’ face when you place the printed pages on his expensive desk.

“I changed a little bit the topic of my work while I was outlining it,” you tell Taehyung as you both sit together by your desks later that day. “I focused more on a role of Mary Magdalene character in world ruled only by men. I showed how a powerful woman she was, standing at Jesus’s side even though the church for the centuries referred her to whore,” you explain.

“Wow,” Taehyung muses. “You turned Mary Magdalene into feminism icon fighting against patriarchy.”

“It’s not like that!” You hit him in the arm. “You may laugh as much as you want but I actually got into her story.”

Taehyung smirks. “Looks like being scolded by Park Jimin wasn’t that bad.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up. I got humiliated in the middle of fucking cafeteria. I still hate him. And also, I don’t know what he thinks about my essay.” you say with a sigh.

“Don’t worry. He’s probably having an epiphany right now while-”

A voice from the speakers that certainly doesn’t sound like gospel choir interrupts him.

“Miss Y/N, please report to the Park Jimin’s office immadietly.”

“-or he isn’t.” Taehyung ends.

Once again, you’re frozen in place. It’s okay, you tell yourself, maybe he just wants to talk about my essay. But what if he didn’t like it? What if your sudden feminism outburst about Mary Magdalene was too much?

“Holy fuck.” you blurt out quietly.

Taehyung gives you an encouraging smile but he doesn’t look much convinced in positive intentions of summoning you to their boss’ office, he just doesn’t say it aloud. “Well, maybe it won’t be that bad! Maybe he wants to congratulate you,” he tries to comfort you, without success. You look horribly pale and scared to death.

“I repeat: miss Y/N, please report to the Park Jimin’s office immadietly.” Jimin’s stone cold voice pierce through the silence again. You shiver. The journalists in the editorial send you impatient glares.

“Whatever happens, remember that I love you.” Taehyung whispers, squizzing your hand, which makes you even more nervous. He gives you thumbs-up and you take a deep breath, trying to calm your trembling body. A whole Sunday’s Spirit team follow your movements with their eyes.

You stands from your desk on wobbly legs and walk to the door with golden sign hanging on its surface.

 Park Jimin

 Editor-in-chief

You take the knob in your shaking palm and twist, stepping into the lion’s den.

The atmosphere seems to shift when you walk into the room. You could hear your heart rapidly beating through the dead silence that lingers in Park Jimin’s office. “You wanted to see me, sir?” you ask after closing the door, subconsciously cursing yourself for sounding so weak already.

“Yes, have a seat,” Jimin says. “Give me a second. I need to finish something.” he adds when you sit down, not even bothering to spare you a look.

Jimin sits behind his desk, eyes glued to the computer screen. His hair is pushed back from his forehead, his jaw clenched. Oh, great, he looks pissed, you think to yourself.

He isn’t wearing his suit jacket like usually, which surprises you. His white shirt’s sleeves are rolled up, revealing a glimpse of veiny hands and his Rolex. This is the first time you see him like this. He looks so… unlike him.

Strange.

You use the time you have to take in your surroundings. Jimin’s office is painted in fair tone of grey. The rumors were actually right, there’s a smaller version of Michelangelo’s Pietà standing proudly on of the drawers. Behind the desk, on the wall, hangs a wooden cross with gold-plated figurine of Jesus Christ, and just underneath it there’s a framed picture of Lady of Fatima, which he once proudly showed to the whole editorial team on one of the lunchbreaks, saying his grandmother brought him this from her pilgrimage.

You focus your attention now on the wall filled with numerous diplomas and certificates, all of them signed with Park Jimin’s name.

You had read some of his works before you started your job in Sunday’s Spirit and you must admit: Park Jimin is a talented, smart journalist you aspire to be one day. It’s actually sad, you think, that he can’t pursue his career, wasting his abilities by working in catholic newspaper owned by his father. And as you know from Yoongi, his situation isn’t going to change soon. Maybe he was right after all. Money really does rule this world.

After a few minutes that seems to last forever, Jimin breaks the silence. “Do you know why are you here?” he asks, finally averting his attention to you. He stares so deeply into your eyes that you feel you might faint from the intensity of his aura.

You clear your throat, and then respond. “I do believe it’s about my paper I handed in to you this morning.”

Jimin raises his eyebrow at that. “Your paper? No, everything’s fine about it. I read it and I must say, you did a great job,” he says and you furrow your eyebrows. So if nothing’s is wrong with your essay then what does he want?

“Then… why did you call me in, sir?” you hesitantly ponder.

Jimin laces his fingers together and leans closer over the desk. “Well,” he begins, “Maybe you forgot or you really didn’t know about it, but I used to run the same column as you do now,” You nod your head, recalling what Taehyung told you recently. Jimin continues, “I was actually the one who created it. That means I am still, for this day, its administrator. Which leads to another conclusion: every single ask that is send to our editorial and your responses to them can be monitored by me.” he explains, gauging your reaction. You still don’t have an idea why is he telling you that, so you just sit still and wait.

Then, Jimin reaches for the paper that lays on the left side of his desk and hands it to you. “Could you please tell me what is this?” he asks, pointing at the paper.

You glance at it briefly. “These are the questions I got last week and my responses to them.” you reply straightaway.

Park Jimin doesn’t seem much satisfied after hearing your words. He then takes another paper and gives it to you as well. “And this particular one, Y/N? Could you please read it and tell me what is this?”

Ignoring his forego of ‘miss’, you take it to your hands and start reading.

Dear Sunday’s Spirit editorial,

My name is Kang Seoyeon. I study medicine at the University of Seoul, I’ve got an amazing group of friends and a loving boyf-

You gasp and immadietly put a palm over your mouth. Under Seoyeon’s ask there’s also, clear as day, your much inappropriate response to her. In which you persuade the girl to suck her boyfriend off.

Holy fuck. Jesus Christ. Shitshitshit!

Jimin said he monitors everything that people send to the editorial along with the responds. Of course he had to read it. Why have you been so dumb? How could you believe that simple deleting from your inbox would be enough? Why can’t you do something properly for once?

You gulp, trying not to cry because good God, he’s going to fire you. He will kick you out and write a bunch of negative letters to your future employees, in which he will explain in details how disobiedent, reckless of a worker you are.

“Did you also forget how to speak?” Jimin asks. You almost cry out right away from the coldness of his voice.

You muster up a courage and look at him, and that’s a huge mistake because as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re lost for words.”I-I don’t know what to say, sir,” you stammer out. “I have nothing for my defence. I can only apologize for my irresponsible and inappropriate behavior I exhibited.” you say, bowing your head down.

Jimin pursues his lips. He stands from his chair and walks to you, leaning his body on the desk. He takes the paper from you to his hands and starts reading. “If you want to fuck your boyfriend, do it. Maybe God wouldn’t approve that but don’t worry, he won’t send you to hell because of some dick in your pussy,“ he quotes your response to the girl and your cheeks flush in red; you wish nothing more than to disappear and never see your boss again. But he’s relentless and continues reading, spilling the crude words, humiliating you even more. “So you go girl, suck your boyfriend off. Make him beg. He will never leave you after this.“ Jimin chuckles to himself darkly and you shut your eyes. “Look at me when you are spoken to,” he demands. You quickly oblige, lifting your chin a little to meet his intense gaze. “Is that really how a good, catholic girl should act?” he asks in a mocking tone.

You shake your head. “No, it isn’t.”

Jimin clicks his tongue. “Do you think he really won’t leave her after this?” he asks out of the blue.

You furrow your eyebrows. What kind of twisted game is he playing now? “I don’t know, sir.” you answer honestly.

Jimin smirks. Devilishly, sultry and completely illegal. He then licks his lips and leans closer to you. You could swear his eyes are darken than before. Something has shifted in his demeanor; he looks daring. “Why don’t you show me then, how this poor girl should suck her boyfriend off, Y/N?” he whispers lowly.

Your eyes widen. Did he just-?

He didn’t. He can’t. Maybe you misheard him, maybe you started imagining things that aren’t real. Oh, sweet Lord, the look of absolute seriousness written on his face tells you very much different.

Park Jimin, your boss, the man who goes regularly on masses and reads Bible, wants you to give him a head. In his office.

May the God help you.

You should probably slap him in the face for his immoral proposition. You should save your dignity, leave and never come back again. But then, you clear your mind from all those twisted thoughts running through it and you realise that you’re walking on a very thin line. Line which is called unemployment and bankruptcy.

You think about your landlord who praised you recently for keeping up with rent every month regularly. You think about your student loans that you still need to pay.

And fuck, you hate Yoongi because he was damn right. Money wouldn’t buy you happiness, but it can provide you that.

That’s why you put away the humiliation, the what ifs. You shut your mind screaming at you and listing the future consequences. Maybe Jimin just tests you, but the way he looks at you denies it. He wants to see you on your knees in front of him. Perhaps he only wants to play before he fires you but you put that thought aside.

You at least need to try.

Jimin searches for any kind of protest in your eyes and when he doesn’t find it, he’s back to his domineering self. “What are you waiting for?” he asks, his voice an octave lower. “Get on your knees.”

He has a calm expression on his face and you wonder for a moment how many times has he been in similar situation before. Having a woman on his mercy and using her the way he likes. And now you know. All those stories you heard about, are actually true. Park Jimin isn’t a prude. He’s dirty.

You fall to the floor with a light whimper. Maybe it’s the last chance for you to leave, but the confidence that emanates from Jimin doesn’t falter your movements. You hate yourself for that but God, you want to see this man being a mess for your touch. Even if that’s fucked up.

And it’s wrong, so, so wrong, when there’s a cross hanging behind you, when he’s your boss who claims to be a good catholic, when you do that because you’re too afraid to lose your job. But in that moment, the morality doesn’t exist.

Jimin stands up to take his belt off, looking at you from the above as he slowly, purposefully pulls it from the belt loops. He doesn’t encourage you or say anything, he just waits. You gulp when he yanks his black slacks down, along with his underwear.

For a few, solid seconds, you just stare.

You aren’t a connoisseur of dicks. Dick is a dick, but Park Jimin’s length is just as perfect as the rest of him, semi-hard against his lower stomach. Your hands move to his sculpted thighs, running up and down, tracing the prominent lines of his toned abdomen. The muscles tense underneath your touch.

You don’t remember when was the last time you’ve gone down on someone. Maybe it was Taehyung few months ago when you were both too drunk to care? You can’t quite recall. Every move of yours is uncertain, but Jimin doesn’t mind. Maybe your uncertainty turns him on even more.

He watches as you take him in your palm hesitantly, hot and already stiff, stroking him several times until he hardens in your hand. The sight is purely erotic, filthy, and you lick your lips before placing a light kiss on his tip. Jimin hisses. That’s a warning. No teasing.

You pump him, trailing a thumb over his slit, spreading precum all over his cock. Jimin doesn’t say anything but from the shuddering breath he lets out you assume he likes it. You take a deep breath, wrapping your lips around his dick and swirling your tongue around the head.

Jimin groans, a guttural sound resonating through his whole body and you take it as a sign to continue. You ease more of him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head up and down around his length obediently. Some twisted and fucked-up part of you wants him to praise you, call you good girl with your lips around his dick and throbbing core. He does none of that. His hands tangle in your hair as he withdraws, and you know exactly what’s coming next.

It’s an unspoken question on his lips and your jaw falls slacks on command.

A forceful push of his hips and he’s burried deep inside your mouth till he hits the back of your throat. Tears brim in your eyes and you gag, breathing heavily through your nose. It hurts a little, a dull ache but the content sigh and fucked-out expression on Jimin’s face is worth it. So you let him fuck your mouth the way he wants, let him pull your hair harder, wreck you a little more. It’s so easy to submit to him, to let him overwhelm you in every sense possible.

Your eyes fall shut and Jimin stops his movements, pulling from your mouth. Drool dribbles down your chin and you wipe it with the back of your hand. Jimin lets out a shaky breath, staring down at you so intensely it makes your insides tighten, even if you don’t see him yet.

“Look at me,” he rasps and you do, how could you not. The sight of your boss’ flushed cheeks and sweat forming on his forehead will be imprinted in your mind forever.

