#I do my job and can only hope I won’t disappoint a client in the process

[sweetest-honeybee]

Don't beat yourself up! Honestly, it's fine if a commission takes a little long, the last thing I'd want is the person I commission to stress themselves over a piece and getting frustrated. In my opinion I rather wait as long as possible for something that had time and effort put into it then receive a product the artist didn't have a good time working on!

I really appreciate it! It’s not for everyone to wait and that’s alright but genuinely, a lot of my best work comes out of patience and enjoyment. I put in a LOT of effort and fun details and take my sweet time cleaning up the piece when I know I’m gonna enjoy taking all that time to do it

Like hell, how I did the entire second version of that piece of the one oc and Frank? I had so much fun doing it and adding details that were harder to notice and taking the time to throw on some more layers to make a creepy one and I hardly minded taking that extra time to do it because I was in the zone and having fun 😌

[thisishwrworld]

what if I wrote a Silco x Reader slow burn where Reader becomes Jinx’s tutor while striving to gain a lecturer position at Piltover Academy?? yo anyway here’s like a little 800 word intro to reader and her backstory. should I continue workshopping this?

“I believe there’s a better way to complete this,” you say quietly to the student in front of you as you point a manicured nail to problem three on the worksheet. All you get in response is a heavy sigh. A mop of curly brown hair falls into growing hands as the boy flops onto his desk with dramatic effect. A pencil rolls, clicking along the way as it falls off the desk. A quick swipe of your hand has it back in place next to the boy’s elbow.

“But Professor, I don’t know how else to do it,” the boy bemoans.

“How about using L’Hopital’s rule, what you’re doing right now is equivalent to high treason of mathematics,” you point to the boy’s equation sheet. Slowly and with perfect restraint, the boy turns his head and shoots you a withering look. God, how could a child of fourteen produce such distain for one math concept. Gesturing with your hands, he finally picks up his pencil and begins scribbling.

You begin a turn about the room so as not to hover and overly critique your student. Passing fine wood furniture and buttery soft drapes laid over partitioned windows. Windows overlooking the Undercity’s promenade and a view of Piltover across the river. Soft scribbles bounce off wallpaper. You gaze into the eddies of the river.

A voice calls your name from the adjacent sitting room, “could I have a moment of your time?” You hum a confirmation and begin to move. Walking through the room you check over the boy’s shoulder and give a soft squeeze as you see the progress you were hoping for.

As you enter the green themed sitting room, you’re hit with a sense of unease. Your employer never looks this restrained, usually she’s a little chatty and all too kind when offering refreshments. Now she seems a little stoic. A hard crease in her brow. You already know what’s coming. You’ve had it happen so many times. There the words are.

“I’m going to have to let you go.”

You sigh disappointedly, but can’t blame anyone, not even yourself. At least it’s never your fault.

“You’re a great teacher to my son and I’ll be eternally grateful for it.”

They always acknowledge you’re a proficient lecturer. You simply give a slight nod. Disappointment and even a little anguish show on your face. It’s horrible for you, to meet, teach, and even befriend tens and tens of students. Only to have families eventually fall on hard times. The first expenditure to cut is almost always education. If it isn’t the first, well it’s got to at least be the third. The woman looks almost pained in her sorrowful expression. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a client so distraught. She realizes that her son won’t make it to Piltover and beyond without a continuing education. But she just can’t afford it.

“I—“ she starts to say from her green recliner. You raise your hand softly and give a slight nod. It’s alright, is said in the soft tilt of your brow and a closing of the eyes, I understand. The woman screws her eyes shut and exhales.

“I can keep you on until next week,” she pushes out. You hum softly in response. Now the job hunt begins. Or else you’ll miss rent this month. You give a bigger nod of your head, a few strands falling from your up-do as you turn back to the dining room to finish the lesson.

Even quieter now she calls, “I do have work for you though.” Your head whips back, so she isn’t firing you?

“No,” she shakes her head at the question in your eyes, “I know of someone looking to hire.” You hum noncommittally, maybe she’s just trying to be nice after doing the equivalent of throwing you out into the river.

“I appreciate it. I’ve loved tutoring your son and he’s made such progress. I’ll formulate a lesson plan that you can homeschool him with for the foreseeable future,” you offer softly as you inch closer and closer back to the dining room.

“I’ll give you the address of the individual looking for a tutor,” the mother offers softly. You whisper your thanks and leave the green sitting room behind. A dark cloud hangs above you as you run through your finances in your mind. This was the worst time for this to happen, you really shouldn’t have bought that new dress last week.

Time feels as if it flies by as you finish the lesson and begin to gather your notes and textbooks. A slip of paper slides across the oak wood table as a manicured hand comes into view.

“Here’s the information for the open position,” she offers. As you peer down at the paper, only threes words are scrawled upon it.

“The Last Drop.”

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Can you write something with caddie reader and Rafe going to the country club and booking her as caddie? thankss

Pardon my terrible golf knowledge...

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

The written duty of a caddie-girl is to carry the golf bag for the golfer. Although it sounds like an easy job, you are required to have a little golf knowledge…and let your mini skirt do the rest as people who golf at the country club are mostly men.

They won’t mind if you give them the wrong club as long as you giggle when you make a mistake or wear a short enough skirt. It’s pretty degrading and objectifying for women, but rich men give nice tips.

‘’I’m so sorry, Jeff. My alarm didn’t go off and my car wouldn’t start,’’ you explained in a rush to your boss, out of breath from running to the country club. ‘’It won’t happen again, I promise.’’

‘’You’re an hour late, Miss. Y/L/N. Your 9am client is waiting.’’ Jeff raised his eyes from his computer screen, looking at you with disappointment.

Shit. You didn’t think you would have a client so early in the morning.

‘’He specifically requested you for caddie, so save your apologies and excuses for him.’’

It must be Mr. Barclay. You’ve seen him sitting at the country club’s bar two days ago, drinking an old fashioned with a fellow club member. He always requested you as caddie. He said you reminded him of his granddaughter. You didn’t know if you should be flattered or disgusted.

You quickly dropped your personal stuff in your locker and headed to the golf course while rehearsing your apology monologue. It wasn’t in your habits to be late. Hopefully Mr. Barclay will be understanding.

When you got to the course, you searched for a silver fox, but instead you found a tall young man with a snapback and white glove in his right hand.

‘’There you are!’’ he said in exasperation, slinging his golf bag over his shoulder and walking to you.

‘’Rafe?’’

He clicked his tongue and shook his head. ‘’It’s Mr. Cameron for you,’’ he corrected with a shit-eating grin on his stupidly handsome face.

‘’You’re my 9am client?’’

Rafe hummed, his eyes scanning your body and smiling smugly when he saw your small skirt and tight polo. It hugged your curves in all the right places. ‘’Bet you were expecting some rich daddy, uh? I’m sorry to disappoint you.’’ He leaned closer, speaking the next words low enough so only you would hear them. ‘’If you want, you can call me Daddy Rafe.’’

You choked on air. Today was going to be a long day.

‘’Driver, please?’’ Rafe requested, when you arrived at the teeing ground.

You fished the right club from the bag and handed it to Rafe. ‘’Here.’’

‘’Thanks, babydoll.’’ He took the club and moved up to line it with the ball, and swung, his muscles flexing.

You both watched as it flew over a hundred yards in the air. Not bad.

‘’Where’s Topper?’’ you asked. ‘’You usually play with him.’’

‘’Not today. I had other plans.’’ Rafe gave you the club back. ‘’Shall we go find the ball?’’

You spent the next two hours walking along the steep cliffs and hills of the country club's golf course, watching Rafe swinging golf balls and showing off. Unfortunately, you didn’t care much for the sport. You were more interested in staring at Rafe’s muscles flexing and admiring how great his ass looked in those dress shorts.

‘’Want to have a try?’’

‘’Are you sure? I’ve never played golf before.’’

‘’You can do the next tee. I’ll show you how.’’

‘’Golf is more technical than it looks. You don't just swing the ball and hope for the best. There's a lot of factors to think about — the stance, posture, ball placement, and rotation all have to be considered for the perfect swing.’’

‘’First, the grip. Put your left hand at the top of the club and your right hand below the left,’’ Rafe instructed.’’

‘’Good. Now, the position.’’ He situated himself behind you and you tried not to shiver as his hands slowly traveled down your arms until they positioned themselves to cover your own, grasping gently. You could feel goosebumps rise all over your body as you felt his steady breathing on your neck, looking over your shoulder with ease. ‘’Place your feet shoulder width apart and the ball should be inside the line of the big toe of your front foot.’’ He pushed your right heel out with his own foot. ‘’And you gotta bend your upper body from the knees and the knees slightly.’’

So many instructions.

You leaned forward a little while keeping your feet in the right place. ‘’Like that?’’ you asked, not sure if you were positioned correctly.

‘’Bend a bit more.’’ Rafe stepped back with a mischievous smirk, his warmth leaving your back. ‘’More. More.’’ You had a feeling that the position was wrong, but did as told. ‘’Perfect.’’ He swiped his tongue over his lips and hummed, admiring the perfect view of your ass.

‘’And now I swing?’’

‘’Not yet,’’ he said. ‘’I’m enjoying the view.’’

You straightened up immediately, catching what he was doing. ‘’Rafe!’’ you hissed with a glare over your shoulder.

He was laughing smugly. ‘’Can you blame me?’’

‘’Can you guide me again? I lost the position because of you.’’

This time, Rafe won’t make a fool of you. This time, he’ll be the one who gets played.

You took a deep breath as he moved to stand right behind you and resumed the same position he had you in previously. A soft breeze blew and you got a whiff of his expensive cologne. It reminded you of those mornings you had woken up in his bed at Tannyhill, wrapped in his sheets and covered in his scent.

Shaking that thought from your head. Focus.

‘’You’re picking up fast,’’ Rafe encouraged behind you.

‘’Do I?’’ you asked, purposely wiggling your hips against his pelvis.

You heard Rafe inhale sharply in response, his grip on your hands tightening. ‘’If you kept doing stuff like that, I might just have to take you right on the golf field.’’

Please do, you almost let slip.

At the next tee, you ran into Mr. Barclay and one of your co-worker. He was one of the newbies and seemed to be struggling with the golf bag.

‘’Mr. Barclay, hi,’’ you greeted politely. ‘’How’s the course today? We’ve made new additions this year.’’

The older man greeted you back with a smile, then began ranting about how his caddie wasn’t as good as you at the job. ‘’I asked for you at the caddie shack, but I was informed my favorite caddie-girl was already booked.’’

Rafe stepped in, faking an apologetic smile. ‘’That would be because of me. My apology.’’

Mr. Barclay stared you down like you were a piece of meat and then shifted his eyes to Rafe, giving him a ‘lucky you’ kind of look before leaving with his caddie.

‘’Are your other clients all old perverts like him?’’

Most. ‘’He gives me good tips,’’ you said in defense.

Rafe pulled out his wallet, then stared you right in the eyes as he stuffed a crumpled hundred dollar bill inside your bra. ‘’I do too.’’ 

—

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[becauseimanicequeen]

RANDOM THOUGHTS: Deep Night ep. 7

The preview for this episode showed that a lot of focus will be on Wela (and, therefore, also Khem). I do hope I get some throuple moments as well. I mean, we just got a Seji and Pan kiss last episode (a kiss Ken saw) so there has to be some reaction to that in this one, right? Please, show, don’t disappoint me on this front!

I knew that girl would come back and bite everyone in the ass (not literally, though that would’ve been more fun to watch…).

The way James is standing between Great’s legs… I’m kind of annoyed we’ve only gotten crumbs of these two.

Seriously, iQIYI. Will you ever sub text messages and social media posts/comments? I won’t hold my breath, though…

Well, look at that! More Great and James crumbs! It’s funny how much I love them compared to the minimal crumbs we’ve been getting.

Fuck me! I’m 11 minutes into the episode, and this series is seriously making me fall in love with Seji and Pan’s relationship. So much so, I (of all people!) am questioning the thruple?! Hey, show, don’t fucking do this to me! I want poly! I need poly! Give me what you’ve been promoting, for fuck’s sake!

I don’t want to sway… *rocking back and forth*. I don’t want to sway… I need to calm down…

Btw, Seji is looking so fucking fine.

The way Seji hesitated before he said Pan was his boyfriend when he talked to Ken…

Poor Wela. His life is falling apart just because he wanted a job that paid well enough to pay off his dad’s debt.

At least he has Khem as emotional support.

Lol, people really have nothing better to do than take sneaky photos of others and whisper behind their backs. That’s so tragic…

Well, if that teacher was still Porsche’s daddy in Playboy, he would frequent the Deep Night Club for sure. As the teacher here, though?

Damn, Seji and Ken’s new routine looked like they were rolling around in the hay.

Hey, mom, where’s your girlfriend?

There she is!

Freya saying she’s old is the most bullshit thing I’ve ever heard in this series. It’s even more bullshit than all the verbal diarrhea coming out of Khem’s aunt’s mouth every time she shows up… Freya is anything but old.

All this talk about Pan and Seji eating each other but not doing it is killing me.

Oh, here goes!

Fuck, they were interrupted…

The way Seji stepped in front of Pan and the way Pan is hiding behind Seji! Why is this series doing this to me?!

Why the fuck are they standing on that table or whatever while the others are standing on the floor questioning them about their relationship? That’s so weird.

James is basically suggesting poly without actually suggesting poly. I love this man. He and I are on the same page (even though this episode is giving me whiplash).

OMFG! Not Khem showing Pan a threesome! (Even though it’s pixilated as hell, it looks like a scene from Playboy, doesn’t it? The one with daddy Aob, Puen, and a client.)

Pan said he didn’t want it, but I swear, he’s thinking about it.

Wait a fucking second! Is he actually thinking about it? As in fantasizing about it?!

OMFG! Yes. Here’s Ken too!

I swear, if Pan ends up doing what I kind of joked about him doing, I’ll go to heaven faster than a fucking rocket.

Shirtless Seji!

Shirtless Ken!

Shirtless Pan!

I fucking love that Pan fantasizes about him being the center of this throuple. It could also be how it actually turns out, though.

Thank every higher power that I’m back on the throuple train again!

What? Freya?! I thought they were girlfriends…

Khem taking care of Wela is my favorite Khem. A little emotional support can go a looooong way.

Come on Khem, teach your mom a thing or two about love.

I get Freya, though. If we ignore that she’s only using lame excuses not to be with Meji… Sometimes it’s easy to be accepting of others (like Freya accepting that Khem likes another boy) but not be as accepting of ourselves (like her own feelings for another woman). It’s a good thing Freya had Khem to reassure her that it’s okay to love, no matter who it is.

All three in the throuple seem to be having a lot on their minds. Is the throuple finally throuple-ing? Are we finally getting some real progress here?

Wait, why is Great sitting on the floor and drinking by himself? Is he afraid to tell James what he wants (considering James’ comment earlier in the episode)?

Khem is Ticketmaster in the flesh, handing out tickets for the club’s re-opening.

They are deliberately hiding the throuple from the preview, right? Showing just a little bit would spoil the whole climax, wouldn’t it? Or am I just being delulu enough to actually expect poly in the next episode?

Honestly, the only thing I remember from this episode right now are the throuple moments. The moments between Pan and Seji in the beginning, James and Khem hinting at poly, and then Pan actually fantasizing about it (and getting a boner). They better fucking make it happen in the next episode (since it’s the last one).

It’s a good thing I think my clown car is pretty and smells much better than a Wunderbaum air freshener…

[too-many-pockets]

Dreykov’s Daughter

(Part one)

Kara Danvers/Zor El x Red room reader

My first post guys :DD Lemme know if you want me to continue or any requests. I’ve never posted anything I’ve written before so I hope you guys enjoy :) I might post some of a book I’m writing as well

“Kara Zor-El.”

Your father spoke. “A client of ours wants her dead. I’m putting you on the job.” You nodded, you were the best widow of your generation and you knew it. Your father knew it. “She’s a kryptonian, an alien from another planet. Our weapons won’t hurt her, so you’re getting new ones.” He slid two daggers and a loaded gun across the desk you were both seated at.

“Is that all?” You asked curiously. “Do you need more?” Dreykov’s tone was condescending and there was nothing you hated more than disappointing him. When you disappointed him you were punished. Harshly. You quickly grabbed the weapons and shoved them in your belt. “No sir. Where will I be stationed?” You asked, wanting to get him out of this mood. “National City, Los Angeles.”

“I know you won’t disappoint me.”

— — — — — — — — — — — —

Kara was smiling as she returned to the DEO having just busted a renowned jewel thief when she ran into her sister. “Alex! Did you hear about that jewel thief I busted?”

“Yeah, great job Kar.” Alex was hovering over a few papers on the desk. Kara walked over.

“What’s that?” She hummed curiously. “Some sort of organization, not a lot of information.” It must have really been a tough case because Alex was doing that thing she always does when she’s stressed.

“Want me to try to check it out?” The blonde offered, “I have some free time.” Alex signed. “I would if there was anything to check out, but we don’t have one possible location! It’s like this place doesn’t even exist!” The kryptonians sister pinched her nose. “Well what’s it called? Maybe Lena knows something.”

“The red room.”

— — — — — — — — — — — —

You had spent weeks training the guard schedule of the DEO so you knew at exactly 4:02 am you would have a three minute window to get inside the heavily guarded building and into a vent to hide until further notice, which is exactly what you did. Currently you were hiding in said vent above a somewhat spacious quiet room that the alien used to communicate with a hologram of her mother, at least as far as you were aware. You blew a strand of h/c hair out of your face. It had been a few hours and you were starting to get clammy. You were used to having to wait during missions, but that doesn’t mean you liked it. You wished Kara would just come in already, you wished you could just get this mission over with so you could go home. Home? The red room wasn’t home, not really. It was all you knew. The only thing you knew, and you wouldn’t let the man who saved you down. Not now, not ever.

After what felt like hours, the blonde kryptonian entered the room, seemingly outraged at something if her storming around was any sign. Your hands curled around the handle of the knife you were provided, posing it in a way that would make it easy to plunge into her pretty little chest. Despite your elation, your face showed not a hint of emotion, just as you were trained to. You noticed Kara begin to yell at the hologram. How pitiful, you thought, to be so controlled by your own emotions. You silently opened the vent and dropped onto her shoulders, covering her mouth.

“Mmh!” She yelled against your hand and grappled to grab your legs. In response, you press the slightly green glowing dagger against her neck.

“Stay quiet, princess.”

You pushed the blade further into her neck, threatening to draw blood. She lifts her hands in surrender and you hesitantly uncover her mouth.

“Who are you?”

She says quietly and as calmly as she can. Climbing off of her shoulders and standing behind her, you answer.

“The last thing you’ll see.”

Suddenly, the blondes sister burst through the door.

“Kara it’s not-“

She stopped at the scene in front of her. You silently thanked yourself for making a mask. You cut Kara just above her collarbone before bolting through the door. Behind you you could hear Alex run to her sister. It wouldn’t be long before the whole DEO was on your ass, and that wouldn’t be good. Your father always said ‘failure is forgivable, to be captured is not.’ You ran straight into the chest of Hank Hanshaw who grabbed your arms and wrenched them behind your back, kicking you onto your stomach. You bite your lip to hold back a scream. No. You cannot fail. You can not fail. He won’t forgive you, your father won’t forgive you. You don’t dare show your fear. That’s rule number one of the red room. Alex quickly appeared and pressed a gun to your head, you heard the safety click off.

“What the fuck did you do to my sister?” She growled. She roughly grabbed your face and held it up so you would meet her eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” You wheezed in response. She kicked your face. Feeling the blood enter your mouth, you spit it on her collar. That was the last thing you remembered before you were knocked out.

— — — — — — — — — — — —

[maywrites264]

Clock Out [Charisma House Fanfic]

About

- Has Kaname in it.

- Basically my idea for what would be a season 3 premiere.

- Shu Matsubara please consider me as a cowriter for official Charisma House episodes /j

- I have not watched every single episode of the series so if some stuff is wrong. Too bad I guess.

- Updates every Sunday

- Content Warnings: Um…none, I guess? Unless you count a somewhat intense argument between a mother and child? Also pedophilia is mentioned in (1) line.

Navigation

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 1 (Order Up!)

Working at a full time job can be a huge commitment for someone, as they would spend most of the day working rather than engaging in hobbies or things they enjoy. For Kaname Maeno, he was up for the task of taking a job to better his life. He only lived with his mom before starting work, and was an unemployed high school graduate with no interest in any higher education, as he’d much rather be playing video games in his room than doing anything else.

