#I find it funny how long I took to be comfortable to draw Miles' face 😆 The difference between May and November omg

[fantasy-girl974]

✨ Art Summary 2024 ✨

Welp, you can definitely see where the shift happened this year 😂🫣 **** So yep, I discovered Ace Attorney back in May and it took me awhile to dare to draw for it. And I even surprised myself even more when toward the end of the first trilogy, I started to ship those 2 dorks lawyers (I luv them, I say it affectionately of course 💕😌).

Anyway, the game helped me A LOT this year with my mood since many events happened irl (professionally and personally). So the comics I've started for Narumitsu since July really helped me a lot to de-stress (you can find the many WIPs on my blog).

I think I'm comfortable with the style of rendering I have now and that I realized this year that I really prefer to draw comics than full arts (funnily, I have no patience for full arts but for comics I do hmmmm 🫠). **** As for Kotaloy, I'll be honest: I won't come back to it any time soon 🫂 I still love them dearly, but let's say it has went dormant because of personal reasons. Maybe when Horizon 3 will be announced my urge to draw them will come back, who knows.

**** I want to thanks everyone who loved / shared and left comments / tags on my arts here on tumblr this year! It's honestly the only place where I feel comfortable and where my arts are appreciated and seen, so again THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! 💖💖💖 And welcome new followers! 🤗 I will for sure share more next year! (and hopefully fully share my nrmt comics 👀 *run away* )

Happy New Year from my tiny island, bisous! 💖🎉

[ronancebible]

jealousy, jealousy {robin buckley x afab!reader}

Summary: Robin finds herself incredibly jealous of the way you and Eddie talk to one another. When she comes to talk to you about it, she finds you in a rather compromising situation. 2.6k words.

A/N: For my wonderful anon! I hope you enjoy. There is the slightest bit of period-typical internalized homophobia, but nothing too heavy! It's still a light read. No pronouns used, but the reader is implied to be female through discussions of same-sex attraction.

Warnings: Brief, slight mentions of internalized homophobia, masturbation, mutual masturbation, tiny alcohol mention

—

You let out a sigh as you finally took a sip of the cold water you had left at the picnic site. The hot July sun beat down on the meadow; the cheese was sure to be warm now and the champagne bound to be flat.

Steve had had the absolutely terrible idea to take a hike up to Weathertop from the picnic site, not realizing it was over 4 miles away. Everyone had given up and turned around after an hour of fruitless walking.

Steve had beat you all back to the large blanket, lazily spread out on a fluffy patch of grass. He was reaching for the strawberries when you walked up. Eddie and Robin trailed slightly behind you, only meeting you there after you had already quickly drained your bottle, panting heavily.

“Man, I thought you only made those sounds when you were with me,” Eddie said, grinning as he toed his shoes off and sat down on the edge of the blanket. You rolled your eyes fondly.

“Maybe if you keep up the good behavior, I’ll make some better ones for you,” you teased in return, throwing him a showy wink for good measure.

You and Eddie had established this flirty rapport a few months prior. It wasn’t that you were really into each other, no, it was because of an incident at a local mall. Eddie had been stoned, carelessly licking at an ice cream cone. Inhibitions lowered, he openly goggled a large poster ad for Calvin Klein briefs, only to quickly realize his mistake when he got a funny look from a mother with her children.

He had immediately tried to cover, his only thought being to tell you, “Can’t wait for you to get me out of those tonight, (Y/N).”

The mother looked scandalized, and quickly walked away with her kids as you doubled over in laughter.

“Want me to use my teeth?” you managed to reply after several seconds laughing, which only served to make both you and Eddie crack up all over again.

It had been a recurring theme between the two of you since. As much as it was silly, you had really grown to appreciate it for the peace of mind it gave Eddie. And you, on the occasion that your eyes lingered too long on a Victoria’s Secret model poster at the mall.

For the two of you, it was comfortable and reassuring, however stupid it sounded. For Robin and Steve however, it was endlessly annoying.

“Oh my God, enough,” Steve groaned through a mouthful of strawberry. “It’s endless.”

“Please, try walking next to them on that hike,” Robin commiserated before spraying whipped cream into her mouth. You watched how the muscles in her neck moved when she tipped her head back, how her lips pursed to catch all the cream, blushing and looking away when her tongue darted out to clean the corner of her mouth.

There was that small fact, too.

You and Eddie scoffed and rolled your eyes as Robin flipped you off.

—————

“Are you actually into Eddie? Like, for real?” Robin asked you later, back at your apartment. You could see her chewing her thumbnail out of the corner of your eye.

Your breath hitched a little, like it did every time someone asked you about guys. Answering always felt like a half-truth. You forced a smile.

“No, don’t worry. We won’t be messing up the group dynamic anytime soon,” you said, not looking up from the picnic dishes you were washing.

“Well, I mean… you kind of already have,” Robin said, finally drawing your attention away from the dishes. You searched her face, seeing genuine annoyance and frustration.

“We can’t go anywhere or do anything without you two flirting like crazy. And it’s so graphic,” she continued, her face reddening slightly.

“Robin, I didn’t know it bothered you,” you said, feeling bewildered. “You know it’s just a joke, it’s just the way we are. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well it’s getting on my nerves!” Robin shot back.

You turned back to the dishes quickly, trying to hide as emotion welled on your face. You didn’t know how to justify your actions without telling her about you or Eddie, so you stayed quiet as Robin lowered herself off the counter, looking slightly remorseful.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” she muttered, letting herself out of your apartment.

You let out a heavy sigh as you heard the door slam. This was the last thing you wanted.

You had no idea that Robin was genuinely bothered by the way you and Eddie talked to each other. As far as you knew, she and Steve only teased you about it. Her reaction took you by surprise.

Your mind wandered to earlier in the day as you tried to remember if Robin had seemed more upset than you noticed officially. You wracked your brain, but after a few minutes, all you could come up with was the vision of Robin spraying whipped cream into her mouth. How her lips had moved. How her eyes closed when her head tipped back.

You tried to shake it off, but then you remembered the flush of her cheeks, her heavy breathing as you hiked across Hawkins earlier. How the fine hairs at the base of her neck stuck to her skin, how you wanted to lick every drop of sweat that beaded down her cheeks.

Great. Robin was mad at you and all you could do was get turned on by her. Like always.

You huffed, putting the last dish on the drying rack. After standing still for a few seconds, turning it over in your head, you gave in with a sigh. You were too worked up to do anything else.

You walked to your room, swinging the door shut and climbing on top of your bed, shedding your jacket as you went.

You lay on your bed, still for a second, as you let the thoughts swirl around your head. At a particularly fond memory of watching Fast Times at Ridgemont High (53 minutes, 5 seconds), you groaned impatiently, shedding your top and sighing as your boobs hit the open air. Thoughts of Robin’s thigh pressed against your own at movie night spurred you on as you unceremoniously shoved a pillow between your thighs, lightly pressing down to tease yourself as you worked yourself up.

You bit your lip as you trailed your hands over your body, slowing down at your nipples, the swell at your underboob, right above your waistline—you were entranced by your own touch, imagining Robin’s smartass smile as you did so. Her hands covered in rings.

You almost wished you had more of a moral compass. One that told you it was weird to get off to thoughts of your best friend. But in the moment, you couldn’t care any less. Right now, all that existed was your need, your touch, and Robin’s face flitting through your memories.

Eventually, though, the pillow wasn’t enough, and you threw it aside in a huff. You were good and truly wet now, the kind of wet that left you whining as you felt your folds easily slide together. You haphazardly reached into your nightstand, digging under school papers until you found what you were looking for. Your prized Playboy.

You lazily flipped through it, your fingers getting closer and closer to your center as you went. About five pages in, at a particularly tantalizing photo, you slid your fingers in through your folds, shuddering heavily at the feeling. You looked at the woman in print, mesmerized as always with the way her tits sat against her body, whining as your fingertip brushed your clit.

You were just about to start touching in earnest when you heard a startled voice.

“That’s a Playboy.”

You shot up, face burning an obscene shade of red as you finally noticed Robin in the doorway. She looked transfixed, eyes flitting between your hand and the magazine. Her face must have been as red as yours.

Still, she gulped and repeated, “That’s a Playboy.”

You moved slowly to cover yourself with the covers. “I know,” you whispered.

“Why are you getting off to a Playboy, (Y/N)?” Robin said, voice hardly higher than a whisper.

Tears threatened your eyes. You didn’t want to have to do this. Not right now, not ever. Especially not with Robin.

“I… I mean, shit, Rob, why do you think?” you forced out, not knowing what else to say, voice just as low as Robin’s.

The most unexpected thing happened. Her face slowly crept into a smile, a smile that read no malicious intent. She took a step closer.

“I came back to, um… apologize. I shouldn’t have said that shit,” Robin said.

You shook your head, bewildered. Now, of all times? When you were basically naked, caught masturbating?

“Robin, I—”

“No, hold on, let me finish,” she insisted, taking a few steps forward and sitting on the edge of your bed. “I came to apologize.”

She took a deep breath. “It’s kind of hard to come to terms with… some feelings. Ones that you’ve been told your whole life aren’t right… aren’t natural. Shit, even the more accepting people basically imply it’s abnormal. But, I did. After a while. And I’m really okay with it. I like it about myself, actually. And I think you might know what I’m talking about,” she said, eyes meeting yours shyly, briefly. You held your breath.

“I thought you and Eddie were for real. And it bothered me so much, and I didn’t really know why, until I realized I was… jealous. I was just sickeningly jealous. I wanted you to say those things to me. Not him.”

Silence. Your eyes met.

“So, I’m sorry for snapping at you. And I’m sorry for walking away,” Robin finished, looking sheepishly at her feet.

You were shocked. You didn’t know there were other people in Hawkins like you, let alone that it was the object of your affections. You hardly even knew what to say, still reeling from Robin’s announcement, still trying to come to terms that you were normal. You weren’t alone.

Rationally, you had known that. You knew queer people existed, heard about their existence on TV, in books. But seeing a living, breathing person in front of you who was the same. You were overjoyed.

That’s when you noticed Robin’s flush. Her eyes darted, in a way she probably thought was inconspicuous, between your exposed tits, your damp fingers clutching a pillow. Your face. You noticed the way she was shifting in place, as if to hit the perfect spot against the seam of her jeans. You turned it over in your head, deciding it was worth it.

“Rob?” you whispered, drawing her attention back to her eyes. “Do you want to know what I think about?”

Robin seemed to short-circuit. “Um… I mean, I guess I don’t really… If you’re offering—”

You cut her off with a reassuring smile. “You.”

Her eyes widened, almost comically. You trailed your hands back down your body.

“You, and that gorgeous fucking smile. The way your whole face lights up. How it feels when we touch, like electricity running through a wire. How during movie nights when we share a blanket, all I can focus on is how it might feel to touch you beneath the blanket, how quiet I would have to keep you while I fingered you senseless.”

Robin let out a choked gasp, mesmerized as you dipped your fingers through your core, soft, wet noises filling the room. She seemed rooted in her spot, unsure what to do as her face reddened and she unknowingly wiggled in place.

“Lay down?” you pleaded, breath heavy as your fingertips lightly circled your clit.

Robin hesitated. “Like…?”

You nodded, a whimper escaping you as you imagined Robin laid out next to you, touching herself the same way you were.

Robin smiled. “Okay. Just a second.”

She sat up off the bed, wiggling out of her jeans and shedding her top, revealing no bra.

You moaned in earnest now, still taking it slow to allow Robin to catch up with you, but spurred on at the sight of her bare tits. Your mouth watered.

“Fuck, Rob,” you breathed as she climbed back on the bed, laying down next to you.

Robin let out a little whimper as she mirrored your actions, one hand tracing her boobs, catching at each nipple, and the other down, teasing her lower half.

This was every single one of your dreams come true. As your fingers began circling your clit in earnest, you turned your head to look at Robin. The real thing was so much better. It wasn’t overly dolled up, over staged, with fake-looking scenes, like the Playboy.

Instead, you watched Robin, her full tits spilling over her sides, jiggling deliciously with every vigorous move her arms made. You watched her chest heave, sweat bead on her forehead as both of your paces picked up. She ground herself down on her palm, letting out a full-bodied moan as she slipped her middle finger inside herself. You were mesmerized, more turned on that you’d ever been in your life, giddy that this could even happen.

Robin’s head turned to meet yours, and you saw her give you the same thorough looking-over you gave her.

“Am I dreaming?” she sighed, eyes slipping shut as her hands gained speed.

“God, I hope not,” you replied, the coil tightening in your belly as Robin’s face screwed up with pleasure.

“I—God, (Y/N)... I think about you, too,” Robin whines, her eyes opening to drink you in again.

You couldn’t look away. Robin’s face, flushed and freckled, was all you wanted to see for the rest of your life. Fuck, she was so pretty, forehead increasingly shiny, hair mussed from exertion. Your heart felt so full looking at her, and you could hardly contain the words as they spilled out of your mouth.

“Kiss me, please.”

Robin smiled lazily, turning her head the extra few inches it took to meet you in the middle.

The second your lips met, it felt like puzzle pieces falling into place. You knew it was corny, but that was all you could think as her plush lips met yours. You sighed into her mouth, holding her lips with your own like your life depended on it.

Robin moaned breathily into your mouth, and you took the opportunity to run your tongue across her bottom lip. She tasted like her Lip Smackers and something so uniquely her. You could have sat there all day, drinking in the miracle that was Robin Buckley, but there was a more pressing matter at hand.

“(Y/N), I’m close,” Robin whimpered, mumbling against your lips. Both your hands were unrelenting, elbows and forearms knocking against each other. You rubbed at your clit hard, circling tightly while your other hand thrusted shallowly inside you. Every part of your body felt like a live wire, only accentuated by the intoxicating slide of Robin’s lips against your own. The coil in your body tightened violently, threatening to snap. You panted.

“Me, too,” you whispered. “Come for me, Robin, please, I need to see you.”

When your lips met again, Robin came with a high keen and a full-body shudder, calling your name hoarsely and biting down on your bottom lip almost painfully as she worked herself through it. You thought you might die, feeling Robin writhe against you, kissing you like it was a life-saving antidote.

That was all it took for you to fall over the edge, too, hips rolling in the air as your nerve endings were set alight, a world-shattering orgasm ripping through you uninhibited. Robin’s lips against yours were the only anchor to the world you had.

As you both came down, panting, you grabbed Robin’s sticky hand with your own.

“Gross,” she said, with a goofy smile and no real vitriol.

You turned, giggling as you dropped your head onto her shoulder.

“Mmmm,” you sighed, sated. “I don’t ever want to let go of you.”

Robin kissed your head sweetly. “So don’t.”

You smiled against her, stomach fluttering with the world’s entire butterfly population.

“Sounds like a deal, Buckley.”

[1kook]

ZOOM CALL

⇢ meeting two

jeon jungkook x (f) reader

⇢ series masterlist

summary: Most notably, there’s one group project waiting for you, which leads you to Friday. Sitting at your desk, bright and early, absolutely dreading being assigned to your group. genre: fluff, slice of life, smut (tags tba) warnings: ITS A SLOW BURN OKAY...., sweetheart jk, campus crush jk, college crushes, social distancing, zoom -_-, jk owns a keroppi plush, oc thirsts over his hot bod, jk’s sweet attempts at flirting </3 he’s just 2 cute for his own good ratings: e for everyone <3 wc: 3.7k

notes: this took long bc i wrote one version but it was SO LAME u guys r lucky my friend and editor ( @kigurumu​ 🖤 ) stopped me from posting it. so then i had to reorganize my thoughts n b like girl. the ppl are waiting. get it together. anyway here’s zoom jk 😎

Being grouped with Jeon Jungkook (he/him) for your first class on the first day of your first Zoom semester truly sets the standard.

By no means do your other classes suck; they’re quite enjoyable, more relevant to your area of study. They’re familiar which makes them comfortable, your Zoom meetings filled with faces you’ve seen time and time again the last four years. The material interests you, so you definitely don’t have anything against them or your classmates. 

That being said, no one is prepared for the awkwardness that comes with each and every Zoom meeting. You never thought you’d be embarrassed to turn your mic on— to speak in a class filled with your peers. And the meetings are all like that, filled with uncomfortable silences and endless black screens. 

You wish there was a Jeon Jungkook (he/him) in every class. 

Jungkook’s just got this bubbly aura to him, this magnetic presence that staples itself into the back of your mind with each passing day. No one fills a Zoom call like he does, making every person laugh and smile like him. 

Wednesday rolls around and you find yourself a little disheartened when you don’t get sorted into the same randomized group as him again. Disappointment melts into annoyance when you find out how incompetent your other classmates are, refusing to speak in the small group or just completely clocking out all together. A lot of them didn’t do the reading— the one you stayed up all night doing —and your first partnered assignment of the semester finds you doing it all by yourself. Muted mics, black windows, complete radio silence; you hated it all. 

You find yourself weirdly longing for Jeon Jungkook’s presence, even if he’s only there to talk about some movie he saw last night. No one is as much of a chatterbox as him, can’t even hold a candle to the way he draws everyone in with his mindless conversations. At least he speaks during Breakout Rooms, you think bitterly. 