You curse yourself for wanting him to fuck you senseless right against his deck, with a hand around your throat muffling your screams, fuck you so hard you won’t remember your name anymore, no matter how wrong it is.

“Good girl. You’re so pretty like this, letting me fuck your mouth,” Jimin nothing but purrs, filling you to the brim again, until there are tears forming in your eyes and running down your cheeks, until he hits the base of your throat again and again and you fight back choked gags every time. “Just like that, fuck-” he moans, lowly and beautifully, head thrown back and mouth parted.

He’s close, you could feel that, so you take him deep once again and when your throat tightens around him one last time, he lets out a gutural groan and comes. You swallow every drop of his bitter release and when he pulls out from your mouth, you nearly fall forward.

Jimin catches you, placing his hands on your shoulders, balancing your exhausted body. You look at him through your half-lidded eyes. He looks so young now, so innocent, his cold demeanor’s gone and replaced by pure bliss written on his face. For Park Jimin, cheeks rosy, disheveled hair and loosen tie, you would do it all over again.

He then does something unexpected. He reaches for your face, brushing your tangled hair away and placing the strands behind your ears. This is a loving gesture, something exclusive he definitely shouldn’t be doing. You’re frozen, you can’t move a muscle while he wipes your cheeks from the reminiscences of your tears. He trails his thumb over your swollen lips absentmindedly, faltering there. For a moment he looks like he might say something, but he quickly shuts his mouth, regaining his previous posture.

You take this as a sign to leave. You get up from the floor, your knees sore from the uncomfortable position you’ve been in. You walk to the mirror that hangs on the wall of Jimin’s office. You sigh, seeing your current state. There’s no way someone would believe you that you haven’t just sucked a dick.

Your cheeks are flushed in pink, there are smudges of mascara under your eyes and your lipstick is smeared in the corners of your mouth. Not to mention your hair is still a mess.

You are painted in all shades of wrong.

In the reflection of the mirror you see Jimin buckling up his belt and straightening his tie. He runs a hand through his blond locks and looks up, catching you staring at him. You quickly look away.

“Don’t worry. No one will notice anything. Everyone should be off for their lunchbreaks by now.” he says. He sounds so pathetically normal, yet there’s still a slight rasp in his voice.

You glance at the watch on your hand and check the time. It’s a little past 12. You brush your hair with your fingers quickly and proceed to leave, but you stop, remembering you have to ask about one last thing. You turn around to face him.

“Are you going to write a bad opinion about me to my future employees?” you ask, flinching at the hoarseness of your voice.

Jimin raises his eyebrows. “Bad opinion? No, absolutely not,” he answers, shaking his head. “I was never going to fire you in first place.”

You fight back the shocked expression that threatens to appear on your face. You quickly rush to leave this damn office and never look in his eyes ever again. What were you even thinking?

“And Y/N,” Jimin’s voice makes you stop with your hand hovering over the door knob. Single tear rolls down your cheek and you gulp. “I’m sorry.” it’s all he says.

You don’t ask him what he meant by that. You don’t deliberate if he was sincere or not. You leave the office as soon as you can, running to the nearest bathroom, closing the door behind you and leaning on it.

He wasn’t going to fire you. He just wanted to use you, demand to get down on your knees and please him the way he wants. It was all a game for him, and you became his plaything.

“I’m so stupid,” you mutter to yourself, burying your head in your hands. “God, I’m so stupid.”

You feel sick, used, but at the same time you can’t get away with creeping feeling that you enjoyed it, wishing he wanted you just as much as you wanted him in that moment.

You sigh, closing your eyes. You’re probably foolish for thinking it won’t have any consequences. You’re just about to face them.

The coldness of early Spring hits you when you exit Sunday’s Spirit editorial. You hug your body tighter with your coat, standing in front of the building awkwardly. You take a few deep breaths, trying to clear your mind, but nothing really works. There’s a vacant space inside your body, like your soul has drifted away and left nothing but emptiness.

You feel hollow.

You don’t know how long have you been standing there, inhaling fresh air and waiting for your blood to start circulating properly in your veins again. When you’re about to head to the underground station, on the corner of your eye you see Jimin’s black Mercedes. You probably shouldn’t stare but you helplessly do.

Probably if you didn’t, it would hurt less.

He approaches the car, looking perfectly fine as always, which you couldn’t say about yourself. And he isn’t alone.

You recognize dark curls of Chins-sun’s hair, contrasting her beige coat beautifully. The corners of Jimin’s lips lift when he sees her. You don’t know if it’s a honest smile or a forced one. You wonder for a while how does he look like when he’s truly happy. Maybe he’s happy now, when Chin-sun is by his side.

What you are really sure about Park Jimin, is that he’s a man of many maybes.

Something which definitely doesn’t look forced are his palms, cupping the cheeks of Chin-sun’s flushed face. He starts tracing circles on her skin in intimate gesture and murmurs something. Maybe he asks her how was her day. Your lips still tingle where he trailed his thumb over it bitten, swollen surface. Maybe he still remembers how they felt around his cock when he was relentlessly bringing tears to your eyes and stabs to your heart.

The way he leans and kisses Chin-sun’s cherry colored lips is purposeful, perfectly measured. Maybe he sighs into her mouth with content, a beautiful sound you have witnessed with your own ears, as you were working him to his climax. Jimin’s hands grip Chin-sun’s dark locks but it isn’t the similar manner he did to you earlier, as he laced his fingers through the strands, when you wished him to do nothing more than pull harder and harder, until the pain in you scalp was replaced by dull ache, until a whimper fell from your lips and eyes squeezed shut. He kisses Chin-sun lovingly and there’s no roughness in that. It’s gentle caresses and soft murmurs.

After a moment he breaks off, soothing his palms over Chin-sun’s shoulders. She sends him a smile and opens the passenger’s door, getting into the car. And then, when you swallow a lump in your throat, when you decide to turn around and go, run as fast as you possibly can, when you dream about nothing more but never seeing him again, you catch eyes with him.

Jimin looks pathetically apologetic. There’s something in his dark brown orbs you can’t read. Maybe it’s guilt, maybe regret. Park Jimin is a man of many maybes, yet he stares at you with expression you could only mistaken for sadness.

You wonder if he sees the way your eyes stare at him blankly. You wonder if he knows how he nearly wrecked your body and made you feel things you shouldn’t. If he hurts the same way as you do now. However, Jimin quickly diverts his head away from you, closing the door to his car behind him as well. You laugh quietly at the ridiculousness of this situation. A bitter laugh that escapes your mouth and deepen the hollowness inside you.

A hand touches your arm and you don’t even flinch, knowing already who it is.

“So you know the news,” Taehyung says, looking at Jimin’s car leaving the parking lot. How long has he been standing behind you?

“What news?” you ask, turning your head to look at him.

“Chin-sun is really going to be miss Park officially,” he replies. “Jimin proposed to her this weekend. The wedding is in may. But that’s not important right now. How’s your conversation with him, sweetheart?”

You feel sick. You excuse yourself, mentioning something about needing to catch earlier train and texting him later. Taehyung calls after you but you don’t listen. You start running.

You run until you couldn’t breathe, until there’s a soreness in your throat from the coldness of air. You run until you reach your apartment, stumbling into it on wobbly legs. Your back touches the wall and you slide off, sitting on the floor.

You don’t cry. The tears don’t strain your eyes. It’s only this damned, dull hollowness.

There’s written in the Bible that a guilty person is the one who broke God’s law, who committed a sin. The said person will be judged by their actions after their death. Because every human being has a conscience, the thing that sets the line between good and bad, so when we did something wrong, we should feel remorse.

When you sit on the floor and stare blankly in front of yourself, you know you have sinned.You both did. You wonder if he, trailing patterns of tender touches on his fiancee’s skin, feels the same as you. You wonder if guilt eats him up as much as devours you. Maybe there’s hollow ache in his chest, just like in yours. Maybe he doesn’t feel anything.

And may the God help you both find your redemption.

[tscmu]

- double unrequited

- the second years argued. a lot. youd think the lot of them were conjoined at birth. so it wasnt surprising when a girl came into the mix, and tore their hearts into pieces, huh?

w/c- 1717 pairing/s- atsumu x fem!reader, suna x fem!reader and a lil bit of osamu x fem!reader ;) genre- idk lmao but theres a lil angst ig warnings- secondhand embarassment, TINY mention of pornography, heartbreak a/n- THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE EHEHEH anyway my writers block’s kinda over????anyway read 2 da end for a surprise twist ;))) 

as the sun started to set over the small area of the hyogo prefecture, all was calm. birds chirped every now and then, flying through the cold skies, enjoying the october buzz in the air. trees’ leaves were littered over the pavement and roads, crunching whenever they were squashed by an oncoming boot. however, if you were to wander through the inarizaki high school grounds on that day, you would hear a buzz of arguing from a specific gym.

“for fucks sake! samu, help yer dear brother out here.. it's pronounced gif, not whatever this ‘jif’ crap is!” the blonde haired, tall setter of the volleyball team leaned backwards on the bench, staring at someone behind him. the latter was the similar looking, gray haired opposite hitter, who just rolled his eyes at the comment.

“first off, yer no calling me yet ‘dear brother’ again. you’re getting zip from me.” he said, taking a glug out of his bottle as the blondie yelped in shock. the slightly taller, brown haired middle blocker giggled to himself. “plus, its technically jif anyway, everyone just says gif because its what society projected onto us.”

“oh, shut up with all that logical bullshit.” the blondie rolled his eyes, standing up and slamming his bottle down onto the space that was left. “oi, kita, ‘s break over?”

“i mean, technically ‘s over whenever ya want it to be. just go spike some balls or something if you’re bored.. oh, hi!” the shorter, white-and-black haired captain slowed down talking, turning to look at the door. all the boys turned around shortly after him, staring at whoever was there.

as you stood against the door, your hair blowing slightly with the wind behind you, your face slightly sweaty having run all around the school, most of them were mesmerised. your face flushed a deeper shade of red after seeing all their eyes glued to you, and you laughed a little.

“oh, sorry, i’m trying to find the girls basketball gym!” you smiled, tilting your head a little. “is this volleyball? sorry, i’m new, i just got told to go to the basketball gym after school for the first practice, but i have no idea where i'm meant to be going!” you giggled slightly, making atsumu and suna go pink. “sorry for disturbing you!” you waved slightly, hopping back down the stairs up to the doors. however, you stopped after hearing footsteps and voices behind you.

“it’s oka-” kita started to say, before sighing, seeing what was happening before him.

“i’ll help you!” atsumu shouted after you, grabbing his jersey in case you were cold.

“i can show you!” suna also shouted, pushing atsumu out the way and grabbing his bottle.

“simps..” osamu and aran both said, shaking their heads as the two boys continued to shove each other.

“no, i will.” the former's voice turned serious, slowing down as they reached the top of the steps. suna frowned, and opened his mouth to say something else, but they both got distracted as they heard your mesmerising laugh again.