His mother was disappointed, because she knew her son had potential, he just wasn’t using it. Perhaps employment could be the key for him to get out of his hikikomori lifestyle. He could make friends at work, and seek higher opportunities once he makes a stable enough income. But of course, this is not the way things went. At least, not at first.

It had been about a week since Kaname started working at the café known as Caralatte, and it wasn’t super great in his experience. As a waiter, he had to take every order with a smile, but secretly hated every second. It seemed like every customer went out of their way to ignore him, whether it were the teenage girls thinking he was the most adorable little thing, or the old perverts who wanted to get close to someone who looked like a little boy.

But yesterday was somewhat pleasant…or at least it was better than the previous days. Kaname saw a face that he never met before, a boy who seemed to be around his age, with short black hair and an orange outfit. This person looked relatively normal, but he was prepared for the worst.

As the other waiters were busy with other customers, Kaname waltzed towards the peculiar man, praying that there would be no complications or complaints. He took a deep breath and flashed his usual fake smile. “Hi, my name is Kaname Maeno, and I’ll be your waiter for today. What will you be ordering?”

The customer smiled mischievously and tapped his fingers against the table, which Kaname saw as an obvious bad sign. Nevertheless, the mystery man didn’t make an impression that he’d cause too much trouble…until he started ordering.

“I’ll have a chocolate cake, a strawberry sundae, some caramel custard, a lemon meringue pie, 6 sugar cookies…” Jesus Christ…was this man ordering for a party? Or would he eat this all by himself? It seemed like this man was ordering faster than Kaname’s hand could write down, and just as it seemed like he finished, there was much, much more to write down.

Miraculously, the constant orders suddenly ended, giving Kaname (and his poor hands) a breath of relief. “W-will that be all, sir?” he asked, trying not to go insane from what he just witnessed.

“I’ll also have some ice cream, because today is my birthday,” the strange customer requested. Kaname sighed heavily, hoping the chefs won’t pass out from the intense amount of items they’d have to make in such a limited amount of time. Even the other clients looked at this man in shock, but he didn’t seem to care a bit.

“Alright, your total will be…uh…¥760,860…do you want a receipt?” Kaname asked, struggling to keep his polite tone at this point. In response, the client shook his head and laughed, acting like he could afford all this? Of course, to the struggling waiter, this was another gluttonous rich kid, just trying to test his limits. If he didn’t get a good tip, he’d be pissed.

After about two hours, all of the items the bizarre man ordered were ready. Kaname was prepared to hear a long rant about how the chefs took too long, or how something was undercooked, or some other outrageous complaint as he served the customer his food, but all he received was a “thank you”.

…huh? This was odd…it seemed like every other person he had to serve was rude and unpleasant, but this was the first time he heard a “thank you” from someone he had the “pleasure” of serving. Kaname tried not to hide his shock, but did seem a little embarrassed. He figured he’d at least show his gratitude, it was the least he could do in this situation, anyway.

“It’s my pleasure to serve you tonight. Have a happy birthday, sir.” As Kaname walked off, it was getting closer to closing time, and the amount of people looking for a sweet treat slowly decreased. He looked towards the window, seeing all the stars swirl across the sky…perhaps, it was a sign that the night was going to not be filled with pain. Maybe, for once, his mother wouldn’t have to yell at him for not going to work, or he wouldn’t have to be so angry. At least for tonight, things felt normal…

Fumiya walked to the Charisma Sharehouse with a smile (and some crumbs) on his face, fully knowing that it was not his birthday and had tricked the waiter into giving him a slight discount. He didn’t think much of it, it was basically routine for him. Just as he was about to make a right turn on the next street, he overheard an intense argument coming from a nearby apartment.

“You always come home from work so angry, why not put a smile on your face?”

“Smile? What is there to fuckin’ smile about? I spend at least seven hours every goddamn day puttin’ on this fake smile only for people to harass and berate me!”

It didn’t seem super important to Fumiya, who cared about the drama of someone they didn’t know? However…one of the voices seemed familiar, which pulled him in to listen closer.

“You have to understand that work isn’t always pleasant, sweetie. And besides, you only started recently. Who’s to say that you won’t end up liking it in the end?”

“I’m to say! And I hate this shitty job and everyone I’ve met here!! And you wouldn’t even care, because you just want me to make money, don’t you? So I can be a good member of society like everyone else?”

Eventually, Fumiya decided to pull himself away, but not before he heard a scathing “I hate you” from (what he assumed to be) the son directed towards his mother. But the Charisma of Good and Evil just decided to shake it off, it wasn’t that important…but that simple phrase stuck in his mind, “I hate you.” It kept circling in his mind, with the bearer of those words reminding him of the nice waiter he met earlier that day.

“I hate you.” “I hate you.” “I hate-”

PPPPPPPPPPPPPP! The sharp sound of Rikai’s whistle interrupted Fumiya’s muddled thoughts. “Itou Fumiya, if there is one thing you should not do, it is enter the house with crumbs on your face! Go grab a napkin and clean it up!”

Of course, Fumiya’s first instinct was to question what he did wrong. “Hmm? Why?”

“Because it is not sanitary to leave pieces of food on your face! What if one of the crumbs falls off and it attracts a bug?! Then our house will become infested, and they can easily reproduce at any moment! So, I am kindly requesting you to clean it up!” Rikai complained, readily pulling out his whistle to blow again.

Not wanting to have his thoughts interrupted again, Fumiya grabbed a napkin and cleaned the crumbs off his face, but Rikai noticed that the former had a strange expression while doing it. “Is everything alright, Fumiya-san?”

“Everything is fine,” replied Fumiya, not in the mood to discuss what he heard while walking home.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Rikai felt like the youngest Charismatic was lying, which wasn’t a surprise, because Fumiya lied like he was getting paid a million dollars every time he did so. But this specific lie felt particularly strange, because he wasn’t the type to seem bothered by anything. And yet, Fumiya was clearly bothered…

“No, something is wrong. Fumiya-san, you must tell me what it is,” Rikai requested, hoping that at least some clues will be given.

“Nothing is wrong at all,” Fumiya answered, keeping his nonchalant facade intact.

“Something is wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“No, something is wrong.”

“Nope, nothing is wrong.”

The two went back and forth with each other for a few minutes, before a small voice interrupted. “E-excuse me…” It was Ohse, nearly curling up into a ball out of embarrassment.

“Ah, Ohse-kun! You haven’t come out of your room all day!” Rikai was pleased with the fact that Ohse finally decided to check in on the others for the day. “What brings you here at this hour?”

Ohse seemed nervous, repeatedly stammering over his words for a few minutes before Rikai and Fumiya assured him that he could say whatever he wanted. “I-is it okay if my friend stays over for a bit?”

Fumiya seemed oddly pleased by this question, with another (at least temporarily) resident of the house to break up the flow of the daily routine. Rikai, however, grimaced immediately after Ohse made his request.

“After the last time we had someone stay over, I’m not too keen on letting anyone stay for an extended period of time.” Rikai paused after seeing Ohse’s disappointment. “Can you inform us on who this person is?”

This question made Ohse even more anxious, not sure if Rikai would approve of his answer. “Well, it’s someone I met online, but-”

Rikai immediately huffed in disgust, not letting Ohse finish his statement. “Someone you met online?! Don’t you know how dangerous the internet can be?!?! You can be scammed, or doxxed, or kidnapped! Ohse-kun, I surely do not approve of this behavior!”

“Wait!” Ohse interrupted, before the Charisma of Order could go on another long rant. “I may not know his full name, or have seen his face…I’ve only heard his voice, but we have spent multiple hours in games together, and we have been in voice calls and…and…he made me want to live just a little bit more…” He took a deep breath before continuing. “He got into an argument with his mom and said he just needs a few days in order to fix things, just please let him stay…!”

Argument with his mother? Fumiya thought. No, surely this couldn’t be the person he overheard saying “I hate you” to his mom, right? …right? He looked over at Rikai, who shook his head in anguish.

“Alright…but we need to make sure that our house is completely spotless for our new arrival,” Rikai demanded. “When is he coming?”

“Um…tomorrow…”

“TOMORROW?!?!?!” Rikai entered a state of panic, knocking on every door in the house in order to initiate a group cleanup session. Most of the Charismatics were not thrilled to suddenly be called into cleanup, but Iori was absolutely ecstatic!

The night was long and filled with yelling and arguments, but the members of the sharehouse managed to clean up just in time for their guest.

The next morning, the doorbell rang, with everyone at once rushing over to greet the new (temporary) resident. However, one of them wasn’t expecting who this guest would be…

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you all. My name is Kaname Maeno.”

Charisma Charge: Success

[percontaion-points]

Client No 5 chapters 7 & 8

This book review contains discussions of SW; reader discretion is advised

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Chapter 7

“Let’s get all this junk off your face, shall we?” Scott said. 

“What?” 

“Your makeup. I’d like to see your actual face.”

[...]

“I’d much rather suck your cock,” I offered, hoping to dissuade him. 

He gave a half-smile but shook his head. “All in good time.”

This dude is honestly so gross. I think that he would have had a better time trying tinder or literally any other dating app. 

I know that this is supposed to be a romance novel, and thus, Ally ends up falling love with him for the HEA, but at the same time… It would honestly serve him right for intentionally crossing so many boundaries with a woman that he’s hired for sex. 

“Is Ally short for anything?” he whispered, looking into my eyes.

“No,” I lied. My full name wasn’t for clients. It was only for my family.

Honestly, she should have picked an actual working name, and not simply her nickname that even her family calls her. 

“You know who I am. What I am. I’ve never hidden that from you. You’ve paid me!” 

Suddenly I was angry. And so was he. “You hide everything from me!” he said. 

I’m sorry, but you don’t hire an escort because you want long-term companionship. You don’t get to be angry that she won’t tell you her real name or a single thing about herself. 

This isn’t romantic, it’s weird and creepy. 

I strode out of the room without waiting for his response and, as I walked through the suite, I wrapped my half-wet hair up into a tight bun. The envelope was sitting on the table where we’d left it, and I grabbed it quickly before slamming the door behind me and leaving the hotel. 

That was the end of Client Number Five.

Chapter 7 summary: In the shower, Scott says that he wants to clean all of the make-up off from Ally’s face. She protests and internally tells the readers that her make-up is a shield between Ally and Allison. 

Then she randomly starts crying, for no real reason. She’s going to take her money and leave, but Scott convinces her to stay, watch a movie, and eat ice cream with him. So they do that, and then get into the tub when they’re done.

He wipes the make-up off her face then. Then he adjusts one of the tub jets so that it hits her in the right spot and gets her off. They bang. 

Scott then gets angry that she’s “hiding things” from him, despite Ally having made it really clear that she’s not here to fulfil his “girlfriend experience”. She gets out, throws her clothes on, takes the money, reminds him that he paid for sex not a date, and leaves. 

Chapter 8

“This is going to be the best job ever!” she said.

Chapter 8 summary: The plot with Scott now on hold, we move onto the side-plot of Amy, the desk clerk at the hotel Ally talked to several chapters earlier. 

The two of them meet up at a diner as promised, and Ally answers some of her questions about SW. She calls Todd because Amy is interested in doing this instead of working at the hotel. Todd agrees so long as Ally can also test the new girl out, since he’s been getting a lot of requests for girl/girl stuff. 

Amy and Ally then go to a sex shop, where they talk about dildos and anal beads. It’s nothing but a tedious filler scene. 

When they go to Todd’s apartment, they’re kind of put off because Zach is still there. He had a date, but she cancelled at the last minute. So the three of them go to Ally’s apartment, since Jamie is out with a client. 

Amy goes down on Ally at Todd’s instructions. After getting Ally off, Todd fucks her. Amy is kind of disappointed once it’s over that she didn’t get to cum, and Ally tells her that it’s how it is when you’re in this line of work. But Ally then tells Todd that if Amy did a good job, he should help her out here. So he gets Amy off, and tells her that she’s hired. 

[kuromochimi]

Paper Rings

Bonten!Ran Haitani x Reader

Part 1/2

Content & Warnings: angst to fluff, eventual smut (part 2), mentions of cheating (reader not involved) and previous toxic relationships

[Taglist form: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLScCF0aimw2uL5v47FX_HhgabxRUv34L64M6fhEj1ZGEmETLXw/viewform ]

2:47 pm. Another slow, uneventful day at the shop but the job pays the bills and you get a shit ton of free stuff from clients. It was worth sticking around. If there was one down side to working at this high end jewelry shop, it was the constant loneliness and pressure you felt whenever some person would walk in with bright eyes, hoping to find a ring for their partners. You never bothered lying to yourself and saying you didn’t want that for yourself because you definitely did but all the people you meet somehow disappoint you on the first date or do some bad shit that causes the break up. Now it’s been nearly 5 years since your last relationship and the things that happened, all the gaslighting, emotional exhaustion, cheating, and everything in between rendered you unable to find interest in diving into another committed relationship so far.

Your daydreaming was cut short when a tall, lilac haired, handsome man, presented himself in front of you. “Hi, sir! What are we lookin for?” Definitely a proposal ring. You were sure. He smiled before speaking. “I’m actually here to pick out a proposal ring” bingo. “Any specifics?” You asked. “If you have anything white gold, preferably pavé setting and a good 24 karat diamond center. Caught my girlfriend looking it up quite a few times”. You gave him a gentle nod before asking him to follow you towards the other section on the long display case. Very carefully, you fished one of the rings out before showcasing it in front of him. The ceiling lights maximizing the shine and glimmer of the expensive ring but once you glanced up at him, his eyes glimmered even more. He must really love the woman he’s about to propose to. “I won’t drag this longer. That ring is the one. I’ll take it.” He handed you his card while you handed him a couple papers to sign and he’s out the shop with a wide grin on his face. After a week or two, with just thirty minutes left for your shift to finish, a woman walks into shop. “Hey, I was wondering if you could do a refund for me. I have the card used to purchase it” ; “sure thing, ma’am, could you please hand me the card and give me a second” you politely asked. After encoding the details, your eyes slightly widened at your discovery. The name “Ran Haitani” appeared on screen. It was the man from a couple days ago. Was this woman his fiancé? Why was she returning the ring? If he got rejected, why wasn’t he the one returning it for refund? Since it was technically protocol for refunds for an item this expensive, you decided to ring Ran Haitani. He was the one who purchased so he must be the one to confirm.

“Hello?” He finally picked up. “Hi Mr. Haitani! It’s y/n from the jewelry shop a few weeks ago”. “Ah yes, hi, what seems to be the problem?” He asked “A woman is currently here now and she’s asking for a refund for the ring. I called to make sure. I don’t mean anything bad about this, it’s just protocol so if everything seems alright, I just need your confirmation.” The line was silent for a hot minute. “The woman, does she have straight, black hair?” You gave him a quick “yes” to confirm. “Don’t give her the refund ‘til I get there, please. And please don’t tell her I’m coming. Thank you” the call ended right after that. You went out again to make an excuse for the man. “Hi, ma’am! I’m sorry this is taking a while. For items this expensive, we have to process a lot of papers. I’ll do my best to expedite this for you.” She simply nodded and smiled back while checking necklaces and bracelets. Around fifteen minutes later, Ran walks in, the woman eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. “Ran?! Why are you here?!” Ran only walked past her and towards you at the counter. “Can I get my card back? And the refund too, I guess.” The woman hurried to ran’s side, tugging his sleeve. “Baby it’s not what you think. I just wanted to get another ring. I didn’t want to tell you because you’d feel bad. Please just believe me, I can’t lose you.” A deep chuckle escaped ran’s lips. “Don’t want to lose me for what? Because of the money? The privilege? Benefits? Fuck off” ; “I would never hurt you, ran. I love you.” ; “If you wanted another ring, why would you ask for a refund, not an exchange? And why do it behind my back?” Out of shock, it only just clicked in your head. She was planning on running off with the money once she receives the refund. “You bitch. Why did you snitch on me?” She was about to pull your hair when ran blocked her way. “Get out of here, you’re nothing to me now.” The woman had no choice but to stomp away in anger and embarrassment. “Sorry you had to see that drama” he forced a laugh. “It’s.. that’s okay. I’m sorry too. I’ll have your refund ready in a few minutes” he nodded and took a seat on one of the couches. “I’m sorry, Mr. Haitani, the system seems to be down, just a couple minutes more.” Just as you were about to head back into the office, a soft grumble coming from his stomach emanated the quiet shop. “That was unbecoming of me, sorry” he looked so worn out and on top of that, the woman he supposedly wanted to marry turned out to be a total fraud. You tried your best to not look at him with pitiful eyes. You don’t know what made you think it was okay to offer mediocre junk food to someone who looked so fancy but you just wanted to alleviate at least a little of this man’s problems. At least make him less hungry. “If you’d like, we have a small pantry at the back. It’s all junk food though. Nothing fancy” ; he smiled, sad but genuine nevertheless. “What makes you think I won’t like that?” 

That was how you ended up seated on kitchen stools, eating cheetos and twix bars with a man you barely knew. It’s a relief your shift also just ended so your replacement was at the front desk now. You learned that ran was with his girlfriend for nearly 7 years and more trivial information like how he hated pretzels or how he actually loved eating at convenience stores more than he did fancy restaurants. Checking the time, you realized it was nearing 8 in the evening and the shop was near closing. Ran noticed you. “Sorry for holding you up, it’s getting late, isn’t it?” ; “no no, that’s fine. Sorry this is all I could offer.” He stood up and dusted his vest of any cheeto crumbs before checking his phone. “You might even get in trouble for letting a customer in here” he raised his brow at you. “Well, if the customer just experienced what you just did, I can make all the excuses to justify giving you our best cheetos and chocolate” ; “anyway, thanks for this, really. I should make it up sometime” mimicking his movements, you also pushed yourself off your seat to dust yourself of any food crumbs. “I’ll head out first” he waved and left.

[all-the-names-are-taken-aaaaa]

Mess with me fine mess with someone I care about you are playing with fire

As mad and disappointed as Marinette got at her class, at Lila, at Miss Bustier, at Mr. Damocles, at Hawkmoth, hell even Gabriel, she never broke her rules.

Never ask personal favors from clients.

Never publicly use your training.

Never let them know about your wealth.

But staring at a crying Chloe Bourgeois who had stood in the rain for god knows how long waiting for someone to open the bakery, she couldn't help the snapping sensation.

"I didn't know were else to go." Chloe managed through her sons. Marinette calmly guided the broken girl to her room. Chloe had passed out before she could get across what had happened. Marinette hummed.

Picking up her phone Marinette paused briefly. "Hey M wha-" Marinette cut him off "I need the security footage of all of the mayors residents. I would do it myself but his daughter is passed out on my lap. I'll pay." The man on the other side is silent for a minute "my brother can get it quicker. No need to pay but could you consider a contract. Even just looking at it would be enough."

"I'm going to say it has something to do with a bet. Just make sure none of the more violent members of your family is there I'm not sure what you'll find." Marinette hums before hanging up. Grayson would probably do more that get the footage but a contract with them would probably be beneficial.

Chloe rolled over in her sleep. Marinette moves down stairs. Her parents turn to her. "I wouldn't be attending school today. I believe this mater should be dealt with first." Her parents nodded then continued to prepare for the day.

Marinette walks back upstairs before making another call. "Mr Watson terribly sorry to be calling at this hour." Audible shuffling "Mari Mari it's not a problem at all. Though you normally aren't up this early did you sleep any?" Watson asks. " yes and I quiet regret it. There's a situation. I need some assistance with a friend of mine"

" shit your talking like sherlock. I'll be there as soon as I can. I can't promise he won't tag along." Watson says hurriedly "I called ina faver someone will be there to get you in five." Marinette hung up. "Kaalki, Trixx"

"Yes" the two appear. "Kaalki full gallop" Trixx make an allusion of me sleeping on the couch.

"I am terribly sorry Mr Holmes. I only have clearance for Dr Watson. Actually you are banned from Paris because of the possibility of Acumatization." Holly explains. "You really expect me to believe that after she just called in not one but two favors." Holmes looks on unbelievablingly. " you'll find sir Miss Marinette is willing to pay for services provided. She is an active part in investigating Hawkmoth as you well know." Huffing Holmes sits down as Holly brings Dr Watson through the portal. "I thought she said she slept?"

"Doesn't counteract staying awake half a week. The girl is in miss Marinettes room once you have checked her I'll be ready to take you back."