Anyway, the first week of classes ends and your brain is a frenzied mess. There’s schedules to memorize, professors to impress, assignments to plan out. There’s definitely no time to sit around and fantasize about the curly haired cutie in one of your general classes. The weekend is spent trying to organize your planner, filling in due dates and exam days ahead of time. It’s your last semester and you’re dead set on making it your best one yet. There’s a lot of written work this time around, analyses and research papers that need to be organized. The road ahead is manageable, but you’ll have to work hard to keep it that way for the next five months. 

Most notably, there’s one group project waiting for you, which leads you to Friday. Sitting at your desk, bright and early, absolutely dreading being assigned to your group.

Jungkook is early this time, not like on Monday where he’d been one of the last to filter in, and he’s looking as chirpy as ever. Donning this horrendously hot pink shirt, completely unlike the neutral tones he’d worn during your last two meetings and that decorate his room, and the cutest pair of circle glasses sitting on his nose. He says his regularly scheduled ‘good morning’ to you all and receives a collective response from the rest of the class that not even your professor got. 

Speaking of the professor, you’ve been giving him the stink eye this whole time. Not that he can tell, given the fact he’s probably miles away in his own home while you angrily glare at him through your webcam. It’s this old guy who’s decided to sort you all into semester long groups for the class, which is the absolute worst. These types of groups always go the same way: you make a group chat promising to study together, those plans fall through, and then everyone just leeches off of each other for homework answers. And in most cases, it’s you handing over your homework answers because no one else ever bothers to do anything. Sadly, it’s a routine you’ve had to suffer through many times in your academic career. 

The thought makes you sick. Having to spend another semester being labeled as the bossy, nerdy dictator of the group? Not exactly how you wanted to spend the last few months of college, but there’s nothing you can do. Maybe this time around you’ll just let it be, won’t fight it (and by it, you mean your lazy classmates when they inevitably try to guilt trip you for homework) and simply let it run its course. 

“I’m going to put you guys into Breakout Rooms with your new groups!” your professor claps excitedly, and then you and the rest of your classmates are forced to watch him lean too close to the camera as he begins clicking around to find the preset groups he’s assigned the class. “Remember, guys, this is it for the rest of the semester. So if something isn’t right, let me know by the end of today.” 

Man, this was going to suck, you groan. The syllabus had said that the purpose of these groups was to keep you all connected with your classmates during these trying times, to give you the same opportunities in-person learning would. Frankly, you’re not too worried about making friends with everyone in this large class. Most of them are younger than you anyway, save for Jeon Jungkook (he/him) and a handful of others who are apparently in your year. Befriending lowerclassmen only to have to bid them adieu in a few months seems awfully sad, a little too heartbreaking. You really just want to get a good grade in this class, collect the last of your credits, and put this whole college experience behind you. 

Your thoughts are wrapped up by the pop-up message that appears on screen. 

The host is inviting you to join a Breakout Room: Group 12

You sigh, contemplate dropping this class for all of two seconds, before dutifully accepting the request. Worse comes to worst, you make up some lie to tell your professor that you’re allergic to group work and hope it works. (It won’t.) 

You sit through the mandatory loading screen for a few seconds before being abruptly dumped into your new room, Group 12, or so the message had said. There’s no one else here yet, which isn’t really a surprise. A lot of your classmates are probably like you, scowling at the pop up message every time your professor sends you into small groups before accepting the request. So you chill by yourself, eyes tracing over your own mirrored image. The notes on last night’s reading are neatly laid out before you, your copy of the book off to the side. 

Another beat and then, much to your surprise, Jeon Jungkook (he/him) is appearing in your room. “Oh,” he says, round eyes magnified by the thick lens of his glasses, the glare of the computer’s glow casting a funny shape across the lens that momentarily robs you of his pretty eyes. His pretty pink lips stretch into a smile, upper lip thinning out a bit when he flashes you those perfect teeth. “Hi, __,” he greets politely, bubbly. 

It’s embarrassing how much his presence affects you, your back going ramrod straight in a terrible attempt to compose yourself. “Hi, Jungkook,” you manage to get out, fingers nervously reaching for something, anything, to ground yourself. They land on a pencil. 

Jungkook doesn’t seem even the slightest bit aware of the commotion he causes within you. “I was really nervous for these groups,” he begins rambling right away, lips pushing down into an exaggerated frown as he shivers at the memory. “But I’m glad I got placed with someone hardworking like you!”

Despite how sweet he sounds, you’re not entirely sure if he’s buttering you up just to take advantage of your ‘hardworking’ attitude later down the road or if he’s genuinely being polite. The little information you know about Jungkook wants you to believe it is the latter; he’s very kind, sweet and nice in a way that makes everyone he speaks to feel warm. Still, for all you know this could be some elaborate ruse of his to make you trust him now and then convince you to do all the work for the rest of the semester. 

Tentatively, you ask, “and how would you know that?” You try your best to keep your usual snappiness out of your voice, pose it simply out of curiosity. But everything you say or do feels like a stark contrast to Jungkook and his bubbliness. 

His head tilts cutely to the side, imploring brown eyes looking at you for one hard second. And then, “I read your forum analysis from Wednesday,” he admits, breaking into a smile. Shy and tiny, bashfully looking down at his desk. “I thought your perspective on the piece was really interesting,” he says, lips pursing together as if he’s suddenly too embarrassed to admit such things to you. 

Stunned, all you can manage is one slow nod. “Thank you,” you eventually choke out, trying to ward the heat away from your cheeks as Jungkook sheepishly nods back, cute smile still on his face. 

“Oh, please,” he chuckles, raising his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Don’t thank me!” 

It is in this exact moment that you are suddenly made aware of two things. 

One: despite his collection of soft sweaters and t-shirts, his bouncy curls and sweet smile, Jeon Jungkook’s body is neither as cute nor as soft as any of his belongings. In fact, Jeon Jungkook’s body is all hard planes and prominent veins. Arms beefy, biceps that bulge beneath the fabric of the short sleeve t-shirt he’s donned today. His shoulders fill out the material nicely, making him look broad and huge, but that’s not even the worst part, because—

—two: Jeon Jungkook is covered in ink. Dark streaks and swirls paint his forearms, curling around his elbow. Every inch of his pale skin is littered with tiny designs. They dance along the back of his hands, over his knuckles, and end at an unidentifiable point beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. When he tugs at the neckline of his shirt in an effort to readjust it, you hope your eyes are deceiving you and that isn’t a hint of ink by his collarbone. 

Your normal composure seems to slip away at the mere thought. 

It’s Jungkook’s voice that brings you back, a soft timbre that asks, “aren’t we supposed to have someone else in our group?” You flinch as if you’ve been caught ogling him, never mind the fact he’s started mindlessly shuffling some papers around on his desk, not the slightest bit concerned with you. 

“Oh— um, yes. I think,” you stammer, feeling like some creep for ogling your very cute, very sweet classmate. The memory of his inky skin nearly sends a shiver down your spine as you navigate back to the class syllabus. “We’re supposed to have at least three people,” you read off, glancing at the boy on your screen who frowns at the news. 

“Do you think they dropped?” Given it was still only the first week of school, probably. There had been a fewer number of people in the call when it started, you remembered. Jungkook sighs, this rather light sound that ends in a hum. “Well, we can always wait a few minutes just in case.”

So you wait, nervously bouncing your leg up and down. It’s not awkward, or at least, not as awkward as it would be with anyone else. The other week you had silently sat with another classmate in a one-on-one discussion and hadn’t uttered a word for five minutes. It wasn’t because you didn’t care about the class, but because said classmate had been tapping away on their phone the entire time and hadn’t even responded to your simple greeting. That was awkward. 

With Jungkook it’s more weird than awkward. You can tell the silence makes him uncomfortable because he keeps doing these tiny inhales like he’s about to speak, followed by a little head shake where he seemingly stops himself from saying anything at all. He wants to talk, very badly it seems, but holds back for some odd reason. 

He’s scribbling on some sheet of paper, leaning forward to give you a view of the top of his head. From this angle, his shirt hangs forward and a silver necklace falls out from beneath the neckline, thuds against the table. And then your suspicions are nearly confirmed, and oh god, is that a chest piece—

You quickly look away. 

Robbed of his handsome face and feeling like you’ll die if you look at his body any longer, you settle for your newly acquired favorite pastime: inspecting your classmates’ rooms over Zoom. Yes, you’ll admit it is incredibly nosy, but what else can you do? You can only look at your professor for so long until you inevitably grow bored, attention drifting off to your classmates tiny windows. And with no professor in sight, just gorgeous Jeon Jungkook, you quickly begin your examination of his bedroom. 

Jungkook’s room is pretty much the same as you remember it, rather neat and plain. There’s not a lot going on in terms of decoration, which is a little surprising to say the least. Over the course of the week, you’ve watched your classmates’ dormitories and bedrooms gradually change, decorations and tapestries decorating the walls, mountains of pillows added to their beds. It’s only natural that everyone has an innate need to show off who they are now more than ever, and you thought Jungkook would be the same. 

Apparently not. 

Aside from the guitar you had spotted on Monday, his little dorm room remains unchanged. Blank walls, grayscale sheets. The same perfectly fluffed pillows and then—

A tiny Keroppi plush smack dab in the middle of his bed. 

It’s adorable but a little out of place amongst Jungkook’s rather masculine decorations (or lack thereof). A tiny green doll sitting by his pillows, cute striped shirt and ridiculously dopey smile. 

Leaning forward, you unmute yourself and conversationally say, “I love your Keroppi.” 

At the sudden sound of your voice, Jungkook abruptly straightens up, glasses practically at the very tip of his nose. Eyes wide, it takes him a second to process your words before jerkily whipping around to stare at the aforementioned item. “Oh,” he jumps, slowly looking at his screen again, lips pulled into a tight line. “Um… it’s not mi—“

“It’s adorable,” you add, propping your chin in your palm, absolutely endeared with the rosy color that paints his cheeks, fades down the column of his neck. 

He squirms, hurriedly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He looks like he’ll deny it again, nervously nibbling at his lower lip, before eventually he settles with a sigh. “I won it from a crane machine,” he confesses with a sheepish huff of laughter, rolling backwards to the edge of his bed to snatch it from its spot. 

(Of course he manspreads as he sits, dark jeans hugging his thighs as he rolls back your way. His arm looks so strong, covered in all that ink, you nearly drool.)

“It’s cute, isn’t it?” he says, abandoning his embarrassment as he shakes the little figure around, makes it look like it’s dancing for you. “My mom said it looks like me.”

At that, you laugh. Loud and boisterous because you were definitely not expecting Jungkook to say that, such an odd but weirdly fitting comparison that has you looking at the doll in his hands with renewed interest. And through the pixelated screen, you can see the similarities: Jungkook does have the same smile as Keroppi. 

“Your mom was right,” you agree, wiping a faux tear from the corner of your eye. “Very cute.” 

Jungkook’s got this big goofy smile on, shaking his head in disbelief that you would ever dare agree with his mom. Like he’s genuinely enjoying himself, you think, oddly proud to have evoked that reaction from him. Granted, Jungkook always looks like he’s pretty happy during class, but it feels nice knowing that you were (confirmed) the reason why.  

A little caught up with the bumbling feeling in your chest, you’re not expecting his next words. “Does that mean I’m cute?” he asks, still with that same dopey smile on his face. 

It’s a bold statement you wouldn’t have expected from him, someone who seems content being the world’s friend, but apparently Jeon Jungkook also craves compliments. 

Slowly, you nod. “...yes,” you say, trying to keep the tumultuous emotions inside of you at bay while you grant him this one compliment. Outwardly, you give him what you hope is an obviously feigned look of disbelief, managing to lace it with a little amusement as you shake your head at his inquiry. On the inside, your mind and heart are a thundering racetrack, the roar of the engines and the screams of the crowd enough to momentarily make you lose your senses. “Very cute,” you repeat, hoping he can’t hear the same pounding of your heartbeat in your throat and in your ears as you do. “Like a little frog.” 

Jungkook graces your robotic response with the most boyish laugh, head tossed back as one loud cackle (because, really, there is no other way to describe the sound that tears itself from his throat) escapes him, curls bouncing back from the movement. “Cute like a frog,” he wheezes, seemingly to himself as he shakes his head with a grin, scooting closer to the camera again. “That’s a new one.” 

“You set yourself up for it,” you defend, busying yourself with the papers spread out in front of you before Jungkook can distract you any further. “Anyway!” you announce, neatly lining the papers up. “Our group.”

Jungkook does his best to wipe the glee off his face, but even as he reaches around for his things, it’s still there. “Right,” he agrees, “we have to, um—“ a huff of laughter “—group contract! Or, well, partner project.”

Briefly, you consider calling in your professor to inform him of your missing partner. He had said to let him know by the end of today if something was wrong. But, honestly, you didn’t see a problem with your group the way it was now. While you can only hope he’ll turn out to be as dedicated to his work as you, as it stands now, there weren’t any major red flags surrounding Jungkook’s character. 

Besides, you didn’t mind being with him for the rest of the semester. 

You nod, forcing yourself to ignore the glimmer in his eyes when he looks at you through the screen. “I think it’s safe to say it’ll just be the two of us, which I don’t mind,” you say, glancing at the time on the corner of your screen to see five minutes have passed since you agreed to wait. “Do you?”

On screen, Jungkook profusely shakes his head, curls bouncing all over the place. “Nope,” he hums. “I don’t mind at all,” he reassures you, resting his chin in his palm as he regards you, and then sweetly adds, “it’ll be nice with just us, __.”

Right. 

You gulp, heart fluttering at the dreaminess he exudes through your screen, the soft strand of hair that falls over his forehead, tickles his brow bone when he flashes you another smile.  He was so handsome. Before you say anything silly, you quickly attempt to move on. “But it does make us more of a duo than a group.” 

Jungkook looks away from his screen for the first time in what feels like forever and you finally let your heart rest for a second. “A duo,” he murmurs, shuffling through his papers. “Like Mickey and Minnie?” 

You nearly choke on your spit, coughing to hide the surprise from his rather cute suggestion. He’s not even looking at you, doesn’t even realize the absolute shock he’s thrown you in by comparing the two of you to one of the most famous couples— that’s what they are, a goddamn couple, not a duo! the words mean two completely different things! —in the world. Instead, Jungkook is humming the theme song to Drake & Josh. 

This man was dangerous for your heart. 

After having felt all the emotions in the world in the span of ten seconds, you eventually gather the courage to say, “sure,” and quickly try to move the conversation along. “We just need to, um, make some ground rules and responsibilities for us to follow.” 

Jungkook nods, finally glancing up again, but not at you. He’s glaring at some point behind his computer, brows furrowed together as he begins brainstorming on his own. You try to, really, but his lips pout adorably when he’s deep in thought, and they’re just so pink and look so soft and would feel like—

“Well, we should probably exchange numbers first,” Jungkook says, interrupting your spiraling thoughts with a new topic to spiral over. He tilts his head to the side, brown eyes focused on you. 

“Yes, of course,” you stammer, fumbling for your phone as Jungkook lets out a soft yay at your acceptance of his request. Quickly, he recites his number and you type it in with trembling hands into the number pad, giving him a quick call so he can have your number as well. 

You save him right away, just his name followed by the class you share with him. Not like you know any other Jeon Jungkooks, and if you did, you doubt anyone could ever leave such an impact like this Jeon Jungkook. 

“__, look,” Jungkook calls, that same excitement lacing his already lovely voice, and you raise your head up at the screen again. He’s waving his phone over his camera, so you don’t get to see his face when he says, “It’s a little mouse emoji and a pink bow— just like Minnie!”

Dangerous for your heart and, most likely, the death of you this semester.

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[kyberphilosopher]

Dᴏꜱᴄᴇɴᴅᴏ Dɪꜱᴄɪᴍᴜꜱ

The reader tries to paint the Colossal Titan from memory, and Bertholdt seems to know more than most people. 

Requested: no.

Word Count: 2092

Docendo Discimus is a Latin proverb meaning "by teaching, we learn." It is perhaps derived from Seneca the Younger, who says in his Letters to Lucilius: Homines dum docent discunt., meaning "Men learn when they teach”.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The human body is home to somewhere between six hundred and eight hundred muscles. There are two hundred and six bones, seventy-eight organs, one hundred thousand miles of veins, and roughly ten pints of blood. Every individual cell has a purpose, important and needed for the body to continue to function. 

Assuming the anatomy of a titan was the same to that of the average person’s, the Colossal Titan should be easier to render than this. You’d sketched the face of muscle and teeth over a hundred times by this point, and each one of them seemed to draw further away from realism than you liked. 

Sure, it was arguable that the Colossal just didn’t have the same anatomy in his face as the average human. But then there should’ve been more factors in his face that shouldn’t have worked. 

For example, the monster didn’t possess a muscle called the orbicularis. You could remember that specifically from the time you and your fellow cadets had gotten a bit too close for comfort. But based on the lack of orbicularis, he shouldn’t have been able to blink. And yet, he had. There was also a strange muscle in his temporal region with horizontal fibers, that couldn’t have simply been his temporal. It doesn't seem to have any particular function, either. 