“you can both come, if you want, i really don’t mind!” you smiled, doing that little head tilt again. they both nodded instantly, before frowning at each other as soon as your back was slightly turned. “okay, so i’ve walked in on about ten other clubs..”

ever since that moment, it was just a competition of who could win you over. the rest of the boys had moved on, teasing them both for their pure urge to beat each other. all of the boys argued, but nothing was ever as heated as atsumu and suna’s debates. there was a new one every time they went to practice, from something as big as the death penalty to something as tiny as how much diluting juice you put in the glass before you add the water. it was stupid, but they‘d been like that for years now.

but with this argument, it appeared neither of them were actually ahead of the other, like it usually ended up.

suna went for a more romantic approach with you. offering to walk you home, waiting for you after classes, walks through random forest paths on sundays. it wasn’t what he was used to, he’d never paid that much attention to girls. they all seemed to fawn over the miya twins anyway. but it was when you seemed to pay genuine attention to him, it caught his interest. 

obviously he found girls attractive, but the girls he saw online were never the same as girls in real life. not even just porn or anything, even in romance films, they were all so secretive. he didn’t really have the charm either, so he found himself just waiting for a girl to make a move, and if she didn’t, he’d just.. give up. you were unique to him, though. it got to the point where you’d wait for him after class too, wait at the front doors for him to come out so you could walk home, texting him at 9 in the morning asking if he wanted to go on that one walk again you did about a month ago. it took him by shock a little, but he didn’t want it to stop.

whereas atsumu, on the other hand..

to be frank, girls weren’t a big deal to atsumu. he’d always had that blessing of girls fawning over him, so he’d never had to worry about ‘winning over’ a girl. but it hit him when he met you.. he was gonna have to fight for you, wasn’t he?

he visioned you as a more.. modern girl. he assumed suna would go more traditional, the man had no experience with girls, for god's sake. he basically assumed he would win you over.. who wouldn’t pick him over anyone? and so he started. he did with you what he did with every girl, midnight drinking on a random roof, random shopping trips into town, secret lunchtime conversations behind the school. he didn’t think much of it at first, why would he? you were just another girl he’d probably date for what, a week or so, then you’d dump him after actually realising what he’s like. he couldn’t picture himself settling down. but.. you changed him, in a way. he finally found something he wanted to work for.

what was the one thing in common with these stories though?

you never actually showed any form of romantic interest in either of them, throughout this whole ordeal.

so then, after what felt like years, two days before atsumu left for the training camp, they decided it was the day. the day to confess.

neither of them actually knew about the other's plans, it was just pure coincidence they saw this as the opportunity. atsumu because he could try to sweep you away with him to tokyo, suna because he could tease atsumu about it while he was gone. it was a good plan, on both sides., you had to admit, after hearing it a while later. 

“the fuck’re you murmuring for?” atsumu frowned, turning around to look at suna, whose head was in his hands.

“mind your business..” the latter muttered, murmuring under his breath again, making atsumu shake his head. he wasn’t scared, why would he be? you were bound to say yes, for the past few months you’d been spending time with him. you knew what he was like, as he did with you.

“eh, suit yourself. i need to find y/n..” he said, picking up his jacket.

“what? y/n? but i need to find her!” suna snapped back into reality, his eyes wide as atsumu glanced at him

“..yeah. well, you can speak to her tomorrow or something, this is important.” he said in a careless manner, starting to walk towards the door, but stopping short, seeing the door slide open.

“oh! hey, tsumu!” you appeared from outside, your faux fur hood tickling your neck as your beaming face came into the light from the slight darkness behind you. it couldn’t help but make him smile.. god, he couldn’t wait to call you his. suna, from behind him, felt himself smile too, you were stunning. “you ready?” you looked behind atsumu, but as he whipped his head around, he realised you weren’t actually looking at suna either.

“yeah, your place tonight?” oh. oh no. as atsumu realised what was happening, his mouth dropped open. osamu stood up from the bench, his jacket slung over his shoulder as he crossed past both suna and atsumu, kissing you on the forehead.

“you bet! god, my mum’s been so excited to meet you.. bye boys!” you waved at both suna and atsumu separately, going back to chattering to osamu.

“what.. the fuck?” suna said, frowning. atsumu joined him, still in a state of shock.

“yeah, what the fuck?” he turned around, mouth still open.

“oh, you didn’t know? they’re dating, have been for what, a month or something now?” kita smiled, while aran tried not to burst out laughing to his right. “during the christmas holidays, they hung out a bit. i think y/n came looking for atsumu, but he wasn’t in, so she decided to chat to osamu instead. did you seriously not know?” kita laughed a little, and atsumu’s shock turned to anger. ths, of course, made suna burst out laughing.

“what the fuck? no, what the actual fuck? how did i not know the girl i was in love with was dating my brother?” he looked around a little, looking for assistance, but all the boys were snickering at him.

“now i think of it, that was extremely obvious.” suna said, laughing more by the second. he was sad, of course he was! the girl he was falling drastically in love with had a boyfriend, and he had no idea, that would break anyone's heart. but.. this was extremely funny.

“fine, lets just go then.” atsumu humphed, dragging his feet as he walked to the door. “to be fair, she was looking for me. probably liked me more.” he said as they reached just outside the door, and suna shoved him into the wall. “oUCH! THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?” he yelled, making kita chuckle to himself.

these idiots.

[eclecticstarlightconnoisseur]

EDINBURGH TO BOSTON - CHAPTER 16 - REACH OUT, I’LL BE THERE

Good Evening all! Here is the long-awaited next chapter of Edinburgh to Boston. Once again life has sent another challenge my way to cope with. There are days I cope well and other days. But,let’s not discuss that.

I also had another reason to keep this back until now.  This chapter deals with subjects that are relevant to the New Year: hope, forgiveness, new beginnings, peace. 

As always, I need to thank my most fabulous beta @scubalass​ who finds all my errors, inconsistencies and generally keeps me on the straight and narrow path. I could not do this without you. 🧡🤗

Another interesting item is that Hubby and I were watching a documentary on Motown and the song Reach Out, I’ll Be There came on. And all I could think about was that must be how Jamie feels about Claire as he listens to her. There is a youtube link at the end of the chapter for the song at the end.

I welcome any suggestions, thoughts, comments on the story. I would really like to hear what you think of this chapter.

So without further delay, I give you:

Edinburgh to Boston

Chapter 16

Reach Out, I’ll Be There.

Now if you feel that you can't go on

Because all of your hope is gone,

And your life is filled with much confusion

Until happiness is just an illusion,

And your world around is crumblin' down;

Darling, reach out (come on girl, reach on out for me)

Reach out (reach out for me.)

I'll be there, with a love that will shelter you.

I'll be there, with a love that will see you through.

I'll be there to always see you through.

******************************

She yearned to touch him. Kneeling beside him, her hands hesitating above his head. The need to touch him intoxicated her, to feel his soft curls, the hardness of his bone and flesh, his warm breath on her skin. She needed to know him as real and alive under her fingertips. Whole. But she felt afraid to startle him out of his deep meditative state.

She spoke to him in a hushed tone not wanting to startle him. “Jamie, it’s me, Claire.”

Jamie lifted his head up slowly, not really sure what he is seeing. At first, he believes she is an illusion, an apparition conjured by his fatigued and distraught mind.  He blinks several times, clearing his vision. “Claire, is it truly ye? Sassen...” he looked up at her, unsure if he should use her pet name.

Claire saw how the night affected him, eyes swollen and red-rimmed, eyelashes damp with tears. 

 “Yes, it’s me your Sassenach,” she smiled, gently stroking his cheek feeling the soft scruff prickling under her touch. “I became worried sick when you didn’t come back.  I...I thought maybe you were hurt or lost or had an accident.  I had to find you. God, Jamie, don’t ever do that again to me,” she whimpered eyes glazing with tears threatening to escape their boundaries. 

Jamie struggled to rise from his recumbent position. His legs trembled and he labored to stand. They were stiff from disuse, cold from lying prone on the marble floor, and the remnants of his drunkenness hampered his progress. He looked like a newborn colt’s gangly first attempt to stand. Claire quickly moved to his side using her body to support him as he struggled to remain upright. After regaining his stability, he wrapped her tightly in his arms, pulling her close to his chest. “Claire.” Her name rippled off his tongue like the ruffling of sweet water flowing down a burn. 

Overwhelmed with emotion Claire began to sob. She clutched his jacket needing something to hold on to. 

He spoke tenderly to her, whispering comforting words in Gàidhlig into her hair.  “‘Tis alright a leannan. I’m here. Dinna be afraid.”

Tenderly he stroked her back comforting her as if she were a small child. Her weeping grew faint reducing itself to a quiet hiccuping sound. She looked up into his kind blue eyes and punched him in the chest. 

“Ow! What was that for?!” he demanded with a surprised look on his face.

“You scared me. I...I thought lost you. I was afraid you wouldn’t come back.” She trembled in his arms, “I thought you...” She hesitated, “When you didn’t come back, I thought it was because you didn’t want me anymore.” Claire buried her face into his chest nervous about his reaction.

“Not? Not want ye? For the love of God, woman, I want ye more than life itself. How could I no’ want ye? Yer the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Humph. Then why didn’t you come back?”

“Because I thought ye dinna want me.” He dropped his arms from around his beloved shifting his gaze to his shoes intently studying them as if something new and interesting happened to them.

 Turning away Jamie began to pace. His sound hand opened and closed into a fist. Anger and frustration pulsed through his veins. 

“I failed ye, Claire! Ye told me that yerself. Ye said I left ye there to fight him off, tae, tae defend yerself. And how do ye think that made me feel? Hmm?” he spat out angrily. “I kent I was wrong. ‘Tis bad enough that I kent it, but tae hear it from ye. By Christ, did ye need tae throw it in my face?” he fumed.  “Weel, after that I kent I was no’ man enough for ye.  Ye need someone better than me to care for ye. That...That ye deserve someone more capable than me as I couldna keep my word.” He stopped pacing, his back turned to her. “Ye ken tae a Highlander breaking a promise is a verra, verra serious thing. Did ye ken that? No, I dinna believe that ye do. ‘Tis a matter of honor and loyalty th...that yer word has value, meaning. That ye can be trusted. Christ, I couldna keep my promise to ye or to the damn wee birds!” Frustration and shame plagued him, his fingers erratically tapping against his thigh. 

He turned to face her, tears welling up from deep inside him running down his cheeks. “I’m nay good for ye. I came here and prayed for guidance. At the time I thought I was angry because ye dinna want tae have Frank arrested. Truth be told, it drives me mad that ye dinna.” His face was grim and taut with the thought of Frank escaping punishment.  “I understand why ye dinna want tae and I appreciate it. Not tae have the arrest record follow me for the rest of my professional life ‘tis a blessing. But, ye ken I woulda carried that weight for the rest of my life so ye could get justice.” He blew out a breath steadying himself. “Instead, what I found deep in my heart is that I am no’ man enough for ye. When ye needed me, I failed to protect ye as I swore tae do. I’m sorry Claire. Sae sorry for everything.” He turned and walked toward the exit leading back to the shelter. He had the appearance of a dejected man, shoulders slumped, head hanging low. “When I get back to Scotland, I’ll give in my resignation tae the hospital. I canna be yer partner anymore. Ye need someone ye can depend on. I’ll get my things and be out of yer life.”

“Go to him. Be with him. He needs you,” Brother Stan told her.

God Almighty, what have I done!? I’ve shattered this beautiful man, his beautiful soul. Do you see what your secrets have done Beauchamp? The damage you caused.

“JAMIE, WAIT.” Her voice echoed reverberating throughout the cavernous church waking the saints and angels to bear witness to her amende honorable before God and her man.

 Claire ran to him, blocking his way to the exit. She grabbed both arms, looked imploring up into his face, “Please Jamie, don’t go.”

“Lass, ye have a good heart. I ken ye feel the need tae forgive me. But I canna forgive myself for the dishonor I brought to ye, for being a disappointment tae ye. So if ye dinna mind,” Jamie’s hand went to break her hold on him.

“Please! Listen to me. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I haven’t been honest with you. I lied to you about Frank, about me, about our marriage. You need to hear the truth first. All of it. Please hear me out. Give me another chance.” She became frantic trying to make him understand, to listen to her. She took a deep breath having come to a decision that could possibly break her heart forever. “If after you listen, should you still want to leave then I’ll not stop you,” she bargained.

Jamie stopped struggling to escape her grasp on his arms. “Lass, what do ye mean ye lied tae me?” His lips drew taut in an angry thin line. The only thing that Jamie Fraser could not abide was a lie. “Ye lied to me about what?” he asked glaring at her.

Claire let out a breath she did not know she was holding. She rather risk his ire than have him reproach himself when he was blameless. 

“We need to sit. This is a long story. I only ask that you listen with all your heart and an open mind.”

The Scot looked at her quirking an eyebrow in question. “Alright let’s hear it then.”

Claire took him by the hand and led him to a pew. She looked up to the altar, uttered a silent prayer asking for strength to tell him the truth and to accept his ultimate decision.

Taking his hand in hers, she began her confession.