Marinette stared at the ceiling it had been two hours since she found Chloe. Chloe had some bruising from falling on her way there. thank god. Chloe also had a respiratory infection dew to standing in the cold rain crying all night as it turned out.

Then there was the reason she was standing in the rain all night. Chloe had been kicked out for being gay. Weather or not it was true Marinette could only guess, but Lila and Alya had fabricated enough evidence to make it seem so.

Marinette turned toward Chloe. She could contact chloe's mom and hope for a better reaction. If she didn't get the reaction she hoped for she could always corner the woman in the business world.

But that could get messy and Chloe needs something more stable. "I'm breaking all sorts of rules today huh." Marinette hit her head on the desk. "Well I was planning to buy the building eventually anyway. I can hire a manager."

Chloe was still asleep at lunch time when Nadja and Bridget came by.

"Sorry I called you on such short notice." Marinette apologizes as she sets the plates down.

"It's fine. Your parents said it was important" Nadja states.

"Yes I have a story for you. Or rather a news collab. However I'm not sure how much you'll be able to use as we will have to get permission for some interviews. Here is all my recipes. I am asking one other reporter to help as a favor Miss Louis. I designed some dresses for her."

"This has to do with the school doesn't it." Bridget pales looking at the binder full of papers.

"I wish it was just that. There's more a lot more but I didn't have time to make more physical copies. Here's the computer version." Marinette hands the girls the flashdrives.

"Why didn't you bring any of this to me before?" Bridget asks.

"I was the main target so why would i?" Marinette shrugs.

The women left to do their respective jobs. No doubt Bridget would have the school under investigation be the time Marinette made it back.

"Hello Miss Amelia" Marinette greeted through the phone. "MDC it's good to hear from you. How is my comission coming along?" Amelia asks happily.

"It's ready to be shipped. I actually called for another reason. Your son is quite business inclined corect?" Marinette continues to write up a contract as she does the call.

"Oh yes but he doesn't seem interested in opening his own business yet." Amelia explains.

"I am starting a side project. I was wondering if he would be interested in it since it would be competitive with both the Agrests and the Mayor. I will be involving a few others his age. I can send over the contract by the end of the day" Marinette explains.

"I can certainly see. Thank you for considering my son in such a big project."

Marinette turned to the half asleep Chloe. "Here it will make you feel better" Marinette hands her some meds. "You need more rest after you eat."

"Do you know what happened?" Chloe asks after eating. "I do. Though I made sure to get those posts taken down before anyone else could see them."

Chloe looks up in shock. "Tomorrow we are going to get you some new things. Quiet frankly you spent to much time with Gabriel criticizing your clothes and I doubt you want to go back there while you are sick." Chloe nods before laying back down.

Next call would be Jagged. That would be interesting but that would have to wait till morning. Chloe would need to be awake.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Targets - ao3

- Chapter 3 -

Meng Yao wasn’t supposed to be for sale.

His mother had worked hard her whole life to make sure of it, refusing every offer for him no matter how tempting or how desperate their situation. He was a cultivator’s son, she told him, a sect leader’s; one day, he would return to his father’s side, and if he was going to do that, he couldn’t have his past be marred with scandal. He couldn’t have a slave contract, and he couldn’t have done any work as a whore – it was one thing to do odd jobs in a brothel, but another thing entirely to actually work on your back, and somehow, somehow, someone would find out, and he’d be ruined. They would know.

The only way for him to really make it is if he never did anything like that at all.

So when the cultivator – a real cultivator, from the looks of him, not one of the fakers they often got – walked into their brothel and asked for Meng Yao, his mother said no.

The man frowned, then turned to the owner of the brothel who shrugged, indicating that he was helpless. “The boy doesn’t belong to this establishment,” he said apologetically. “But if the venerated Immortal would prefer something more boyish, I can direct you to some of our more masculine girls, or to a neighboring establishment…”

His voice trailed off when the cultivator pulled out a large chunk of gold, about half the size of Meng Yao’s thumb.

“You can keep it all – if I get the boy, a room, and your word to tell no one else that either of us are here,” the man said.

“No!” Meng Shi exclaimed, but Meng Yao knew from the look on the brothel owner’s eyes that it was too late. This wasn’t a good brothel like the one they’d been in before – the one that had kicked them out when they decided his mother was too old and her health too poor – but a lower tier one, less rich and more desperate. A piece of gold like that was more money than all the girls put together would make in a year.

If they continued to refuse, the owner of the brothel would use force. There were the bully boys at the door – they would grab his mother and drag her away, grab him and throw him into the room, maybe tie him down, rob him of any ability to defend himself…

So Meng Yao put his hand on his mother’s arm. “It’s fine, Mother,” he said to her, hoping to offer comfort where there was none to be had, and then forced himself to smile at the cultivator. “How can this humble one best please the venerated Immortal?”

The man’s eyes flickered between them, and his frown deepened.

“The woman comes with us, same deal,” he told the owner, who nodded, eyes fixed on the gold, and never mind that both Meng Yao and his mother had now frozen in horror. There were women in the brothel who sometimes pretended to be sisters and might even be, it was a popular request by clients, but – his mother… “All right, where’s the room?”

“I’ll give you the best one in the house,” the owner said, tone fawning, and showed them the way.

By the time they were upstairs, Meng Yao was shaking like a leaf and his mother looked on the verge of weeping.

The moment the cultivator closed the door behind them, shooing the owner away, she threw herself onto the floor in front of him. “Venerated Immortal,” she said, begging, and Meng Yao averted his eyes, feeling rage build in the pit of his stomach. “Spare my son, please. I will do anything you wish –”

“You misunderstand,” the cultivator said stiffly. “Your son is safe – as are you. I’m not here for that sort of thing…boy, get her off the floor and seated somewhere, get her something to drink to calm her.”

Meng Yao got his mother into a chair, pressing some wine usually reserved for clients into her hand. By the time he was done with that, he was more puzzled than anything else, even the rage at his mother’s mistreatment fading away into confusion. “What does the venerated Immortal want?” he asked delicately, and the cultivator shrugged.

“I actually have no idea what I’m doing here,” he said frankly. “I received a message from my sect leader that told me to find and secure a ‘Meng Yao, son of Meng Shi’ from Yunping City, and when I asked around it led me to you. I was hoping you could tell me the reason.”

“Your sect leader asked for me?” Meng Yao asked blankly. “By name?”

Could it be – his mother had always said –

“You’re not from Lanling,” his mother said, wiping her eyes, expression back to fierce and calculating. “My boy is the son of the sect leader of Lanling Jin, not…”

She trailed off deliberately.

“Qinghe Nie,” the cultivator said automatically, and even folded his hands in front of him to salute – perfunctorily, but still more than most would bother with for a whore. “The message said only that you were in danger, and that I was to hide you until the sect leader could come pick you up himself.”

So it wasn’t his father, Meng Yao thought, disappointed, but still – a sect leader of a cultivation sect, knowing him by name? Sending a message from far away?

He had no idea what to think of it.

And so they waited, each one sitting awkwardly in their own place, as several shichen passed. It was already evening when there was a knock – at the window.

The window on the third floor.

The cultivator got up and opened it, and a large fierce-looking man carrying three children – one on each hip with an arm around them, and another seated on his shoulders, clutching to his hair like reins – wiggled his way through, shaking all the children off as if his arms were hurting the second his feet were on the ground.

“Is that him?” he asked, nodding at Meng Yao, and the cultivator nodded. “He’s young.”

“Thirteen,” Meng Yao said, and noted that it was probably older than any of the three children who were looking at him in fascination.

“One of Sect Leader Jin’s bastards, Sect Leader,” the cultivator reported, and Meng Yao felt something fall in the pit of his belly at the term one of. There were many like him, then – perhaps his mother’s optimism regarding his reception in Lanling City was as misplaced as her optimism in buying all those pointless cultivation manuals that he slaved over and which accomplished nothing.

“Well, that can’t be the reason, then, or the list would be thrice as long,” the sect leader said, frowning. “I’d even started wondering…no, it still makes no sense. Regardless, no point in waiting around here any longer – I saw two Wen patrols making their way through the city as I flew in, and I have no doubt they’ll find this place soon. We should be gone before they do.”

“If this humble one can ask, what is the honorable Sect Leader’s plans for my son?” Meng Shi asked, ducking her head demurely and looking up at him flirtatiously through her eyelashes, even as she leaned forward a little in a way that set off her shape to its best advantage.

“Oh no,” the sect leader said, and took two full steps backwards. Without the fierce expression on his face, he looked much younger – in fact, Meng Yao thought with wonder and maybe even a little disbelieving amusement, it seemed like this sect leader was most certainly still a teenager, and awkward with it, too. “No, I – I don’t – Gao Jianguo, do something!”

“She’s a whore, Sect Leader,” the cultivator said, rolling his eyes. “They flirt. It happens.”

The sect leader was bright red. The children were all giggling.

“Madame,” he said, bowing to her – an actual bow, respectful, not even the perfunctory dip the cultivator had given earlier, and he didn’t have to call her Madame, either. “Forgive me, I’m not…I don’t have much experience with women. My name is Nie Mingjue, sect leader of Qinghe Nie. I have reason to believe your son is in terrible danger if he remains here, and I intend to take him with me to a safe location.”

“What assurances do I have of his safety?” Meng Shi asked, and Meng Yao knew then that she intended to send him whether he wanted to go or not.

Not that he didn’t intend to go. Such an earnest sect leader, this ‘Nie Mingjue’…even if it was all a mistake or misunderstanding, which had to be what had happened, there were benefits that could be gotten here. If Meng Yao could become a servant there, learn cultivation, he could maybe save up enough to later go to his father’s side – no matter what they asked of him, it would be better than a brothel, especially one where the owner had already seen an indication of Meng Yao’s worth as chattel.

And yet…

“You have my word,” Nie Mingjue assured her.

“I won’t leave without her,” Meng Yao suddenly spoke up, and ignored his mother’s glare. He didn’t want to leave her here. He wouldn’t, not unless he was forced, which seemed likely, but he had to try his best. “If I’m in danger, then so is she. They might want to use her to lure me in.”

“That’s a good point,” Nie Mingjue said, which Meng Yao wasn’t expecting. He even nodded in approval at Meng Yao. “Very well, we’ll take you both with us. Gao Jianguo –”

“The amount I’ve already paid would be sufficient to cover any slave bond,” the cultivator said. His frown suggested he wasn’t happy about his sect leader’s actions. “There will be paperwork –”

“Only for me,” Meng Shi said quickly. “My son is free, and always has been.”

Nie Mingjue looked out the window, clearly calculating – two patrols, Meng Yao thought, this sect leader thought someone was hunting him down for some unknown reason – and then glanced at the two of them. He sighed a little, almost imperceptibly, before firming up his expression once more.

“Take Meng Shi and buy her bond,” he instructed the cultivator. “Collect anything she wants to take with her and take her back to Qinghe through safe routes. I’ll take Meng Yao with me and we’ll meet there.”

“What should I do with the ownership papers? There’s a tax for taking slaves out of the county, and people might notice –”

“Burn them,” Nie Mingjue said, and Meng Yao’s heart gave a sudden thrill of delight. “She can travel as a free woman. Make sure she sees a doctor, if she thinks she would benefit from seeing one, and cover the cost – I want her to arrive at the Unclean Realm alive and well.”

Alive and well, Meng Yao thought, even more delighted. That was a warning, no doubt about it – telling the cultivator not to take advantage of Meng Shi during his trip. And a doctor! With his sect leader ordering it, the cultivator would have to take her to a good one, not some phony sawbones, and she could finally get that cough of hers looked at…

Meng Yao would do whatever this sect leader wanted. Just for that.

(It was more than his father had ever done for them.)

“Can you handle flying with four boys?” the cultivator asked, frowning, and – flying? “Especially if you already came all the way from Qinghe, and through Yunmeng, you must be exhausted –”

“I’ll be fine,” Nie Mingjue said shortly. “He’s thirteen; he can stand on his own and hold onto me, arms around my waist, while I hold on to the others…hey, are you afraid of heights?”

That question was directed at Meng Yao.

“I don’t think so,” he replied, aiming for honest. It seemed to be what this sect leader appreciated, and Meng Yao was good at figuring out and catering to people’s likes. He’d have to exert himself especially this time. “But I’ve never gone higher than the fourth floor.”

“Well, you’re about to,” Nie Mingjue said, and his saber unsheathed itself and floated on the floor. “All right, everyone back on – you can introduce yourself in the air. We still have to make the ride back to the Lotus Pier, and I’m sure your parents are worried sick already, Jiang-gongzi.”

[mandoalorian]

The Nanny [Maxwell Lord x Dave York x F!Reader] SMUT

Summary: Dave York is cold and rough around the edges, but he’s all you’ve ever been used to. And you’ve never been opposed to the amazing sex that comes alongside working for him, as a nanny for his two young daughters. However, things seem to spice up when you’re requested to watch over none other than Maxwell Lord’s son, and the two meet in an unlikely situation.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: SMUT; threesome, unprotected piv, fingering, male receiving oral, female receiving oral, orgasm denial, creampie, cunnilingus, choking, slapping, use of handcuffs, use of vibrator (on Maxwell!), face fucking, degradation kink, voyeurism kink, praise kink, food mention, allusions to murder/missing person. The suburban murder daddy and my sexy capitalist boyfriend come with their own warnings ;)

Word Count: 7000>

Masterlist

REBLOGS ARE SO APPRECIATED. 💛

He was your best customer. You’d been a nanny for the York family for two years now, and Alice and Molly were sweetest children you’d ever worked with. They were good as gold, always doing their homework to the best of their ability, they had wonderful manners thanks to their parenting, and they played nicely together. However, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have a second motive for babysitting the girls.

Dave York was a single father. Despite being close to the family, you never asked what happened to Carol (his ex-wife/Alice and Molly’s mother), you assumed it was a touchy subject and quite frankly, none of your business. It did pique your curiosity though, how she had just seemed to vanish into thin air. It was unexplained, and you assumed it was hard on the family, especially the kids. Although Dave had been handling it quite well all things considered. It was strange to you, how they never spoke a word of her. She was truly an enigma. You saw her face in the very few family portraits that were peppered around the house, but that was all.

When Carol disappeared two years ago, Dave figured he’d need an extra pair of hands to help around the house while he was at work. You had your own place, sure, but you practically lived with the York family anyway. You had the mornings and early afternoons to yourself because Molly went to school, Alice got sent to daycare and Dave went to the office, but it was at night when he needed you the most.

You didn’t know where Dave went at night. He’d call you, once or twice a week on short notice, telling you he needed you to watch the girls. Whatever he was doing, he called it business, and didn’t explain it further. Dave was super accommodating to you, immediately telling you that you could just make yourself at home in his beautiful, extensive sized suburban house. He was like family to you. In fact, he was more. Dave relished in his own independence, but the truth was, he relied on you more than he’d like to admit.

You had your own room-- a soft, plush queen sized bed all to yourself. He even let you decorate. You smiled fondly at the memory of getting the girls to help paint the walls with you while their father was out on a ‘job’ one night. Your smile grew even wider when you remembered hearing the front door open in the early hours of the morning, and shuffling about downstairs. Every time Dave would come home, he’d slide into your bedroom and climb on top of you, smelling suspiciously like blood and sweat (although you knew better than to question it). His demeanour was ravenous and primal as he’d slide his thick, calloused fingers along your body. He’d push your nightgown up, squeeze your thighs, lift your legs up and wrap them around his waist. You were fucking him, sure. And you had been for the past two years. He was the most attractive man you’d ever met, with dark hair and big brown eyes. He was rough around the edges, intimidating, but it only spurred you on even more. Of course, nothing was ever made official. You were nothing more than his daughters’ nanny, just lucky enough to have your own bedroom in the York family home.

Dave was your only source of income, and he provided you with enough to get by. You never requested a large sum of money for watching the girls-- to be honest, you’d be satisfied enough with just the sex, but the pay was decent. You hadn’t really gotten any other babysitting jobs, and when you had, you’d deny them for the sake of keeping Dave in good spirits. You’d favour him over any client. Except today.

Your phone rang and you dived into your purse to answer it. The girls were playing on the floor and Dave was buttoning up his winter coat. “Hello?” you answered, not recognising the number.

“Yes, hello,” a feminine voice replied. “This is Raquel, I’m an assistant to Mr. Maxwell Lord, the CEO of Black Gold Cooperative.”

Your eyes practically bulged out of your head upon recognising the name. “The oil guy from TV?!” you gasped, slapping your hand over your mouth in disbelief. Dave turned to you, quirking an eyebrow as he tried to gauge your reaction.

“As you may know, Mr. Lord is an esteemed businessman and well, he saw your advertisement in the paper saying you were a nanny-for-hire.” Raquel trailed off before pushing straight to the point. “He has a son, Alistair, six years old. He was wondering if you could watch him tonight? We’ve tried every other nanny in the area but no one else can take him short notice.”

“I- I’m actually on a job right now…” you bit your lip nervously.

“Mr. Lord will pay handsomely.” Raquel hummed, trying to coherese you.

“Just a moment,” you placed your mobile on the coffee table and looked up at Dave, whose dark eyes were already burning into you. They hadn’t left you once. He gave you a questioning look and a shaky exhale left your lips. You didn’t know why you were this nervous -- maybe it was just the intimidating aura Dave gave off. “Uhm… you know that guy on the television with the blonde hair who sells oil?”

“Maxwell Lord.” Dave said, matter-of-factly. You were slightly impressed that Dave already knew who he was.

“Uh… yeah, well. He has a son, apparently. And he can’t get a sitter. And he’s asked for me.” Dave’s expression didn’t change once.

“And?” 

Why was your heart beating this fast? Why were you so fucking afraid of pissing Dave off?

“I-- nothing. You’re right. I’ll just tell him--” you stammered, reaching to grab your cell again.

“--tell him that you’ll take the job, I hope.” Dave’s lips curled into a smirk as he finished your sentence for you.

That was… weird. He didn’t seem jealous or anything like he’d usually be. He fiddled with the rest of his buttons on his coat before flicking his wrist out and checking the time on his watch.

“Are you-- are you sure?” you asked cautiously.

“Of course!” Dave beamed. “How old is the kid?”

“Same age as Alice.” you hummed.

“Perfect,” Dave smiled before kneeling down to kiss the forehead of his two little girls. “Daddy’s heading out now but there’s gonna be a little boy coming over to play with you. So be kind to him, okay?”

“Okay daddy, love you.” Molly smiled, wrapping her small chubby arms around her father’s neck.

“Love you too princess.” Dave chuckled and your heart gushed with warmth upon witnessing the interaction. Dave York might have been a scary man but he was a hell of a good father.

“Hi,” you said, picking the phone back up and putting it to your ear. “I can watch his kid but-- he’ll have to bring him here. Uhm… how long for?”

“One second,” Raquel hummed, holding the phone to her chest and looking over at the blonde haired businessman who was sitting at his expensive oak wood desk, neck deep in paperwork. “Mr. Lord?” Maxwell glanced up at Raquel, his eyes tired and a strand of his hair falling in his face. “She can do it but she requests that you bring Alistair over to the house she’s currently working at. And she wants to know how long she’ll have to watch him for.”

Maxwell sighed, exasperated, before looking back down at the paperwork and trying to gauge how long it would take him. “Three… four hours maybe?”

Raquel nodded her head in understanding. “Four hours max,” she promised you. “What is the address?” You gave her the address of the York homestead, watching Dave as he left the house without even muttering as much as a goodbye. Raquel scribbled down the address and handed it over to Maxwell who stood up and fixed his tie. “Thank you Ms Y/L/N, your service is very much appreciated.”

“Oh please just call me--”

And then the line went dead. That was… weird.

Maxwell grabbed his suit jacket and straightened out his clothes, grimacing at the ache in his back that he had from sitting at his desk all day. He shuffled out of his office, took the elevator downstairs, and found his son Alistair playing with a train set in the lobby of Black Gold Cooperative.

“Daddy!” Alistair cried out excitedly, shooting to his feet and running up to his father.

“Hi buddy!” Maxwell grinned, forcing out some enthusiasm as he knelt down and wrapped his arms around Alistair, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Are you finished work now? Can we go home?” Alistair quizzed, and Maxwell’s heart broke at the hopeful spark in his eyes.

“Ah-- not quite,” Maxwell admitted and Alistair’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. “But I’m going to take you over to someone’s house… a uh-- a friend! And she will watch over you until daddy finishes work. I just don’t want you to be bored, okay? Raquel is going home now and I can’t… I can’t watch you. So…”

Alistair frowned sadly. “But I don’t want to go… I want to stay here. With you.” he mumbled.