God damn it. It’s appearance should’ve been the one thing about this bastard to make sense, but instead it had confused you just as much as the rest of it. Never mind how smart you were. If you couldn’t solve this simple turned complex mystery, why hold out hope for studying anatomy when the world would return to normalcy?

In your frustration, you slam the paintbrush back into your cup of water. A stain of red clouds erupts in the liquid at once, angry from how direct the solid hits the surface. In front of you, the canvas shines with the new layer of red paint. Beside it is a coat of salmon, also fresh and lined with the titan’s muscles. 

“So stupid,” you hiss, half to yourself. You grab your cadet corps jacket, shrugging it on swiftly before crossing your arms and stepping back. 

It was supposed to be a gift for Eren. He knew you were something of a painter and had once jokingly asked you to make a dart board for him. The moment you conceived this idea, you knew it had to be a stroke of genius. But you wanted to get it right, and for that, the artist and realist inside of you seemed to be punished for it.

Was it something with the eyes? No, it was definitely the anatomy of the titan overall. “For fucks sake,” you wave off finally, turning on your heel to walk away for a while. But when you turn around, you’re face to chest with one so broad you nearly stumble back. 

The figure tenses up immediately. You tilt your head up to see who it is, recognizing the nervous, kaleidoscope eyes of your comrade. Bertholdt, you’re sure his name is. You haven’t talked too many times, but you’ve seen him in your circle of friends. There’s a memory in your brain of asking your bunkmate, Annie, about why Bertholdt would hang around someone so upstanding and obnoxious as Reiner, but you can’t recall her specific answer. 

“O-oh, Y/N!” Bertholdt nearly wheezes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stand so close.”

“It’s fine,” you mutter, rubbing the side of your head as you step away. “What are you doing here?”

Yes, what was he doing here? A little closeted off room by the girl barracks? And aside from that, how does someone as tall as he even sneak his way inside? It’s suspicious, to say the least. 

“I was just-” Bertholdt stares down at you, sweat already beginning to form on his face. Oh, goddess. How is he to get out of this one? If Reiner was with him, he could just lie his way out of it. But now, looking down at your apathetic, borderline tired, frustrated face, he knows he’s never had much luck with girls. Especially not pretty girls like you. 

His gaze shifts to behind you. There, on a perfectly square parchment of thick paper, is a rough sketch of a long face without any skin. It seems to be all muscle, labeled and detailed. Half the sheet is colored in with pinks, browns, and scarlets, with the other half marked with insane little scribbled patterns that remind him of words. 

You’re still waiting for an answer. He sees your steady, patient eyes and your balled fists by your hips, and Bertholdt wonders if you already know. “I saw you bring in those cans of paint, and I guess I got curious.”

“Oh,” you reply flatly. “Yeah. That.”

“It’s um...” Compliment her. Compliment her painting. “It’s a nice painting. What’s it supposed to be of?”

“The Colossal Titan,” you tell him as you rub the back of your neck. Then you turn on your side so you can view your art, immediately narrowing your eyes in disgust at it. “It’s not my best.”

Bertholdt’s words come out a bit louder than he intended. “Actually, I think it’s really, really great, Y/N!”

You turn back to meet Bertholdt’s nervous, almost quivering eyes. You certainly wouldn’t call yourself an expert on the male gender, but this tall bastard was exactly the stereotype of someone who wasn’t an expert on the female gender. It was almost funny. No, it was almost ironic. 

“I just mean that... it’s really good. It’s easy to see that you have heaps of talent,” the brunette reiterates, seemingly calmer this time.

What a nice thing to say to someone. 

“That’s not really my point though,” you borderline sigh. “The point is that no matter what I seem to do to him, it doesn’t seem realistic does it?”

“What do you mean by that?” Bertholdt questions, his eyebrows furrowing. That’s right, he wouldn’t be able to squint without his orbicularis. Something your art model was currently lacking. 

Do you even bother to explain it to him? It’s not like either of you are close, or like he’d exactly understand what you were saying to him anyway. But where was the harm, really?

You walk back towards the parchment, with Bertholdt just a few steps behind. 

“See this area?” you ask, gesturing to the Colossal Titan’s eye area. “There's a muscle here that’s supposed to let people close their eyes. But the colossal titan doesn’t have that.”

“W-why is that?”

You shrug. “Damned if I know. But doesn’t it look wrong on him?”

Bertholdt observes the painting. He sees all the details, all the time you’ve put into it. While you are right about the image and the titan’s strange features, it’s now that Bertholdt realizes just how intelligent you really are. Unlike other people, you actually knew things. If he were an enemy, he might be starting to feel threatened right about now. Ironic indeed. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” the boy says shyly. “Why does it have to be perfect, though?”

Good question. 

“No real reason,” you tell him, trying to hide the hint of smile. “I guess it’s just how it is. Eren is the one who asked for this.”

“O-oh... you mean like a...”

Your eyes flit back to Bertholdt. “Like a what?”

Bertholdt can feel the sullen wave of anxiety wash over him. He hadn’t meant to let the stray thoughts fall from his lips, but now he can’t take it back. Now what does he say? “I just mean, is it a gift or something like that?”

“Sure.”

Were you and Eren...?

“I might be able to help you with it,” Bertholdt stutters, again, louder than he’d intended. He’s lucky at least one of you is level headed during this interaction. 

“How so? Do you paint?” 

“No, but I think I might know some things about the Colossal that you don’t,” Bertholdt offers. His right arm reaches behind to rub at his sweaty neck. In that instant, you can see that the boy has an almost identical structure to that of your subject. You’d have to note that the tall boy would make a brilliant model for something like this.

“Like what?” you question. “Could you give me some feedback on my piece then?”

Shit. Shit. Shit. You were going to find out. 

Bertholdt pretends to be in deep thought for a minute, knitting his dark eyebrows together. His green, blue eyes sweep over the picture, watching the slick settle. “Well, you’re right about the muscle around the eye. I’d take that out, but maybe place the shadow of it?”

“The shadow?”

“The outline. And maybe make his eyes more glossy than this. Titan’s have a second set of eyelids.”

You don’t have time to question him further. Bertholdt continues the onslaught of information. 

“I think you should also make some of these areas here a bit lighter,” he says, pointing to the side of the Colossal’s face. “From the steam and the high body temperature, it would get a bit smoky.”

“Yeah,” you begin slowly, watching the shine in Bertholdt’s previously nervous eyes. “I hadn’t considered that.”

The lanky male in front of you lets his lips curl into a sheepish smile, closing his eyes as his fingers thread themselves between his hair. “I doubt most people do, so you’re not really in the wrong.”

“How do you know so much?” you ask. “You’ve been quiet with everyone up until now. Do the higher ups even know all this?”

“I mean, they’d have to right? I guess I just took a lot of notes in class.”

You hadn’t remembered your professor mentioning most of these things during your Titan Studies period. But maybe it wasn’t really worth questioning him over. Maybe Bertholdt was just more observant than you had ever really considered. It wouldn’t have been the first time. 

Your eyes are fixated on him. Bertholdt was kind of cute, actually. His eyes are both big and slim, with pale green orbs. His skin was always a bit illuminated with a nervous sweat, and he was incredibly mild mannered. But maybe that was actually a good thing compared to all the boys in camp who seemed to lack any conception of manners. Pouty, chapped lips, a gentle smile, messy dark hair. He seems like someone reliable. Kind. Trustworthy.

“Yeah,” you say again, breaking eye contact. “So, are there any other suggestions you have for me?”

Bertholdt is still for a moment, thinking it over. “No, other than don’t think so hard about it, probably.”

“You two sort of have a similar face,” you say, staring at the muscled beast you’d attempted to replicate. “Maybe you should pose for me sometime.”

Bertholdt tenses. 

“I’m only joking,” you assure. Bertholdt’s broad shoulders fall as he relaxes, and a soft exhale leaves from between his lips. “But I would like it if you’d let me model after you.”

“Me?” Bertholdt stutters, shocked. “You mean you’d want to really paint me?”

“‘Course,” you say, nonchalant as always. “You’ve got one of those faces.”

Bertholdt smiles naturally. Soft, but noticeable. You return it after a few seconds, feeling your previous frustration and anger at the piece begin to wander away. 

“I should get back to work,” you say as you turn around. Bertholdt watches you unclip the parchment from your sturdy easel, place it on the stone floor, and grab another paper from a pile. 

“Y-you’re starting again?”

“Of course,” you say. Your dominant hand laces around a piece of charcoal, preparing to drag it across the page. In one swift and scratchy motion, an onyx line appears at the top of the paper. 

Bertholdt’s cheeks dust pink from behind you. He’s about to offer if you want him to pose for you so you can memorize what’s underneath his shy skin, but he stays quiet. Instead, Bertholdt is happy that he even got to speak to you in the first place. He wanders out of the room with butterflies in his stomach, and guilt in his heart. 

And you, with your eyes narrow, basing the monster that ruined your life off the boy who had just helped you. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

I didn’t proof read this. I feel like I’ve just been cranking stuff out lately. someone remind me to go back and edit thank you

[vrisrezis]

Could you do hcs of the highschool matsubros with a crush whos more sweet/innocent/oblivious? Love your writing btw!

YES PLS!!! MY FAV RQ!

I’ve been meaning to do something like this since my Oc is like this 😏👍

Osomatsu is pretty upfront with girls in school, because he just wants a date. However if he really likes somebody, that being you… he’s a bit more nervous about approaching you! Especially a sweet pea like yourself. You’re so innocent, it makes him like you even more!! He loves you’re innocence because to him he sees innocence as something for kids really? So he kinda things you’re childish like him? Weird assumption of him but yknow. When he attempts to make his move in his rather … upfront way.. you don’t get it. He thinks you’re rejecting him at first… but then he realizes you’re just really oblivious. He really should’ve expected this from a innocent person like you. He’ll keep trying till you understand him though!

Karamatsu was pretty shy in high school, so he never approached you. He would watch you from afar, big blush on his face whenever you’d talk to him. You always were so sweet, it’s what made him fall so hard for you. You’re innocence was endearing to him, and it made you more approachable so that he could be his true self around you. He found himself being able to open up with you about things, even a certain regret of his. He, unlike his only elder brother, actually took notice to your obliviousness. (Because he isn’t oblivious like oso is 😭) you were oblivious to not just the fact he liked you .. even though it was so obvious with how red his face gets around you all the time, and the constant stuttering… but to many of things around you. You oblivious to notice when people are angry with you, or when you’re being too loud, etc. however he didn’t mind this fact about you.

Choromatsu had a hard time approaching you, he was well aware of who you were though. An oblivious person like that will definitely draw attention, so he probably thought you were dumb and really ditzy. He felt ashamed to assume these things about you though, when you started being really nice to him and he realized how much of a sweetheart you were. He didn’t mind the innocent part of you, just made him feel a bit bad for liking you so much because of how much of a perv he is. Plus, in his eyes he was kinda a loser next to you? While your obliviousness could be considered a bad trait to some, he likes this trait of yours. Especially when you didn’t notice him staring for long periods of time.. longer than acceptable. He thanked god you were so oblivious, when people said he obviously liked you, you’d say “well he’s my friend! I would sure hope so!”

Ichimatsu tried really hard in high school, as we know. However he goes the extra mile when it comes to you. From the moment he met you, he had it BAD for you. Like for real the hugest crush, he had a bigger smile than usual whenever you were around and he was laughing even more than he usually did. It was obvious he was trying too hard, even to his friends. It was painful actually, even more painful that you were too oblivious to notice. He was grateful to like somebody so oblivious actually. He wants to try really hard to prove to everyone and maybe even himself, that even though he’s trash maybe… just maybe.. he can have a chance with somebody so sweet. Somebody so innocent. He loves that about you by the way. He wants to ask you out but he just can’t find the words so he suffers in silence.

Jyushimatsu would try so hard to push you away, but you were so sweet. It was hard to keep you away from him, he quickly learnt he didn’t like being away from you anyways. He quickly warmed up to you and was his true self with you. He likes how sweet you are. He loves how innocent you are too. It makes him feel more comfortable talking to you about things, and he’s just as oblivious as you at times. So he really doesn’t mind! It’s something he hates about himself but loves about you.. funny how that works. But he seriously adores you and that’s obvious to literally anyone, even if everyone.. doesn’t exactly know him all that well. Sometimes he tells you he’s sad that his brothers don’t have a good relationship right now, and he wants to cry at how sweet you are to him to be honest.

Todomatsu is quite shy and blushy around you. He can’t help it! You’re so cute, and you’re so sweet to him. He likes that you’re nice to him since not everyone is at times. He was scared to talk to you at first, then again who wouldn’t when you have somebody so cool talking to you?! He quickly learns he didn’t have anything to fear though. He sometimes can’t help but chuckle at you’re obliviousness, he finds it endearing in a way. You remind him of a kid, though he’s the one always acting like one. He adores your innocence, he’s pretty innocent in high school but you’re on a whole other level of innocent. He adores it though! He would never ask you out, but it’s something he thinks about quite often that leaves him red in the face. When you ask him why he’s so red he just says, “oh! N-nothing!” And you’re like, “oh.. okay!!” And everyone else just face palms.

[lillywillow]

From Russia With Love

Summary: When Steve and Bucky investigate an old HYDRA base left over from World War II, they find something nobody could have ever predicted... A pilot from the legendary 588th night bomber regiment frozen in time.

 Word Count: 2117

 Square Filled: Military Base

 Pairings: Bucky x Female Reader

 Warnings: WWII warfare, slight angst

Written for @star-spangled-bingo

 Author’s Note: Although I will be using real historical people and events, some of the names and actions I will be using are fictional. The 588th night bomber regiment were an all female squadron from Russia in World War II. They were given hand-me-down men’s uniforms and poor, outdated equipment. Their planes were not designed for combat. The planes let out a whistle as it idled through the sky which the German’s thought sounded like a broomstick, giving them the nickname ‘Die Nachthexen’ or Night Witches.

 Germany, 1944. Three Polikarpov U-2 biplanes move silently through the night sky, their engines cut at the behest of the navigators. A soldier was making his rounds about the perimeter of the base when an unearthly scream pierced the air. A chill ran down his spine as he looked around. Suddenly, a shadow of a plane darkens the ground. The soldier abruptly realised what was happening.

 “Die Nachthexen!” he screamed. The base was rapidly brought to life with activity when the air raid siren wailed. Soldiers rushed to man the anti-aircraft guns as the Night Witches dropped the first bomb. Two of the planes broke formation to draw away the ground fire as the third dropped the next bomb. The last plane made a sharp turn and was able to drop the last bomb on the base. With their mission complete, the engines went back on and the planes headed home to Russia.

 Out of nowhere, a German fighter plane appeared. The biplanes were slower but their much smaller size gave them an advantage in the fact they had a tight turning ratio but for one plane, it wasn’t enough. One of the pilots cried out in pain as a bullet grazed her arm. The canvas wings of the plane were ablaze, there was no other option but to bring the plane down. The navigator held the pilot’s shoulders to steady her as they crashed into the ground.

 Dazed by the impact, the pilot held her head, feeling something wet and warm drip down her face. She turned behind her to check on her navigator whose head was slumped to her chest. She reached for her hand.

 “Yelena... I’m sorry...” Black spots swam in her vision before the darkness took over.

...

Germany, present day. Steve and Bucky were called on a mission to investigate what was possibly a HYDRA base left over from WWII. On their way in, they noticed the remains of a downed plane a few miles out from the base that nature had taken over in the course of sixty years give or take. On the surface, it had the hell bombed out of it. Steve managed to find a charred door in amongst the wreckage and went in, Bucky following behind. Underground was a rabbit warren of rooms and passageways, their secrets lost to time, waiting to be uncovered.

 “We should split up,” Steve said, getting out his flashlight. Bucky nodded and got out his own. The duo headed in, checking each and every room for anything that might be of HYDRA origin.

 This place gave Bucky the creeps and bad memories began to invade his mind; memories of when he lost his identity of Sergeant James Buchannan Barnes and given the new one of The Winter Soldier. Room after room they looked in until Steve found something.

 “Buck, you gotta see this...” Bucky made his way to where Steve called him to and whatever he was expecting, this was not it. The room was still lit with sickening fluorescent lights. In the back corner, there were two pods. One was empty, whatever test subject it held was long gone. The other had a woman still cryogenically frozen inside. Bucky placed his right hand on the glass.

 “She’s just like me...”

 “Think you can make sense of these?” Steve asked, holding up a dusty file written in German. Bucky picked them up and read through the notes. It stated the woman’s name and why she was there. There was also information on a second woman, presumably whoever was in the second pod. Apparently, they were going to be used for a programme akin to the Winter Soldiers or the Red Room but the project had been scrapped and only one of the subjects was moved.

 “I’m going to let Fury know what we’ve found.” Steve headed out to make the call but Bucky stayed behind. He couldn’t leave this woman all alone now that he knew she was there.

...

 Feeling a pounding in your head, you opened your eyes. Slowly, you sat up, looking around. You appeared to be back in your base. Funny... you didn’t remember making it back. The last thing you remembered was crashing after completing a mission. Was a rescue sent out and that’s how you got here? You spotted another woman in one of the other beds. Steadily, you got up and went over to her.

 “Come on, Yelena. We’ve got another mission,” you said, shaking her shoulder. As she sat up, you immediately noticed that this was not your navigator.