“Everything I told you about how Frank insinuated himself into Lamb and my life is true. He is a master manipulator. He convinced Lamb that he truly cared for me. His behavior could even be called gallant, respectful, courteous. But that all changed once we were married. He was jealous, and became abusive, especially when drunk.” 

She recounted the incident with poor Albert the young professor. “He had threatened Albert, and actually took a swing at him. Fortunately, because of Frank’s level of intoxication, his punch went wide completely missing him.”

She peaked at Jamie from under her lashes. His face remained unreadable.

“Frank grabbed my hand and we left the party. In the car park, he started yelling. He insinuated things, calling me a whore. Then he threatened to beat me.” She told him that was not the only time he had acted like that. There were other incidents, some that ended in violence toward an innocent but the cruelty directed toward her continually escalated.

“Frank is jealous of you and the claim he believes you have on me. He thinks I’m still his. When we divorced, he seized hold of my arm telling me.” Claire paused. She looked toward the chapel ceiling trying desperately to compose herself. She bit her bottom lip hard enabling the coppery taste of blood to fill her mouth. She straightened herself, squaring her shoulders, and looked deeply into Jamie’s calm blue eyes. “Frank said that the divorce meant nothing. He would never let me go. That I am his forever and any man who thought differently would end up being very sorry. He touched me to mark me hoping you would walk away thinking me his or tarnished.  What happened couldn’t have been avoided. He was hellbent on creating trouble.” She blew out a sigh, “I’m sorry for blaming you, Jamie. Neither you nor I could have stopped this from happening.”

When you feel lost and about to give up

'Cause your best just ain't good enough

And you feel the world has grown cold,

And you're drifting out all on your own,

And you need a hand to hold:

Darling, reach out (come on girl, reach out for me)

She continued with story after story. Stories about how he degraded her during her residency and fellowship. Implying the only reason she passed was because of his and Lamb’s influence. This only made Claire work harder to be recognized on her own merit. She became chief resident then chief fellow. She became a recipient of several prestigious awards for the research she did as a cardiac fellow. Despite this, Frank continued to claim her achievements were the result of his influence and not her excellence as a doctor.

Claire stopped talking. She raised her hands to her temples massaging the throbbing pain sitting there.

She resumed her tale continuing to pour her heart out to Jamie who sat expressionless and silent. Imperceptibly, his hand gravitated to hers which now rested in her lap. A thumb began to gently stroke her hand. His hand squeezed hers, supporting her, comforting her. Touching made the ordeal easier somehow. 

I can tell the way you hang your head,

You're without love and now you're afraid

And through your tears, you look around,

But there's no peace of mind to be found.

I know what you're thinkin',

You're alone now, no love of your own,

But darling, reach out (come on girl, reach out for me)

“Go on, lass. There’s more isn’t there?”

Claire bobbed her head up and down acknowledging his statement. Swallowing the lump that formed in her throat, she pressed on with her story. “You recall,” she said with a shaky voice, “I told you that the box of love letters from Frank’s girlfriends fell, opening, and I read them. I also told you that I confronted him and he admitted to all the affairs. I said I struck him and went back to Lamb.  Well, the truth  is that I did find a box of letters, I lied about the rest.” The penitent, took a deep breath, exhaled and began. “What did happen was the day Frank found out he did not make tenure, he came home drunk. He threw me against the door, slapped and punched me in the face. When he was done with that, he grabbed me by the hair and slammed my head down on the dresser, and then.” Claire paused steeling her courage, “And then he raped me. My face was bruised, my mouth and lips were bloody. There were ecchymoses under my eye, my arms and thighs.  I fought him, but he was too strong. After he left, I packed my things and fled to Lamb’s place. That’s when I found the letters after I pulled my suitcase out of the closet.” 

“He broke me. He. Broke. Me. I was never the same after that.” She kept her eyes on him watching for his reaction. 

Jamie said nothing. His muscles tensed, and she saw his hand close ever so slowly into a white-knuckled fist. His eyes grew dark like black swirling thunderheads ready to unleash their fury. His breathing grew deeper, faster. A guttural growl emanated from the farthest reaches of his chest vibrating through him. The veins in his neck distended as blood coursed through them. They looked like great snakes undulating as they filled and emptied with each hammering beat of his heart.

She didn’t know how long had she spoke. It could have been minutes or hours. But she told him everything leaving out nothing. As she finished her account, Claire admitted, “No one outside of Lamb and Lamb’s lawyer knew any of this as I never told another soul.”

Hearing the details of her nightmare flooded Jamie with so many emotions, anger for the pain she suffered. Admiration for her strength and resiliency. Love. His love for her only deepened. It had no limit; it had no end. She was a survivor. And she was his.

“Why did ye no’ tell me, Claire?”

Looking down at her hands, she whispered, “I didn’t want to tell you for fear of what you would think of me. Tainted, damaged, useless. That you would believe the things Frank said about me. That you couldn’t, wouldn’t see me.” She sat up straighter, turned and looked her lad in the face. “If this is too much for you Jamie, I understand. If you want to go, well there’s no hard feelings, just go.” She gave him a small smile and sat waiting. 

She had the desire to cry, but would not. To do so would be to continue Frank’s hold over her. To let him continue to own her. By telling Jamie the truth, it liberated her. The demon was cast out and struck down. The exorcism complete. Her eyes strayed toward the shrine of St. Michael. The Archangel was renowned for slaying the dragon. At this moment, Claire felt a kinship with the saint for tonight she slew her own. She would not let Frank possess her ever again. She finally won her freedom.

Reach out (reach out for me.)

Just look over your shoulder

I'll be there, to give you all the love you need,

And I'll be there, you can always depend on me.

It seemed like an interminable length of time before Jamie spoke, “Mo nighean donn, yer a braw lass, sae brave, sae strong. I love ye Claire, but ye shoulda told me,” he admonished her. “Ye shouldna be carrying this alone. I have a broad enough back to carry this with ye.” His arms came and wrapped around her, pulling her to his chest, enveloping her in his love.

“I dinna want ye to ever feel ye canna tell me something, mo chridhe. Ye need to reach out for me, come tae me. I’ll always be here for ye. Always.” Gently he placed a delicate kiss on her crown tugging her even closer to him.

Claire looked up into his kind blue eyes, feeling the love therein. “There is another reason that I didn’t want to tell you all of this. Fear of what you would do it you ever met Frank. I bloody did not want you to kill him, James Fraser. I am a terrible baker.”

His brow furrowed with a look of puzzlement running across his face. “Lass, I dinna take yer meaning. What in hell are ye goin’ on about?” He looked up and stared directly at the altar. His face turned bright red with the realization of where he was and mumbled a heartfelt, “Pardon.”

She looked at him with a smirk on her face and a laugh waiting to erupt from her lips. “I don’t think I could bake a cake with a saw in so you could escape from jail.” Her eyes danced with the light of merriment and joy. The lines of pain and stress so long part of her visage were smoothed away. She positively glowed.

Jamie swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he attempted to stifle his own laugh. He rested his chin on the top of her head, “A nighean,” he sighed and pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose.

“Ye’re daft woman, ye ken? But, I love ye fine and that’s all about that.”

Claire nestled against his chest feeling safe and loved and relieved.

They sat there immersed in their own little sphere of happiness. Not speaking, not moving, just being.

“Claire? Lass?” I think it’s time we go.”

“Mmm, yes I think we should go too. I’ve had enough of Boston, Jamie. Take me home. Home to Scotland.” 

“Aye, Scotland,” he choked with emotion.

They walked together fingers interlaced toward the exit through the shelter.  Claire helped Jamie into his overcoat and placed his beanie on his head. She quickly prepared herself for a wintery blast as well. They found Brother Stan at his work, comforting all who needed it.

“Thank ye Brother for everything. I’ll never forget ye,” Jamie clasped the cleric’s hand warmly.

Claire leaned forward giving the clergyman a quick peck on the cheek. “Thank you for looking after him.”

“Go with God, go in peace, go in love,” he wished the couple. 

“And,” winking at Jamie “don’t beat up any more trees, eh?”

With his head bowed, a grin on his face, Jamie responded, “Trust me,  Brother, they are safe from me.”

Claire took out her mobile ordered a car to take them to their next destination.

************

They arrived back at the hospital for one final check on Jamie’s hand. A confirmatory X-Ray revealed no new breaks just some new bone bruises. Dr. Nelson, visibly annoyed with his recalcitrant patient placed a brace over the injured hand immobilizing and protecting it from further damage.

“Dr. Fraser,” he reprimanded harshly, “You need to take better care of your hands. Unless of course, you don’t want to operate anymore,” he inquired raising a questioning eyebrow.  

Jamie, rather shamefaced replied, “Aye, I do. ‘Twas foolish and careless of me. It willna happen again. Thank ye for yer care, Dr. Nelson. Truly.”

Once again, they bid their farewells to the staff and hurriedly headed once more to the hotel.

 *********************************

The fatigue from the previous day dragged at their heels. Sleep though would remain elusive as preparations for their departure took precedence. Each surgeon took turns washing their faces and brushing their teeth hoping a modicum of cleanliness would keep their exhaustion at bay. 

Claire began the task of packing their suitcases while Jamie spent his time trying to find an earlier flight home.

He watched as Claire sorted their things methodically and neatly packing. Despite the smile on her face, he could see her desire to be away from here and safe in the embrace of Scotland.

As he dialed the airline he prayed, “God dinna let me fail her this time. I need tae get her away from here, from the memories and the pain. Please.”

“Good morning! Alba Airlines this is Ainslie. How may I assist ye?” chirped a feminine voice on the other end of the phone.

“Good morning tae ye. This is Dr. James Fraser and I’m wondering do ye have any available seats leaving today from Boston to Edinburgh, for two?” 

“One moment sir.” Jamie could hear the clicking of the keyboard as Ainslie typed finding their reservation information to leave Boston in three days; time. The representative hummed softly as she searched for any vacant seats.

“Dr. Fraser,” she said exuberantly, “It just so happens that a couple canceled their flight for today. That flight leaves at 9:50 PM. Would that be alright?”

“Aye, lass that would be fine.  Please make the reservation for Dr. James Fraser and Dr. Claire Beauchamp.” 

“Dinna worry Dr. Fraser, I will make all the necessary arrangements for ye and Dr. Beauchamp.”

“Thank ye kindly, lass.” 

“Sassenach, ‘tis all arranged. Our flight is at 9:50 PM.  ‘Tis a bit late, but at least we leave today. Alright?”

She comes and stands between his legs, wrapping her arms around his neck.  Slowly Claire bends and places a kiss to his cheek. “You’re a magician. How did you manage it?”

Jamie wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him resting his head on her abdomen, “‘Twas naught but a wee bit of luck.”

“Well, whatever you did, I’m glad of it,” she smiled tenderly at him.

He looked at her with hungry eyes, pulled her down to sit on his knee. “I love ye, mo chridhe, always.” 

Claire wrapped her arms around his neck pressed her forehead against his whispering, “And I you, forever.”

Jamie took in the face that was his heart. His lass’s face glowed in the soft light. Her eyes soft like a fine sherry, her skin like pearl, and her lips. Ah, her lips blushed like pink rosebuds, plump and sweet, begging to be kissed and kissed often. Slowly, his hand reached up cupping her cheek as his thumb traced her lips. Oh, how he wanted to kiss her, ravage her mouth with his. Possess her. But he couldn’t. Not after her revelations. He simply could not come to her like a brute blind with need. No. That would never do.

“Claire. Lass, I would. I’d like verra much to kiss ye. May I?”  

“Yes,” she whispered while nuzzling his cheek.

Their lips came together tentatively at first, just a mere touching. Claire moved to deepen the kiss.  Her lips parted and her tongue danced across his lips seeking entry. Jamie startled, then yielded to her request. Their tongues moved in a tantalizing rhythm of their own making swirling, tasting. Her hands tangled in the silken curls at his nape. His hand brushed across her back caressing her luxuriating in the feel of her body against his.  And suddenly he broke the kiss. He stared at her. Her face was flushed with passion, eyes smoldering, lips kiss swollen. 