“I know sweetie, but I won’t be too late, okay? And once I’m done tonight we can spend the whole day tomorrow together. How does that sound?” 

“You said that yesterday…” Alistair whispered.

Maxwell sighed and pulled his son into an even tighter hug. “I-- I’m sorry. You know I’m doing my best, don’t you?”

“I know.” Alistair sniffed.

“And I want to give you the best life. Better than all the other kids. And better than what your old man had when he was your age. So… I have to work hard, okay? And one day you’ll get your pool that you want. And the pony and the race car…”

“I don’t want that daddy, I just want you.” Alistair confessed, his dark eyes glazed with unshed tears.

Maxwell pressed a kiss into Alistair’s forehead and pulled off him. “Okay. Go get your coat and I’ll pack up your trainset.”

“Can I take it to your friend’s house?” he questioned, his lips curling into a smile.

“Of course.” Maxwell replied.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Holy shit. He was even more attractive in real life than what he was on television. You weren’t necessarily nervous when you heard the knock on the door, but when you answered it, your heart slammed against your chest. Maxwell Lord stood before you, holding the hand of his son, but your eyes were just completely fixated on him. He donned a slightly oversized power-suit that broadened his shoulders significantly. It was a pale blue colour and even under the dark evening sky you noticed the lilac and purple tie and matching pocket square. It made you smile. It was endearing, almost.

“Good evening.” Max grinned that same, charming, TV smile that was so familiar. 

“Hi.” you sighed longingly, your eyes wide and doe-shaped as you became lost in his gaze.

He looked like a fairytale prince. His hair was styled perfectly and despite the hour, you’d never expected his designer outfit to be pressed so perfectly.

“I’m Max Lord.” Maxwell greeted.

“I know.” you hummed, biting your lip as your eyes trailed down his body.

Maxwell chuckled, finding you absolutely adorable. He cleared his throat and gently pushed a begrudgent Alistair in front of him. “This is my son, Alistair.”

“Yeah…” you murmured. Molly tugged on your arm and pulled you straight out of your thoughts about Mr. Lord. “Uhm-- shit! Right. Sorry!” you gasped, becoming flustered. “Oh fuck-- I didn’t mean to curse-- I just--”

Maxwell raised his eyebrows and gently placed a hand on your arm. “It’s okay.” he said slowly and you felt your cheeks flush with heat.

“Um…” you took Alistair’s hand and grinned. “Hi love, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Hello.” Alistair said quietly.

“Now Ali, don’t be shy.” Maxwell chastised.

“It’s okay,” you reassured Maxwell. “Uhm, this is Molly.” you presented Alistair and Maxwell with Dave’s little girl who had been standing by your side the entire time.

Alistair’s eyes lit up excitedly when he saw Molly. “Hi Molly, I’m Alistair Lorenz--Lord. Do you maybe want to be friends?”

“Hi Alistair Lord. I’m Molly York. Do you like popcorn?”

“Yes.” Alistair nodded merrily.

“Okay. We can be friends. Come with me.” Molly said, grabbing Alistair’s hand and pulling him into the house.

“I don’t have many friends…” you overheard Alistair say as the children padded into the living room and your heart shattered. He was clearly such a sweet little boy. 

“Uhm, thanks for the favour. Short-notice and all.” Maxwell said, clearing his throat and scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s honestly fine.” you assured Max.

“Okay. Good. It was uh-- nice to meet you.” Maxwell smiled, before taking your hand and brushing a soft yet polite kiss over your knuckles. His gaze didn’t break away from you once and the butterflies in the pit of your stomach were overwhelming. His soft lips against your skin felt like an electric and you couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel capturing your own lips with his.

“You too.” you gasped.

“I’ll… see you later tonight.” Max grinned, dropping your hand and straightening out his suit once more.

“Okay. Yeah. Tonight.” you replied nervously, fluttering your eyelashes.

“Good night.” Max said politely before spinning around on his heel and walking back down the lawn to his Cadillac.

“Night!” you called after him, and he waved his hand.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

As it turned out, Alistair was the sweetest little boy you had ever watched over. After Molly insisted you make popcorn, and Alice begged you to put on The Little Mermaid, the four of you were lounging on the floor in a hand-crafted pillow fortress. The conversations between the three children were endearing, to say the least.

Alice: Y/N, what do you want to be when you’re older?

You: Well, when I was little I wanted to be a veterinarian and look after all the sick animals.

Molly: That’s what I want to do!

Alice: I want to be a princess. 

Molly: What do you want to be, Alistair?

Alistair: I want to be like my dad, I s’pose.

Alistair didn’t talk much-- he definitely was shy and you could tell he wasn’t used to being around other kids, which was truly a shame. He didn’t have the communication skills that Alice and Molly had and by the sounds of it, he was living a pretty sheltered life-- private school and all. But if one thing was clear, it was how much Alistair idolised his father.

The kids played well together, all three of them dressing up as different Disney princesses. Before the movie even finished, they passed out and fell asleep on the floor. You didn’t bother carrying them to bed, not wanting to wake them. They looked comfortable enough in their LED lit castle made from blankets. So you just left them there, and changed into your own pajamas. You settled down for the evening with a glass of red wine and changed the movie to something you figured you’d enjoy more.

You found your mind wandering, thinking about the businessman whose son you were babysitting. In fact, you hadn’t even thought about Dave once. It was a welcome change. Maxwell was definitely gone for over four hours but he was so handsome, you absolutely could not stay mad at him for one moment. When the knock came at the door, at around 2a.m., you gasped and raced over to the mirror to fix your appearance the best you could. You grabbed your silk robe and wrapped it over your body before padding to the front door and unlocking it.

Maxwell greeted you with a bouquet of roses, and your jaw dropped. “Oh my--”

“These are for you.” Maxwell beamed. “An apology for being so late.”

“You really didn’t have too…” you smiled but graciously took the bouquet from him nonetheless. “Where did you even get these from? It’s so late. Nowhere’s open.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Maxwell hummed, watching you intently as you turned away from him to place the roses on the side table in the entryway.

His eyes clung to your body and he admired the way the silk robe hung against your perfect shape, emphasising the curve in your ass and even the way your nipples poked through the material. It was cold outside, afterall. When you turned back to face him, you noticed that his eyes were almost black and lust blown. You swallowed and offered him a nervous smile. 

“Alistair is asleep. Would you uhm-- like to come in? For a nightcap?”

“Yeah,” Maxwell’s response came instantly in a breathy sigh. He let himself in, pushing past you and his broad chest grazing against your own, much softer chest. “Nice place you have.”

“Oh… thanks. It’s actually not my home-- I mean, I live here but…”

“I used to live in this neighbourhood,” Maxwell muttered, nosing around the different rooms. “Before my big pay rise, obviously.”

You gulped and looked down, following him around the house. You opened the living room door. “Alistair is sleeping.” you whispered and Max just smiled. “The kitchen is this way. What do you usually drink?”

“Do you have whiskey?”

Yeah. Dave’s whiskey.

“Um yes… I think so…” you mumbled, checking the liquor cabinet.

You gasped when a strong arm wrapped around your waist and gave your hip a little squeeze. Maxwell nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and pressed a soft kiss into your skin. “Is it okay if I do this?” he whispered, licking a stripe across your jaw.

Your eyes snapped shut as you tried to fight back a moan. “Y-yes.”

Maxwell skillfully navigated his hand to the ribbon that binded your robe together and tugged on it so the thin material fell open. His large ring clad fingers rolled over your stomach and grabbed your tits, squeezing them a few times as he nibbled down onto your skin.

“Your wife… I mean-- uhm… Alistair’s mother?” you huffed, leaning into his touch. You had to make sure.

“Divorced.” Maxwell promised, and you smiled longingly before turning around and pressing your palms flat against his chest. He chuckled darkly and pushed the robe off your shoulders, letting it fall to the tiled kitchen floor.

He swallowed upon seeing you in your short lace nightgown, that cut off mid-thigh. He felt his cock began to throb within the confines of his tailored suit pants just from looking at you. 

“So… hard day at the office?” you cooed, helping him out of his suit jacket and tugging on his tie.

“So hard.” Maxwell grumbled, biting his lip before leaning in and capturing your lips into a kiss. You moaned under his touch and pressed your body into his. His hands found your ass you began to rub your knee over his erection.

“I see,” you giggled. “Would you… would you like to see my bedroom, Mr. Lord.”

Maxwell grinned and pecked your lips. “Yeah, but please, call me Max.”

Max. 

God, you were smitten.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You had been so caught up with Maxwell you had honestly forgotten about Dave. The same Dave who came home at around 3 a.m. every single night, who fucked you senseless until you couldn’t walk the next morning. He was a man who didn’t want to be messed with-- but shamelessly, you had completely forgotten about him. And poor Max hadn’t even got a warning. The second Dave got home and saw the discarded bouquet of roses on the side table, he saw red. Someone else trying to seduce you? That was never going to be okay with Dave. You were his and his only.

“Oh fuck Max please,” you gasped, thrusting your hips upwards as he needlily sucked on your clit. You arched your back, burying your face into your soft pillow. “So good.”

“You taste so fucking sweet.” Maxwell gasped, the curve of his nose nudging against your sensitive bud. You cried out with pleasure and grabbed a fistful of the blankets as you felt yourself begin to chase your oncoming high.

“Doesn’t she?” Dave’s deep voice came from the bedroom door, where he’d been watching Maxwell go down on you for the last ten minutes. Your heart dropped when you heard him-- and clearly, it was unexpected for Maxwell too. His chocolate brown eyes looked up at you as he tore his face from your soaking pussy. His lips were wet with the sheen from your arousal and he licked at them, relishing your flavour before turning around to face Dave.

Dave chuckled dryly. “No, please, don’t stop. I can't have you deny my nanny of an orgasm, can I?”

You felt your eyes go comically wide. “Dave I-- I can explain-”

“No need babygirl,” Dave reassured you, but his tone was dripping with malice. “Now… why don’t you show Mr. Lord how good you can be by cumming in his mouth?” 

Maxwell hummed in surprise and proceeded to press a sloppy kiss into the apex of your thigh before giving you a kitten lick between your folds. “Fuck!” you gasped, celebrating in the way his golden tongue felt like magic. He was a salesman, sure, and a persuasive one at that-- but Maxwell Lord knew how to use his tongue efficiently, that much was clear.

“Didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.” Maxwell growled, pinching your skin between his teeth.

“I don’t.” you sighed, tossing your head slightly and reaching down to lace your fingers into the CEO’s hair.

“So who is he?” Maxwell interrogated. You held back, knowing that if you replied he might stop lapping you up. It felt too good to risk it. Maxwell plunged a thick finger into your entrance without warning, causing you to squeal at the intrusion.

“Shit!” you cried out. Maxwell steadied his finger inside of you and began to brush the digit against your sweet spot as he began sucking on your clit, his cheek even hollowing. “I can’t-- I can’t hold on. I’m gonna--”

Your orgasm struck you before you could even get the words out. The hot blaze of wildfire rushed through your body and your mind was filled with such haze you hadn’t even heard Dave discard his belt and unzip his own trousers.

Maxwell dug his fingernails into your inner thighs as you came undone in his mouth. Gently, he pulled away from you again and stood up. His eyes followed Dave who was now naked and pumping his cock by the side of the bed.

“Who are you?�� Maxwell changed his tactic by asking the darker haired man this time.

“You’ll soon find out,” Dave shot back. He turned to you and raised his hand, slapping your cheek so you focused your attention on him rather than Max. Maxwell was taken aback by his action, but truth be told, sex with Dave was always on the rougher side. “Open your mouth.” Dave commanded, and you happily obliged.

Still laying on your back, you opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue. Dave pressed one knee down onto the bed next to you and pushed his cock in between your lips before fucking your mouth. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you adjusted to his length, and he thrusted into you with no remorse. You were used to it though, gagging around his girth and letting a mixture of your saliva and his precum dip down your face.

Maxwell’s eyes darted between you and Dave. He didn’t think he’d ever been this turned on before.

“Take your clothes off,” Dave said to Max, before groaning as you swiped your tongue along the underside of his cock. “Baby, why don’t you watch him undress.”

Maxwell stood up, even feeling slightly nervous. He shouldn’t be nervous. He’d hosted thousands of high press business meetings before, he’d even spoken at the White House and done broadcasts that had been seen by millions all around the world. He stood up and began to slowly undo the buttons down his shirt, and, just like Dave had requested, you watched him with a primal glint in your eye.

He was so hot. He wore an undershirt too. And when he took that off, it revealed a gorgeous tan chest. You watched him pull down his tailored pants and noticed the small pink blush cross his cheeks. That’s when you decided you actually, really liked Max.

You liked Dave too. Dave knew how to satisfy you in every way possible. He was always there, ready to go. And Dave was your protector. Somehow, you just knew that if anyone ever hurt you, Dave would make sure they never got the liberty of meeting you again. Dave was brutal, and certainly a little rough around the edges, but you didn’t mind it.

This thing with Maxwell though was new. He was handsome and polite. You’d never had a customer bring you red roses as a token of their appreciation before. He was flirtatious but also, so far, sex with him had been a lot sweeter and passionate. It was a new experience and you certainly weren’t opposed to it.

Once Max was completely naked, Dave’s lips curled into a smirk. “Good boy,” he cooed, and Maxwell felt his cock twitch at the appraisal. “You can use her, you know? Do whatever you want. Why don’t you fuck her?”

Of course the thought had crossed Maxwell’s mind, but he’d never got off with a woman in front of another man before. His delay in a response prompted Dave to speak up.

“I see you on TV,” Dave chuckled. “I know you’re not shy.”

That’s when Max remembered he had a reputation to uphold. Dave was right, he wasn’t shy. Maxwell Lord was powerful and he exuded confidence and charisma. He wasn’t going to let Dave intimidate him anymore.

You pulled off Dave with a wet pop and gasped for air. “He’s right Max,” you assured him, wiping your lips. “Anything you want.”

“I want a blowjob,” Maxwell shrugged casually. Dave quirked an eyebrow. 

“From me or her?” He asked incredulously and Maxwell felt his cheeks heat up even more.

“Her obviously!” Maxwell said, his voice heightening an octave and you burst out into a fit of laughter.

“Okay,” you agreed and gave Dave a tug on his dick. “Change positions.”

Still hard, Dave padded over to the end of the bed and Maxwell knelt next to you.

“You’re so big Maxie,” you hummed, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock and starting to jerk him off slowly. Your pace was teasing, but Maxwell didn’t press you to go further. He knew you would in your own time. The nickname ‘Maxie’ had the blonde haired man throb in your hands and you giggled, pressing a sweet kiss to his tip.

Dave turned around from the bed for just a second, and opened the bottom drawer of your dresser. He knew you kept a box of very special toys underneath all your panties, since he was the one who had bought them for you in the first place. Opening the velvet black box, he sighed in delight, reflecting on all the different things he could use.

Dave took out a pair of padded handcuffs and presented them to both you and Maxwell, the metal chain dangling before your eyes. He passed the cuffs to Max and pointed his finger.

“Tie her to the bed. It’ll keep her still while I fuck her.” Dave ordered and you felt your pussy clench around nothing as you anticipated what was to come.

“Are you alright with this?” Max leaned into you and whispered, wanting to be sure. His hot breath fanned over your earlobe and it sent a shiver down to your core. You nodded your head ‘yes’ and Maxwell unclicked the cuffs before carefully attaching them to your wrists, and then the bars of your headboard. You wiggled around, getting comfortable before spreading your legs wide for Dave.

You already felt yourself becoming increasingly sensitive from when you’d just come from Max’s tongue, but countless experiences with Dave meant that you could go at least another two or three times.

“Shit baby,” Dave muttered under his breath, drinking in the sight of you. Your folds were glistening and it was clear that Max’s thick finger had already stretched you open quite a bit. “You’re beautiful.”

“Come on and fuck me,” you moaned before turning to face Max again.

This entire time you’d been stroking his length, and like a good boy, he’d just been taking it. But Max had asked for a blow job and that was exactly what he was going to receive.

You started by giving him small kitten licks along his slit, collecting his salty precum on your tongue. You had to admit, he tasted delicious. He was thick though, thicker than Dave, and you managed to wrap your lips around just his head before feeling the need to take a moment to let your mouth adjust.

As you sucked on his tip, part of you wished that you weren’t cuffed to the bed. You would have brought your free hand down to the base of his cock and begin to cradle his balls, squeezing them and tracing your fingers along the skin there. The guttural whimpers that escaped Max’s throat were enough to soak your cunt again, which was just as well when you started to feel the bulbous head of Dave’s cock teasingly slide between your pussy lips.

The shock when Dave slid his entire length inside of you came without a warning, and somehow, it got you to open your mouth even wider so you could fit more of Max into your mouth. You supposed it all worked out.

The sound of the chain clanking against the metal bed frame filled the room as Dave began to thrust his cock in and out of you, his movements fast and rough just like always. He pulled your legs over his head, giving him complete access to sink himself right into you. You wanted to scream as he filled you up, his cock brushing against that sweet spot he had memorised inside of you every damn time.

Instead, you forced yourself to keep your cool and continued sucking off Max. You made the effort to open your eyes and look up at the boy who you had wrapped around your lips. His once styled hair was now disheveled and falling into his face, and you had to fight the urge to push it back. His chocolate brown eyes were on Dave though as he watched the man fuck you fast and hard. Dave’s pace was bruising and you knew that you wouldn’t last long.

Dave could tell you were close by the way your pussy walls clenched around him, aching to milk him of his seed.

“Want me to cum inside of you, pretty girl?” Dave asked, and you nodded your head desperately. 

“Jesus-- fuck!” Max gasped, his large ring clad hands coming down to hold your head in place. 

“You gonna cum down her throat, Lord?” Dave quizzed, but there was almost a taunting nature to his question that Max didn’t like one bit.

Getting a few more sucks out of you, Max doubled back and pulled himself out of your mouth completely, depriving himself of his own orgasm. You were surprised to say the least.

“You could’ve-- fuck-- you could’ve cum down my throat,” you moaned as Dave leaned over your fully exposed body and thrusted harder. “I would’ve let you.”

But Maxwell’s eyes had caught focused on the velvet black box Dave had left out. Curiously, he wandered over to it and took a look at the contents for himself.

While Max was momentarily absent, Dave made it his mission to get you to cum again. He brought his thumb down to your clit and began to rub tight circles into your sensitive bundle of nerves. You were so wet, the noises that were coming from your cunt were obscene and if you weren’t already so comfortable around Dave, you might have been embarrassed. His thrusts became sloppy and erratic as he started to chase his own high.

He knew that the second you came, the second your perfect pussy tightened around his cock, he’d spill inside of you. So that was his goal.

Maxwell familiarized himself with a small bullet vibrator, silver in colour, and switched it on. The buzzing noise alerted both you and Dave, your heads snapping to face him. Dave halted in his movements and you couldn’t hide the way your lips curled into a grin, seeing Max with the vibrator in his hand.

“Come here and untie me,” you requested of Max. Max gulped and removed the handcuffs from your wrists. You rubbed the skin where they’d been gripping you and took the vibrator from Max. “Have you ever used one of these before?”

“Huh?” Max asked, furrowing his eyebrows together. He’d initially planned on using it with you. Holding it against your clit while Dave fucked you.

You giggled and held the vibrator to the tip of Max’s cock. The vibrations ran through his body and his eyes snapped shut as the pleasure consumed him. How come he’d never thought of trying this before? It felt so good.

Dave resumed fucking you and now, with your free hands, it meant you could stroke Maxwell’s cock. The combination of the vibrator and your hand was enough to send Maxwell over the edge.

He came, all over your face, his milky white seed spurting out. His load was impressively big and you opened your mouth wide for him, hoping to at least taste some of it.

After that, it was like a chain reaction. Once Max had finished, the feeling of his warm cum dripping down your skin sent you into a frenzy and you came around Dave, your walls clenching around his manhood. The feeling of you gripping him tighter than a vice meant that on Dave’s final thrust, he spilled inside of you, just like he wanted. The heat of Max’s cum on your face and the warmth of Dave’s cum fill you up felt amazing. You laid there, panting and breathless, wondering how you had ever gotten so lucky.

You tossed the vibrator to one side and extended your arms, pulling Max down on top of you and pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “Was that okay?” you asked him, and he nodded his head, unable to hide the grin across his lips.

“Never done anything like that before,” Max admitted bashfully. “But I’d like to do it again.”