 “You’re not Yelena...”

 “No, I’m a new recruit. My name is Natalia Romanova,” she replied in Russian.

 “Well I hope you’re a quick study, Natalia. Major Bershanskaya will not make things easy for you. Now get ready. Training for you starts now.”

 As you got dressed, something struck you as very odd. Your uniform fitted perfectly like it was tailored for you and your boots weren’t oversized. It set off alarm bells in your head but you didn’t want to frighten the new girl. As you headed out, you saw an officer standing and waiting for you.

 “Who are you?” you asked, confused as to why this man would be here, especially one who looked so high up in command. Something else that you noticed was that there were planes around the base.

 “I’m your new commanding officer...” That did it. There was no way your commander would leave her girls. You managed to snatch his sidearm but even faster, Natalia had you in a headlock, one hand holding the wrist you held the gun.

 “Who are you?! Where am I?! What have you done with Yelena?! Where is my navigator?!” The pair exchanged a look and conversed in English, something you didn’t understand.

 “I can explain everything... just give me the gun,” the man prompted. Slowly, you handed him the sidearm which he put away and Natalia let go of you.

 “You have been asleep for over sixty years...”

 “What?! How?! We... we were just there... and... Yelena! Where is she? Is she okay? Is she safe?” The pair exchanged another look.

 “You were the only one we found in the base...” You broke down sobbing and straight away the man held you up as you trembled. He rubbed your back and stroked your hair which you found strangely comforting. How could you have been asleep for sixty years? It was only hours ago you were flying to drop bombs on German bases.

...

 A few hours later, you were sitting by the window of the room which had been set up for you thinking over all the new information which had been given to you. They had given you new clothes but the only ones who spoke your language were the ones you met at the fake base camp. Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

 “May I come in?” A male’s voice asked.

 “Yes...” The man who you came to learn was named Bucky walked in with a plate of food.

 “I thought you might like something to eat...”

 “I’m not hungry...”

 “I know what you’re going through but you still need to eat...”

 “How could you possibly know what I’m going through?! Do you know what it’s like to be with friends one minute and find out they’re all gone?! To wake up in a strange place with strange people?! To have no idea what the hell is going on?!” He was quiet for a few moments.

“Actually... I do.” You were taken aback from his response. Bucky sat down on your bed and began telling you his life’s story.

 He told you about his best friend Steve who always used to getting in trouble. He enlisted in the American army the moment he could. His time in the Howling Commandos. About how he fell off the train and became a weapon for HYDRA for decades. As he spoke, his eyes began to ghost over, reliving the old memories that you could see were haunting him. You sat next to him and held his hand. Bucky hastily wiped his eyes.

 “What about you? Tell me your story...”

 You smiled softly. You told him about your father who died defending Osowiec Fortress and how it inspired you to fight for your country. When the call went out for women to fly bomber planes, you and your best friend Yelena Belsky both applied and got in, you as a pilot and she as a navigator. You flew many sorties together. Your commander Major Yevdokiya Bershanskaya was stern but fair with you girls but taught you everything you knew. You spoke about your last mission, the one you were on when your plane was shot down.

 Bucky listened to your every word, looking at you with total admiration. Most of the men looked at you with pity or distain. You couldn’t help but blush a little under his intense gaze.

 “I, um... I think I’ll have something to eat now,” you mumbled, taking the plate he brought with him. “Thank you...”

 “Anytime... if you ever want to talk, you can always come to me. Nat should be available too...”

 “I appreciate that.”

 To Bucky, those memories were a lifetime ago but to you, they were only like yesterday. It somehow felt good to share those stories with someone who understood what it was like to go through the same thing you were.

...

 The months flew by and before you knew it, a year had passed. Between Natasha and Bucky you were now fluent in English. They taught you hand to hand combat and other things you would need to join The Avengers, although, you were pretty much an ace pilot when it came to the jets. Natasha became your best friend and you frequently spoke in Russian with her. You formed a bond with Steve too once the language barrier came down, sharing war stories with each other but the person on the team you were closest to was Bucky. He taught you a lot over the months and it wasn’t long before you started dating. It was inevitable.

...

 One night, you were standing on the balcony, looking at the moon and thinking about that fateful night you were assigned to bomb that base all those years ago. You wondered if your friend was dead or alive. The team had told you they would help you find her, searching all HYDRA archives they came across and Bucky helped you to follow every lead. Your heart hoped for the best but you knew to expect the worst.

 “Hey, Doll.” You turned to see Bucky standing in the doorway. He walked over to you and put his arm around you, kissing your head. “What’s on your mind?”

 “Yelena... I can’t help but hope that I’ll find her one day. She was like my sister. Natasha has been wonderful, you all have but it’s hard being stuck in the past...”

 “Tell me about it,” Bucky muttered softly. “You know... it’s been just over a year now since we met...”

 “So it has,” you wistfully replied. “Time sure flies...”

 “It sure does... and I don’t want to waste any more of it.” You looked confused as Bucky pulled away from you.

 “When I was called on that mission to uncover an old HYDRA base, I never thought I would meet the love of my life. You’re one of the bravest, strongest, most incredibly women I know. Will you marry me?” Bucky got down on one knee and presented you with a beautiful ring. You couldn’t help but tear up.

 “Yes, Bucky, I will!” Bucky smiled and stood up, sliding the ring on your finger and kissing you.

 Who knew that a German base lost to time would connect two military personals so perfectly together?

[alexlabhont]

I didn’t mean to fall in love with you

Chapter eleven

Book: Queen B - Choices (Universe)

Pairing:  Poppy Min-Sinclair x Trans!Male MC (Beck Hughes)

Genre: Canon re-write (Because I can)

Rating: Anyone can read it, really

Tags: @dopeyouth @theymakemegayer @save-me-the-last-dance @poppysmc (If anyone want to be tagged in or removed, just tell me)

This is me trying to write by and for the Trans community, specially FTM community, meaning, trans guys, but I actually took the liberty to use They/them pronouns for everyone out there who´s interested (Also, the name Beck was the most neutral one I could find, trying to use the cannon Bea Hughes)

If you have any comment, PLEASE BE RESPECTFULL and patient with me. This is also my first english fanfic and english is not my mother language, so… i’m sorry fo the grammar errors. I also installed recently Grammary, so… hope its worth it.

This chapter contains some sensitive topics about tragedies and sex insinuations, I really didn't want to write it down with details both out of respect. I mean, personally, I didn't want to explain what's "under" in a fanfic, but if you do have doubts or curiosity, ask away in chat, especially if you are starting hormones, there is a lot for you to know about down there because it definitely changes something. Also, this other topic might touch a nerve and I really didn't do it without respect to the victims, so I'm sorry if it feels like that.

Previously

----

Staten Island it’s the third-largest borough in New York, but it is the least populated. The northern part of the island is the most urbanized, with some areas of somewhat decayed housing blocks that didn’t attract attention at all. It was… ok? quiet? She wasn’t sure exactly what to say about that place, but what was another thing she wasn’t sure about? Well...

“Are you not going to tell me what are we doing?” Poppy asked once again, feeling irritated as they both walked through the breeze but warm streets. At first, she thought they were taking the bus but Beck asked something to a random guy and started walking for a really, really long time, what was all this about? Beck looked tense, kind of nervous, and that alone made her feel strange, unnerved. "Are you alright?" Poppy asked again, but this time she sounded worried.

"Yeah, I'm just…" They exhaled in an attempt to draw their nerves away from themself. "I'm pretty nervous. I've never done this before." Beck chuckled.

"Do what?" Poppy frowned, curiosity floating in her mind strongly, to be honest, she had never seen them so tense before, even though they were trying to look calm. Beck smirked and took her by the hand.

"Come on, I have to show you something."

"Is it too far?"

"Are you already tired?" Beck replied, mocking her with that sassy smile of theirs.

"Me? Absolutely no." She said, raising an eyebrow. "I could literally go for miles."

"I'll have to prove that myself." Beck winked and she couldn't help but laugh.

"You're a dimwit."

"Yeah" they shrugged. "I'm cute, though.”

“Barely.” She rolled her eyes, trying to suppress a smile but failing in the process so Beck laughed at it. Suddenly an unexpected drop felt swiftly in her nose, making her look up to the sky where a big, grey cloud was still above their heads. Soon, she felt raindrops in her hair, her clothes, her shoes!

“Oh, shoot. This is not good…” Beck said while they both walked faster, reaching out for cover in a shop awning.

“You think? These Jimmy choo are not even in the market yet!”

“Well, we don’t want them to be ruined, don’t we?."

"Of course not! What kind of dumb ques—"

Poppy didn't get to end the sentence, Beck took her by the wrist and started running full speed and nonstop. "Beck!" She screamed, the rain pouring down her body while that asshole laughed like a devilish kid. "Beck Hughes, let go of me this instant!!"

"We're almost there!" She heard them saying without turning to see her.

"Where are you taking me?!"

Beck slowed down little by little until they both stopped in front of a tiny, old, yellow house with barely two floors. Beck took the keys out of their pockets and opened the door, allowing Poppy to get inside the dark and quiet place.

“So… here we are.” Beck spoked turning on the lights.

The place that received them was the living room, but it was not an ordinary living room, it had neon lights currently exposing a purple color, a keyboard piano, a couple of guitars, and an old-fashioned mended couch with a lot of patches over black leather that actually looked really well together. The walls were exhibiting posters, framed cool landscape black and white photographs, and a Youtube silver plaque. She recognized the place right away.

“Wait… this is the place where you record your music.” She asked. Poppy watched Beck’s videos a lot recently at first the blonde was searching for information, then, to find a flaw to criticize with Chloe, but sooner rather than later Poppy found out… Beck was actually a really good musician, so sometimes when she was completely sure she was alone she’d listen to their songs while doing cardio or homework or whatever she was doing. “I was wondering where you found the location.”

“Yes… but also no. I mean, I do the videos here, but I have an audio booth upstairs. It’s actually a quiet neighborhood so it came in handy.” Beck took off their jacket, reaching out their hand to ask for Poppy’s. They both were wet, but not a lot, her shoes survived perfectly because they entered the house before a loud thunder sounded, followed by a deluge. “Damn, we do really dodge a bullet out there.”

“Yeah.” Poppy said, hugging herself. Without her coat, she felt a little cold. “Do you own this place?”

"No, this is my uncle’s." Beck whispered with reverence and a sad smile on their face. "My dad's little brother. He passed away."

"I— I'm sorry, Beck…" she managed to say, clueless about what exactly would someone do in this kind of situation.

"I didn't remember much about him, but my mom says he used to make these guitars out of plastic bottles as gifts for me to play them. She said I would go to the kitchen and play one for her to hear. She also said the sound was awful and she begged him to stop making them." Beck's smile was soft, turning on the heating, proud even though they were chuckling a little, spreading the same smile to Poppy. " 'I'm telling you, this little pal has talent.' he would say."

"Sounds to me like he made it to annoy your mom instead." Poppy said jokingly.

"Totally, he was a prankster." Beck replied, the emotions coming out from their eyes were difficult to tell. "And was one of the few dudes back at Farmsville that didn't want to settle down. The black sheep in every family… and the reason why my parents didn't want me to be here." Beck clutched their jaw, walking away from there to the kitchen. Poppy followed them in silence, feeling like it was something very private for Beck, seeing that vulnerable side of them again, but not hiding this time. "He was murdered years ago here in New York in a shooting. In Farmsville shootings don’t happen, so… They said it was dangerous going out of the farm to the big cities. That he brought this on himself... Took this out of the wrong way." The anger in Beck's voice was palpable in the air.

"Seriously? How can they be so selfish?" Poppy asked, how can someone be so fucking self-centered and dumbass to take a tragedy and blame it on one family member? She thought these things happened exclusively around that bunch of tight-ass people inside her parents’ social circle, but not inside a family farm.

"Back at home is different from here. Is a small town where everyone knows each other. They love routine and hard work and the good customs and shit… So when anyone goes against it… well— it's not funny."

Something clicked inside Poppy's mind.

"But then… How are you here?" Beck smiled but it didn't reach out to their sad eyes.

"Because I almost got killed."

Shock. Poppy couldn't help but feel agitated, her heart pounding loud against her chest and that same protective feeling that almost made her stab Bennett crawled its way towards her own core.

"What?" Poppy babbled, froze. Beck shrugged, with a weird grin as if they didn't know where to start, they caressed their neck, searching for the better way to put the puzzle together. They reach out for Poppy's hand, and she took it right away intertwining her fingers with Beck's.

"Coffee?" They asked. "It seems we will be stuck in here for a while.”

"It sounds nice." The words abandoned her mouth so fast that she even surprised herself, another red alarm ringed inside her mind, but now was not the time, so she ignored it again. Beck smiled and turned on a little coffee maker, bringing two mugs in silence. They both sat down on the surprisingly comfortable couch, Beck’s eyes were attentive at the black drink and the tension was still over their shoulders, she could see it so easily that Poppy wished for someone to take that weight out of Beck, so she took both cups and put them aside, sitting over Beck’s lap and intertwining her fingers with theirs, playing with them. Beck smiled a little and took a deep breath.

"I started to realize something was off inside of me when I was in high school. I mean, ‘till that day I was considered normal. I was the kind of child that played sports, climbed trees, and did hard work gladly. You know, average farm kid." Beck said, but even as they seemed to be calm, Poppy could feel the sweat in their palm, and a little shivering all over their body. "But I grow older and changes came, and puberty and—"

"Hey" Poppy stopped them from talking faster and faster. "You don't have to"

"I want to. " Beck interrupted, begging Poppy with their eyes. "I want you to know my past. I mean… if you want me to tell you, that is."

Poppy could have thought anything at that moment. She could have thought that she made it, that she had accomplished her very goal and knew she was about to have first-hand information to use against Farmsville, that she was spectacular for making it this far. She could have thought that now nobody would take her number one spot from her, or that she loved to have a new puppy to use in any way she wanted. But no.

All in what she could think about was Beck's heart opening up to her, trusting her for real this time. The connection intertwining both of them in a way that made her skin chill. Third alarm, but she muted it again.

"So? What are you waiting for? Go on." Poppy rolled her eyes, Beck had a goofy expression for a couple of seconds until Poppy smiled, squishing slightly their hands for reassurance. Beck's eyes glowed happily in which was the cutest gesture Poppy saw from someone that wasn't a dog in her entire life.

"I managed to handle myself a little for a while, but it definitely didn't last long. I was so afraid, I felt lost, and insecure. I didn’t know what was happening to me, why did I feel that way, trapped in my own skin... I stopped having friends because everyone could see how weird I was and nobody wanted to talk to me, except for this one girl: Bree Matthews."

Beck’s jaw tightened, their eyes wandering all over the place because of the nervousness.

“So, Bree and I started to hang out. Chill some time round. We were close, I mean, really, really close. She was the one who I told about my dysphoria first, and she was totally supportive. She helped me understand what I was going through, sometimes she would borrow her brother’s old clothes to give them to me and helped me pick my very first short haircut. Bree was my safe space in a town where I’d be mistreated just to use a bathroom. I kinda felt for her… so one night into the forest I kissed her. And~ it wasn’t a good idea.”

“What happened?”

“Well~ Daniel and his gang came into the picture and intimidated her, so she sold me as a pervert, a weirdo, among other… awful things. Can’t blame her, Daniel was a wrecked truck whenever he wanted so… yeah. My family found me eight hours after, all beat up from head to toes. I was unconscious and with an actually broken rib.” Beck tried to joke, but it was so bad at timing it actually made it worse for Poppy to hear. “I~ I almost die.” Beck sighed, as if with that they could put all that behind. “Anyway so she apologized to me through a phone call because she wanted to kiss me too but, you know, shit happens; I got better and now I’m in New York doing what I love so… Happy ending, right? It was funny, they didn’t let me use the bathroom but they all thought I was “male enough” to beat the crap out of me ever since.”

Poppy stopped playing with Beck’s hands, making them do the same. They told the end of the story so lightly as if they were talking about a T.V. show they just watched and not some really cruel harassment they went through for a long time. The strawberry blonde was a lot of things, bad things, but the things that beast did to Beck just because of their dysphoria? That was a whole new level that Poppy would never stoop into.

“How can you joke about things like that?”

“Well, I figured I had two ways to address the problem: Being insecure or making the most out of this. That’s why I do music. Yeah, my songs don’t talk about the transgender community directly, but I make sure everybody knows who am I. What I am. I write songs for people out there that feel just the same as I do. Not only transgender people, but the whole LGBTQ+ also needs representation! Folks having their back! And if I can reach at least one soul and show them that no matter how they were born, they can make it… Hell, I could die happily.”

The fire in their eyes, the passion radiating strongly from their body, from their words. It was impossible for Poppy to look away from Beck. Of course, Beck didn’t care about a spot in the T list, or and stupid award. Beck was more into their music, making their voice be heard. That was why they did claim to care less about competition, Beck was climbing their way to the top because of their conviction and resilience. It was curious how the more she learned about Beck, the more she felt drawn to them.

“You are so brave, do you know that?”

“And it only took me a delicate rib and trust issues.” Beck claimed proudly as if it was a bargain.