She fisted his shirt, “I want you, now,” she whimpered.

Jamie rested his forehead against hers, “No, a nighean, no’ here in this place of heartache and sorrow. I dinna want ye tae recall our joining here to be tainted with the memories of what happened with Frank last night.” He paused, considering what he wanted to say next. “Ye deserve better my own. I need to love ye in a place that belongs only to us. A place of love. No’ a place where we try tae erase memories but a place where we make them.” He took her hand and kissed each of her knuckles,  “I need tae take my time so I can serve ye rightly. No’ like this,” his voice low and sultry. “We’ll have time when we return to Scotland. Then I swear I mean to make ye moan and weep, even if ye dinna wish tae. I mean tae make ye sigh and scream with the wanting. And at the last, tae cry out my name. Then and only then shall I know that I served ye well.”

Claire leaned forward bit the shell of his ear and murmured, “I’ll keep you to that promise, Jamie Fraser. Do not disappoint me.” 

She stood and noticed an errant sock on the floor. Bending all the way over to pick it up, she displayed, according to James Fraser, her finest asset and gave it a slight wiggle. Slowly the tease stood up sock in hand. She heard a small groan and mutterings in Gàidhlig. 

“Good,” she thought. “That should teach him not to trifle with her.”  

Turning her head around to look over her shoulder, she gave him her most coquettish looks, “I’m going to take a shower.” Claire walked toward the bathroom with an unmistakable sway to her hips. Her lover’s grumbling became louder.

Claire showered, towel-dried, wrapped her hair in a towel and dressed in her robe. She felt relaxed from the heat of the water. The warmth from the shower induced a feeling of calmness and bone-weary tiredness causing her to struggle to keep her eyes open.

How many hours had it been since she had a decent night’s sleep Claire wondered? Too many. She could not recall when she last had a full night’s sleep. But it really didn’t matter how long she had gone without sleep. She would gladly do it again and again and again. For him. She is the keeper of his heart and soul. Never again would she let harm come to him. Nothing else mattered only Jamie. She could not, would not let anything or anyone come between them. He was hers.  

Walking out of the bathroom, the bed looked enticing. It called to her seducing her with a magnetic force she was powerless to resist. Claire tugged on his shirt that she had napped in earlier along with fresh panties. Climbing onto the bed, she stretched out waiting for Jamie to join her after his shower.  The pull of slumber, however, was too great. Slowly her head began to slump forward only to jerk her back into wakefulness as she felt her head drop.

Jamie followed suit, still mumbling his irritation to himself as he entered the bathroom. He quickly showered succumbing to the peace and tranquility of his ablutions. He felt purified somehow.  The pain, tension, and worry were washed away and circling down the drain. He released himself from the stress of the past day and surrendered to his exhaustion. 

How long has it been since he was this tired, he wondered? Probably not since his medical internship. Shite, that was a long time ago and he thought he was feeling his age. I’m tae old tae be doing this sort of thing, he scolded himself. He looked up and thought about the Sassenach in the other room.  I may be too old for this, but she’s worth it. He chuckled to himself. Aye, I’d walk through the fires of hell and back for her. He knew he would willingly suffer more than a few sleepless nights for her because he loved her more than life itself.

He came out of the bathroom with the towel slung low over his hips. He rootled around in his suitcase finding his sleep pant. As he pulled them on he caught a glance of Claire sitting on the bed her head bobbing as she struggled to remain awake. Climbing into bed he drew her to him.

“Sassenach, we need to sleep awhile. Let me hold ye. Come, lass lay yer head down.” They lay together spoon fashion. Jamie wrapping one arm around her chest while the other lay across her abdomen. He felt the steady thrum of her heart becoming soothed by it. Claire snuggled closer, her arse nestled in his groin. She mumbled, “I love you.” 

“I love ye too, mo ghràdh.” They closed their eyes yielding to the narcotic of sleep.

A hazy winter’s afternoon light cast about the room. Early shadows crept up the walls. 

Jamie woke first. He was lying on his back and his Sassenach curled into his side, her head resting on his chest. She snored lightly as she slept. His hand came around moving her curls off her face allowing him to study her in repose. She looked relaxed.  The usual lines around her eyes and mouth were gone. She mumbled something incoherent and gave a wee chuckle. She was dreaming.  He hoped she was happy. He hoped she was dreaming of him and that he was making her happy. Placing a gentle kiss to her hair, he closed his eyes thinking just for a few minutes more.

The room was dark. The weak winter light had long gone. Claire’s eyes blinked adjusting to the dimness of the room. She became aware of Jamie’s slumbering form next to her, breathing gently, hands folded across his chest. He looked like one of the tomb figures she had seen during her travels with Lamb. All that was needed to complete this picture was a little dog asleep at his feet. 

She snuggled against him, inhaling his sleepy scent. Masculine. She exhaled contentedly and then saw the clock blinking angrily 5:01 PM. 

Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, we have to be at the airport by 7:30 PM. 

“Wake up! Jamie! Wake up! We need to get ready to leave.”

Jamie became instantly awake, jumping out of the bed scanning the room for threats of danger. Seeing none, he turned his attention to Claire.

“What’s amiss lass?”

Claire was hopping around on one leg trying to shimmy into her jeans. “We need to leave for the airport soon. Don’t we need to take care of the bill? We didn’t even tell them we were leaving. We need to get a car. Jamie, why are you standing there looking at me like that? We need to hurry.”

He sat down heavily on the bed scrubbing his face with his hands. “Lass, dinna do that again. Ye scared me to death. I took care of everything while ye were in the shower. There is nae bill. I spoke with the manager about shortening our stay. He was no’ happy at first, but I convinced him otherwise. Then the wee mannie could no’ do enough. It was aye Dr. Fraser, of course, Dr. Fraser.” Jamie chortled to himself.

Claire gave him a side-long look. “Exactly what did you do to make him so, shall we say, agreeable?”

“Oh, no’ much,” Jamie replied with a broad smile on his lips. “I just insinuated that if word got around about what happened last night the publicity may no’ be in his favor, aye?” His cat-eyes gleamed with mischief.

“Jamie you didn’t!”

“I did.” he snorted. “The man was being a right arse.”

“You know I would never allow that to happen. It would be too embarrassing!”

“I ken it, but he doesna. And Padrick will pick us up at 6 P. M. to take us to the airport.”

“You devious…”

“I am.” With that, he fell backward onto the bed laughing until tears leaked out.

“I told ye Sassenach, I would take care of ye, did I no?” He wiped the tears away with the back of his hand.

“Yes, you did. You didn’t say how though.” She shakes her head. Claire came closer to him placing a soft kiss on his lips, “Ridiculous man.”

“But ye love me.?” It was both a statement and a question.

“Very much so.” 

They finished packing their bags, dressed quickly and went to the lobby to wait for Padrick.

Seeing Jamie, Pierre the maitre d’hotel surreptitiously approached him. “Dr. Fraser, if I might have a word with you? In private.” He grabbed Jamie by the coat sleeve pulling him into a small out of the way alcove where they would not be observed.  “I know the Madame did not wish a list of names who witnessed the umm, shall we say, the occurrence of last night. However, I took it upon myself to create such a list.” 

He handed Jamie a list of the patrons of the restaurant with statements of what they observed duly notarized. It also contained names and contact information should there be a need to testify on behalf of  Dr. Beauchamp.

“The Madame is such a lovely lady and the man un foutu de salaud,un fils d'une pute. He shall never step inside this restaurant again,” he growled.  “I am so sorry this happened to her. Would you keep this for her should she ever need it?” He pressed the envelope into Jamie’s hand.

Jamie overwhelmed from the gentleman’s kindness clasped his shoulder with gratitude. “Merci, mon Amie.” He took the envelope and placed inside his coat’s inner pocket.

“Le plaisir était pour moi, Monsieur.” Pierre bowed and left.

Claire waited impatiently for him in the lobby. Upon seeing him, she glared at him suspiciously, “Where were you?” She had the feeling he was up to something that he did not want her to know about.

Thinking quickly and not completely telling a lie, “I thanked Pierre for his assistance last night, Sassenach. He also assured me that the villain wouldna be allowed back in his establishment.” Jamie said that with no little satisfaction.  He liked the idea of Frank being ostracized from the brasserie.  It was some mark of justice.  

He clasped her chin raising her head up and brushed his lips across hers, “Come Sassenach, our car awaits.”

Padrick the ever-present chauffeur loaded their luggage into the boot and swiftly departed for the airport.

Jamie and Claire arrived at the airport making their way to the Alba Airline terminal. 

“‘Twill be good to be home, Sassanech, do ye no’ agree?”

“Yes, I do,” she sighed with relief at the prospect of leaving Boston.

They found seats in the waiting area and made themselves as comfortable as possible.

“Do ye remember when we left Edinburgh, lass, ye were busy staring at my arse? Did it live up to yer expectations, then?” he said smugly.

“If you must know,” she sat there contemplating. “Hmm, well I would say umm…”

“Fer Christ’s sake, Claire, is it or is it no???” He seemed rather annoyed that her answer was not immediately forthcoming. 

It seems that men even beautifully made men like Jamie, had body-image issues, not unlike women.

Claire looked at him eyes twinkling, “Did I offend you, Fraser? Yes, you have the finest arse I have ever seen or will ever want to see. Better?”

“Yes.” He looked very cross his lip jutting out like a petulant little boy who had been told he could not have a treat. Claire gave him a jab in the ribs and gave him a wry smile. They looked at each other, chins quivering and began to laugh. “I love ye, lass, ye ken it. But yer wicked in yer ways.”

The PA system crackled to life.

Flight 8389 Boston to Edinburgh International Airport now boarding at Gate 34. Please have yer boarding passes ready.

Home.

A/N:

Amende honorable -- was originally a mode of punishment in France which required the offender, barefoot and stripped to his shirt, and led into a church or auditory with a torch in his hand and a rope around his neck held by the public executioner, to beg pardon on his knees of his God, his king, and his country; now the term is used to denote a satisfactory apology or reparation. Amende honorable forbade revenge.

Un foutu de salaud,  -- fucking bastard

 Fils d'une pute. --  son of a whore   

Le plaisir était pour moi, Monsieur  --  The pleasure is all mine, sir.

The song: Reach Out (I’ll Be There) was performed by the Four Tops. 

Released: 1966

Songwriter(s): Holland–Dozier–Holland

Youtube link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yqFz7T5v3iU

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Jamie reads a letter written to him by Frank.

Brianna couldn’t stop squeezing her mother’s hand as theysat side-by-side on the porch of the new Big House, watching the night settleover the trees.

 The bench creaked as her father settled in on her otherside, and slung a strong arm around her shoulders.

 “I ken I’ve always said that the day yer Mam came back tome in Edinburgh, or the day I first met ye in Wilmington – those were thehappiest days of my life.” He swallowed, throat thick with emotion. “But theyare almost nothing compared to today, a leannan. I am blessed four timesover.”

 Brianna sighed, sinking against Jamie’s shoulder. Hekissed the crown of her head. “I want you to know – this time it’s for forever.Roger and I decided.”

 “Never say never,” Claire murmured. “Especially with thechildren.”

 “I’ve so much to tell you,” Brianna sighed. “That time –it’s not safe for us. Not anymore.”

 “Is there another war, then? Like the one yer Mam had, inFrance?”

 A family of deer appeared at the edge of the clearing,nudging through the undergrowth.

 “No – nothing like that. I’ll tell you all about it. Notnow, though.”

 Brianna sat up a bit straighter, rummaging inside hercoat. “Roger and I bought Lallybroch – we lived there for a while. The kidswent to school in Broch Mordha. Jem got in trouble for cursing at the kids inGaelic.”

 Jamie’s grin shone in the half-dark. “Good lad! Was thehouse well?”

 “It had been abandoned for some time, but we fixed it up.Modernized it. And Mama, Uncle Joe helped me ship over quite a few boxes fromthe house in Boston. Mostly Daddy’s papers and books – his research stuff. Rogerwent through most of it – he wrote down all kinds of things, was thinking ofpublishing a book about Scottish immigration to North Carolina.”