Helping Maxwell explore his sexuality like this could be really fun, you thought. You cupped your hands around his cheeks and he nudged his nose against yours. The intimacy between you both was outstanding and you loved every second of it.

“Good,” you smiled. “By the way, that’s Dave. He’s uhm.. I watch his kids.” 

Maxwell looked back over at Dave who was tidying up the little black toybox. “Hi.” Dave mumbled awkwardly.

You shot your employer a glare. “Really Dave? You just fucked the shit out of me in front of Max, and now you’re gonna be all weird with him?”

Maxwell reluctantly pulled away from you, stifling a laugh before putting his clothes back on. 

“You can uh, stay the night. If you like,” Dave offered. “It’s late and I’m sure you don’t wanna wake your kid up.”

Maxwell scratched the back of his head as he contemplated Dave’s comment. He made a good point. “I can take the couch?” Max asked. “I really don’t want to intrude.”

“Don’t be silly,” you smiled, interlocking your fingers with his and pulling him back over to your bed. “You can sleep with me… if you’d like.” 

And boy did Maxwell like the sound of that. “Do you uh-- do you sleep with her? I mean. Besides her?” Max asked Dave.

“He never sleeps next to me,” you replied for him. “Prefers to sleep alone like the cold man he is.”

“Whatever,” Dave sighed. “I’m going to bed. Night.” 

You rolled your eyes and blew Dave a kiss goodnight before turning back to Maxwell and pulling him back down onto the bed. You worked at the buttons of his shirt and pulled the expensive material off his broad shoulders.

“Is he… married?” Maxwell asked you nervously.

“Why? You interested?” you asked, a joking lilt to your voice, but Max just scowled. “No,” you told him. “His wife uh-- went missing a while ago. Before I worked here. She was presumed dead. Sometimes I think Dave killed her.” you scoffed incredulously and Maxwell’s jaw stood agape.

“Are you serious?” he asked and you laughed.

“No, I don’t think so,” you said, swatting his arm playfully. “Dave can be cold, and rough. But behind that mean face he’s actually a good guy. A good father.”

Maxwell nodded knowingly. “Well that’s good then.” he mumbled. It was so easy to compare himself to other dads out there, knowing he’d never be good enough for Alistair.

“Are you okay?” you asked Max, smoothing out his dark blonde hair and kissing his jaw softly.

“Yeah, of course,” Maxwell reassured you, suddenly flashing one of his famous, charming television grins. He picked the bullet vibrator up and twiddled it between his fingers. “What do you think about going for a round two?” he smirked. “Just us. And maybe this time I can use this on you?”

You smiled, roaming your hands along his soft chest. “I like that idea.” you whispered wantonly before attaching your lips to his and pulling him on top of you.

You liked Dave. He knew his way around your body, he knew how to make you feel good and safe. But Maxwell came with feelings. He was attentive and affectionate, things you’d never had in a sexual relationship before. You were excited to see where things went between you two.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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Taglist for this one shot in replies.

[wolvesandpetals]

Loki x Sylvie Post-Finale Fanfiction (Angst, Rated Teen) Part 1 of 2

SPOILER ALERT.

It's probably just the alcohol, but the beats of the music are starting to sound a little bit like a marching drum that's announcing war. She can feel herself dancing along to it, but her whole body is on alert, ready to switch to fight and flight any second.

"So, cool place huh?" The bloke in the leather jacket asks.

She tries to remember his name. Jeff something. Or maybe Jed. No, not Jed, she's thinking of Star Wars again. That's what happens when you binge watch a multiverse of movies in a single day.

Oh, yeah, that's right. She broke the multiverse.

Another shot of tequila, and she takes not-Jed's hand in hers. It doesn't feel right, at least not the way-

No.

She realises he asked her a question, but she can't remember what, and she just laughs, because that always works.

Encouraged, he leans in close and whispers into her ears. "How about we get out of here?"

"And go where, exactly?" She asks, but she's not sure he understands, not with how slurred the words come out.

She laughs again, and this time, it's bitter. This time, she's laughing at how this is so him, this getting drunk in the face of imminent danger and making a mess of things.

(But I'm not you.)

---

She's frozen in her place the second the glowing yellow door appears. But it's not for her, at least not this time.

She hasn't been on the run for a while. Doesn't need to be. Because even though she is the one who unleashed the chaos, it's the chaos that needs to be contained immediately. She's low on the list of priorities.

The TVA will come for her. But not right now.

---

It's extremely easy pretending to be a psychic. All she has to do is take her client's hands and enchant him, find a memory, describe it back to him.

Sometimes she does it just for fun, just to see the look of amazement on their faces.

Other times, she does it for the money she needs to survive.

"And I see a blonde woman. Very beautiful."

"That's my wife."

The way he smiles, loving and proud, makes her heart drop.

"What do you see in her future? Is she happy? Does she get the job at the magazine?"

There is definitely at least one timeline where she does get the job, but The Enchantress cannot exactly tell if it's this one. She can't actually see the future, after all.

She sees the colors drain from his face as her silence swallows the room. "She's going to be okay, right? I just want her to be okay."

(I just want you to be okay.)

There's that bitter laugh again, because-

No. She can't do this right now.

"She loves you very much", she whispers, to the man in front of her, and to the man who is not there to hear those words.

---

Mobius finds her in the middle of a concert by a Nirvana where Kurt Cobain never died. She can easily slip away, disappear into the screaming, writhing crowd if she wants.

Or she can just take him some place quiet and hear him out.

"Help us", Mobius pleads. He sounds exhausted, and not just physically. "We're outnumbered and outwitted. Our world is in danger."

"This isn't my world", she reminds him.

"Yet, you're here", he retorts.

Her smile is pained. "Where else will I go?"

He is sympathetic, like he always has been. And he offers her a new glorious purpose. "Come with me. We need you. He needs you."

She feels the air find its way out of her lungs the same way she pushed him out of her life- painfully, forcefully. "H-how is he?"

"He's okay... all things considered."

Now there's a cocktail of relief and disappointment that will give her months of sleepless nights.

"Tell him I'm-" she starts, but she doesn't know how to finish that sentence. What can she tell him? That she's sorry for not trusting him when she should have? That she's sorry for making the universes collide?

That she's sorry for betraying him and breaking his heart?

(How will I know you won't betray me at the end?)

"Nevermind."

---

It's been really hard facing the consequences of her actions, watching the timelines bleed into each other and destroy people's lives- families torn, achievements gone, every little anomaly delving into death and destruction. Every headline on the newspaper is her fault, and she has to live with that.

But that seems so easy compared to this moment where she has to face him.

The plan was to send him away, kill He Who Remains, give people their free will back, save the world, then come back to him. Yeah, he'd be mad at her at first, sure, but he'd forgive her eventually, she was confident.

Then the timelines started to branch the minute she stuck the dagger in that terrifying man's chest, and she knew she had screwed up.

She had sunk to the ground in defeat as the realisation of the repercussions hit her, and she did what she has always done- run.

She didn't even realise she had sent him to the wrong universe until she teleported herself into another universe as well. The journey back was long and lonely, but she dreamt of him in colors while the world was bleeding red, and that was enough to keep her going.

She doesn't really know what she'll do when she sees him again. Neither does she know what reaction she expects from him. Nothing he can say to her can be worse than what she thinks of herself.

A part of her hopes he would be overwhelmingly happy, he would come running to her, just like he did at The Void, greet her with the smile that has won a hundred hearts- including hers, and tell her everything will be alright. Another part of her fears that he would be furious, and he would confront her with accusations of unleashing havoc on all worlds- especially his.

What she never expected is this eerie calm that makes her feel like she is standing in the storm center.

His walls are up.

And it causes her to redirect the anger she feels at herself towards him. There's venom in her voice. "So you do get to rule, after all."

"I don't feel much like a king." He shrugs. "I'm more of a multiversal janitor. Mopping up multiversal messes."

"My messes."

"Our messes." He corrects, his features softening around the edges. "We made a mistake." He has been saying that ever since he found himself in the alternate TVA, and that hasn't changed even after getting back to his own version of the bureau. Always "we", never "she". He simply cannot bring himself to blame her without taking accountability for his part in the mess.

"Don't patronize me." Her hands are shaking, just like her voice, a sharp contrast to his steady silhouette, and can he just hold her, please? "I don't need you to take the fall for me."

His eyes go cold, like they were forged in the heart of Jotunheim. "Of course not", he says, fully composed. "You don't need me for anything. It's not like we're in this together."

(Maybe we can figure it out-together.)

---

She now knows her walls don't- can't- keep the hurt out- it just keeps her locked inside this cage of distrust and insecurities. And the price she has to pay for it is too high.

They could have been lying on a beach somewhere, sipping mimosas right now. Instead, they're here, in the vast, silent library of the TVA, sitting on separate tables, reading files on variants.

The only thing worse than bearing the weight of his gaze is having him stare at his files without looking in her direction even once. She can't take it anymore.

"I'm sorry." She suddenly blurts out.

He looks up, confused. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm sorry for what I did." She repeats. It's difficult to start an apology, but once she finds the strength to begin, the rest of it flows automatically. "I'm sorry I messed up everything. I'm sorry I broke the timelines. I'm sorry the world is in danger." She takes in a deep breath. "And I'm sorry I betrayed you."

His smile is the saddest kind. "A Loki betraying a Loki. That's the least surprising thing in the world. What's shocking is how I didn't see it coming. You really had me going with that kiss. Very nice distraction. Very Loki."

Free will comes with the fine-print of living with the consequences of your choices. And she has to live with hers every day. The tears finally spill out of her eyes. She hasn't let herself cry for a long, long time. But now she's breaking down worse than the multiverse. "I didn't do it to distract you. I did it to say goodbye."

He gets up, and she panics that he's leaving. Instead, he sits down in front of her, reaches for her hand, but changes his mind mid-way and lets them fall to his side. "You didn't have to say goodbye."

"It's all I've ever known." She feels like that scared little girl, far from home, running from minute men, with nobody to turn to but herself. "I told you, I don't have anyone."

"You had me."

That's the saddest part of it all, isn't it? Everything else in her life is the TVA's fault. She's torn from Asgard? Hasn't seen her parents in years? Can't remember her brother Thor? Spent her whole childhood running and hiding? All TVA.

But this? This is all her own doing. This is the one time she had something real, something worth holding onto, someone worth fighting against the world for. Instead, she questioned his intentions, didn't hold on, fought him and ruined everything.

"I didn't want to rule, Sylvie", he finally tells her. "I wanted you."

She has dreamed of this moment when he tells her how he feels. They have come so close to it so many times, the words dangling off the edge of his tongue but never quite finding their way out. She has always known- every word, every action pointed to it. But it was so hard to imagine someone could love her.

It's so hard to imagine someone can love her again. The past tense in his wording terrifies her worse than any danger ever could. "Is it too late to fix things?"

His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "We are fixing things. That's why we are here. Saving the universe."

"You know what I mean."

"I don't know how to trust you again, Sylvie." He tells her point blank- no deception, no lies, no Loki-ism. "And you never trusted me to begin with."

That's not entirely true. She trusts him more than she has trusted anyone. "I really thought I was doing the right thing."

"I know."

(Not to be dramatic, but yeah, we're saving the universe.)

---

The Avengers are much nicer than Loki described them, considering they don't kill her for what she has done, instead tell her about their own journeys towards redemption. Wanda tells her about the man she has loved and lost, and the pain she has caused to an entire town. Barnes talks about his past as a brainwashed assassin. Clint tells her the story of Natasha and how she took charge and changed her life.

Thor is the kindest of them all. He talks about how far Loki himself has come. He tells her stories of his version of Asgard, the nine realms, the glorious battles, the beauty of earth.

She still dreams of death, but sometimes she doesn't.

Sometimes, she hopes.

---

(To be continued)

[mrpenguinpants]

Mona HCs: Self-worth

[For the Christmas Celebration Requests, please read this]

---

Hey anon! I’m so sorry this is late. I hope you’re doing okay anon, wherever you are. But I’m happy to hear you like my work 💕💕 I don’t mind talking/writing about sensitive topics if it can help people, even if the comfort is coming through words it’s still comfort, but I’m never too busy to skip over a request. Just might be a bit slow haha. I’m glad you enjoy reading them and sending me an ask! Thanks for telling me I’m doing great cause damn I need that right now.

If any of you are struggling right now, even if you’re in a slump, I’m always free to talk. Sometimes it’s easier to vent to a stranger and know that you aren’t alone. We’re in this together.

I’m kinda scared to post this but that’s alright;; This was way longer than I thought it would be so I’m gonna split Barbara and Mona into separate hcs.

But, depending on the feedback (if there is any lol) I might skip Barbara. I swear I was going to make this happy but then I shot myself in the kneecap.

[taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@hanniejji​​​  @mikeysbike​​​ @unionwitch​​ @musekala​​ @twistedsunnshiii​​ @stanzastic​​ @akaasea​​ @xoneaboveallx​​ @adoring-ghost​​ @asheseiler​​ @childelover​

---

Mona HCs: Self-worth

Mona Megistus was an astrologist of great skill and equally-great pride. She was both beautiful and confident and never used her astrology for profit. You were so proud of her and grateful that she was your partner. But maybe being with someone so great was when you started feeling off. You started comparing yourself to Mona and everyone else around you, seeing and thinking that everyone was doing something worthwhile. Sucrose and Albedo were great alchemists. Jean, Kaeya, and Lisa were part of the Knights of Favonius. What were you doing? Even though you felt guilt for feeling these ugly emotions towards your friends, you couldn’t stop them. You loved Mona, nothing would change that. So instead, you started hating yourself. 

You had met the astrologist when she was moraless and starving outside the walls of the City of Freedom. You knew that she had a temporary home towards the corner of Mondstadt so why was she outside the walls? It turns out that she spent all her mora on astrological devices and forgot that she was human and needed to eat and had collapsed before making it home. Out of the kindness of your heart and frankly, leaving someone to die right outside the gates of the City of Freedom would be awful, so you helped carry her back to your home and made sure she was alright. Since then Mona had attempted to return the favour but you always declined. You didn’t want to know about your fate but if she wanted to hang out as friends, you would be inclined to. It started to elevate from there and now you’re both partners. Since then you found yourself in Mona’s temporary lab and house more often than your own home. 

Being that you spent so much time with Mona, you’ve had to deal with a fair share of clients storming out the door because of Mona’s bluntness when reciting their fates. To be fair, she was blunt towards you too. In the beginning you didn’t mind, you actually enjoyed the honesty, but now you couldn’t help but second guess yourself. Trying to reason with yourself that if Mona didn’t like you, she would say it. If you weren’t good enough, she would tell you. Well, due to her astrology she took one glance at you the next time you walked in and knew all your deepest insecurity's.

“Your life is not at a standstill, it’s not hopeless. There is nothing to be sad about.” 

That made you take a step back. Slowly registering the words and repeating them over and over in your head. You knew that she was just telling you what you needed to hear. That this is what you needed and wanted to hear. That she wasn’t trying to be mean and that she was right. You wanted to live a happy life with her and if you felt useless then you should work on it. Staying holed up in your room wasn’t going to help you. You knew all of this and yet, you could feel yourself slowly breakdown.

“Breathe in. Breathe out. You’re going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.”

Mona had her experiences of clients crying and getting angry at her predictions but when she saw you slowly breakdown. To see your eyes start to burn and get heavy, like the rim of a glass being pushed down and down. To see you slowly crumble from the inside out as you tried to hold your tears and sniffles in. She didn’t need the stars to tell her that she said the wrong thing. She was told to never offer advice, just to read what fate said when asked. 

“I want to be happy. But I just can’t. I want to enjoy these little moments. I want to enjoy seeing my friends. I want to do so many things and make so many happy memories with you. I know all of these things and I’m trying my hardest to think like that but I just can’t. I can’t. Am I just not trying hard enough? Am I enough to you? Am I worth enough to be okay?”

She called out to you but you already turned away and ran out the door. You didn’t see each other for a few days because you couldn’t help but second guess what you said. Were you overthinking it? Mona didn’t say anything hurtful so why were you so upset? You didn’t want to face her so you curled into yourself further and let yourself get swallowed whole in despair.

When a week had passed, Mona made her specialty dish “Der Weisheit Letzter Schluss (Life)” and awkwardly shuffled outside your door. She wanted to give you time to yourself but after talking with Albedo and Klee plus your absent presence from her, she felt lonely and was starting to reflect on her words. It was a insensitive to take your happiness for granted and while she usually didn’t complain about upset clients being told future’s they didn’t want to hear. You were important to her. You were worth enough to be told things were going to be okay and much more. 

As much confidence that Mona had in herself and her skills, she couldn’t manage money. She was always living on poverty line. She almost died if you didn’t find her and extended your help. She was so lonely and you were the first person that she considered a friend. More than a friend and more than a partner. You meant so much to her and she couldn’t realize that this is what you needed to hear instead. 

She softly knocked on the door to see if you were home but the door gave away. You hadn’t bothered to even lock the door. At least you were in Mondstadt so she could rely that no one had broken in. She softly opens the door and places the dish on the table and searches your little home trying to find you.

You’re on your bed, asleep even when it’s noon. She didn’t want to wake you up but she didn’t want to leave yet. Not until you were okay. She felt so much guilt and only now found the courage to come see you. She was disappointed in herself that she basically abandoned you in your time of need, what kind of partner was she? She bit her lip hard enough for it to bleed as she carefully lied down next to you and wrapping her arms around you. Even if you hate her or you don’t want to see her, she doesn’t want you to think that you’re worthless or she doesn’t care. You mean so much to her and you spent all this time not knowing.

You don’t need to be the best, even if you think that what you’re doing isn’t good, it was and she was proud of you. No matter how long it takes for you to feel okay, to feel happy, she’ll stay by your side the same way you did.

“It’s okay. It’s okay to feel like you’re not good enough. Don’t feel guilty for being stressed or sad. Things will get better. Fate has not abandoned you and neither will I.”

She had regressed to her apprenticeship, thinking that astrology could explain the laws that governed the existence of all things. That human hearts were guided by these laws, and if one had great enough powers of calculation, all the mysteries of the world could be understood. She remembered when she was starving, you had shared half your food with her. In your small but warm kitchen as you offered her your own hard work just to make sure she, a stranger, had something to eat. 

"Out here, we've gotta have each other's backs."

That was the first time she truly questioned her thoughts under the stars, she marveled that her research had been so full of holes. Mona cries silently beside you, even with all her training and how she boasts about the power of astrology, she can’t help you. No matter how many hydro graphs she makes or tells you that the stars show a glimmer of hope. That won’t help you. So she holds you and hopes that you can feel all her emotions and love. 

While you’re asleep she tells you about when she first started astrology, she accidently scaled herself. The burns are still on her as a reminder that she makes mistakes. How she was moraless for years after leaving her Master’s teachings but somehow found a job in the Court of Fontaine’s mainline newspaper. All on pure chance. She tells you how appreciative she is that you visit her everyday, to make sure she has a meal, and that she remembers to write her column for the newspaper. That she’s grateful to have met you and have you stay by her side. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s okay. It will be okay. You’re enough. You’re perfect. Everyone may seem to be exceeding but it doesn’t mean you’re slow, that you’re not worth it. You are at your own pace, working through your own steps. You’re not alone. I’m here. You’ll be okay.”  

[monicashipsnickyjoe]

(part 5 of my advertising agency office au - see masterpost)

“I see you currently work at Merrick’s agency,” the interviewer says through the speakers of Nicky’s phone. He skipped lunch to sit out in his car in the parking lot and take this call.

At the start of the call, the interviewer introduced herself as Andy, CEO of the company, The Old Guard. The agency was much smaller than Merrick’s, employing only a handful of people. But their client list was lengthy and loyal. Their website said they’ve been around for many years.

“Yes,” Nicky says, unsure how much to give away.

“You poor bastard,” she said. “What are you making there?”

Nicky blinks at her language and her forward question, but still tells her.

“I’ll give you double,” she says. “When can you start?”

Nicky sits back in the driver’s seat, temporarily rendered speechless. He’d never had an interview go so well, so quickly. “I would need two weeks, to break cleanly here.”

“You got it.”

“And...” Nicky hesitates. If he asks what he wants to ask, he risks looking unprofessional and potentially losing this absolutely amazing job offer. Joe can handle himself. He surely has job offers lined around the block. But. Still. “I have a friend.” Nicky pauses, unsure how to proceed. Andy waits, and Nicky knows he likes her. Unlike Merrick, she offers him patience. “He is a graphic designer.”