“Trust issues? Beck, you’re one of the most confident people l know!” They began to laugh, the blonde could feel their laughter below her because of the slight belly-shaking. “It’s irritating.”

“I am really amazing myself.” Poppy rolled her eyes at the flirty smirk Beck flashed towards her. “But I’m not insecure about myself… most of the time. I do have a hard time trusting in people. I mean, Daniel didn’t have a hold on me… Bree, on the other hand…” Beck shrugged. “But I do trust you, Poppy.”

Something inside the blonde felt off, those words accompanied by that good-natured smile made Poppy feel a bit guilty. Like, yeah, she was just trying to archive exactly that for her own benefit, it should feel like a win, right? But no.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, yet.” She said to herself. “For all we know, this is just some casual date.”

Maybe… give up? Maybe actually try and date Beck?

What could possibly go wrong?

“I trust you too, Beck.” She replied without a doubt. So she tossed her golden locks over one shoulder, leaning down to kiss Beck’s lips. She soon felt them kissing her back, sweetly, calmly at first but then it was obvious they both needed more than that. Poppy let go of Beck’s hands to place hers in their Beck, while they grabbed her by the waist. The heat soon took over her body, especially after they responded to it by biting Poppy’s bottom lip, making her moan. Poppy knew right away there was a change in Beck’s behavior, they were more confident, more secure, they actually felt ready and she had to say, that was a very welcome and pleasing development. But they were shaking still.

“What 's wrong? You don’t want to—?”

“No. No, it 's not it. It 's just…” Beck took a deep breath avoiding Poppy's gaze for a second before looking at her pleading while keeping hold on her. “I don’t want you to see me differently when you look at what I have beneath the clothes.” They confessed.

“I won’t. I promise.” She said, caressing the hair in the back of their nape. “This is just you, with all letters.” She smirked, trying to lighten the mood and she succeeded. Beck grinned from ear to ear, relieved, kissing her passionately, hungry and the Poppy did the same, tasting their tongue with hers. The caresses between the two became more intense and she couldn’t stand the fever growing anymore, so she took the edges of their favorite black t-shirt and pulled up, revealing Beck torso for the very first time.

She understood right away what Beck meant. Cutting through their chest there it was a thin, darker line, a scar that was slowly healing, but nevertheless it was there easy to pinpoint. It was strange, she had seen a lot of those mastectomy scars on google but Beck chest looked different somehow, strong, gym crafted, and the scar actually was interesting, sexy even.

“I don’t know what you were so scared of, Hughes. Hell, you’re hot as fuck, I hate you.”

Beck chukled, their confidence coming back.

“Yeah, well… There is not an ugly part on this body afterall.” They grinned.

“I’m going to erase that obnoxious smirk of yours.”

“You will?” Beck grabbed a hold on Poppy’s hair and pulled slightly but demanding backwards, exposing her neck to them to kiss and lick, causing a shaking sigh that turned the heat even higher for both. “Show me then.” They whispered over her skin, their breath brushing bristling her body.

Poppy pushed them down on the couch, kissing them hardly. This was war now, and she would definitely win.

----

Next

[agustdef]

Fear of the Future

Pairing: Demon!Jin x Witch!OC

Genre: Angst; Fluff; Supernatural

Word Count: 4.1K

Warning: Mention of violence (Only quick use of the words and no elaboration.) Quick mention of hanging. (Again only the word is said and the moment passes quickly.)

Rating: PG15

Lovely Banner Marker: @vynusx​ 

Beta Reader: @guktro​

Author’s Note: This fic was written for the @heartsforbtsnet​‘s Hearts for Halloween Collab. The angst prompt “Why do you insist on hurting me so much?” and the fluff prompt “You owe me two years’ worth of cuddles.” were used to craft this story. I was excited to write something else about Jin because writing about Jin makes me happy, despite what my masterlist might say.

The entire time at the party YN felt off. Well, off wasn’t the right word since she could pinpoint what it was that bothered her and it elicited only one emotion.

Fear.

When they’d arrived at the costume party that the coven had convinced her to attend, things were fine for several minutes. YN drank and danced amongst the sweaty bodies, while maintaining a sort of barrier so no one was actually touching her despite the fact that they thought they were. All was good, until she took a moment to step out onto the homeowners back patio for a breath of fresh air.

There were many other’s loitering about, but she stood in an empty spot fanning herself and being thankful that she decided not to straighten her hair and allowed her curls to roam free. She would’ve sweated out her hair and even if she could produce a glamour for others not to see it she would’ve known it happened. And then been saddled with fixing it when she got home, something that sounded horrible in that moment.

It was just as she turned to go back in that the feeling hit. Like a freight train she could feel him nearby, lingering somewhere that was much too close for her liking. She tried to tell herself that it was all in her head, but she knew better than to deny her intuition; doing that got her into difficult situations. So, she stood and waited trying to feel out for where he was, but before she could get a lock on it he disappeared.

That brought relief to her as she didn’t want to think about him. YN wouldn’t even think his name or who he was to her, she refused to do so for her own sanity. Or more like she did it so she could bury feelings for longer than she already had. Either way it helped and so she went back into the party and threw herself into the festivities more than before.

Not long into her attempt at forgetting did the feeling of him return. He was closer that time, but she knew it was far enough that he didn’t know where she was and wasn’t attempting to find her. It was the kind of relief she needed, but when his energy never faded she began to fear for the worst. If he wasn’t looking for her that didn’t mean he wouldn’t stumble upon her, she was at a party with stupid humans and it was Halloween so his power was amplified which meant the thing in place stopping him from finding her wasn’t enough.

And to top it off all her worrying meant that the buzz of the alcohol had all but left her, making the party unbearable. Which added to the reasons she’d rounded up the members and left the party to head to her home. She’d promised alcohol and letting them do whatever dumb thing they wanted without her usual nagging, so they didn’t whine the whole way back. Which was funny seeing as she’d made them take the long way to avoid wherever his energy came from.

Once at her home she left them to rampage her liquor cabinet while she changed out of the Mad Hatter get-up she’d donned for the party. By the time she’d changed, cleaned off her makeup and made it back down they were done with a bottle of whiskey and dancing along to some song that was being played from a phone.

However, YN’s focus went to the spell book sitting upon someone’s lap.

“What are you doing?” YN asked.

Em glanced up from the book and gave the sweetest smile and that’s how YN knew she was up to no good.

“Well, we had to cancel the usual ritual because of the whole energy from the moon being off thing but that doesn’t mean we can’t do something with our magic. Just a small summoning spell and then we banish whatever or whoever we summon. It’ll take ten minutes tops.”

The way she spoke was like a kid trying to get their parents to agree to buy them the thing they wanted or go to that one party with their friends that they swore would have adult supervision. And at some point in YN’s life it would’ve worked, but she’d grown out of that years ago and she also knew Em. There was no such thing as a quick spell and then nothing more.

YN opened her mouth to protest, but then remembered what she’d agreed to and shut her mouth. But that didn’t mean she didn’t look around at the others for some sort of backup. They all smiled at her and looked eager to do it, except for Mo. Poor girl was passed out on the couch and YN didn’t really have it in her to wake her up just to stop them.

Rolling her eyes she left them to their own devices and went to the kitchen to grab a snack and something to eat. She needed something to calm her down some more. The thoughts about him finding her lingered, but since his energy signature vanished miles before they reached her house and she had blockers up she’d calmed considerably.

Plus, with the others surely going to bungle a summoning she had other things to worry about. She was just thankful that they didn’t have enough power to summon him or any other high level being that would overpower them.

When she returned to the living room they’d cleared things out of the way and had placed the needed objects in their circle. They’d even gotten Mo up to help them, forcing her to stand holding their hands in the circle.

YN moved right past them and onto her couch that had been pushed on the far wall. There were a few asks to join, but she ignored them and got comfortable with her snacks. They stared at her for a while as if willing her to change her mind, but when a minute passed of nothing they turned back to their task.

While shoving cheese puffs in her mouth, YN watched as the last candle was lit and they all closed their eyes, chanting the spell they needed. From the way they said the words she could tell they were off to a bad start. They were slurred and jumbled at some points, she was sure it wouldn’t work at all; but then the fire from the candles grew and the air in the room shifted.

However, the moment as they finished casting everything went still and then back to normal. Nothing felt or looked different and no residual magical energy presented itself, it was as if they’d done nothing at all.

“What the fuck? We did it right?” Mal shouted, her brows knitted.

The others released similar sentiments and then dropped hands, moving to step away from the circle. They all turned to YN expectantly and before she could even begin to tell them all the things they did wrong, a voice cleared behind them.

Startled, they all turned to look and it took a second for YN to see behind them, but when she did the bowl of cheese puffs clattered to the floor drawing the attention back to her.

He was there. He was in her house. He was in front of her.

There was a smirk of Seokjin’s face as his eyes met hers, but she saw it falter for a moment before he put on an even more infuriating one that was clearly fake. Or at least clear to her.

“Didn’t you teach them to never break a circle even when their spell fails?” Jin asked.

Despite her clear discomfort the anger flared quickly at that as she moved to stand from the couch, her body moving across the room to the circle. She didn’t say a word, simply reached out for a candle and lit it but before she could get further Jin spoke up again.

“Can’t expel what wasn’t summoned to begin with.”

YN’s head snapped up so fast he heard it crack.

“What do you mean?” she demanded.

Jin sighed and slowly walked further into the room, though he stopped just across the circle from her.

“They casted it wrong. They almost summoned some low-level demon who was up the street, but it broke before she could get here. However, it was long enough to expose the energy for me to lock onto. You should know how vulnerable spells like that make your defenses, YN. And how even without your participation your magic is fused in simply by being near them,” he said.

That caused her anger to rise and she opened her mouth to fly off the handle, to unload on him for entering her home when she’d made herself clear. But then she saw the confusion and the fear that wrecked all of them and she knew that wasn’t wise. They didn’t know Jin like she did, all they saw and felt was a demon that radiated energy like none they’d encountered and who could wipe them out in an instant.

“Leave,” she said when she found her voice.

At that Jin laughed, his head even tilted back as he did so. One would think that it was a real one, but she knew better and when he stopped and righted himself in an instant she was proven correct.

“Oh no, darlin’. You’re right where I want you and we’re going to talk. You owe me that don’t you think?” he asked.

“I owe you nothing,” she hissed.

Despite her words a pang hit her, but she pushed it down and allowed her rage to remain firm. Letting it waver wasn’t something she could afford.

Objections didn’t stop Jin though, he merely stood there and then turned to glance at the coven. They all jumped with the focus on them and scrambled a little, though despite the fear YN swore she saw Em check out Jin for several seconds.

Of course, his stupid handsome face had that effect.

“Calm down, he’s not going to do anything to you. He’s… safe,” YN said in an attempt to calm their nerves.

Naturally, that only caused them to look at her incredulously. Why would anyone believe a demon of his power was safe to be around, especially since the first things he said made it seem like he just swooped into the first witch’s den that he could find.

Frustrated, YN turned and gave him a look, one he returned until she found herself close to snapping.

“Fine,” she said.

That brought a smile to his face immediately and then his arm extended towards her. Without a thought she reached out to grip it, her eyes fluttered closed immediately and after a few words she pulled away. Though the voice in her head wanted her hand to linger on his skin.

There were gasps of shock before her eyes reopened, but she knew what it was for. Giving into his want to talk meant he allowed her to bind his powers. It didn’t render him powerless, but it did weaken him a great deal. And it would only last a few hours, which YN didn’t think was enough for what was going to happen, but it helped them out.

Jin cleared his throat again to draw her attention and she looked to see a small, tense smile play on his lips.

“Please lead the way,” he said as he stepped aside with a flourish of the hand.

YN rolled her eyes at that but walked past him towards the stairs nonetheless. Before she went up she turned to stare at the others.

“Sit here and relax. Everything is fine. Just eat, sleep, entertain yourselves. Everything but running your mouth to someone not here or messing with anymore magic. Got it?” she said.

They all nodded, and after she made sure to glare at each of them she continued up the stairs. She stopped when she reached her room and motioned him in before following after and closing the door. With a flick of her hand the room was soundproof, something necessary since she knew they’d attempt to ease drop.

By the time she’d done that Jin sat on her bed and faced her, eyes flickering here and there on occasion as he took in the room. There was a hum that she knew was meant to be approval of her decorating choices and then silence.

For several minutes they stayed like that too. Both staring and neither speaking a single word to the other. The only change being the tension and anger festering as each second ticked by.

“You sure know how to hide,” Jin said after who knows how long.

YN scoffed. “As if you actually looked.”

That was strike one.

Jin made a sound that sounded like a laugh but was much too humorless to be considered one.

“Going to pretend like you didn’t have Taehyung help hide you darlin’? A tracker demon who’s bound to his word helped you and you want to act as if I had it easy? As if I could force him without him being punished for breaking that? Or worse die for breaking it? And here I thought he was your friend.”

His words felt like a dagger to the heart and that made YN pissed, but she also knew he wasn’t wrong. He could’ve forced Taehyung to tell him and knowing Taehyung he probably wanted to tell him, but it put his life on the line if he did. And even if she had only meant to make a dig at Jin, acting like she hadn’t risked her friend’s life wasn’t okay.

“There were other ways,” she mumbled.

“And you don’t think I exhausted all of those? Tried all I could? You keep acting like you didn’t have demons and witches by your side to ensure I didn’t find you. That I didn’t even stumble upon you by chance. Like I should have at that party you went to, but something blocked me from getting five miles within it until you left. Then I was left knowing you’d been there, but not being able to find you.”

It was YN’s turn to laugh at him and she reveled in how upset it made him.

“Let’s not pretend like you’ve been looking for me all this time, Jin. We both know that you were so preoccupied that you didn’t notice at first. And I know you, you don’t exert that much energy for a lost cause. Why would you when you’d gain no-”

Strike two.

Before she could finish the word Jin was up in her face, pressing her against the door. His eyes flickered and she could tell he struggled to hold himself together, which ended the moment she smirked at him, seemingly unphased by his mood.

“You know damn well that’s not how I operate. You keep trying to use actions from when you first met me as excuses. Habits and traits that dissipated or altered over time. And even things you sure as hell didn’t have problems before. You want to sit here and throw everything back at me as if I was the one who somehow drove you away. As if I didn’t put effort into every waking moment of us. As if I wasn’t fucking invested in you often times more than you were in me. As if I’m the one who left! That was you, YN. Not me. You didn’t give me the chance. You didn’t talk to me. You just fucking distanced yourself and vanished, never once looking back or even lowering the protections to ensure that I could find you. This is on you,” he shouted.

Though there was a clear shift in YN, something close to guilt, it didn’t stop her from boiling over. She felt upset and wronged by his words.

“Me? I’m the one who this is on? You want to fucking pretend that there wasn’t a change in you? That there wasn’t something off? That you weren’t hiding something from me. This isn’t on me Seokjin. I don’t care what grand delusions you created for yourself while I was gone, but surely you’re not so fucking far gone that you don’t remember what happened before hand. How you fucked up and failed to fix it. How I had to hear about your shitty actions and waning attention from accidental eavesdropping and other demons who loved to let me know how useless I was. How I was on my way out. As if I didn’t fucking know that. As if I hadn’t fucking caught you before that.

“You didn’t care, Seokjin. And you cannot and will not stand here and lie to my face because things didn’t go the way you wanted. Because life didn’t go the way you wanted to. Because you didn’t get to live in a world where you got me and anyone fucking else that you wanted.”

By the time she finished her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her heartbeat erratically and her body vibrated from how worked up she’d gotten.

It was strike three.

Jin’s expression fell, his anger still clear but on the back burner. He looked hurt - well distraught was a better word. His shoulders sagged and she watched as his eyes glistened, tears highlighting the pain.

“Why do you insist on hurting me so much?” he said.

The words in argument she’d prepared disappeared and for the first time since she sensed him the anger couldn’t keep everything else at bay. YN’s sadness, guilt, frustration, and longing all came up at once. She didn’t know what to say or do, but Jin wasn’t done.

“You know it’s not true,” a voice break made him pause for a moment before he continued. “You know it. You know that nothing they say is true because they’ve tried many times to play that game. To get inside your head and make you think I’ve done things I haven’t. With them, with people you know, with people you don’t. They’ve tried it all. They’ve even tried to do it to me and we learned how to deal with that. Learned they were a bunch of whiny brats who couldn’t get what they wanted so they would fuck with what we had. And you knew damn well that they would turn to shapeshifting to do it, so don’t try that shit with me, YN.

“You know what else you knew? You knew I wasn’t pulling away because I wanted to. We both did it out of stress and what felt like a lack of time. And when it ended for you, you knew why it was still like that for me. Let’s not pretend I didn’t fucking notice the change in that drawer. The box was nowhere near where I left it. So why don’t you admit the real issue here? Admit that you were fucking scared. That you’re still scared. That you have lived your life not thinking about how long it will be and the idea of me wanting to spend eternity with you, the idea of me proposing makes you think about the long life. Even if it’s for a second it makes you realize the true power you hold. Your fate for the rest of who knows how long. And instead of talking to me about it, someone who was days from proposing to you, you ran. Like you’ve done for who knows how long before I even came onto the scene. Admit how you run at the first sign of something permanent!”