 Footsteps in the hallway – Roger appeared through theopen door, balancing a tray with four mugs.

 “Finally got them to at least try to sleep. They’reexhausted, but so excited to be here.”

 Jamie handed a mug to Claire, then to Brianna, beforetaking hold of the other two. Roger pulled up a chair next to Claire, and Jamiehanded him a mug, but not before gently clinking his own against it.

 “Slainte, mo mhac,” he whispered.

 Roger swallowed. “I canna tell ye what it means for us tobe here.”

 “It doesn’t sound like the journey was that eventful.”Claire sipped her cider. “Or at least, not from what you’ve shared so far.”

 “It was surprisingly boring,” Brianna yawned. “Justcomplicated by the fact we had the two kids, and Mandy is so curious thesedays.”

 “Aye, they always are at that age.” Jamie settled back onthe bench, crossing one long leg over the other.

 Brianna cleared her throat. “Anyway – Roger, tell themwhat you found in one of Daddy’s boxes.”

 Roger pursed his lips. “I found the books you had hadprinted in Edinburgh – Grandfather Tales, and Principles of Health.”

 “It’s Pocket Principles of Health, to be precise,”Claire smiled. “Mr. Bell did a fantastic job, didn’t he?”

 “Aye, Sassenach – but Roger, ye’re saying that FrankRandall had them in his possession?”

 “He did. I reviewed the inventory of his office atHarvard from when he died – the books were on it.”

 Claire closed her eyes. Jamie reached behind Brianna tosqueeze his wife’s shoulder.

 “I recognized the spines of the books, Mama – he musthave had them for quite a few years before he died.”

 Roger coughed. “Anyway – I took a read through the books.And I found something.”

 Brianna pulled a clear bag from the inside of her jacket,and handed it over to Jamie.

 Jamie’s brow furrowed as he crinkled the bag. “What…”

 “It’s called plastic.” Gently Claire reached to touch it,with a tentative finger. “It’s the same material I used when I gave you Brianna’sphotographs.”

 Carefully Jamie pulled two folded pages of lined paperfrom the plastic. Brianna thoughtfully took the bag as Jamie unfolded the pages.

 “This is fine paper. Wi’ lines?”

 “Common in that time. As you can see, there’s no date onit – but Bree and I think it was written shortly before he died.”

 “It’s a letter.” Jamie swallowed. “Christ.”

 “I hope ye dinna mind that we read it – only, we were sosurprised to find it, and – ”

 Jamie held up a hand. “No need. Of course I dinna mind. I’m…surprised,is all.” Slowly he stood, taking Claire’s hand. “Come, Sassenach – let’s go in,and read it wi’ the wee lamp.”

 Quietly she stood too, following him back into the houseand into the study – Bree and Roger trailing a few paces behind.

 “This room is so much bigger than at the old house,” Breeremarked, sinking into a chair by the door.

 Jamie pulled out his desk chair for Claire, then pulledover a stool to sit beside her as she slid the lamp across the desk. Almost intandem, Jamie and Claire reached into their pockets for their spectacles.

 “You too, Claire?” Roger teased.

 She smiled. “I had them made the last time we were inEdinburgh.” When she blinked from behind the spectacles, her eyes were somagnified that it was almost comical. “I feel like the old woman I’ve become.”

 “Nonsense.” Jamie narrowed his eyes from behind his ownspectacles. “I’ve been wearing mine longer than you’ve been wearing yours – andI’m younger than ye, so what does that make me?”

 Playfully she smacked his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s see whatdear old Frank has to say.”

 “Do ye mind if I read it out loud?”

 Bree shrugged. “Go for it.”

 Jamie spread the papers side by side on his desk. FrankRandall’s elegant script spidered across the page.

 Some may consider it idiotic to write a letter to adead man. But those same people would consider it impossible for one’s wife to travelthrough haunted stones, get caught up in the Jacobite Rising, and returnpregnant by her dead eighteenth-century husband.

 Only I know that you’re not dead, James Fraser. God helpme, I’ve known for years.

 I’ll leave you to judge me for my sins against her –not the least of which is the sin of omission, for not telling her that yousurvived Culloden. The Church I’ve diligently raised Brianna to believe in willtell you this is a sin, but if it means that I’ve kept Claire and Bree with meall these years because of it, then I cannot see it as such.

 This book proves you survived the fire in NorthCarolina, and somehow returned to Scotland. I envy you for being grandfather toBrianna’s child, or children. I say envy, because the only reason why Clairewould return to you, and for Brianna to find you, must be that I am dead. I won’thave the chance to grow old with Claire – but I’m sure she’ll tell you, silentlywe both knew that that would never come to pass.

 You will get the years with them that I never will –although I’ll always have the years with them that you never will.

 So – from one dead man to another – I thank you forthe gift of them, and I thank you for caring for them when I’m no longer ableto.

 It was silent in the study for a long time.

 Claire touched one tattered corner of a page. “Looks likehe set down his glass of brandy here, while he was writing.”

 Jamie turned on the stool to face his wife – his life, hisheart. Took her hands. Held her gaze.

 “You have always made the right decisions.”

 Claire nodded. “For they all brought me to you.”

 Standing beside Brianna, Roger squeezed his wife’sshoulder.

[torialeysha]

Something beginning with M - Part 1

A/N - This is a pre-cold feet story that I’ve had to separate in to two parts because according to tumblr it was too long. This story is set before the events of cold feet and my other drabbles so don’t worry if you haven’t read any of that series yet, you should still be able to enjoy this ❤️

Warnings: Swearing/fluff

Song: Notion - Tash Sultana

It was a blistering hot August morning. A stifling humidity drifted along the hazy streets of North West London and invaded the airless cluttered box that was your uncles shop. You had barely been working an hour and already your dress clung needfully to your sticky, sweat soaked body. Inhaling deeply, you took a moment to pull your hair up in to a messy bun; the tiniest of movements were proving strenuous in this weather and even breathing had become burdensome.

Dabbing at your clammy neck and forehead with your apron you took another deep breath of dusty air before kneeling down to finish stacking the shelves behind the counter. A minute or two had passed when the loud jingle jangle of the bell attached to the door cut through the silence and alerted you of a customer. But you didn’t need the bell to inform you of this particular customer; the awareness that prickled across your skin already told you who it was.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Solomons?” Your Uncles strained greeting was a silly question as he already knew what brought the notorious Alfie Solomons to his little treasure on the corner of Hartland Street.

“Where is she, Frank? Where is my sweet Yahalom?”

You smile gleefully as Alfie’s jovial voice rumbled through the tiny shop and rippled over your body.

Hurriedly finishing your task, you shove the remaining tins sloppily on to the shelves before releasing your hair from the bun and letting it fall in a cascade of unruly waves.

A tumbling clatter accompanied you as you sprung up from the counter; the tins you had half-heartedly stacked and balanced, toppled from the rackety wooden shelves and hit the floor with a ceremonious clunk. You tried your best to bashfully mask your shoddy workmanship by kicking the rebellious tins against the counter while casting an apologetic smile at your uncle who just sighed and shook his head in exasperation.

“There she is..”

You quickly turn your attention to Alfie who was shamelessly staring at you.

His hair was dishevelled and messy; a devilish look only a man as ruggedly handsome as Alfie Solomons could pull off. He was dressed down in a white and pale blue pin stripe shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows showing off his burly forearms and gold laden wrists. The crumpled shirt was tucked slackly in his black trousers complete with braces that hung idly by his thighs. His informal and unkempt appearance was a pleasure to behold and gave you a rare and welcomed view of his broad body which was usually hidden beneath a waistcoat or jacket.

Your greedy, wandering eyes landed on his and you became instantly lost in the sultry stare of his darkening blue orbs.

Your heart fluttered wildly as the heat of his fixated gaze betrayed his cool demeanour and sent your own temperature into scorching heights.

“Hello Alfie. You’re early today. Is everything okay?” You utter breathlessly.

“Yeah, everything’s fine, Pet.” He gives you a slight, reassuring smile. “But, I need you to come with me. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

A rush of excitement caused your face to split into a silly grin. However, your Uncles tense posture and disapproving frown halted your enthusiasm.

Your Uncle had made it very clear from the beginning that he didn’t approve of your courtship with Alfie or his regular visits to his shop. And you knew that Alfies spontaneous suggestion and impetuous attitude would do no more than further fan the flames of your Uncles disfavour.

“I-I’d really love to, Alfie. But I’m working. I can’t just leave my Uncle in the lurch.” You explain regretfully.

Alfie raises an eyebrow. Slowly turning to assess the customer-less shop. You watch him, carefully avoiding your Uncles gaze while biting back a smile.

Alfies eyes fall back on you bemused.

“Well, you’re not exactly rushed off your feet, are ya. What do ya say, Frank? You wouldn’t mind if I whisk your Niece away for a little while, would ya? I mean keeping ‘er locked up in this sweatbox all day is fucking criminal.” Alfies disconcerted frown moves from Frank to you.

“Not a chance-“ Your Uncle begins to protest but is cut off when Alfies threatening gaze jerks back to him. “-Of you staying.” He has an instantaneous change of heart, folding like a deck chair under Alfies deadly glare.

“See, you have his blessing.” Alfie turns to you with a cocky shrug. “Come.” He holds out his hand signalling for you to join him but still

you hesitate.

“Go on then!” Your Uncle snaps irritably. And you can see the desperation in his eyes for Alfie and his intimidating presence to just be gone from his shop.

Not wasting another minute you remove your apron and swiftly make your way around the counter to Alfie. Thanking your Uncle and promising to make it up to him.

Taking Alfies hand, you relish the feverish feeling of his skin on yours as he escorts you outside to his waiting car.

“Where are we going?” You ask eagerly.

“If I told you that, it wouldn’t be a fucking surprise would it? Now, come on. Jump in before I change my mind.” He opens the car door and you climb in, sliding over to make room for him next to you.

“Hello Daniel.” You greet Alfie’s driver and notice a basket and blanket nestled on the passenger seat next to him.

“Morning Miss.” He replies. Nodding his head in polite acknowledgement.

Alfie settles in next to you. Taking your hand, he brings it to his luscious mouth to graze a soft kiss across your knuckles. The tickle of his wiry facial hair against your skin sends your pulse racing and you begin to wonder what his beard covered lips would feel like against other places of your body.

You had been courting Alfie for a while now and your feelings for him were growing stronger by the day. Just being in his presence alone stirred up an unquenchable desire deep within you and often left an intense aching in places you had never allowed anyone to venture.

The obnoxious sound of Daniel pumping the horn at a loitering driver brought you back down to Earth. You flush at the scandalous direction of your musings, squirming against the hard leather of the seat to rid your loins of the inappropriate throbbing while Daniel skilfully overtook the inconsiderate driver and pulled out into the rush hour traffic.

You were too busy enjoying Alfies company to be sure how long you had been travelling for but you had guessed about an hour or so. He still hadn’t told you where he was taking you and every time you passed a road sign he would craftily distract you with a joke or a touch.

“It’s my turn now, innit...” You were currently in the middle of a tense game of I spy.

“I spy with my fucking eye...” He squints, carefully observing his surroundings as you smirk at his ability to squeeze profanity into the most innocent of situations.

“...Something beginning with M.” His studying gaze lands on you and your heart skips a beat.

pursing your lips thoughtfully. The soft purring of the cars engine inspires you.

“Motor.”

“Nope. Not even close.” He shakes his head, looking coyly out of his window. Sneakily you try and follow his line of sight for a clue but see nothing beginning with that consonant.

“D’ya give up?” Alfie asks with a smug grin.

“No.” You say defiantly. “I’m just warming up.” You inspect inside the car, on yourself, on Alfie - but that wasn’t a good idea. His handsomeness was a distraction and for a brief moment you had forgotten entirely what you were searching for. Remembering the task at hand and your determination to win, you come to your senses and eventually resort to poking your head to the front of the car to check Daniel, momentarily distracting him from the road.

“Man!” You exclaim with utmost certainty.

“Give over, Pet.” Alfie scoffs. “That ain’t no fucking man... Anyway, that’s still not it.”