“Oh,” Andy says. “Look, Nicky, we already have a good crew here, except for a numbers guy. We’re like a family.”

“Oh.” Nicky fights to hide his disappointment. “I see.”

“I know Merrick has snagged a lot of good people, but...” She laughs. “Unless it’s Yusuf al-Kaysani, I couldn’t possibly convince the rest of the team to take on another designer.”

Nicky goes very quiet.

Andy notices. “Wait. Is it Yusuf al-Kaysani? Nicky? Are you still there?”

“I haven’t talked to him about it yet,” Nicky says, suddenly nervous. He hadn’t expected to put Joe’s name out there without asking. He’d only meant to see if the option is available.

“Listen, Nicky, the offer’s open for you either way. Think about it. Call me next week. Swing by the office and meet the team. In the meantime, talk to al-Kaysani. If he wants in, we’ll fit another desk in here somewhere.”

Someone in the background says, “We’ll what?”

“Don’t make that face, Booker,” she says. “Bye, Nicky.” She hangs up.

Nicky stares at the call-ended screen on his phone. What a strange interview. But a good offer. And if Joe...

No, he won’t get ahead of himself.

He gets out of his car, puts his phone into his pocket, and tries not to think about any of this for the rest of the day.

*

Joe gives his presentation behind closed doors somewhere on the executive floor, but Nicky knows it goes well when a sizeable check from the Pharmaceutical company crosses his desk.

"Good job, Joe,” Nicky says, pride swelling, and readies the check for the bank.

*

“There you are, Nicky,” Joe says, appearing at the entrance of Nicky’s cubicle at the end of the day. His voice is a shot of warmth through Nicky’s chest, and Nicky immediately abandons what’s left of the day’s work to swivel in his chair and face him.

“Hello, Joe.”

Joe’s eyes flutter closed. He places a hand over his heart. “Say it again.”

“Hello?”

Joe smiles. “My name.”

“Oh.” Nicky’s face burns, but he’s smiling, too. He can’t seem to help himself around Joe. “Hello. Joe.”

Joe takes a strong step forward, into the cubicle. His hands reach out, searching - but then he catches himself and stops. He glances around, but no one is looking. He coughs in his fist.

“I was hoping,” he says, “that if you are free this evening, you would perhaps like to accompany me to dinner. And... if you would like... I would be pleased if you would...” He takes another step closer, smaller than the last. Voice low, he says, “Please come home with me,” sounding as desperate as Nicky feels.

"Yes.”

“Oh.” Joe’s smile expands, blinding. “Molto bene.”

Nicky turns and shuts down his computer properly. He sets his unfinished work in a pile to complete first thing the next time he’s in the office. Then he grabs his jacket and still-full lunch bag and follows Joe out of the cubicle and the building.

Joe leads him to his sports car in a nearby spot. It’s beautiful, silver, and sleek, fast-looking. Nicky frowns at it.

Andy’s offer to Nicky is generous, but would a small company like The Old Guard be willing, or able, to match Joe’s exorbitant salary?

“Nicky?”

“Forgive me.” Nicky shakes his head. This is not the place for that conversation.

Joe gives him a worried look, like he wants to press, but Nicky stops him by promising, “I will tell you later.”

Joe opens the car and Nicky slides into soft leather. Joe sits down in the passenger side and immediately yawns. In the natural light, the bags under his eyes are dark and prominent. All of him, beneath his smile, seems to droop. He’s all but melting into a puddle in the leather.

“Joe. Perhaps I should drive.”

Joe rubs his eyes. “Maybe.” Another yawn. “I don’t know why I’m so tired all of the sudden.”

“I do,” Nicky says. “Two sleepless nights in a row. Perhaps more.” Nicky has suspicions.

Joe huffs a sleepy laugh. “Maybe.”

“Come on.” Nicky holds his hand out for the keys, and Joe gives them over. They switch seats and click their seat-belts.

Nicky turns the ignition, bringing the car to life with a loud purr. He sets it in reverse, but then considers something, and puts it into park again. “I don’t know where you live.” He waits. “Joe?”

Joe is slumped in the passenger seat, eyes closed. His chest rises and falls in long steady breaths.

Nicky’s heart leaps into his throat. How much Joe must trust Nicky to hand him the keys and fall immediately asleep. How tired he must be.

Nodding to himself, Nicky sets the car in reverse again and pulls out of the parking spot. He drives the fancy car the few blocks to his apartment building and pulls into the visitor spot.

With the car parked and the engine turned off, Nicky rounds to the passenger side and opens the door.

“Joe.” He places his hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Joe, help me. We’re at my apartment. It’s just a few stairs.”

Joe grumbles, reactive at least, thank goodness. Nicky has already learned how deeply Joe sleeps.

“I’m not sure I can carry you.” Nicky reaches across and unbuckles Joe’s seat belt.

Joe drops his head forward, forehead pressing into Nicky’s shoulder. “You’re so warm,” he mumbles.

“I’ll be even warmer upstairs.”

Joe hums, and moves just enough to help Nicky drag him to his feet. Nicky pulls his arm around his shoulder and leads him to the stairwell, locking the car behind them. The stairs are a struggle, but they manage. Nicky leans Joe against the wall as he opens his apartment door.

“I think I need a nap,” Joe says, blinking slowly. “Just a quick one... I don’t want to miss...”

“Hey.” Nicky catches him before he can fall asleep against the brick wall.

They stumble into Nicky’s small apartment and Nicky leads Joe into the bedroom and to the double-size bed. He eases Joe down and then bends to take off his shoes.

“I’m sorry.” Joe rubs his eyes, but can’t seem to keep them open. “I’m ruining our first date.”

“It’s not ruined,” Nicky says. “Would you like some pajamas?”

Grumbling incoherently, Joe reaches for his shirt and pulls it off over his head.

All of the air suddenly disappears from the room. Nicky suspected Joe is all muscle, but to have it suddenly on display, so very near before him - in his bedroom.

He looks away. Glances back. Looks away again.

“How about a t-shirt?” he says and standing, rushes to his dresser. He digs through the second drawer down, searching for his most comfortable sleeping shirt. When he has it, he faces the bed again, just in time to see Joe kick off his pants.

Joe is, at least, blessedly, wearing underwear.

Still, fire pulses through Nicky’s veins. Joe is beautiful, inside and out. Nicky swallows the rising lump in his throat and approaches the bed.

Bunching the t-shirt, Nicky begs Joe to lift his arms so he can put it on. Joe complies, sitting up enough for Nicky to pull it down and cover those pecs and those abs. He immediately flops back down and starts to snore.

More than anything, Nicky wants to join him. He looks so peaceful and content, and bends his body around a perfectly Nicky-shaped emptiness. With those arms around him, Nicky just knows he would feel warm and safe all night through.

But then his stomach rumbles, reminding him that he skipped lunch. He can’t skip dinner, too. Besides, when Joe wakes up, he’ll be hungry. Nicky will be a lousy host if he doesn’t have food ready for his guest.

On the way to the kitchen, he glances back once, from the door, to Joe sleeping soundly in his bed. And for the first time in a very long time, everything feels right.

[pokesaurio]

I find it hard to believe that New Amsterdam has such little fanfiction. It’s a great show! So I decided to write something for the Leyren ship (which I would usually never do) to fix this! Hope you enjoy :)

Summary: How the Dam Fam finds out about Lauren’s new roommate.

Helen:

“So, naturally, you offered her to live with you” said Helen sarcastically, incredulous at Lauren’s out of character decision.

“Well, yes, she has become my friend after all, and I couldn’t let her alone in the streets”, replied Lauren matter-of-factly.

“Hmm. And how’s it going?” Helen rose an eyebrow suspiciously.

“It’s...” Lauren let out a small sigh, “It’s effortless, really. I feel like she’s always been there”. The “which scares me” was left unsaid.

Helen patiently waited until Lauren disclosed more, knowing her friend usually needed more time to open up.

“Well, except for the massive tree in the middle of the living room. Which I don’t dislike, but...”

“What?!” This got Helen’s attention. Since when was Bloom known to decorate her apartments, let alone let another person do so... with living things?!

“Well, she bought a tree, said it reminded her of home. But apparently it was smaller in the picture, so now I have a full-blown tree in my living room. And I think I like it” that last part she muttered softly.

Helen let out a small, genuine smile, amused but also proud of her friend. “That looks like progress. You haven’t yet snapped her head off for touching your space, so I’d say that’s a point for Lauren’s intimate relationships”.

“Pfft. It’s not very intimate if I still don’t know about her. I have tried to learn what she likes, but she still won’t really tell me about herself. It’s a little frustrating really” Lauren let out an adorable pout.

“Well, give her time. She is living in a stranger’s house after all, in a new country and with probably no other connections or friendships here. I can’t imagine she trusts people easily” said Helen patiently.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Mama Bear is at it again. Free advice for all!” Lauren laughed.

Helen snorted. “Well, it’s taken me nowhere with Mina. Still don’t know how this motherly figure thing works, sadly” she stated defeatedly.

“Oh, come on! You’re doing great! She’s slowly respecting her school timetable and your curfews more, right? And she hasn’t put a massive tree in your living room. That has to count for something” said Lauren, pointing her finger at Helen as she walked towards her ED. “You’ve got this!” and she gave Helen her best thumbs up and exaggerated smile.

Casey:

Lauren haphazardly threw her stuff into her backpack and went for the door, ready to call it a day and head back home.

“Lauren, you’re rushing out” Casey said suspiciously as he entered the locker room. “I assume this means you’re gonna continue smuggling your friend here? Cause if it does, you should know you are risking even more than before. If they catch you again...”

“No, Casey, it’s not like that” Lauren stated. “Don’t worry, she won’t be coming back here”.

“So that means... you let her go? Do you know where she is?” said Casey, now concerned about Leyla’s wellbeing.

“She’s actually... living with me?” said Lauren, the last part coming out in a rush and higher pitch.

“What?” asked Casey, wide-eyed. “Lauren, she- what?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t leave her on the streets, and I figured since I’m never home it couldn’t hurt to give her my spare room” justified Lauren to what seemed like Casey and herself.

“Okay, Lauren, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, you are risking a lot for this stranger. Please be careful” said Casey, though not unkindly. He was just worried about his friend.

“But that’s just it, Casey. She’s not a stranger, not anymore, and I would have done the same for any one of you. I protect my people” said Lauren, now sounding much more convinced.

“Well, if you’re happy with your decision, I can only congratulate you. You finally have a friend outside of work!” he added with a smile, teasing Lauren.

Lauren swatted his arm playfully. “I forgot, Mr Popular here knows most of New York. And I might have one friend, but it’s a hard one” she said, giving him the finger.

“Okay, okay!” Casey laughed, raising his arms defensively. “You win. But Lauren” he said softly “I am happy for you. Just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing”.

“Thanks” said Lauren with a smile, squeezing his arm lightly as she left.

Lauren:

She did know what she was doing. Right. Right? It wasn’t like Leyla was a random stranger, not anymore, and she liked her enough that living together had been smooth sailing so far. So why did she find herself overthinking everything when it came to Leyla?

“Get your shit together, Lauren” she chanted to herself. She was driving home, her palms sweating slightly, but still excited to get there. She had been rushing out a lot lately. The memory of Leyla’s soft smile as she held her hand, fingers interlocking and fitting perfectly as they stared at the tree and Lauren’s want, need to be close, oh so close, a compass searching North. She couldn’t wait to get home to Leyla’s sarcasm, Leyla’s dinners, Leyla’s subtle presence in her apartment and life that made it theirs.

Without noticing, Lauren had been smiling like an idiot for at least half an hour, and she had arrived to her portal. She got out of the car and went for the stairs, taking twice at a time. But as she opened the door, a wave of disappointment washed over her. Leyla wasn’t home, had probably had to take a DriverTime client, and suddenly the apartment felt empty and cold again. Lauren couldn’t understand how she had lived like this for so long before.

But then a thought sprung to mind. Leyla had waited for her every day for the past week, staying up and meeting her with a fabulous home-cooked dinner after work. The least she could do was reciprocate, so Lauren got ready to prepare a mindblowing meal or die trying. Cooking had never been her strong suit, but she figured it couldn’t be too hard.

She remembered Leyla mentioning she deeply missed Pakistani cuisine, and how she had been disgusted by Lauren suggesting she try a Pakistani restaurant around the corner. “You Americans think you can serve a random dish and rebrand an entire culture. That place is not Pakistani”, she had stated. So Lauren had asked, and she had learned, how Nihari reminded her of late night dinners at home and Lassi was her all-time favourite beverage. And so she had a single thought in mind; today she was making the best Pakistani dinner for Leyla.

As she set out to spice the assortion of different meets, she re-entered her previous reverie. She knew Leyla would love this, even if Lauren was probably going to ruin the recipe and tarnish the Pakistani name. But Leyla would smile sweetly, as she did every time Lauren remembered a small detail about her and did her best to make her feel like home, and she would be grateful. Lauren could not wait until she came back, excited to see that look on her face that said “no one’s ever cared for me like this, and I’m glad you’re the first one”.

Slow-cooking the meat into a stew proved difficult, and mixing the yoghurt, water, spices and fruit for the Lassi had Lauren seriously questioning her cooking skills. But all in all, after about an hour she decided she had done a pretty good job. She set out to dress the table, going as far as opening a good red wine and placing a candle. She didn’t want to overdo it, but thought Leyla would decidedly not mind and find her efforts cute. Lauren was struck by the inclusion of “cute” into her vocabulary, could not remember when she had cared about someone’s reaction this much, and decided damn Leyla and her faint smiles had softened her. She couldn’t bring herself to care, though.

And just like clockwork, as soon as Lauren set the last plate with the fine-looking Nihari on the table, Leyla entered the apartment.

“Honey, I’m home!” she shouted jokingly in her beautiful accent.

“Hey! How was work? Any frat boys I should beat up?” said Lauren smiling.

“No frat boys, thankfully. Just an old lady telling me about her grandson. I must have seen like 30 photos of him, and let me tell you, no one can convince me babies are cute. They’re bald!” Leyla proclaimed, dignified.

Lauren snorted. “Of course you would befriend a grandma and have her show you her family. It must be your cranky charm” replied Lauren teasingly.

“You would be surprised. I cause sensation amongst octogenarians” said Leyla amusedly. As she caught the smell of cooked meat, she looked at Lauren, surprised. “You cooked? You? Is MY tree burnt down?” she joked.

“I’ll let you know, OUR tree is intact and very much still alive. And don’t you dare take away my custody, I love him like my own son too!” said Lauren in mock dignification. “I did cook, and I hope you like it” she continued, now softly. She met Leyla’s eye, hope and wonder sparkling bilaterally.

Leyla approached the table, repressing a squeel of excitement at the site of her favourite foods. “Lauren! You shouldn’t have! How did you even-?” and as she turned around to look at Lauren, the intensity in her eyes stunned her. The amount of care and adoration was palpable there, and it was enough to overwhelm her.

“Thank you”, she said in a small voice.

“I thought you deserved something special. You know, for cooking horrible meals every day” Leyla approached her slowly, still with eyes locked in an intense duel. “You would think as a doctor my main threat of illness would come from my patients, but you make a hard run for it” another step closer. “And besides, knowing my cooking skills it’s probably very bad. So we’re even” she continued rambling. Leyla finally took the final step towards Lauren, cupping her cheek and forcing her to shut up.

“You talk too much”, she said, resting on her tiptoes slightly to reach for her cheek and place a soft kiss there. “Thank you, truly”.

Lauren stood there, transfixed and unable to utter words. “Y-Yeah. It’s... nothing, really” she managed to muster.

Leyla tried to fight off a smile at Lauren’s awkwardness. During the course of her stay at Lauren’s- their- apatment, she had been quick to discover that she could turn Lauren, the hard-assed doctor and witty friend, into a rambling mess with well placed silences and touches. And naturally, she had immediately taken a liking to doing so as often as possible.

She turned around and sat at the table, staring down at her food and trying not to show her satisfaction at the amount of time it took Lauren to recompose herself and sit with her. She let Lauren pour some wine for herself, seeing as she didn’t look too enthused with the Lassi, and tried the Nihari. And, oh god, it certainly wasn’t like the one she enjoyed back home, but Lauren had undoubtedly achieved something here. Leyla couldn’t stop a moan from escaping her lips.

Lauren sat across from her, lips parted, staring at her like she was the only thing in the world. Her eyes slowly trailed to her lips, and Leyla thought she might burst if she didn’t break the moment soon. “Lauren, it’s- it’s perfect” said Leyla, and she meant it. It might not be like the one back home, but Lauren had managed to capture a new flavour, to redefine the very meaning home. She could get used to this.

Lauren looked back up at her, smile back in place. “Really? That’s new” she said, satisfied and proud of her achievement.

As they ate in silence, Lauren realised two things. One, she was definitely falling in love with Leyla Shinwari. And two, while Leyla had been her roommate for a few weeks already, it was only now that she felt like they were actually _living_ together... building a home.

Iggy:

“Hey, Iggs! I haven’t caught up with you in a while! How’s everything going?” asked Lauren as she entered Iggy’s office, taking the sofa and sprawling out on it.

Iggy stopped flicking through his charts, immediately knowing something was up. He could tell Lauren was properly glowing, but knew he would have to let this play out if he wanted to get any information out of his friend.

“Lauren! It’s great to see you. I’ve been great. I went to see a nutritionist, and I’ve been trying to join some virtual support groups for people with eating disorders. I still have a long road ahead of me, and I have to put in the work, but thanks for calling me out on my bullshit. Truly” he said sincerely.

Lauren perked up even more, rising to her feet and reaching around Iggy’s desk to hug him. “Iggy! That’s great! I’m so glad to hear it, and I’m so proud of you. And hey, you called me out on my bullshit when I was using, so it was only fair I did the same” she smiled.

Iggy returned her smile, glad to see that both of them were making amends and working to improve their lives.

He rose up to start walking to his next consult, not wanting this conversation to end but really needing to get there on time. After Lauren followed him along, curiosity finally got the best of him. “Okay, I have to ask... What’s gotten into you? You look like you just got to perform one of your supper cool surgeries or something. Anything new?” he asked.

“Well, I’m doing well” she said as they strolled down New Amsterdam’s corridors. Iggy waited patiently, letting Lauren open up at her own speed. “And... and I got a roommate!”

Iggy frowned, perplexed. He knew Lauren, knew how much she valued her space and how closed-off she could be, so he couldn’t fathom why getting a roommate would be something she’d want to do, let alone be the cause of her exuberant joy. “Wha... How?” he asked.

“Well, it’s a long story, really. She came in with a patient, and kind of guessed what was wrong with her, but it turned out it wasn’t a guess, cause she’s really a doctor, but obviously I didn’t know that” she started rambling, with Iggy finding it hard to follow along.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down” he said, though he was glad to see Lauren so excited about something.

“Yeah, sorry. Basically, she pulled off a successful needle decompression in my ED, which I now admit was pretty cool, I called security, she had no place to stay, used the hospital closet for a while... And now she’s living with me” finished Lauren, looking way too satisfied by her explanation.

“She... You... What?!” asked Iggy, dumbfounded.

“Yeah... She’s kind of a lot. In the good way” said Lauren, and it was clear to Iggy by now that she was positively smitten. At this new information, he changed tactics.

“Wow, Lauren, that’s a huge step! I’m happy for you, and so proud. I’d love to meet her sometime” he said.

“Yeah! That’d be great! I’m sure you’d love her, once you get past her cranky façade. You two would totally get along” replied Lauren excitedly.

Iggy knew how possessive Lauren was of her space, knew how much it meant for her to have friends meet even if she may not do it consciously. The fact that she was agreeing to let him meet her meant he was right; Lauren was smitten beyond recognition.

“Great! And what’s it like, living with this...” he trailed off, hoping to get a name out of Lauren for once.

“Leyla! It’s great. Yesterday I cooked her some Pakistani dinner, cause she missed it from back home, and then we watched a comedy and watered our big-ass tree. Don’t ask. It’s like she’s lived with me all along” she finished bashfully.

And Iggy had to assume Lauren knew how this sounded, how many lesbian stereotypes she was ticking off. So he replied, amusedly, “Tell me, Lauren, does this Leyla know you two are dating?” he said, a mischiveous twinkle in his eye.

Lauren stopped abruptly in the corridor, a horrified look on her face. Iggy repressed a laugh, was thrilled by Lauren’s new baby-gay side. He turned around to look at her, saw her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish as she searched for a reply, but continued walking backwards. “Wait... do you?” he asked, now enjoying Lauren’s alarmed look. He turned around a corner, leaving a dumbfounded Lauren behind, and shouted, “Good luck!”