When the tears started YN or Jin didn’t know, but the moment they realized both scrambled to rid their faces of them. Though Jin’s hands stopped a moment after the first wipe to help YN wipe hers, which only made the silent crying turn into a full-on sob.

“I’m sorry,” was all she could utter, so she repeated it several times.

Jin didn’t say anything at all, just took a deep breath and leaned down to press his forehead to her. They stayed like that for a while, silence filling the space. Silence, sadness, and relief.

Several minutes later, YN pulled it together and was able to see and breathe normally. She pushed Jin away a bit, which displeased him but whatever he planned to say died on his lips the moment she began talking.

“You’re right. You know you’re right. I know you’re right. Taehyung sure as fuck knew you were right when I demanded that he make it nearly impossible to track me. The only reason he did it is because he owed me and I finally knew what he could do in return. I knew I shouldn’t have as I asked and after he’d done it, but I was sure that it was the right choice. It was the right choice for a while or at least that’s what I deluded myself into thinking until I could get to a place where I didn’t linger on it too long.”

There was a pause and a deep sigh from her, she wanted to stop talking but she needed to keep going and with a squeeze of her hand from Jin she found it in herself to continue.

“I’ve watched my people be slaughtered for who knows how long. Complacency and permanent things ended in them burned, hung, killed in the most horrible ways or stripped of who they were so another could gain their power. No matter how well things go it’s nearly impossible to shake the idea of that happening. Especially when you run with demons. An extra target is on my back for even having made an acquaintance with one from my own people. Things intensify when you fall in love with one. And that all just came to a head.

“I was tired of everyone trying to do something to tear us apart and I did need a break. I was going to talk to you about it, but then I saw the ring and heard a conversation I shouldn’t and all my fear and anger festered. Well fear fueled anger. It wasn’t hard to latch onto the idea of you failing to remember how I felt about permanent things, even if I really wanted it. And for fuck’s sake I wanted it.”

Her voice broke at the last part and she started to tear up again, but Jin put a stop to that with a quickness.

“No more tears, darlin’. You’re killing me with all the crying. You want me to start crying, because I will make myself ugly if you start that shit again,” he said.

That made her laugh, but it was truly short lived.

“I really am sorry. I regret it. I’ve regretted it the entire time,” she whispered.

Jin cupped her face and tilted her head so she would look up at him. He made sure that he smiled wide and that she could see how genuine and filled with love it was.

“I know. And I regret not seeing the signs. But we can move past it right? Of course, there is more to discuss and bonds to rebuild, but it’s something we can both do with time. Just not right now. Right now, I just want to keep you in my arms.”

YN smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Is that so?”

Jin nodded. “You owe me two years’ worth of cuddles.”

“Don't you mean twenty years of cuddles?”

“Damnit, I was trying to let you off the hook, but you know what, forget it. You’re never leaving your bed.”

Just as YN planned to challenge that there was a timid knock on her door and then some spoke.

“YN is everything okay in there? You’ve been gone for a while. He may be more powerful than me but I will hurt him if need be,” Mo said.

Laughter escaped both of them at that and they collected themselves long enough for YN to lower the soundproof barrier and reassure her. Once she heard her walk away her attention went back to Jin, who still smiled down at her like she was the best thing he’d ever seen.

“How about I reassure and explain things to them and then you lock me away in your tower and ravage me?”

Both of Jin’s hands slid down and squeezed her ass before he let go and stepped away.

“Fine.”

With a slap to his arm YN turned on her heel and exited her room. She wore a smile than any other in the twenty years they’d been apart and it made her so happy. He made her so happy.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

The Arrangement

John Wick x Reader (A/n- writing sex from John’s perspective, don’t expect me to do it again. Shit’s hard af. Pun not intended but appreciated)

Masterlist   The Arrangement Masterlist   

Warnings- NSFW/SMUT, dom/sub, thigh riding, kinbaku, sense depravation, gagging, hair pulling, erotic photography, angst.

I Can Be Your Whore

Nights without sleep were frequent and it was quickly becoming harder to count how many days had passed. The mission was supposed to be a quick one, they were supposed to make it quick. They were the Marines after all. But something had gone sorely wrong, the other side was more prepared than they thought, with everything from bombs and traps hidden in the sand to an old, depleted base infested with fighters. Some of them were men, hardened in life, but most were merely boys, at most sixteen, who’d been snatched, or probably given up by their families for a cause they under different circumstances, they wouldn’t have understood. 

John hated it. Of course, he’d been trained, toughed up and taught that it didn't matter how old they were, as long they held a gun in their hands, they were a threat. But they were still kids, and putting bullets in the heads of mere teenagers wasn’t what he’d signed up for. Though, it was too late to change his mind now.

By the time the sun had sent, the desert taking on a chill, most of their enemies had seemingly disappeared; they’d either killed them all, or whoever remained, had escaped. Still, their squad’s captain had thought it would be best to stay, though hidden as best as they could be, ready to attack if anyone returned. 

“Wick,” his sergeant hissed loudly from his hideaway behind a structure so broken that it resembled a huge boulder, “Get around,” he made a circle motions with his pointer finger, "Find Darby and kill whatever’s in your way, got it?”

“Yes sir,” John nodded stiffly, giving his gun a final once over before sneaking out of his designated hiding spot. With the night as his cover, John kept low, his steps light and hurried as he inched towards the building. If it weren’t for the blood rushing in his ears, he might have been able to hear the erratic thumping of his heart. His nagging thoughts were clouding his better judgement, forcing him to go around the deteriorating stone building and not through it and as hard as he tried, John just could shake them off.

Something’s wrong, more wrong than usual.

Something’s wrong.

Something’s wrong!

“Darby?” John called out to a man standing in the center of an empty room, he could see him though what he could have only assumed used to be a window, “Darby, what the fuck are you doing man? Cap’s looking for you.” Still, the man didn’t make a move to turn to John, instead, still standing with his back to him, completely unprotected while the heaviness of nightfall skewing his defining features 

Anything could happen

And something was wrong.

“Darby!” John called a bit louder, hoping to not draw out any of their enemies, “Man, don’t fucking play, they could-” When Darby eventually turned, John still could barely see his friend’s face, though, what he could see was only illuminated by a blinking red light coming from his chest. “No,” he gasped, his mind going a mile a minute. It would be foolish to get any closer, but he couldn’t just leave his brother in arms like that, with a bomb strapped to his chest.

Then it hit John; it wasn’t just them. The entire team was scattered about the place, if that bomb went off, when it went off, they’d be lucky to see life after it.

“I’m sorry,” Darby sobbed and when John moved to jump through the gaping hole in the wall, Darby stumbled back, “You can’t do this Wick.”

“Why the hell not?” John’s words were a gravely grunt and he slung the rifle behind his back, “I’m not gonna just let you die,” they’d known each other since the academy, Darby was probably John’s only friend since he’d left the orphanage at eighteen, he couldn’t just let things play out like that.

“Cause you’re gonna get yourself and the rest of the team killed, you need to go out there and tell them to run,” when John drew closer, his footfalls now heavy on the concrete, audible and echoing.

“John,'' another voice called out to him, though John thought it was strange, though still familiar. No one from the squad ever called him by his first name, in fact, he thought it had been months since he last heard it.

“You need to go!” Darby warned.

“John?”

“Just fucking go Wick,” Darby tried to shove him away, just as John flashed his torch on the bomb, the tangle of wires confusing to the untrained eye and the timer with barely five seconds left. 

“I’m not leaving you!” John argued.

“John,” again, she called his name.

“You don’t have a choice,” Darby was already accepting his fate, walking backwards through an old, worn doorway, “You were a good friend Wick.”

“No!” What happened next was a blur and all John registered was the perilous beeping off the bomb, the time up, and then the deafening ‘boom’ as it went off. He’d only gotten to the window he’d come in from, making it out just as the explosion began. 

“John!”

She. She was like the first rays of sunlight after months of winter. Her touch was warm and calming, her words soothing, but only because they were said with her voice. 

Her face took shape in his mind first, leading him out of the disaster safely, though it was funny, that wasn’t how John remembered it. His version had more pain, more gore, more death. But after she’d taken his hand, it had seemed to fade, consuming black gaining a welcome light. She protected him, she gave him something that reminded him that the world wasn’t all bad. 

The light she brought, it was brighter than most others, brighter that the flames that had remained though, it was fading. Fading fast and John couldn’t keep up. She couldn’t leave, she can’t leave him, not like this. Not when he needs her.

He awoke with enough of a startle to have Y/n’s bones jumping out, grabbing her shoulders harshly, his grip tight and assaulting. “John,” her breath caught and her eyes were wide.

It took a while; his mind settling and his heaving chest resuming to some state of normalcy. John’s eyes, from what Y/n could make out in the darkness of the bedroom, still looked frenzied and wild. His hair was matted to his face, sweat soaked and greasy. Y/n had never seen John like that; he wasn’t like the man she knew, the one who was in control of everything around him and who could dominate a room by just walking in, instead, he seemed shaken and afraid, maybe even a little broken. Still, Y/n loved him, she’d love every version of him, always, even if he’d never know it.

“Are you okay?” She asked tentatively. Now that John had settled, Y/n was afraid that she had overstepped some unwritten boundary. 

“Yeah,” John cleared his throat, quickly reassuming his usual self, not wanting Y/n to see that side of him for any longer. When she offered the glass in her hand though, John accepted it with a mumbled thanks, taking a few gulps of water, not even realizing how dry his throat was until the glass was at his lips. “What are you doing awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she downcast her head, fiddling with the tie on her robe, “I got up to get some water, and I heard you. If I overstepped, I’m sor-”

“You need rest,” John cut her off. Y/n desperately longed to ask what his dream was about, what had upset him so deeply that he was screaming and tossing fitfully in the sleep, but she knew that there were some things that John simply wouldn’t entertain. He spoke when he wanted to, always giving what he thought was enough, never making the mistake of oversharing. As a testament, she could count every personal detail that she knew of John with her fingers. Y/n wished she knew more, she wanted to, if only he’d let her in.

“Are you okay?” He turned on the lamp, searching her gaze and temporarily forgetting his own troubles, “Talk to me,” he urged.

“I’m fine,” she reassured, “Would you like me to do anything before I get back to bed?”

“No,” his dismissal was gruff and brief, “Goodnight Y/n,” leaning over, John pecked her forehead, his groomed beard scratching her skin, the feeling lingering even after he pulled away.

“Goodnight John,” Y/n stood from the bed, starting the walk out of his room. But as she neared the door, Y/n couldn’t bring herself to leave, she didn’t want to just leave him like that, it was her job to make him feel good, to tend to his needs, not just sexually, but be a listening ear and a comforting haven. “John?” Y/n turned, finding that he was still sat up against the pillows, just about to turn the lamp off. His response was a hum, one that encouraged her to ask her question, “Can I sleep with you? Just for tonight, please?”

John sighed heavily, debating her request. He’d made it clear months ago that he didn’t have any interest in sleeping together, Y/n didn’t ask why, but she suspected that intimacy and that level of vulnerability wasn’t something he was used to. Or maybe he just wasn’t capable of it all together. She didn’t like that thought. 

“Come here,” John eventually beckoned her over, “Take that off,” he gestured to her robe, watching intently as it slid off her shoulders, revealing the little silk nighty that Y/n was wearing beneath. “Now come,” John peeled the sheets back and Y/n got under, letting him drape them over her. The entire interaction felt awkward and unlike all the other times he’d given her instructions. Maybe it was because those had come after she’d seen him when he was down, maybe it was because even he seemed a so uncomfortable giving them.

It was uncharted territory for them both. 

When they were both tucked under the duvet, Y/n turned on her side while John remained flat on his back, “Goodnight John,” she offered, gripping the covers loosely.

After a minute, John’s low voice broke the steady silence, “Goodnight Y/n.”

The hardwood beneath her tucked legs was cool, though not chilly, and as she'd been stationed there for going on three hours, the position had gone from being slightly uncomfortable to one she'd grown accustomed to. Occasionally, when he wasn't typing, John would reach slightly to the side and affectionately run his fingers through her hair, which cascaded down her shoulders in loose waves. No words were exchanged between them; he didn't care for chatter while he worked and Y/n was too deep in thought to concern herself with menial conversation anyway. 

Her mind kept replaying everything that ha happened since the night before, when she’d gone into his room and then asked if she could sleep in his bed. Y/n had awoken without him that morning and she just finishing the washing up after making breakfast when John had finally appeared, his white t-shirt stained at the front with what looked like ink and smelling oddly of glue. He'd looked a little worn too, as if he'd been up extremely early, though, Y/n didn't dare be the one to strike up the topic. Likewise, John seemed completely unaffected, not even speaking to Y/n until he decided to inform her that they'd be spending the afternoon in his study and what he'd expected her to wear. 

Just a couple hours later, Y/n was sauntering into the study, waiting in the doorway for an invitation. His eyes, steady and dark, had roved her scantily and provocatively clad figure, dressed in a set of black, frilly lingerie, leaving very little left to the imagination; a thin g string, a bralette that barely covered anything and a garter belt attached to her underwear and dark stockings. Little silk bows and chiffon frills had been strategically placed to soften the appearance of the outfit, but it was what it was, as John had stated on the card stuck to the gift box, “a pretty thing for my favorite whore.” Her shoes were courtesy John too, a matching pair of peep toe stilettos that added six inches to her ordinarily demure stature. John absolutely adored seeing her in heels.

He hadn’t said anything, simply waving her in and gesturing to the floor next to him, and Y/n knew well enough what his soundless signals meant. They meant she’d have to stay put until further notice. And she did, closing her eyes in contentment when he’d smoothen his hand over her hair and letting her thoughts run wild when he’d immerse himself in his work; his fingers tapping keys on his laptop and occasionally making lengthy phone calls that always ended with heavy exasperated sighs. Y/n thought of everything; from how mollified she was to be some sort of haven from the stress and how much she yearned to be more than just an escape to what life would be like for her in the next year, if John decided that he didn’t want her anymore. 

When a frustrated swear left his lips and he tossed his pen, Y/n almost jumped, not daring to look up at him, but still concerned, “Is everything okay Sir?”

John turned his head towards the meek question calling his attention. It was rare for Y/n to speak without permission, she was typically inclined to sit in silence,  until he requested otherwise. She was certainly the perfect little pet. But that afternoon, when her concern pierced the quiet, he wasn’t upset in the slightest. In fact, John didn’t quite know what he was feeling, he hadn’t since the night before, when she’d woken him from his nightmare and then asked if she could spend the night with him in a way he usually preferred not too. Half of him wanted to hate it, so he could maintain control, so she wouldn’t get too close and forget her role in his life, but the other half urged him to enjoy it; he hadn’t laid with someone like that in almost twenty years, probably when he was Y/n’s age. 

What had made it worse was when he’d awoken before six am, only to find himself turned towards her back, with one of his bulky arms draped over her, holding Y/n to him. Startled and unnerved by their closeness, by the unspoken intimacy of spooning, John had hastily shuffled out of bed, pulling on a t shirt to go with his sweats, he’d brushed his teeth quickly and wandered out to a logwood shed near the side of the house, where he kept some bookbinding equipment. It was something he usually did when he wanted to clear his head; sex was stress relief, bookbinding was for clarity. Though, it hadn’t really worked that morning, for when he came face to face with Y/n in the kitchen, John still wasn’t sure what he felt when he saw her. Their trip was supposed to convince Y/n to continue as his sub, not turn their relationship into something it wasn’t. Yet, that was exactly what it had been doing; lately, their interactions felt…..romantic, and John didn’t do romance. 

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, only just realizing that he hadn’t responded, and, being too frustrated with his work to pay any more attention to it, John decided to take control where he knew he’s always had it. “Come,” he patted his knee, pushing back his chair a bit to allow for Y/n to have some room. 

Easily, she sank into his lap, facing her front to his, her immodestly exposed breasts just a glance away. His rough hands found the curve of her waist, her skin warm and silken beneath his familiar touch, “I haven’t given you much attention today, have I?”

Pouting, Y/n’s petite hands found his firm biceps, the muscle straining beneath his simple, dark button up. Through her lashes, she looked between them, her gaze only ever reaching his lips, spotting the rare fleck of grey in his groomed beard, “No Sir.” Her fingers inched upwards, reaching his shoulders and massaging them slowly. Tension tightened his muscles, though, under her ministrations, John could feel it starting to melt away, “But it’s okay,” she continued absently, “Even if I miss you, I know you’re busy.”

Smiling softly, John admired her in his arms, the way her brows loosely knitted in concern and how her quips sounded so innocent and youthful, “You miss me babygirl?” He grinned mischievously, guiding her into grinding his thigh, knowing full and well how much she’d enjoy it.

Hesitating, Y/n blushed and a shy smile tickled her pink lips, “I always miss you when you're gone Sir.” There was a slight shake in her voice, and that was how John could tell that the friction brought on by the coarse denim coupled with the flimsy strip of fabric constituting her panties was already having an effect on Y/n. Her grip on his shoulders tightened and he could feel her nails digging in as she arched her back, now moving on her own, moaning quietly as her arousal grew. “Sir,” she gasped, pressing down on his thigh.