With a frustrated huff you slump back into the backseat, looking out to the open road beyond the windscreen. That’s when you see it. The Kent coast sprawled out in all its glory. The reflection of the sun bouncing off the sea like a thousand glittering diamonds.

“Margate.” You gasp.

“Well done.” Alfie commends you. You tear your gaze away from the sparkling sea to look at him. You were only telling him the day before about your family outings to Margate and how you hadn’t been back there since your Father had died. You were shocked to learn that Alfie had never been.

“I’ve brought you to Margate for the day, Yahalom. That okay with you?” He regards you warily, trying to gauge your reaction.

“It’s more than okay...” Your voice was timid, betraying your excitement that was tainted with an underlying apprehension. Margate held a special place in your heart and you were concerned that being back there would bring back memories of your father and the awful feelings of loss that unfortunately came along with them. Never the less you couldn’t discount your gratitude to Alfie and his thoughtfulness.

“Thank you, Alfie. You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble.” You knew how busy he was and that him being away from the bakery all day would be bad for business.

“Trouble?! You’ve done nothing but cause me fucking trouble since that day you threw a bucket of water over me.” You knew he was only jesting about the accidental mishap but you couldn’t help but cringe at the memory of how you had first met.

“... Anyway, I could do with a little break myself. And well, when you were telling me about all those memories with your dad, right, it got me thinking that me and you could make some memories of our own.” Your heart leapt from your chest, erasing that ghastly apprehension about returning to Margate completely. It amazed you how someone as feared and hard-boiled as Alfie Solomons could also be such a sweetheart.

Margate was like a home from home for you. It had been a while since your last visit but as you explored the sea front with Alfie, it was obvious that the charming seaside town hadn’t lost it’s magic.

The beach and pier were thriving. Heaving with swarms of couples and families; Parents with a bouncing brood of ice cream covered children all having fun and frolicking on the sand in the beautiful sunny weather. Your eyes fell to the crashing waves and the exact spot where your father had taught you how to swim. You could still hear his voice now.

“That’s it, Y/N. Just keep going.” He’d encourage you proudly as you thrashed your arms and legs, fighting with the water until you finally got it right.

“Y/N?” Alfies gruff voice brought you back to the present. “You alright?”

You smile at him, blinking away the sting of tears.

“...I’m all left actually.” You joke, unwilling to put a dampener on the day before it had even started.

“You cheeky mare.” Alfie admonishes you lightly with a tap to your bottom. Your smile

Broadens as you lean into him.

“Come. Let’s keep going.” You tell Alfie. Your Father’s words resonating through you as you left the ghosts of the past behind and continued along the promenade.

A cheerful tune accompanied by a noisy clamour of exuberant squeals of delight and laughter caught your attention as it drifted from ‘Dreamland’ Which was Margate’s very own hall by the sea and provided an array of entertainment and attractions for people of all ages.

From formal tea rooms to an abundance of thrilling fairground rides, concert halls and stunning gardens that boasted towering bush mazed pathways, which if followed correctly would lead you to a zoo that housed a variety of exotic animals for it’s fascinated visitors to observe.

It was aptly named, for Margate’s hall by the sea was indeed the land of dreams.

With your hand nestled securely in Alfies, you pulled him through the ardent crowd that swarmed entrance.

Bypassing the sweet, alluring aromas of the over-occupied tearooms you headed towards the chaos of the bustling fair that was animated with a host of gyrating rides and exhilarating screams of excitement. You were just about to ask Alfie if he wanted to go on the wooden rollercoaster with you, when he began to complain of a pain in his back.

You raised a skeptical brow at him but it didn’t really bother you, the heat was too intense to withstand the queues that stretched as far as the eye could see, and in all honesty you couldn’t actually imagine a man of Alfies stature whizzing around on the tumble bug anyway. So you decided to let him off, but not without teasing him about his very sudden, very convenient case of sciatica first.

After you had poked your fun at Alfies expense, you swapped the fairground flurry for a romantic stroll through the heavenly scented gardens that were much less rowdy and crowded.

Carefully and without managing to get lost, you lead the way through the labyrinth of dense green bushes, following the increasing volume of the chirping and chattering animals until you finally reached the zoo.

It was quite clear to see that the lure of the zoo was no match for the fair; the tree laden pathways were surprisingly empty and horde free.

You gasped in awe as the first cage you stumbled across was home to Wallace the untameable Lion. You admired the impressive beast through the bars as it lounged listlessly on a bed of hay. But you wasn’t fooled by it’s blithe pose, you could see the wild danger hiding in the precarious glint of its Amber eyes. A tottering look you had seen somewhere before...

“He reminds me of you.” You tell Alfie, who was busy observing you rather than the majestic beast.

“What are you trying to say, Yahalom? That I’m a pussy?” He feigns offence. Giving you the same threatening glare he graced your uncle with earlier.

“Well, you did cop out of those rides earlier...” You quip. His eyes to narrow further to fully emphasise his most terrifying ‘watch it’ scowl.

You flash him a sweet, suasive smile before explaining.

“Lions are strong, powerful and proud creatures. Beautiful but dangerous...I’m not sure you’re very tameable either. Might have to think about getting you a cage.” You eye the bulky iron structure that separated the huge cat from it’s freedom.

“Dangerous?” He tests the word. And You’re surprised that he’s singled that one out from the others.

“Yes.” You confirm matter of factly. You knew Alfie was dangerous. You could feel it. It was a palpable energy that shrouded him like an invisible cloak. To most, Alfie was just a callous criminal, fierce and unapproachable. You had heard many things about the ‘monstrous’ Alfie Solomon’s - most of which after you had made his acquaintance, and many told by your mother in vain attempts to deter you from seeing him. But you saw through the inconsistencies of each story as they differed from person to person and brushed off the gossip mongers. You didn’t need to hear idle talk when you could see first hand the demons that lurked behind Alfies ever changing irises.

“You’re not scared of me are ya, Pet?” He asks you seriously.

“No.” You answer without hesitation, certain Alfie would never do anything to purposely hurt you. But it made you wonder after hearing all the stories about your villainous Beau and seeing grown men cower at the mere mention of his name, if you was the only one who wasn’t scared of him. Maybe you was the only one who got to see Alfies softer side? You certainly hoped so.

“We’ve never really had that talk, ‘ave we? About who I am. What I do for a living.” He flexes his jaw, stroking his beard tentatively as he does so.

“No.” You look down at your feet, feeling an awkward tension building. “But I’m not silly.” Your eyes raise from the floor to his. A worried frown governed his features and made your chest ache. “Other than the rum...” You whispered vigilantly, aware of your public surroundings. “...I don’t know the ins and outs of your business, Alfie. And I don’t need to know. I just care about you - the man behind the ‘Baker’.” You wink at him. His unsound eyes search your face but before he can answer, your attention is stolen by a loud incessantly barking seal.

Leaving Wallace the Lion and the uncomfortable conversation behind, you go to the rowdy sea pup, tugging Alfie with you.

“Now this one ‘ere, right...” He settles behind you. The vibration of his deep voice inches from your ear causing a blanket of goosebumps to cover your skin.

“...Bares a striking resemblance to Ollie. Looks just like him, dunnit. All that’s missing is that curly mop of his. Don’t stop fucking moaning like him either.” The seal stops its loud bark to growl at Alfie.

“Don’t give me no backchat, lad. Do you know who I am? Fucking dangerous me. Untameable, according to ‘er.” Alfies head dips in your direction and the seal looks to you as your head falls back on Alfies chest with a chuckle. “And you can keep ya beady little peepers off her as well, mate, yeah, she’s mine.” The petulant pup growls again causing you to laugh even harder. Bored with Alfie’s stupidity, the seal - now affectionately named Ollie, gives one last whining bark before waddling off and plunging sulkily into the murky blue pool of its enclosure.

“That’s it, bugger off.” Alfie tells it.

“Bye Ollie.” You bid the Seal a fond farewell. Turning, you link your arm with Alfies and continue on to the next enclosure.

“We’ve just got to find an animal that looks like you now.” Alfie hums pensively.

“Watch what you say next, Mr. Solomons. Like our friend Wallace over there I can bite too.”

“Oh I believe ya, Pet...Now, where’s the monkeys?” He stops to look around.

You gasp in mock offence, giving him a hard shove that barely moves his solid structure.

“You’re going to get bitten.” You warn him.

“And I’ll probably like it. As long as you’re doing the biting that is.”

You roll your eyes at him while your mind ponders excitedly what part of Alfie you’d bite first.

You ended the day by finding a secluded part of the beach away from the busy pier and it’s patrons. Apart from the cawing seagulls, you and Alfie was the only occupants on the sandy dunes. You helped Alfie set up the blanket and picnic he had thoughtfully packed. Unable to hide a silly smile as he staked claim that this part of the beach was now yours and his.

You spoke and ate avidly before complaining to Alfie that you felt bad about Daniel who by his order had loyally and no doubt sweatily been looking after the car all day while you both enjoyed yourself.

“Surely he can join us? He’s been stuck in that car all day.”

“No.” It was a stern, cold answer from an unfazed Alfie. But it didn’t deter you as you did the next best thing and gathered up some of the leftover food to make Daniel a little picnic of his own to enjoy in the car.

Once you delivered the care package to a sweaty and grateful Daniel, you returned to a speechless Alfie who just observed you with a curious narrowed gaze. Your persistence and interest of Daniels welfare had irked Alfie, and although he’d hate to admit it, beneath his irrational jealousy was a hidden admiration of your caring heart.

You threw the last remaining scraps and crumbs to the circling gulls before finally giving in to temptation and leaving a brooding Alfie to paddle in the sea.

Your fists grasped the hem of your dress, bunching it up to your hips while your toes wiggled and sank into the soggy sand, burying your feet as the cold waves lapped relentlessly at your ankles. Closing your eyes you savoured the cool breeze and the smell of the coastal air. It was utter bliss. The only thing missing was Alfie. Turning at the waist, you look behind to search for him. He was still resting on the blanket where you had left him sulking.

Propped up on his elbows he watched you. No doubt taking full advantage of the view of your thighs that you were purposely parading just for him.

You couldn’t help but notice how lost and out of place he looked against the deserted sandy dunes of the beach. Determined to relieve the obvious tension in his rigid posture and snap him out of his strop, you saunter luringly towards him. Dropping to your knees on the soft, warm sand at his feet. He doesn’t move or speak but his turbulent eyes are big and questioning as you begin to untie the laces of his shoes and slip them from his feet along with his socks. He’s now barefoot as you carry on your mission, rolling his trouser legs up above his ankles until you couldn’t roll them any further.

You look up at him once you’re finished, almost salivating at the sight in front of you. The sea breeze attacked his unruly mass of hair and billowed his shirt firmly against his solid body. Brazenly you crawled over him, resting all of your weight on one hand as the other fiddled with the top three buttons of his shirt. He sucked in a sharp intake of breath as your fingers accidentally skimmed the soft skin and crisp hairs of his chest that lay beneath the now flapping material.

“That’s better.” You say, looking up at him. Nose to nose, the closeness disarmed you and for a minute you had forgotten how to breath. Lightheaded, you lost your balance as your body strained towards his. His hand grabbed your hip to steady you. The chaste contact only adding fuel to your fire and riddling you once again with a yearning for the man you were straddling. You desperately needed to cool down before you did something stupid.

“Come and paddle with me.” You request breathlessly.

“Gimme a kiss and I’ll think about it.” His playful negotiation told you that he had indeed snapped out of his grump.

“You can have a kiss...” You counter, smiling mischievously. “...But you’ll have you catch me first.” Quickly you clamber off of him and run away.

“Right!” You hear him exclaim as he gets to his feet to make chase. You scream in delight as he stomps the sand after you.

Trying to be clever, you change direction and head towards the sea but the moistened sand only slowed your efforts of getting away. He was in-front of you now, grinning like the cat that got the cream. You moved to the right and he mirrored your movement.

“There’s no escape, Yahalom. You’re mine now.”