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Take My Hand (Part Seven)

Summary: from one proposal to another - you don’t know whose hand you want to take - until you do. 

Pairings: Sonny Carisi x Reader, Rafael Barba x Reader

Word Count: 8,649

Song: I thought of you (all the things that will be lost now) / In the cracks of light (can we just get a pause?) / I dreamed of you (to be certain we'll be tall again) (evermore by taylor swift)

Warnings: T, swearing, SO MUCH ANGST, i’m so sorry, like seriously i’m sorry “sightless in a savage land” (22x04) is used as background (but i also f*cked with the timeline to make things easier for me), also the v*rus doesn’t exist b/c i don’t want to live in reality.

A/N: ok, the penultimate part - the last part before the two endings. it’s been a long journey, but we’re here! thank you to those who have stuck with the series and have reblogged and commented!! as always, thank you to @laneygthememequeen​ and @bucky-of-the-opera​ for being the best beta readers! i don’t know when i’ll get the endings out because school starts for me this week, but they will be out soon enough! :)

The rest of the juror selection process felt like white noise after that. An arduous several hour process only made more difficult by Rafael’s nitpicking, probing, and constant objections to jurors — it felt like a punishment. 

But you could only guess for who. 

One of twelve jurors picked.

Rafael hadn’t even looked at you since you left chambers, but the glowering he gave Sonny wasn’t something that you envied. The man who had a million comebacks for everything on any given day hadn’t spared you a word the entire process, even as you two worked to examine the jurors together — with you pointing out possible problems or points of issue with each one, he managed to take your advice without speaking a word to you. 

And it was killing you.

Three of twelve jurors picked. 

But it wasn’t the fact that he was ignoring you, it was the fact you deserved it. You were unprofessional, you were secretive, and you hurt him in the process — the cherry on top. 

Why hadn’t you told him? His eyes were everywhere but you, his hands careful not to brush against yours, and his lips a thin line. He still oozes charm as he spoke to the jurors, his patented smile — the same smile that you would tease him about — his courtroom smile, no more than a painted smile on the clown made to elicit the response he wanted. And one that he could hide behind from you.

You could feel Sonny’s gaze prickling the back of your neck, and you knew that he knew — he knew you hadn’t told Rafael. It was obvious — you could see Rafael still — his head snapping to you, his slow realization, the shock, and the quiet resignation that sunk into a sinking silence between you two. 

And you still hadn’t brought yourself to look at Sonny. 

Six of twelve jurors picked. 

As the judge adjourned you for lunch, Rafael nearly fled the courtroom, and you went after him, following him out of the double doors, and you heard Sonny call after you, but you couldn’t — not now. 

You wanted to fix this — you needed to fix this. 

How ironic, you thought, following him out the courtroom and down the corridor towards the stairwell, skipping the elevator altogether, you were doing the one thing he never did — following him when he left. 

Well to his credit, he did — the stairwell door nearly shutting behind him, but you barely catch it with your hands — but it was too late. 

But you hoped it wasn’t too late now, as the stairwell door swings shut behind you with a resounding thud. 

“Rafael,” you call him, his steps echoing in the empty stairwell, along with your voice. But he doesn’t listen — he doesn’t want to listen, but you’re following him — and if he knows one thing is that you’re stubborn, and he knows that well. 

“Rafael please, let me just explain—” 

“Explain what?” he whirls on you, “what is there to explain?” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you—” 

“Sorry?” he repeats, his voice reverberating, “you’re sorry — for not disclosing to me that you’re in a relationship with Carisi?” His name comes out dismissively — the same way when he was nothing but a green detective shadowing you two — but he was so much more — so much more. 

Your voice rises. “I didn’t mean to—” 

“Didn’t mean to make me look like a fool in front of your boyfriend in chambers,” he cuts you off, “is that why you were pushing the deal so much? Wanted Carisi to have a slam dunk?” 

And now you’re angry, “Don’t you accuse me of impropriety—”  

“You sure make a habit of it—” 

You scoff, “And you don’t?” and the anger simmers a moment — the exhaustion from the proceedings and the day hitting you at once. You speak, your words tempered, “I did what I had to — I told our client about my relationship — I disclosed to him and the judge in a timely manner—” 

“So, you told everyone but me,” he’s shaking his head, turning away, “As a professional courtesy,” his words are quiet, stony faced, fingers clenched into fists, “you could have told me that you were sleeping with our adversary in this case,” but the facade flickers, and you see the cracks in the veneer, “but more than that, after everything we’ve been through—” 

Your anger wavers, “I wanted to tell you when I dropped off the files, it just—” 

“Was the wrong time?” he chuckles bitterly, stepping away, “isn’t it always when it’s us?” 

Your chest squeezes, “Rafael, I didn’t want to hurt you, it just happened and I’m sorry—” 

“I don’t have time for this right now,” he continues to walk down the steps, and you follow, calling after him. 

“What about the case?” and he pauses. 

“Mr. Davis and Judge Harper have no issue, neither do I,” he’s rubbing at his temples, adding, “but I catch even a hint of impropriety—” 

“You won’t,” and he turns, his gaze undeniably sad, his lips in a thin line. 

“I better not,” But still, the guilt sits on your chest, and you say his name again, leaving your lips before you realize— and he shakes his head, “you left last time — and I didn’t stop you — for years,” he continues down the steps, “let me have thirty minutes at least.” 

And the stairwell doors shut. 

~~~

You hadn’t told him. 

Sonny knew that. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure it out — Rafael was a brilliant prosecutor, but his poker face often showed his hand. And here it did too — he had feelings for you. 

He knew that too.

He knew it because he had been there. He had been the guy waiting in the wings before, he had been the guy sneaking glances, the guy who wished you looked at him — and was disappointed when you didn’t. 

And that was the same look Rafael had — the same Sonny had when you had kissed him all those years ago, wishing he were Rafael. 

But you didn’t see it, did you? And he glances at your empty seat after you had left after Rafael, even after he called after you, before picking up his briefcase and leaving the courtroom for lunch — 

Or maybe you just didn't want to. 

“Sonny,” and you find him by the elevators, as you head out from the stairwell, “can we talk?” 

“What’s there to talk about?” he pushes the call button, “you didn’t tell Rafael, did you?” 

And you’re twisting your lips, “No, when I went to tell him—” the elevator doors ding, and the two of you step in, “his mother was there—” 

Sonny wrinkles his brow, “At his office?” 

“Well, his mother’s moving to Florida, and so kind of is his office at the moment,” and he can tell you’re nervous, fidgeting in place as you tell him, “he asked me to drop off files — we got interrupted right as I was about to—” 

“And you couldn’t have told him this weekend?” he licks his lips, as your gaze drops to the floor, “I’m just wondering...if there’s some other reason you don’t want to tell him.” 

You blink, “What other reason would there be?” And he sighs, as the elevator doors ding and he steps through them, you’re still following him, your hand brushing his wrist. And he stops, as your eyes soften, “I don’t love Rafael — I love you.” 

And he wants to ask — then why couldn’t you look at him in court? Why did you follow Rafael out? Why did he always feel like he was your second choice. 

But he doesn’t ask. He asks something else — 

“Then why won’t you move in with me?” and a voice is whispering that your hesitation is enough, that he shows he wasn’t enough, that you two together were never enough — but he doesn’t want to believe it. 

Because he wants to believe that his love is enough. 

“Sonny, I want to move in with you, I do—” and he knew enough to know a ‘but’ was coming, “but not yet,” and he can’t help but let his face crumble, “but soon. I promise. I just—” 

“You need time,” and he didn’t push you — he couldn’t push you — because he didn’t want to lose you, “but I can’t wait forever, doll,” and he couldn’t — not when he wanted so much more, not when he wanted you for the rest of your lives, and he didn’t know if you wanted the same. 

“I know, I would never do that to you,” but you were — even as you leaned up to kiss him, he wondered for the first time, how many more times would he get to do that? 

After juror selection, you and Rafael had left to go prep for opening arguments, while he was left to stew in his office — spotting a text from you that you would be running late, as was per usual. It had become the norm — working late hours with Rafael Barba — and would he ever stop feeling caught under Barba’s shadow? Even now, a year into this job, when he was in front of his mentor, he still felt like the same greenhorn detective he was when first came in — brash, thoughtless, headstrong — but you had seen past that, hadn’t you? 

His chest burning, he reached for the bottle of pepto-bismol tucked away in his desk. You saw his potential, and you still saw it now — but he couldn’t have you by his side now, he couldn’t ask for your support in this case — he downs far too much of the bottle — not when you were too busy standing by his. 

And there’s a knock at his door, “How’d it go at voir dire?” Amanda stood in his doorway, as he swallowed, the medicine as disgustingly sweet as Rafael had been today. 

“It was the Rafael Barba show, charming and cherry-picking jurors for straight hours,” he could remember his smarmy smile from today — he was in his element, as always. And despite having the skills and the experience, the one thing Sonny couldn’t quite master was his same kind of charm — and you were surely evidence of that, weren’t you? 

“Yeah, he was always a dog with a bone,” Amanda sighs. 

Sonny laughs, picking up the witness list he had been combing through, “Yeah. I'm looking at his witness list, and he tracked down Ajay's other foster kids, ACS employees, V.A. shrinks. How big of a staff does he have?” 

He knew he had your firm’s investigators — but even this much, this was something more than investigators could do — this was police work — the kind of work someone did when they were close to the case. 

And Amanda steps forward, sitting, pursing her lips, “I probably shouldn't tell you this…” 

“About you and Fin helping him out?” she doesn’t have words, and he knew he was right, and he thinks of Fin on the witness list — “I don't want to know—” 

“I am not helping him out,” Amanda clarifies defensively. 

“It's fine,” he didn’t need her to draw a line in the sand — it was easier to justify it, it was easier than hearing an apology, it was easier than hearing that his team had chosen Barba over him, “Barba was here before me, Fin was your first partner—” 

You knew Rafael first, you loved him before you loved him.

It was easy to explain it away. It was easier than hearing where their loyalties actually lie. 

He would always be the odd man out, wouldn’t he? Passed around from precinct to precinct, until he found himself here, but even still, always overshadowed — by Amaro, by Rollins, by Barba. He would always be the newbie, instead of the experienced pro. 

He would always be “Carisi,” not “Sonny.” 

“That doesn't mean I'm more loyal to them than I am to you,” she pauses, before adding, “You should know that it wasn't Liv's intention to undercut you.”

“Oh, no?” Sonny raises an eyebrow, “Are you gonna tell me that Fin brought Barba in?” And Amanda only shifts in her seat, hand rubbing her neck, until Sonny sighs, “what’s done is done — but I had thought the team would have my back—” 

“They do but—” 

“There shouldn’t be a ‘but,’” he sighs, “Amanda, I’m having to fight a one person war over a man who shot another in broad daylight—” 

“He was abusing her daughter—” 

“We hadn’t proved it yet!” Sonny sighs, leaning back in his chair, “there’s a reason they say innocent until proven guilty — we can’t give people a license to kill. Especially not now.” The concept of a white man shooting and killing a person of color and getting off without jail time did not sit well with him. Either way, he wouldn’t be the one to hand people licenses to kill — not without a fight. 

“I know that,” Amanda raises her hands, “I do —- but Liv and Fin just want to help Davis and they thought Barba was the best way to do that,” and she doesn’t miss how his brow furrows, “is something else going on?” 

And he wants to tell her — tell her about you and Rafael, about how Liv’s stunt may cost him his relationship and his case, how he didn’t know how you felt anymore, and he didn’t know what to do. 

But he doesn’t, he only sighs, “I just would like to feel like someone is on my side,” 

And then Amanda asks about you, “Have you talked to—” 

“We’re both working the case—” he shakes his head, “Client privilege and the code of professional responsibility makes it difficult to talk about this.” 

“You can still talk about everything else,” and he almost gives a bitter chuckle — before pulling the ring box from his pocket and placing it on the desk. 

“Not everything,” as Amanda stares at the ring box, mouth ajar, as he lifts his gaze to meet her’s, “I’ve wanted to ask — for months,” 

Amanda’s blinking, clearing her throat, “What’s stopping you?” 

And he could feel his heart crack with the truth of his answer, “I don’t know if it will be a yes.” 

And after Amanda left, and he sat in the quiet of his office, he wondered if he would ever be good enough — good enough prosecutor, good enough advocate, good enough boyfriend —-

And your text comes through: Headed back to your place, bringing dinner! And then another: don’t worry I didn’t cook :) And he glances at the picture of the two of you on his desk, before rising to leave — 

Good enough for you. 

He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. 

If Rafael knew one thing well, it was disappointment — and it was so simple to be disappointed in others. Was that why he had become a prosecutor? To point out the flaws in a person, to pin them in place with their worst actions at the lowest point of their life and hold them accountable? His eyes flicker to you, it was easier than seeing the humanity in others — to look past their flaws for something more that was there — and then fight for it. 

Because when you fought for it, there was always a chance you would be the one to get hurt. 

Why did he let his mother get his hopes up? 

When he first saw you at Rikers, he had resigned himself to being your friend, to being a colleague — because he didn’t think he deserved more, and he didn’t. And it was enough — until it wasn’t. 

And he could think about all the things he did wrong — over and over, wishing for another chance, but that wouldn’t change the fact you were in love with someone else. 

He snuck at a glance at you — you sat, legs crossed in your suit. Even in the late hours of the night, how had you managed to look so effortlessly good? Even after listening to him practice far too many versions of his opening argument, you sat pen pressed to your lips, lost in thought. 

Even with his silent treatment, you had insisted on working on this — until you both got it right. You had mostly taken to shouting suggestions from the gallery — body language, wording — not that he had bothered to acknowledge you. He crossed out what he just wrote, before sighing and rising to his feet, and now he decided to take a completely different tact. 

He faces the empty jury panel, beginning to speak. 

“I consider myself a nice guy,” you snort, as Rafael’s head snaps to you raises an eyebrow at you, “what?”

“Is that we’re going with?” you hide your smirk behind your notepad, “didn’t know we could lie under a court of law.” 

And he’s crossing his arms, “I do consider myself to be nice,” and you’re raising an eyebrow now, “you don’t?” 

“You’re the one who told our first victim together that she wouldn’t like you after this,” you had started the Twenty Five Acts case almost as soon as Rafael did — pulled in from a different department to help with the case, but you ended up finding your home there — your gaze raises to meet Rafael — for a time, “and now you think you’re nice?” 

And he’s huffing, “Are you sure you aren’t letting your personal experience color your opinion?” 

“Well, it sure isn’t helping,” and his eyes narrow, before snapping back to his notes, “come on, Rafael, you won’t even hold a conversation with me — the only way you’re talking to me is if I get a rise out of you.” 

“We’re lucky you’re so good at that,” and you scoff, setting your pad down in your lap, before fixing him in place with your narrowed eyes. 

“Is this what it’s going to be like?” you echo his own words to you, “are you going to act like this throughout the rest of the trial?” and he doesn’t deign to reply to you, scribbling a note in his legal pad, “should I recuse myself from the case?” 

“No,” he glances up, and you cross your arms. 

“Then what?” and his lips are a tight line, “I get it, Rafael — I hurt you by not telling you about Sonny — and I’m sorry, but,” he sees you frown out of the corner of his eye, “did you not expect me to move on?”  

“That isn’t what I’m upset about—” 

How could he? How could he when you deserved so much more than him? And maybe that was the reason he wasted his chance with you — he was too busy pushing you away to see that. 

Just like he was now. 

You push yourself from the chair, the chair scraping against the floor, “Then what is it?” 

And his gaze snaps to yours, and his anger deflates when he sees the hurt in your eyes, “I’m sorry,” he sighs, shaking his head, “I’m happy for you — I am—” 

“You have a funny way of showing it,” 

“I’m sorry, it just,” he can’t tell you how he feels — it’s not fair to you or to Carisi, “just caught me off guard. I just—” he purses his lips, “I don’t like when people hide things from me.” especially you. 

But he doesn’t add that. 

“I know, and I should have told you from the start — everything just happened so quickly,” you lean against the railing of the gallery, “It was just...really hard to tell you.” 

And he’s stepping toward you, hands in his pockets, “Why?” 

You give a terse chuckle, “Why do you think?” 

Now he’s leaning next to you, “Well like you said, why wouldn’t I expect you to have moved on?” and your eyes can’t quite meet his, “afraid to rub salt in the wound?” 

You roll your eyes, “If I can remind you, the wound was mostly your fault,” 

“‘Mostly’ is a gift,” you laugh, and he bites back a smile, “do you think...it could have worked out between us?” 

“Rafael—” 

“I know you’re with Carisi,” the words sting as he says them, before he’s standing up — stupid question —  “I just wanted to know, you don’t have to—” 

“I loved you,” you admit, and he pauses, glancing back at you. You’re biting your lip, “I would have married you — if you asked me back then.” 

He smiles sadly, “And by the time I did, it was—” 

“Too late,” you both finish, your gazes dropping to the floor. And he allowed himself to wonder a moment — what if it had worked out? Where would they be now? Would they have a home? A family? A kid? Maybe he would be in private practice, like you — spending his weekends with you instead of an empty apartment. Maybe you both would be in New York, maybe you’d be in the suburbs. But you’d be together. 

But you weren’t. 

“When did you and Carisi start—” and you tilt your head. 

“Is this appropriate—” you start, gesturing between the two of you, and he snorts. 

“Is any of this appropriate?” and he didn’t know why he was asking — it would be better not to know, it would be easier not to know, “were you with him when I left New York?” but he still wanted to know. 

“No,” your eyes are fixed to the floor, “I hadn’t even spoken to him in years,” and you add, “it was after he started at the D.A.’s office — a few months after. I had to settle a case in Manhattan and he was handling it.”

“So you’ve been together…?” 

“It’s been about two years,” and he feels the pain leak into his chest — and now it would be him you would be coming home to, you that he would be walking down the aisle, you that he would be starting a family with. 

But two years is a long time without an engagement. 

You cross your arms — he notes the absence of an engagement ring on your finger — and he wonders if you were so in love, why weren’t you engaged by now? “We should get back to work,” you say, and he clicks his tongue, glancing at his watch. 

“It’s late,” he tilts his head, “we should call it a night.” 

“Shit, it is,” you sigh, grabbing your coat and your bag, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Raf.” 

His lips upturns at the sound of his nickname on your lips, and he can’t help, but call after you — he needs to know, “You’re happy with him, right?” 

Your lips curve into a smile, “I am, I really am.” 

And he knows he really can’t tell you how he feels — so he smiles, “Good night.” 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” you close the door behind you, tossing your keys and purse on the table, and kicking off your shoes, “Practicing openings ran late—” you cut yourself off, finding Sonny asleep on the couch, case file in hand. 

His head lolled back against the couch, the file slipping down his side, and a half eaten dinner plate on his coffee table in front of him, the TV still on. You shut your mouth, smiling at the sight — before you pulled off your jacket, and hanging it up in the bedroom, before you found your way back to him. 

“Sonny,” you murmur in his ear, pressing a kiss to his temple, “wake up,” And he’s mumbling your name in his sleep, eyes fluttering, “come on, let’s get you to bed.” 

And after some coercion, he’s stumbling to his feet, warm fingers interlaced with yours as you lead him into bed, his eyes barely open, and he’s slipping into bed, under the covers, but his hand still won’t let you. 

He mumbles something under his breath, “What did you say?” 

“Don’t go,” he murmurs again, tugging you gently, until you’re sitting at his side, and he sighs, “don’t leave, sweetheart. Not yet.” 

And your gaze softens, as his eyes flutter closed, running your fingers through his hair, “I won’t, Sonny.” 

And he’s asleep, his quiet breaths filling your ears, and you get a text — phone vibrating in your pocket: Finally worked out the opening. I’ll show you tomorrow. 

And Rafael adds: Unless you have a moment right now? 

You glance at Sonny, asleep, before slipping your hand from his and switching the lamp off, closing the bedroom door behind you. 

Yeah. I have a minute. 

~~~

Sonny awakens at the sound of his alarm ringing. He groans quietly, blindly reaching for it, before shutting it off. And he turns, reaching for you, to find no one beside him. He blinks the sleep from his eyes to find only your pillow. He checks his phone — Had to head in early to speak to my client — I’ll be home for dinner at eight this time, I promise. Love you!

He frowns, rubbing his eyes, how many times did it make it that week? 