“So beautiful,” he hummed, moving some hair away from Y/n’s face, one hand still holding her steady at the waist. His erection strained against the zipper of his jeans, begging for freedom, “You want more, don’t you?” Watching her like that, knowing that he was the one with all the power, the one who could leave her a horny, frustrated mess or bring Y/n sweet release. The power that John wielded over her, it was more than enough to get him drunk. He liked it, no, more than liked it, he absolutely adored it. “Beg for it,” he rubbed his thumb along her flushed cheek, gritting his teeth at his strained hard on as he smiled, “Beg for my cock, like the little slut you are.”

“Please,” whimpering, Y/n ground harder, feeling her swollen clit throb want need, her body longing for more, “Please Sir, I need your cock.” The sound of Y/n’s low, rasped voice had John’s grip on her waist tightening and his breathing going ragged. “I want you, so bad,” her quivering voice continued.

“Only me?” He grunted, moving his free hand from her face to palm his crotch through his pants, “Say it Pet, say you're mine. Tell me who you belong to,” Her eyes were screwed shut, and for the first time in almost a week, John felt like he was truly in his element. There were no blurred lines, no maybes or what ifs, nothing extra about the way she made him feel; they were merely reminiscent of master and sex slave.

“Uhh,” the hitched breath came with Y/n’s long manicured nails sinking deeper into his shoulders, probably growing more and more frustrated as seconds ticked on. “I’m yours Sir, only yours.”

“So good for me,” John praised lowly, “Now go upstairs to my room, and wait face down in bed. Understand?”

Whining in annoyance, the ache in her center surely begging for attention, Y/n nodded, dragging herself out of his lap and letting her wobbly feet lead her out of the room. Taking a moment to collect himself, John stood a few minutes after, undoing the buttons of his shirt, shrugging it off only to toss it to his leather chair, not caring whether or not it slipped off. On his way up to his bedroom, he also undid the worn brass button on the top of his jeans, the mere inch of freedom not doing much for his acing arousal. He wanted her; to feel her around him, warm, wet and tight.

As instructed, when John arrived in the room, Y/n was sprawled on the bed face down, her hair shrouding her face. Taking a moment to drink her in for the absolute vision she was, he proceeded to make his way to one of his bags, set on the bare top of the sleek dresser, opening up the zipper- unless he was going in, John always kept that bag closed when he traveled. It was the bag that held his…...toys, for when he brought subs along. It was in fact a rare occurrence, to have one of his play things accompany him to trips; John rarely vacationed, and business trips hardly afforded the time for beautiful distractions. 

From the small suitcase, he produced some rope, the fibers not too coarse, rough enough to leave behind a few mementos and made especially for the purpose he’d intended. Doing a double take, John also snatched up a plain, black, silk blindfold, unintentionally, it matched Y/n’s lingerie perfectly, a ball gag that they were both readily familiar with, and their favorite safe word substitute; the little blue ball. Going over to the bed, John crooked one of his legs on the mattress as he sat, placing the armory within reach. “I want to tie you up today,” he hummed nonchalantly, bringing his hand to her ass, rubbing his palm in slow circles on her smooth skin, “It’s been awhile since we’ve done that. What do you think? Would you like that?” 

John’s hand momentarily slipped between her thighs, his thick, sturdy fingers brushing her clothed cunt, feeling how Y/n’s wetness had seeped through the fabric. Just the slightest touch was enough to have her moaning softly, his question falling out of memory as she tried to wiggle into his hand. Y/n could feel John’s eyes, his gaze warm each time it swept her scantily clad form, his digits now pressing into her clit through her black panties. Eliciting another depraved groan, she shifted on the perfectly made sheets, burying her face in the pillows.

When John raised his hand again, it was to spank her, hard and without warning, resulting in Y/n crying out half his surprise half in pain. Just as her skin reddened, he rubbed again, gently, warding off any bad bruising, “I asked you a question,” his urgent growl was near her ear and his hot breath blew some of her hair, “Would you like that? To be tied up and gagged so I can use this pretty pussy however I like.”

“Yes,” she choked out, desperate for more, “Please Sir, use me,” Y/n encouraged, “I’m yours.”

Smirking, John wasted not a moment more; peeling off Y/n’s panties and getting to work. The knots were tied with trained precision and insurmountable patience. Work like that wasn’t often done quickly; intricate patterns across her chest around her neck and binding Y/n’s hands behind her back in three places would certainly take time, each placement meant specifically to maximize her pleasure. It was meticulous work,  but it was no secret that John Wick was a patient, focused man, one who’d ensure that every detail was to his liking. 

After her chest and hands, were Y/n’s legs, which were comparably easier. In no time, he’d parted her legs, folding her calves over her thighs and binding them tightly, effectively rendering her physically powerless. With each knot, executed with expertise and tightened with experience, John felt himself slipping into the comfort and ease of being in total control. He knew every risk, had assessed them several times over and had worked out the solutions, he knew exactly what he was doing and John knew with absolute certainty that whatever happened next was totally up to him. Y/n was powerless, at his mercy and absolutely trusting of his judgement. She was his, and when all else failed, went wrong or awry, John knew that he could seek Y/n out to offer him what he sought most; control.

Satisfied that she was bound, John placed the ball in her hands, reminding her of how it was to be used before crawling off the bed to admire his handiwork. Y/n looked so perfect, the kind of perfect that was the thing of a pornographic film, the kind of perfect that he wanted to save the sight for a long time. That was when the idea struck him, and John walked around to the side of the bed, situating his lips over her ear, “You look gorgeous like this,” he pecked her cheek, “I want to take pictures of you,” sending shivers up her spine as he did, John caressed her neck, occasionally twirling silky locks around his fingers, “Nod if that’s okay.”

When she hesitated, John thought that she was going to signal no, by squeezing the little toy fitted in her palm, but eventually, Y/n appeased, nodding against the sheets. “Good,” he murmured, returning to the dresser, using a little remote to turn on the stereo before collecting a semi-professional camera. Setting the right mood after that was merely child’s play; closing the heavy curtains and dimming the lights a little before finding the perfect angle, where the camera would catch every salacious detail.

With heavy metal blasting through the speaker, masking any noise that would threaten the moment, John slowly worked his way through different angles. Every snap was more arrestingly vulgar than the last and his cock twitched eagerly, ready to be buried between her thighs, fucking her into oblivion. Being with her, dragging his hands along her body as her cunt squeezed his cock, hearing her strained noises and having Y/n it his whim, Y/n specifically, was unmatched. It was otherworldly, he’d even go as far as saying the power made him feel as if he were something of a god. 

“That’s it Kitten,” he praised lowly, “You’re so fucking sexy, and you’re all mine.” Through with the pictures, he made short work of getting completely disrobed, then climbing onto the bed, between her legs. Even in the low lighting, he could see the slickness gathered on her folds, the prurient view making him buck his hips. 

Without more warning that a hand on her waist,  he took her from behind, the blaring music shrouding his unmanned grunt. Y/n’s body shifted higher up into the bed as a consequence of his roughness and thoughtlessly, John grabbed a handful of her messy tresses, wrapping it around his fist, yanking her head back and planting his lips on her neck. His hulking frame was only restrained from crushing her by his free forearm sunken into the mattress as a brace. Beneath him, he could barely make out her muffled whines each time he thrust into her violently. 

Maintaining his volatile pace, John released her hair, only to hold her to him with his arm secured around her chest. As he ground against her, the fibers of the rope holding her hands against her back chafed his sweaty chest while the ones binding her legs rubbed against his thighs. She felt so fucking good too; warm wet walls closed in around him, accommodating him perfectly. And the way it felt when his balls slapped her cunt was utterly euphoric. It was always easily to lose himself during their scenes, nothing beyond the physical mattered and he knew exactly what her limits were; how much he could give and take without hurting her. Maybe he couldn’t understand what he felt when they weren’t naked and touching each other, but when they were; John was in a realm that he’d created. 

John could feel her tensing up as he fucked her with rabid intensity, holding back on her release until he permitted. “Come for me,” he growled into her ear, burying his face in the side of her head. The fruity smell of her shampoo tickled his senses, cementing her presence. Y/n was there, with him, all he’d have to do was persuade her to stay.

Her walls pulsated around his member, waves of hot, slick moisture rushing out to sticky their thighs and she struggled to scream, dribbling around her gag. Y/n’s juices leaked onto his already heated skin as she milked him, weaning John closer towards his own orgasm. 

It was hard to maintain control of his thrusts as his toes curled with the exultation accompanying his climax. It was like a lid had been blown off, in the most pleasurable way. Fighting to continue bucking his hips, John filled her up, spilling ribbons of cum as he stayed nestled deep inside. “Fuck,” he groaned, the husky solicitation drowned out by the edgy screaming from the speaker “You know how good it feels to cum inside you sweetheart?” The words were garbled and choked, though John knew Y/n would appreciate the sentiment, if she’d even heard them. He liked when she knew, it made her feel good, and he could tell.

Collapsing on top of her, his body far more relaxed than it had been when they’d been downstairs, John took a moment to gather his thoughts and catch his breath before pulling out and rolling off her, wincing ever so slightly as he did. The first thing he did after that was undo the straps of Y/n’s ball gag, followed by the silk blindfold that had formerly barred her vision. John would have had to be blind himself to miss the moisture from her eyes that had soaked through the fabric. “Are you okay?” Worry immediately plumed in his chest. Had the music been a bad idea? What if she’d squeezed the ball and he’d missed it in his selfish haste?  

Stopping before he continued with the ropes, John searched Y/n’s reddened eyes, cupping her cheek and using the pad of his thumb to brush away what appeared to be the final tear, “Talk to me babygirl. Did I hurt you?” She Y/n trusted him, and if he’d missed the signal, then John had just betrayed her; how could he expect her to stick around after that?

Trying to slow her heavy breaths, Y/n nuzzled his palm, licking her lips, and sighing soft before managing a breathless, faint smile, “No Sir, that was…….amazing.”

An immense sense of relief washed over him at her reassurance, and with a relieved chuckle, John leaned over to affectionately peck the top of her head, missing the way she closed her eyes contentedly at the simple gesture. “I’m glad to hear that,” he sighed, tucking some behind her ear, “You were very good today, I think we’ll have to get you something special when we get home. How does that sound?”

As he moved on to undoing the intricate knots, one by one, releasing her arms first and revealing angry red bruises where the rope had been tightest. He knew she was used to them by then, but when they left in a couple days, Y/n would have to wear a sweater. John was so consumed with the task that he’d barely noticed that she hadn’t answered him, already thinking of what he could get her. Y/n had never been hard to please outside of the bedroom, she was simple and John thought she could find the best in anything, and anyone. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he huffed, eventually shuffling off the bed, using some tissues from his nightstand to quickly clean up before pulling on a pair of sweats, “I’m going to run you a bath,” and catching the heaviness of her eyes before he disappeared into a bathroom, John warned sternly, “Don’t fall asleep yet.” Vaguely, he heard her mumble a simple ‘Yes Sir,’ in response, and it was in a tone so dazed that he knew better than to trust it, deciding to hurry up on getting the tub ready for her. He knew Y/n well enough that after intense sessions, she was subject to dozing off, too tired to do much for herself

All in all, it had taken about an hour to finish after care, though John never minded. It was his job to take care of Y/n and it was certainly one he enjoyed. Despite the time they’d taken with him helping her in the bath, it hadn’t felt that long before they were finally on the bed again, with the dirty covers pulled back. Armed with a brush, he situated her between his legs, gently combing through the wet tangles. From the very start, John could tell without her ever having to say it that she preferred when he brushed her hair dry, as opposed to using the dryer. He didn’t mind though, he’d cut out any amount of time just to do it if that was what Y/n wanted. 

That afternoon, like every other after they’d been together, she was quiet, opting to pick at a thread on her towel as he worked. Y/n’s silence was often welcome and he never wanted to push her into a conversation, but that evening, John knew that they had to talk. He’d put the matter off for too long anyway. “We need to talk,” he began.

“Huh?” She twisted to face him, eyes wide with curiosity and lips agape. She was gorgeous like that, so youthful and innocent, far unlike how corrupted and tainted he was.

“It’s about our contract, it ends in two weeks,” he licked his lips, unable to gauge her reaction, “I was thinking, if you’re still happy with our arrangement, we could go through with another year.”

Still, even with furrowed brows and pursed lips, John could barely tell how she felt, “You want me to stay?” She broached meekly, tilting her head, “And we’d be just like this, for another year?”

“Yes, unless there’s something you don’t like.” For some reason, his heart quickened. It was far different from the very first time he’d asked her to be his sub, when he’d taken her to dinner in Manhattan. Y/n hadn’t seemed too onboard with the idea back then either, but that evening, with his touch on the center of her back and the evidence of their time together staining the dark sheets, the stakes were higher. Back then, he just wanted her, but right now, he didn’t want to lose her. 

Averting her pensive gaze to the mahogany floor beyond the California king, Y/n’s voice shook slightly as she inquired, “Can I think about it?”

In an instant, taking him completely by surprise, John’s heart dropped to his stomach. Needless to say, that wasn’t the answer he was expecting, and really, all he could do was think that her indecision meant no. Still, he couldn’t pressure her, it wouldn't be fair, and all he could do was say; “Yeah, sure. Take your time.”

*****

Tagging-  @theonlyone-meeeee  @wishuhadstayed  @danietowwo4 @baphometwolf666  @iworshipkeanureeves @howtoruinsomeones-perfect-day @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves

[flowercrown-bard]

A new us will begin (7/ 11)

word count: 9k

AO3

part 1   / part 2 / part 3  / part 4  / part 5 / part 6 / part 8

Content warning: being overwhelmed by being in a crowd, (implied character death (kind of?))

Geralt stared at him, his mind simultaneously freezing and racing. He didn’t even realise how long he must have just stood there unmoving, until Dandy shifted uncomfortably.

Geralt shook his head to snap out of his stupor.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice rougher than intended. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to scare you before. I- “ His fingers twitched, suddenly unsure what to do with himself. “I’m sure you want to leave this place.”

A look of relief flittered over Dandy’s face and he nodded curtly. “Yeah, that would be for the best.”

He shuffled again, the hand that wasn’t holding the cane fiddling with the hem of his doublet. “I… I know you just saved me now, but could you…”

He trailed off, pressing his lips into a thin line. His discomfort was so blatantly obvious that Geralt instinctively took a step back, holding his hands out in front of him out of habit, even though he now knew how nonsensical that gesture was. It was all he could do to show people that he wasn’t a threat to them. It wouldn’t work on Dandy.

“Of course,” Geralt rasped out. “I won’t force my presence on you. I understand that you’re uncomfortable with me after I just –“

He was interrupted by a sharp huff coming from Dandy. “What? No, that’s not – I asked you to stay, didn’t I?”

“I…yes?”

Dandy’s throat visibly bobbed as he swallowed. “Well, you see, the thing is… gods, I can’t believe how stupid I was that I didn’t notice that something was wrong earlier, but I usually don’t really go places alone if I don’t know my way around.” His hand tightened around his cane and his tone became slightly cynical, when he added, “Fillip – if that even was his real name – told me where he was going to take me, but somehow I doubt that’s actually where we are now.”

“Oh.” Geralt blinked, his brows drawing together like storm clouds. Of course. That must have been why Fillip had taken that long and undoubtedly complicated route to get here instead of taking the direct way – so that Dandy wouldn’t be able to just flee and find his way back. “Do you want me to take you home?” Dandy flinched and Geralt cursed himself. “I mean your home.”

An abyss opened up in Geralt’s chest that widened with every second that Dandy hesitated.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said softly. “I would go back to the tavern and tell one of your friends to come get you, but I don’t want you to be alone out here. Just in case –“

“Yeah, no, I really don’t want that either.” Dandy gave a strained laugh.

But he didn’t say he wanted to come with Geralt. Not that Geralt could blame him. He took a shaky breath.

“I know you don’t have any reason to trust me. Especially after what just happened.” Geralt clenched his fists to keep them from trembling with fury and left-over terror again. “But I swear on my life, I won’t hurt you. I would rather die than let any harm come to you.”

Dandy’s lips twitched weakly. “That’s quite the declaration for a stranger.”

A stranger. That was all Geralt was, all he was going to be, after the sort of first meeting they had. No one in their right mind would want him to stick around after something like that. It was a wonder Dandy hadn’t already scrambled back to get away from him.

Geralt forced all restrained hurt out of his voice, when he replied, “I had a friend who loved dramatic speeches. He always told me to speak more.”

Dandy let out a surprised laugh. “He sounds like a smart man. You do have a lovely voice. It would be a shame not to use it.”

Geralt’s throat went dry. “He was. A smart man. And the biggest idiot I knew.”

“Oh.” The tension that had slowly ebbed away from Dandy, returned in full force. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… Well, I guess he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to let himself get lured away by some charming man, huh?”

It was clear that Dandy was aiming for a joke, but judging from the strain in his voice, he was well aware that he missed by a mile.

Geralt softened. “Yes, actually, he would. You wouldn’t believe how often he got in trouble because of a pretty face – sometimes his own, sometimes other people’s.” His voice took on a more serious note. “But not a single time that he was attacked for it, was his fault. Just as what happened today wasn’t yours. The men who attacked you are to blame and no one else. You’re not stupid for trusting people and if anyone tells you that it’s your own fault if someone tries to take advantage of you, you tell them that they are dead wrong.”