A cunning smile graced your lips as you pounced misleadingly to the right before darting around him on the left. You had barely made it two feet before you were bound in his strong arms. You let out a giggling scream, trying to squirm unsuccessfully from his capturing clutches.

“Gotcha.” He shouts triumphantly. Spinning you so that you now faced him.

“Now you better gimme that kiss or I’m going to throw you in.” He gestures towards the sea next to you.

“You wouldn’t dare.” You test him.

“Na? Wouldn’t I? I’m untameable remember. You really shouldn’t underestimate what I’m capable of, Sweetie.” He gives you a toothy grin. His eyes bright with that familiar precarious glint.

“I’m not scared of you, Solomons. I think you’re all talk.” You raise your chin primly to him.

“Right. Well, there’s only one thing for it then, in’t there.” He lifts you with ease towards the rhythmic pulsing waves of the sea.

You scream. Clinging to him as if your life depended on it but it was no use, a clashing wave hit you hard, splashing up your bodies and soaking both of you from the waist down. You gasped as the cold water took your breath away.

“Okay! Okay.” You shout through a chattering laugh. “I surrender. You win.” You wrap your legs around his waist and seal your mouth over his, tasting the salty beads of the sea on his dry lips. He groans in approval, his arms grasping you tightly to his brawny body. The cold waves still collided wilfully against you both but you no longer cared.

“You should have known better than to run from me, Pet. I’ll always catch ya.” Alfie says through kisses.

You pull away beaming at him. But your smile soon fades as you catch sight of the hazy sun lowering in the sky.

“Oi, what’s that frown about?” He asks.

“It’s going to sound silly but I just don’t want this day to end.” You grumble dismally. Turning your attention from the setting sun to rest your forehead against Alfies.

“This is far from the end my sweet.” He strokes your back gently. His voice rumbling through his chest to yours. “This ‘ere, yeah, is just the beginning for you and me. There’s plenty more good times to be had.”

Your heart aches for the hundredth time that day and you knew in that moment without a shadow of a doubt that you loved him. You wanted so badly to tell him, to sing the revelation from the rooftops. But out of fear of your feelings not being reciprocated the words refused to come out.

Hoping to make the day last as long as possible you insisted on staying to watch the sunset which meant by the time you had packed up to leave Margate, the sky was rapidly darkening.

A huge yawn racked your weary frame as you snuggled into Alfie in the backseat of the car. The drive back to North West London was spent in a relaxed, comfortable silence. However, the longer you drove and the closer you got to home the more melancholy you became knowing that the day was that little bit closer to being over.

The thought was sobering so you cuddled further into Alfie. Instinctively his arm tightened around you, happily accommodating your need to be just that little bit closer. You distantly register the gentle kiss he placed upon your head while you tried desperately to fight the closing of your tired eyes...

Part 2

@storm-bjorn @alsheyra @lililolli @jaegers-and-kaijus @lightwoodt @stars-trash-18 @innerpaperexpertcloud @alitheamateur @pointlessbloger99 @hardygal69 @valentine-in-my-quinjet @namelesslosers

[denerims-archive]

also "sorry, were you sleeping?" for them bcos thats probs not as sad

‘probably not as sad’ BET

Keys had been exchanged. 

There should have been more fanfare, more deliberating - excited talks with her girl friends (all of them, not just the two who were alive) over what this "meant”. Instead, Noah and Frankie had made copies of their keys for each other during a visit to Home Depot for a drain snake. 

Tonight, her copy of Noah’s key was a blessing. It had been a long day at work and all Frankie wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep. Thankfully, Noah’s apartment was just a few blocks away from the building where she worked. It was a miracle she didn’t get into an accident in the short drive with the way she kept staring at the back of her eyelids. 

Fighting the door to his place open - the wooden door frame had stretched a little with age and stuck occasionally - she found it empty but warm and lit. Frankie sighed, aching a little to be wrapped up in his arms before drifting off to sleep but she was so exhausted it wouldn’t really matter. Nights like these were ones she savored - too tired to lay in her bed worrying away at what was behind closed doors or scraping against the windows. 

She kicked off her shoes, shrugged out of her jacket and collapsed on his couch still wearing her work blouse and skirt. The couch smelled like Noah - cheap dove soap and aftershave and cigarettes. Her fingers grasped at the fuzzy, well-worn blanket draped over the back and pulled it over herself. There was something hard and plastic sticking into her shoulder. She grumbled, reaching into the black hole that was the cushions of this couch and pulled out the TV remote. 

Frankie managed to stay awake just long enough to turn on Family Feud before finally surrendering to sleep. 

-

Frankie startled awake an hour or so later to a soft hand on her shoulder. 

“Shh, hey. Franks, it’s just me,” Noah’s soothing voice came, the one he only used when she woke up screaming. He rubbed her shoulder gently.  “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were sleeping.”

Frankie blinked a little, running a hand through her hair as she tried to get her bearings, her heart still pounding in her chest. 

“Just a little,” she replied sleepily which made Noah chuckle.

“ I just went grocery shopping. If I had known you were coming-”

Noah was notoriously a night owl just like Frankie. It was no surprise that he was out this late. 

“No, it’s okay,” she replied, patting his arm. 

“Long day?” he asked. 

“You could say that,” Frankie replied wryly, her voice rough from sleep. 

“Go sleep,” he told her, gesturing to the bedroom. “You know better than anyone how shitty this couch is for your back.”

“Ha ha,” she hummed dryly, giving him the finger as she stood, wrapped in his blanket like a burrito. She shuffled into the back room and crawled into his bed, sighing as her head hit the pillow. 

Noah followed her in and pulled out a pair of his sweats and a t-shirt from his dresser before heading back into the kitchen. Her fingers struggled with buttons and in her tired clumsiness she created a run in her tights but it was all worth it when she was wrapped in his cozy sweats.

Frankie dozed in and out, listening to the crinkle of plastic bags as Noah unpacked his groceries. The heater kicked on, humming loudly. There was a comforting stillness to this hour - whatever hour that may be. Laying in Noah’s bed, comforted by the knowledge that he was here and she was safe, warm.

The next time Frankie drifted back into the world, Noah was slipping into bed, wrapping his arms tightly around her. He’d always accused her of getting everything she wanted. 

[itsreallylaterightnow]

And I’ll Be Happy (Christmas) Once Again

Authors Notes:

This is for my dear friend @scooter3scooter and anyone else who has ever felt alone or lost on Christmas. I hope this helps to brighten your day. Merry Christmas to you all.

“Hey- hey, come on, come inside Pete. God, its freezing out there, what are you doing here? Are you okay? Is May-” As they stepped through the threshold into the warm house, the dripping teen wrapped himself around Tony tightly. Tony, taken aback by the sudden show of affection, gently rubbed the kid’s back, before pulling him away by the shoulders, and looking into the dark eyes of the boy. It took two seconds for him to decide what to do. Shutting the door to the freezing rain of the winter season, he took the jacket from Peter’s back.

“Okay, you go up to your shower. I’ll have a pair of clean pajamas ready for you. When you finish come downstairs for hot chocolate and we can talk about this. I’m going to text May in case she wakes up.” Without saying a word, the distraught boy nodded, hugging himself as he shook, teeth clattering together violently. Tony watched the boy go up the stairs as he tossed another log on the slowly dimming fire place. Tony set a Frank Sinatra Christmas vinyl on, the low volume carrying the man’s smooth voice throughout the room. Tony turned off the main light, clicking on the bed side lamp as he walked towards the kitchen, socked feet padding along the wood floor.

He clicked on the stove, before heating the milk up and pouring packets of hot chocolate into the pot. While it heated, Tony made his way up the stairs, grabbing the red and black plaid Christmas pajamas he had bought for Peter in case he’d spent the night at the cabin throughout the season. He grabbed a pair of the boy’s underwear and then two cotton towels. He could hear the water running in the boy’s shower. He tapped his knuckles on the door before opening it and setting it onto the counter.

“I’ll be out in just a minute.” The boy’s thick voice said, and Tony could tell he was still crying.

“Take your time, Pete. No rush. You know I’ll be up for a long time coming.” The boy just sniffed in response as Tony closed the door once more.

His eyes caught the sight of Pepper and Morgan, cuddled in the King bed, sound asleep in each others arms. His world, right here. He was so lucky, so blessed with his family. But tonight, he had another piece of family to take care of. Peter Parker needed him.

Tony went back to the kitchen, stirring the hot chocolate as he grabbed two mugs. He fished a plate of snowman cookies from where they’d been sitting in the oven when he heard bare feet padding down the steps.

“I’ll be in the living room in one sec.” He said, knowing the kid would hear him over the music. He poured the hot chocolate, topping it with whipped cream and red sprinkles. He carried the two mugs, and the plate of cookies.

He found Peter, legs tucked under him, sat nestled into the corner of the couch with a thick quilt tucked around him. His eyes were still red, but tears no longer flowed. He was staring straight at the fire, watching the red and orange embers flicker up the chimney.

“Here you go.” He handed the kid the cup, setting the cookies down as he slipped the blanket around himself, tucking up next to Peter. The vinyl still played, and Tony felt an overwhelming peace as he watched Pete sip from the cup. “Alright, Kid. You wanna tell me why a half-freezing, dripping wet spider-kid turned up on my doorstep on Christmas Day at two in the morning?” Peter sipped his drink once more, taking a deep breath.

“It’s- uh- it’s just that I um…” He paused forcing another breath. “I um- Christmas hasn’t it just- hasn’t been the same. Since uh- gosh Mr. Stark, I’m so sorry to bother you- I don’t – I don’t know why I’m he-” Tony put a hand up, dark eyes watching the kid lovingly.

“Hey, you don’t worry about that. There’s a reason I have an unlimited supply of hot chocolate?” The teen just gave a small nod.

“When my parents died- I um just had to get used to it. I mean- I was pretty young, so at least I only cared about the Christmas traditions a little bit. So after my parents died, May and Ben really helped me. They made sure that my Christmas was amazing. Even though we really didn’t have money, they would always scrape together enough to get me something I really wanted. We would do everything together, all of the sappy Christmas traditions. And- I – uh I just… I had been doing fine. I thought I’d been doing fine, but then um- then I found a voice mail Ben left for me, and-” His voice broke off, a choked sob coming from his throat, but he swallowed it down. “I just- when my parents died, I guess I just thought that the universe would give me a break after that- then uh- then Ben happened… and I just- the holidays aren’t the same without him. And I- I can’t talk to May about it, because I know she’ll be just as sad, and my life would be so much better if I- if I hadn’t gotten Ben killed.” This did it, Peter bent over, choking on a sob that came straight from his chest. Tony took the mug from the boy’s hands, setting them both down. He turned, pulling the teen’s head into his chest, running his fingers through the brown curls. Peter was sobbing, unrelenting- heart-wrenching sobs into Tony’s chest.

“Hey, Peter, you know you didn’t kill him. What happened to Ben, that was all the theif’s fault, not yours. You played no part in that. And hey, I know I could never take their place, and you know I’d never try to- but I’m here. You have family that love you Pete. May, Me, Pepper, Morgan- all of us. You have us forever and always. Not matter what.” Then he held him, letting Peter just cry it out. By the time the sobs had subsided, Peter was half asleep on Tony’s chest.

“How about I tell May and Happy to come over in the morning, and we do Christmas here? I’ll cook breakfast and we can open gifts together?” Peter looked up, puffy eyes showing a semblance of peace.

“Really?” And Tony smiled softly.

“Yup. Until then, how about we watch a Christmas movie?” Peter nodded, his head laying a pillow he’d tucked in Tony’s lap. “What do you wanna watch?”

“While you were sleeping?” The boy asked and Tony chuckled.

“Sounds like a plan- FRI? You wanna pull it up?” he ran his fingers through the curls on Peter head, softly humming to the tune of Frank Sinatra.

And that is how they would be found by Morgan and Pepper, sound asleep on the couch. Christmas lights on, the fire slowly dying, the remains of cookies and hot chocolate on the coffee table. A symbol of hope that, no matter how lonely your holidays may seem, there is always someone out there willing to lay on the couch with you as you cried- someone out there willing to wish you a Happy Christmas once again.