He sits up, stretching, he had barely seen you — between work at the firm and work on the Davis case, he hadn’t seen you in a solid week. 

But you have seen Barba every day of the week now. 

He didn’t think of himself as jealous — no, he knew his place and he trusted his partner. And he knew you would never cheat, at least, not physically. 

But it wasn’t you he didn’t trust. 

Barba was a friend, a mentor, but he was also your ex. The very same that had broken your heart, the very same you had fallen in love with, the very same that you probably would have married in a heartbeat. 

 So why not Sonny? 

He knew Barba had made you afraid of commitment — tentative to get your heart broken again, hesitant to take that step off a cliff where you couldn’t see the bottom — but he would catch you, he would always catch you. 

He stares at your messages, so why didn’t you? 

Might run a little late — Rafael wants to prep a witness again. 

And he locks his phone. 

Maybe he already knew the answer. 

“Yet another late night,” you groan, looking at the time, stretching out on your couch, “how does this keep happening?” 

“We’re both workaholics and enablers,” Rafael replies, putting away some of the case materials, “plus I’m more productive working here than my mother’s kitchen table.” 

More or less, his eyes found their way to you as they always did —  at least the view was much better. 

You snort, gesturing, “My office thanks you,” before you think, “you know I could get you an elevator fob, a temporary one, so you could work the case here.” 

Rafael pauses, furrowing his brow, “And that’s okay with your partners?” 

“Well they want a win, so,” you sit up, rising from the sofa, glancing over at him, “they’ll be fine,” and he’s raising an eyebrow, and you can’t help but slowly smile, as you walk across the office, “well, they told me all things go well — I may be making partner after all.” 

“You’ll be a partner?” and you nod, as he beams, “congratulations,” he moves forward, but hesitates — instead offering you his hand, and you roll your eyes, taking his hand and pulling him into a hug. And he stiffens, but tentatively melts into — “I’m really proud of you — you deserve it.” 

“Thank you,” you reply softly, your arms resting loosely around his shoulders, 

And he pulls away, lips curved upwards, “Thank me? I should be thanking you for all the work you’ve put in—” 

“No, no,” you bite your lip, “I meant for everything — you helped me become the attorney I am today — you guided me, and,” your eyes meet his gaze, “I wouldn’t be here without you.” 

“In more than one way,” he gives a bitter chuckle, pulling away, stepping back. He had driven you from work — it was your choice, but what other choice did he leave you? It was either move on or spend days working with the man who broke your heart. 

“Raf—” you start. 

 “I did apologize for what I did, but—” 

“You did and—” 

“But I don’t know how to make it up to you,” he presses his lips together, arms crossed over his chest, “in a way, I don’t think I ever can. I just—” he shakes his head,

“Raf,” you shrug, “I really wanted to hate you,” and a huff of a laugh escapes your lips, “you didn’t make it that hard,” a mournful smile on his lips, “but I couldn’t.” 

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to,” you tilt your head, “I loved you — I couldn’t find it in me to hate you — even when I thought I did, even when I said no to you — I didn’t hate you — I couldn’t. You made mistakes and you apologized,” and you add with a sigh, “it’s also really hard to hate you.”  

“Really?” a half smile on his lips. 

“At least for me,” stepping forward, “must be something wrong with me — physically, psychologically, something,” 

He scoffs, biting back a smile, “I hear Liv knows a good F.B.I. psychiatrist,” 

“I’ll have to ask her about it,” you snort, “where’s this coming from anyway?” 

“I treated you so terribly over Carisi,” he says softly, “when I treated you worse when we were together—” and you waver, “I just — I’m sorry — you deserve more than that,” you deserve more than me, he thinks, and you have it. 

“We both made mistakes,” you tilt your head, “don’t you think it’s more important what comes after?” 

“And what is that?” 

You roll your eyes, “Friendship? Camaraderie? Maybe even a little honesty?” 

“Well, you know lawyers love to lie,” he steps forward.

You raise an eyebrow, “Are you lying about something?” 

Only my feelings — but what else was new? “Nothing important,” he smiles, grabbing his coat, and he bites his lip, glancing at the time — 9:37 PM, “do you have time for a celebratory drink for your promotion?” and you frown, “unless you have plans?” 

And you glance at him and your phone and back, before nodding, “I got time.” 

“Have you asked—” 

“Not yet, Ma,” Sonny sighs, glancing at his casework, before leaning back in his chair, the stress crawling up his already stiff shoulders. And this phone call did little to alleviate his stress, “We’ve both been so busy with this case—”

“Too busy to talk about marriage?” it added to it, and he’s rubbing his temples, regretting ever asking for his grandmother’s ring to propose, “Dom, don’t let this one get away because you’re too afraid—”

And he’s covering his mouth, fingers squeezing his phone, “I know—” 

He knows, but do you? 

“You’re good for each other — we’ve seen it for ourselves,” he could hear his mother smile, “it’s so rare that you find someone that your sisters actually like, not to mention your father — that man—” his stomach is sinking, and cuts herself off, “what are you waiting for, Dominick?” 

He was waiting for you to love him enough. 

“Ma—” 

“You love—” He’s always loved you more than enough. 

“Of course I do, but—” 

“But nothing!” she huffs, “you should propose tonight over dinner, I got the perfect recipe for you to cook, it will—” 

“I can’t!” he finally snaps, frustration boiling over, “I can’t because I haven’t even gotten an answer about moving in—” and his anger simmers into sadness, voice breaking, “so how can I ask for marriage, when—” when he’s not even sure if you love him anymore? 

“Dominick,” his mother’s voice would break his heart, if it already wasn’t broken, “if you’re unhappy, you have to say something, you can’t let it go on,” her words are soft, but firm, “you don’t deserve to have your heart wasted — you’re too good for that, my sweet son.” 

He clears his throat, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, “I have to go, Ma,” 

“Ok,” she says with reluctance, “call me later this week?” 

“I will,” and then he adds, “and Ma? I love you.” 

“I love you too,” and she hangs up, as he sets his phone down, seeing his lock screen — a picture of him kissing your cheek at lunch, a few days before the case. And he’s staring at your smile, your lips, the way you were looking at him instead of the camera — and he locks the screen. 

He needed to tell you. 

The door clicks shut — the fourth time in a row you had been late. Sonny sits, eyes forward on the T.V., arms crossed against his chest, not bothering to look over. 

“Hey,” you begin, “sorry I’m late, I—” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies tersely, and he doesn’t want to fight — he doesn’t — he’s too tired to fight, before clicking off the T.V., “I’m used to it.” 

And you blink, “Sonny—” 

“It’s what? The eighth time or ninth time?” he’s sighing, “if that’s not a pattern—” 

“And this isn’t court,” you are walking towards him, setting down your things, “I’m sorry this case has been taking so much of my time— our time—” you correct yourself, “but it’s almost over — you know that, we’re working the same case.” 

“Except I’m not the one who is constantly at the office,” he’s sipping at his drink. 

“Because my side of the case is harder — you know the facts,” you cross your arms, “we have to be creative — we don’t have the government’s disposal at our fingertips—” 

“That would be true, if Liv and Fin didn’t help Barba find and track down witnesses,” he raises his eyebrows at you, as you blink, “yeah I knew about that.”

“I didn’t know—” 

“And it’s one thing to feel like your team is not on your side,” his chest squeezes, finally meeting your gaze, “but when it’s you—” 

“Sonny, this is my case, it’s professional. It has nothing to do with us,” you find your way to his side, but he’s pulling away from you. 

“It is when you’re using this case to push me away,” he says quietly, and he tries to see past your glassy eyes, “you’re never home, you’re always at the office, we never see each other—” 

“It’s just—” 

“It’s not work,” he almost laughed out of frustration, his heart no longer cracked but flooding, sinking beneath his own pain, and he could barely see the surface, “this has been happening even before.” 

“What are—” 

“Why won’t you move in with me?” he can’t afford to avoid it any longer — the question burning on his tongue so long that it had branded the words across his flesh. The one question he knew that could pull this whole thing apart, but he needed to ask because he needed to know whether it would. 

And he’d fall with it, if he had to. 

“Sonny,” you’re staring at him, “I—” 

“We’ve been dating for two years,” each word scrapes against the lump in his throat — each syllable only pain and hurt, “I have tried to be a good boyfriend, patient and loving — I love you, I’ve loved you since I met you—” 

“I know, Sonny,” your voice breaks. 

“And I can’t wait any longer for your answer,” he’s risen to his feet now, “I need to know.” 

“I’m just not ready—” 

“Will you ever be ready?” and he knows the answer, and he’s known the answer — he just couldn’t bring himself to ask it, but your silence is the answer he needs. And he’s turning away from you, “I can’t do this anymore.” 

“Sonny—” And he’s grabbing his things — his coat and his bag, but you’re at his side, fingers brushing his arm, “please—”

And he turns, pulling your hand away from him, “Have you ever asked yourself why you can’t move in with me?” and you blink, “it’s because of him.” 

And he doesn’t need to explain who that is, “It’s not—” 

 “I’m tired,” he cuts you off, turning away from you, “I’m tired of being your second choice, okay?” The words leave his lips and he’s almost as struck by them as you, and in a second, he’s pulling you aside into an empty conference room, the door clicking behind him, “I don’t want to live in his shadow anymore—” 

“Sonny—” 

“And not just with you,” he knew Fin, Rollins, and Liv were helping him — despite their orders, despite their loyalty to the state of New York, and despite their loyalty to him. And you — every late night, every glance in court, everything that existed between you two — he trusted you, he did, but he didn’t trust your feelings, “I can’t do it.” 

You’re at his side again, fingers plying at his cheeks, trying to get him to look at you, “I want you to move in, please, I—” 

“I don’t want to just move in anymore,” he sighs, it wasn’t enough — not anymore, “we’re past that, I’m past that.” 

“I—” and he pulls the ring box from his pocket, and your head snaps to it. 

“I want to marry you, sweetheart,” his voice softens, fingernails digging into the velvet, “I want to be with you forever — I want to have a family, children, a home—I want to give you everything,” and tears are slipping down your cheeks now, “but not if you can’t give me everything too.” 

And he wanted your everything — more than anything — he wanted to share it with you, to know you like he knew himself. And maybe he never would — but he would spend a lifetime trying to — and wasn’t that what loving someone was? 

And he knew you loved him — but was it enough? 

“Sonny, I—” you can’t believe it — it’s written clear across your face, and he knows — his stomach sinking — you hadn’t thought about this, had you? Not like he did, “I—” 

“I think we need some time,” and he’s stepping away, “I need some time—” 

“Sonny, please I don’t—” and you’re taking steps in tandem, until he allows you to touch him — but it doesn’t bring him peace, only pain. 

And he kisses you because he can’t help it, not when you’re crying and he’s the cause —  you pull him in, a meteor that can’t pull out of your orbit, and his kiss is soft and hard — jaw clenched, even as he melts into your touch, until you break apart, only your brows brushing in quiet of your breaths. 

Until he’s pulling away. 

“Think about it, okay?” he tucks the ring box back into his pocket, “because I have, and I—” and he swallows, “I can’t anymore.”

“How long do you need?” you ask quietly, as he steps towards the door, his fingers brushing against the doorknob, as he looks over his shoulder at you, standing. 

And he smiles sadly, “That’s up to you,” and as the door shuts behind him, he knows that you know what he means — he needs an answer, and he hopes you give the one he wants. 

Otherwise — he rests his head on your shut door, eyes stinging with tears — he’s not coming back at all. 

You can’t sleep. An understatement. 

You hadn’t slept in two nights — you couldn’t. Each time you’d toss and turn until you gave up, turning on your side and scrolling mindlessly through whatever app you found amenable — anything to not think, anything to not see Sonny’s face staring at you looking for an answer you didn’t have, anything to not hate yourself for not having the answer. 

You hated yourself. Another understatement. 

You turned on your back, staring at the ceiling — how could you do this to Sonny? What was wrong with you? He was perfect — loving, caring, sweet — and all he wanted was a future with you. 

The very thing you were afraid of. 

But why? You squeeze your eyes shut, but the thought wriggles its way to the forefront of your mind — Why were you so afraid? 

You sigh, glancing at the empty space next to you, rolling over to Sonny’s pillow — it still smelled like him, his shampoo, the unique scent that you couldn’t quite pin down, but that was him all the same. Tears sting at your eyes, and you throw off your covers, sitting up — you couldn’t stay here. 

You pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a jacket — sparing one more glance at your bedroom — not right now. 

You don’t know where to go — you don’t feel like eating, you don’t feel like sleeping, so where else do you go? 

You go to work. 

The office building is unlocked from the outside — relatively deserted, except for the security guard that sat at the desk, who nodded at you as you entered — bleary eyed. You slip into the elevator, scanning your elevator fob and hitting the right floor, a shaky breath as the doors shut behind you — but you can’t cry, not in the elevator of your workplace, not when you’re on camera, not when you don’t deserve to. 

Not when it was you who had done the hurting this time. 

The elevator dings, letting you off on your floor — and you step off to an empty floor. The lights have long ago dimmed, as you scan your fob and open the glass doors to the offices. You spare at the glance at the partners’ offices — the lights shut. And you sigh, you hadn’t even told Sonny about the potential offer — you were going to wait until it was confirmed. 

And now, you arrived at your office opening the door, would you ever get the chance? 

You jump when you hear your name, head whipping up, heart in your throat, when you spot Rafael sitting on your couch, “Hey,” he blinks, “sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” and you furrow your brow, “I was practicing my closing.” 

“How—” and you remember the temporary key fob you had made for him— and you shake your head, “no I’m sorry too, I just needed—” you swallow the truth, “I just—” but you can’t bring yourself to lie, choking on your own words. And then he asks the one question that he shouldn’t — 

“Are you okay?” 

And you’re crying, tears slipping down your face, and you don’t know how but he’s holding you now, your tears staining his button up, buried in his shoulder, “I’m sorry— I—” 

He shushes you gently, “It’s okay, don’t apologize,” and you both stand there for a few minutes, until your sobs finally quiet, an empty feeling in stirring in your chest, and he’s running tentative fingers through your hair, “I feel like I can count the number of times you’ve cried in front of me on my fingers,” 

You give a watery chuckle, “I don’t like crying in front of other people,” 

“Who does?” he replies drily, and you laugh, shaking your head, before resting your forehead against his shoulder a moment. 

“This is such a mess,” you whisper, before you’re pulling away, “I’m sorry, I—” 

“Don’t say sorry,” he shakes his head, as you sniff, wiping your tears, before jerking his head towards the couch, the two of you sitting, and he’s handing you bottled water. You take a few mournful sips, before screwing the cap on, “what happened?” 

“I really fucked things up with Sonny — I—” your voice broke, “you should have seen him — he was—” 

“It’s okay, slow down,” he tells you softly, “What happened?” and you’re silent a moment, “unless you don’t want to—” 

“Sonny — he proposed,” the last words come out a whisper, and Rafael blinks, “sort of, it was an argument.” 

“Because you didn’t say yes?” and you’re shaking your head. 

“Because he thought I never would,” you squeeze your eyes shut, covering your face, “I don’t know what to do,” 

“I think the obvious question to ask is, do you want to marry him?” and you don’t know how to answer that. 

“I’ve never married someone before,” a tear slips down your face and he’s handing a tissue, “how do you know?” 

“It’s a feeling,” he shrugs, “it’s the same as love — you feel it,” 

You blink away tears, meeting his gaze, the question leaves your lips before you could stop it, “How did you know?” and you shake your head again, cheeks burning with shame, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—” 

“I knew too late,” his gaze dropping to his lap, “but I knew I wanted to marry you. I knew my days were happier with you, I know that I wanted to see you every day that you were gone, I know I thought about you almost every day, I know I regret every decision that drove you away,” and his eyes meet yours again — shining with something you knew all too well, “and I still do.” 

More tears falling — but maybe for another reason now, “Raf—” 

“I would kill for a second chance,” and then he gives a bitter chuckle, “no pun intended, or malicious intent for that matter,” he adds, making you huff, “but I would. I made so many mistakes with you because I was afraid — because I thought you would fall out of love with me when you saw me,” 

“But I always saw you, Rafael,” your hand finds his, “I did.” 

“I know,” he says softly, “but what’s stopping you? Is it fear? Or is it something else? Or…” 

Or someone else. 

The words were unspoken, but the implication hung between the two of you, and he whispered your name, but you’re shaking your head, “Rafael, I can’t—” 

And you couldn’t — this wasn’t what you came for, this wasn’t supposed to happen. And you were supposed to say no, you were supposed to pull away, you were supposed to love Sonny — and you do, you do, but you can’t pull away. 

Not when you have feelings for Rafael too. 

“I know,” he whispers back, “but I can’t lie to you anymore — I can’t lie to myself,” he smiles sadly, “I love you,” the words echo in your fresh tears spill from your eyes. His fingers brushing a falling tear away, nearly just by the tips of his fingers, and your breath is shaky, as he smiles, “I don’t think I ever stopped.” 

“Ever?” you repeat, and he laughs, a warm sound that lingers. 

“Ever,” he sighs, “I didn’t want to hurt you or Carisi — I want the best for you, but I need you to know, if…” 

If he was the one stopping you from saying yes. 

“I know,” you whisper back — and you want to say more, but your words elude you. Your chest squeezes, and you wonder if he’s stolen your breath too, because he’s surely stolen your words— “but…” 

“But,” he nods sadly, but you still didn’t know. 

But the moment too eludes you when his phone rings, the two of you leaning away, blinking, as he reaches for his cellphone, as you wipe your tears away. He writes off whatever the message is, tucking his phone away, as you get to your feet, “I need time to think,” 

“Of course,” he clears his throat, a beautiful blush across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose “I didn’t mean to—” 

“No, I know,” you shake your head, glancing at your phone, seeing Sonny’s face on your lockscreen, before you pocket it,  “I just—” 

“I know,” he says, tilting his head, “are you okay?” 

And you shake your head, “No,” and you sigh, a weight sitting on your chest — the weight of a decision you didn’t know you would have to make, but you did, and you would, “but I will be.” 

And you would be — as you stepped out of your office, rubbing your eyes — maybe once you slept on it.

~~~

And sleep you do, but it is one that is dreamless, but not thoughtless. 

No, your thoughts swirl throughout your subconscious the entire night. You dream of Rafael, just as you dream of Sonny.

And as soon it seemed you fell asleep, you woke up to your cell phone going off — the verdict was in. 

Even as you walk into the courtroom, you don’t know who to choose. You hadn’t spoken since that night at the office — to either of them. You arrive earlier than the others, Rafael and Sonny absent from their respective tables, and the officers choose then to bring in your client to your side. 

“Mr. Davis—” 

“Please call me Mickey,” he offers a weak smile, “I told you that from the start.” 

“Sorry, Mickey,” you correct yourself, “I would ask how you’re feeling, but well—” 

He huffed a laugh, “Nervous, for one, but,” his eyes fall back to the empty jury box, ��I have to trust in the system don’t I? Same as everyone else.” 

And you glance behind you, noticing the absence of anyone behind him, “Did you not ask anyone to come?” 

And he sighs, “My daughter, but,” he glances sadly behind him, “she hadn’t come — not yet at least,” and he shakes his head, leaning back in his chair, “wife’s gone as you know — and well,” he pulls a picture of his daughter from his pocket, “who else would you want by your side at the worst moment of your life?” 

The double doors behind you creak open, and Sonny enters, walking past you without a glance, And who would you want? 

And only a few moments later, Rafael arrives too, finding his place beside you and Mickey, and you allow them to speak, his hand clapping to Mickey’s shoulder. 

None of you really knew how the jury would rule on this one. And you wondered — who was it that you would want beside you at your worst moments? Who would you want behind you, whispering comforts in your ear, who would want to love you, even at the lowest point of your life? 

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” and the jury rises, the foreman handing the verdict to the judge, before handing it back, “have you reached a decision?” 

And you glance between Rafael and Sonny —  you were on trial, whose hand would you want to hold? 

“We have, Your Honor,” and you know what your answer is now, “we find the defendant—” 

Guilty of Manslaughter Two — the same deal that you and Rafael had turned down at the start of this — ironic, you think, glancing at the two of them — back right where you started. 

You pack up your things as Rafael slips out early, as you quietly discuss sentencing with Mickey, before setting up another meeting with him about the hearing. And Sonny’s leaving too — catching a glimpse of both of them leaving — and now you knew your answer, as you begin to walk towards them— 

You knew whose hand you wanted to hold.