Dandy’s face did something complicated, but then he gave Geralt a crooked smile. “I really have no idea what those men were talking about when they called you a monster. If you ask me, you sound more like a hero. Act like one too.”

Geralt’s heart sped up at those all too familiar words. After years and years of being spat at, being insulted and chased away, hearing words so similar to those Jaskier had always told him, was like rubbing a soothing balm on a wound.

“I’m no hero. Just tried to do the right thing.” He shifted on his feet. “If you’ll let me, I’d like to do the right thing again and bring you home safely. Judging from your clothes, you must be living in the richer part of town?”

Dandy let out a startled laugh. “No. Absolutely not. But I’ll tell Clarisse that you said the costumes she makes look expensive. But I probably should stop wearing them after rehearsals, huh?”

Geralt’s brows shot up. “So you weren’t lying? You really are an actor?”

Dandy’s grin got wider. “I would be offended that you haven’t heard of our troupe, but since you so gallantly saved me, I shall forgive you for now.” He hesitated, his plastered on confidence wavering a little. “But I would appreciate if you could bring me back to the tavern? I just…I’d really like to be with my friends again.”

Geralt led him back without further delay. He didn’t take Dandy’s arm as Fillip had done before, but he made sure to made his footfalls louder and to keep talking so that Dandy would now always know where he was and how to follow him, while his cane moved before him, sometimes catching on irregular cobblestones or the walls of houses.

As they walked, Dandy visibly relaxed, even reciting his big monologue of the play they were going to perform the next day, when Geralt asked about it, more to distract Dandy from any dark thoughts than anything else. He tried his best to follow Dandy as he told him about what it was like being an actor, but most of it was nothing Geralt could find a meaningful reply to.

Dandy didn’t appear bothered by that. In fact, by the time they were close enough that even Dandy could hear the noise coming from the tavern, he looked almost as happy as he had back with his friends.

Despite the terror that had brought them here, Geralt wished he could stay in that moment forever; just the two of them walking together, talking and him being allowed to watch Dandy brighten when Geralt managed to say something the actor deemed funny.

He wished he could stay with him, wished that when they entered the tavern and his friends hugged Dandy close, Geralt could be one of them. But as the red-haired woman from before took Dandy in her arms, the actor began trembling again, a piercing reminder of what had happened. He had been apprehensive of asking Geralt to walk him back, there was no doubt in Geralt’s mind that now that he was surrounded by his friends again, Dandy would want Geralt as far gone as possible.

So Geralt explained what had happened to the redhead, Nadine, as quickly as he could and left Dandy in his friends’ care, without forcing him to say another word to him. Part of it was the selfless need to see Dandy throw off that discomfort from before. The bigger, selfish part of Geralt knew he would break, if he had to listen to Dandy say goodbye to him, final and cutting like a knife.

Still, Geralt didn’t go back to Roach again as he had planned, neither did he search for a cheap inn. He lingered in the shadows near the tavern, making sure no more danger would come near Dandy.

Shortly after Geralt had left the tavern, Dandy and his friends followed, going back to their home, where no harm could to him.

It should have calmed Geralt to know that Dandy was in caring hands and yet he couldn’t banish the worry and the memory of that short terrifying moment when he had thought he might be too late again.

This night, Geralt didn’t get a wink of sleep, patrolling the streets and thinking of how, no matter how briefly, Dandy had seemed to be happy to be in his presence. It was a memory Geralt would treasure when he was out on the Path again, lonely, but comforted by the knowledge that Dandy wasn’t just as alone.

--

Geralt told himself he would stay away, that it would be better for Dandy that way. He had everything he could want. There was no need for a witcher to come in and mess his life up.

And yet, the next evening, Geralt found himself staring at one of the numerous posters he found in the city, impossible to miss, now that he was looking for them. Colourful letters and a quickly drawn picture advertised a play. Right front and centre of the rough drawing was a man in a hat, leaning on a cane and giving a roguish smile, teasing Geralt and tempting him to throw caution and reason in the wind and come see him again.

He should resist. No good would come off going to see Dandy again, but Geralt’s feet carried him to the spacious marketplace, as written on the poster, even while his mind told him that he would find nothing but disappointment and hurt if he saw Dandy again.

In his hand, he clutched the hat Dandy had lost in that alley, when he had been hit. Geralt had gone back there, just to see if his attackers were around, and his heart had stuttered when he’d seen the hat lying there on the ground, dirtied and discarded. Without thinking, he had bent down to take it. If nothing else, he should return it to the players. It didn’t even need to be to Dandy directly. He could just go to the woman sitting behind a small desk at the entrance of the marketplace, hand it to her and disappear again.

But he needed to see. He needed to know for sure that Dandy was feeling better. That was the only reason why he went to the woman selling tickets for the play and pulled out one of the precious few coins in his possession.

His stomach nearly growled at the thought alone of how little coin he had left. Watching a play wasn’t an expense he could afford, not if he wanted to be able to eat anything warm and nutritious.

His fist closed around the silver coin and with determined steps, he walked towards the woman.

“One ticket, please.”

The woman looked up at him with a welcoming smile. A smile, that froze on her face when she took him in. Her eyes widened and he could hear her sharp intake of breath.

His jaw clenched. Out of instinct, he hunched his shoulders and tried his best to relax his face, but he was painfully aware of the fact that he couldn’t hide who and what he was. Decades without Jaskier’s songs to soften the public’s opinion hadn’t done the way he was treated and perceived much good.

Pointedly casually, Geralt held out the coin.

He told himself that he didn’t panic when the woman shook her head.

“We won’t take your coin.”

His heart sank. He should go. He should just give her the hat, excuse himself and go. The last thing he needed was to cause a scene.

“It’s as good a coin as anyone else’s.”

He cursed himself even as the words tumbled out of his mouth, but he couldn’t stop himself. He had known that there was a very real chance that he wouldn’t get to see Dandy again, but being told that he should go when he was so close, was like a punch in the gut.

He could feel more than he saw the people behind him in the line growing impatient, some even starting to whisper to each other in irritation. It wasn’t hard to guess whose side they would be on if Geralt kept insisting to be allowed to pass.

The last thing Dandy needed was Geralt chasing away other audience members with his presence.

An icy chill ran down his spine. Dandy. What if he had asked the rest of his friends to keep him away because he didn’t want Geralt anywhere near him? Yesterday, Geralt had been able to make himself believe that Dandy looking happy around him had been real. Now, he was forced to confront the truth: That the actor had just been relieved that nothing worse had happened and if he had smiled at what Geralt had said, that had likely just happened out of a sense of obligation or fear of what would happen if he pissed Geralt off.

Geralt wouldn’t blame Dandy if he had wanted to make sure that Geralt stayed away from him.

A taken aback “Oh” from the woman in front of him interrupted his grim thoughts. “That’s not what I meant. Of course your coin is just as good. I meant that you don’t have to pay to watch our play.”

Geralt’s brows shot up. He couldn’t have heard this right. “What do you mean?”

The woman tilted her head to the side and eyed him critically, before nodding to herself and leaning closer.

“You’re the one who helped our Dandy yesterday, aren’t you? Nadine told me what happened and said if a man with white hair and…well, she pretty much described you and said if you came by, I shouldn’t make you pay.”

“He’s alright then?” The idea of a witcher being allowed entrance anywhere without pay felt surreal, but the only thing Geralt’s mind latched on was that brief mention of the person he wanted more than anything to be close to again. “Dandy?”

“He’s fine. Thanks to you.” The woman’s lips twitched and she gave Geralt a conspiratorial look, as if he’d have any idea what she wanted to tell him with that. “A bit nervous, though. More so than the usual nerves before a performance. He’s been fidgety all day.”

Geralt’s face fell. “He’s still afraid? Did anyone bother him again?” Is it me he’s afraid of?

The woman waved her hand through the air dismissively. “Oh no. He keeps telling everyone who’s willing to listen, how he has a mysterious protector now.” She winked at Geralt. “But you can ask him about it after the play yourself. Now, not to be rude, but you’re kind of holding up the line.”

Geralt startled. He had almost forgotten about the people waiting impatiently behind him. With one last grateful nod to the woman, he went past her and joined the crowd that was already gathered on the marketplace.

Geralt’s nerves spiked up and his breath started to come short. There were too many people around him. He pushed his way to the back of the crowd, but even there, he was surrounded by chattering, pushing and the smell of sweat that clung to the mass of bodies.

Geralt had avoided crowds for so long that he had almost forgotten how much he hated it. The only thing that had always soothed his mind and had made being in a crowd worth it, had been Jaskier’s hand in his, grounding him, and the smile he would always give him for indulging Jaskier like that.

Only now, he didn’t have Jaskier with him.

Geralt was left to grow more and more anxious, as he tried to focus all of his senses on finding Dandy, but he couldn’t catch so much as a glimpse of him, even as he stared at the colourful wagon that had been converted into a place where actors could hide until they had to make their entrance onto the stage.

Finally, the play began. Geralt perked up, only to sag in disappointment, when it wasn’t Dandy presenting the prologue, but the red-haired woman from the day before. She was good, as were the other actors that soon joined her, but Geralt paid only half-attention to them or the plot, too distracted by trying to spy Dandy somewhere.

He shouldn’t have worried about missing him. As soon as the doors to the wagon opened and Dandy pushed the curtain separating it from the stage to the side with a dramatic flourish, he drew all eyes onto himself.

Geralt couldn’t help but suck in the air sharply, when Dandy strode over the stage, all confidence and cockiness. He navigated the stage perfectly, his cane almost melting into his motions with how self-assured he presented himself. It was clear that he knew his place as well as the other actor’s places like the back of his hand. Nothing was left of the scared man from yesterday, who had been lost and reliant on others to guide him through the labyrinth that was the city. No, the person who was on stage now, was someone completely different. This was who Dandy was meant to be. He commanded the stage, wrapped the audience around his little finger as if it was nothing.

Some of his expressions still looked a little unnatural and he didn’t always look at where the other actor’s eyes were perfectly, but somehow Dandy managed to turn that into a look of arrogance or shy avoidance. It was clear how much he had practiced to perfect this performance and how much he loved playing the cocky pirate captain.

While Jaskier had been able to get any crowd to clap and stomp in rhythm with his songs, Dandy had the gift of making a hush fall over the crowd. Not a single person in the audience dared to risk missing even a second of his performance by talking. Geralt fared no better. He couldn’t have looked away if he had wanted to. He was mesmerised.

And how could he not be? Up there on the stage, Dandy was beautiful, confident and so breathtakingly and unapologetically happy.

A warm and fuzzy feeling spread through Geralt’s chest as he watched, though he winced and felt a spike of guilt shoot up, when he noticed that Dandy did his best to take it easy on his back when he danced through the fight-choreographies or had to bend down.

But even so, there was no doubt that Dandy gave it his all. Even with the hat missing from his costume, he melted into the role of the pirate. So much so that even Geralt found himself invested in the play, and not only for the need to see what exactly it was that Dandy did that he loved so much.

And he could see why he did. The story was enrapturing. A pirate playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse, with constantly changing roles and stakes. He evaded the knight searching for him time and time again, more often than not with a flirty quip on his lips and a wink for the knight before the pirate escaped just in time.

Dandy played the pirate pouring all his heart into it. And with it, he played the audience as easily as a child’s recorder.

When Dandy acted ruthless and lifted his voice to a furious shout, gasps went through the audience. When Dandy spoke softly to the knight in a rare moment of vulnerability, Geralt noticed more than one pair of lovers search for their partner’s hand or share a look. When Dandy tilted the knights chin up with the sword he held in the hand that wasn’t occupied with his holding his cane, Geralt felt an unexpected tingling down the back of his neck and he had to swallow to get himself to stop imagining himself in the knight’s place.

But then the scene shifted and Geralt felt as if a rug was pulled out from under him. The pirate got captured by the knight and thrown into a prison. The set design was only minimalistic and had Geralt been less invested, he might have scoffed at how nothing like an actual prison the stage looked, not without the cagey walls that made you think you were suffocating or the lack of light that made it impossible to tell what time of day it was.

But none of that mattered. Because there Dandy was, cowering on the stage all alone, shackled and trembling all over. In that moment, he looked so damn similar to how he had been yesterday, that it took all of Geralt’s will power to remind himself that Dandy was just acting, that his pain-streaked face was nothing but the mask of the character he played. And yet, Geralt’s heart broke for him and he wanted nothing more than to take Dandy into his arms and hold him close until his tears dried and his gasping breath turned into laughter.

Then the knight appeared on the other side of the prop door, speaking to the pirate through it in a stern and rough voice, but the look on Dandy’s face as the pirate heard the voice and realised he wasn’t alone, made it seem as if the voice was the most beautiful and most comforting thing he had ever heard.

The knight lifted a prop torch. It didn’t shine a real light, but Dandy turned towards it nonetheless, creating the illusion of being gifted with unexpected light in a hopelessly dark place.

Geralt’s heart skipped a beat. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the look of utter bliss and hope on Dandy’s face.

Was this how Yarrow had looked when Geralt had finally given up on remaining silent? Had he looked just as hopeless and broken as Dandy had before, when Geralt had fallen silent again?

And then Dandy spoke up again and Geralt found it impossible to breathe. He knew that monologue. It was the same one Dandy had presented in the most dramatic fashion to Geralt the day before.

It was different today. This was no grandiose speech. It was a desperate plea of a broken man. Dandy knew exactly how to use his voice to pierce the hearts of the audience. People sobbed and held their loved ones’ closer as Dandy spoke now. But Geralt was certain that none of them felt as much in that moment as he did. Not a single person could understand the turmoil of emotion welling up in him at Dandy’s words.

He hadn’t understood yesterday, but now, seeing Dandy in that make-believe cell, it shifted everything, made Geralt feel like he was right next to him, on the other side of a wall, too far away to touch, too stubborn to listen to his pleas.

Because that’s what it was. While yesterday Dandy had made it seem as if his words were playful and tempting, there was now no doubt that he was begging. Begging for the knight to stay with him, to leave his life of glory and righteousness behind and join him on the sea, far away from anyone who put them in shackles or told them that they had to be enemies. He begged for the knight to see him as more than the unwanted criminal that the law painted him as. There was a broken smile on his face, as he said that he knew well enough that there were no dragons to fight out on the sea, but there were leviathans and all kinds of other sea monsters that he needed help fighting. He could use a man who knew how to use his sword. More than that, he could use a friend.

And the knight…the knight remained silent. Geralt felt himself leaning closer to the stage, tense as if readying himself for a fight and terrified of what the answer might be.

Don’t do it! he almost screamed at the actor playing the knight. You will shatter him if you say it!

But he knew what the answer would be, had known it long before the pirate had ever started begging. He had known it, ever since he realised just how close this scene was to the moment he still regretted decades later.

“We’re not friends.”

The knight left and took the light with him, leaving the pirate alone in his cell, awaiting the law’s judgement that he knew wouldn’t let him out of that cell alive. The pirate’s last words, before the knight watched him climb the gallows was, “We could have been friends. In a different life.”

--

Geralt didn’t hear the roaring applause. He didn’t see the actors all coming together onstage to take their bows. It felt as if his head had been stuffed with cotton, muffling the world around him.

All he could think of were those last lines. In a different life.

Did Dandy know? Did he somehow understand who he was and was trying to get a message to Geralt? It wasn’t likely, but the possibility made his heart speed up and sent a tingle of anticipation down his back.

Slowly, the crowd dispersed. Geralt didn’t even notice that he was among the last few who lingered awkwardly while the rest of the audience was already making their way home, until that laughter he had heard the day before reached his ears again. Somewhere backstage, Dandy was joking with his friends again.

Geralt’s throat went dry. He didn’t know what to do. That happened frustratingly often lately. He knew what he wanted to do, what every fibre of his being screamed at him to do. But there was no guarantee Dandy even wanted to meet him again. The chance of him truly knowing who he was to Geralt was too small to sway Geralt’s mind. Who was to say Dandy would want him here if he knew, anyway? Because if Dandy knew, then what exactly would he remember? Dying in Geralt’s arms. Dying alone and sick and waiting for a man who would never come.

And if he didn’t remember? If the play had been pure coincidence? Then Dandy would only know him as a brute who lurked in dark alleys, a man who reminded him of the violence of the day before, and who had shown that he wasn’t above hurting people. He had made Dandy fear for his life while he had had no idea if Geralt was friend or foe. None of that made Geralt appear in any way trustworthy.

Whether Dandy remembered anything of his past lives or not, he had every reason to despise him.

But Geralt actually had a reason to talk to him. If not to spent more time with him, then at least to return the hat to him. It was a weak excuse and he knew it, but the woman at the entrance had implied that he should go see Dandy and she wouldn’t have said that if she believed it could harm Dandy in any way, would she?

Though his heart was pounding against his ribs in time with his mind telling him repeatedly that this was a bad idea, Geralt walked towards the stage, where Nadine was just putting away some props.

Before Geralt could speak up, she lifted her head. A brow rose, not in surprise, but almost looking pleased.

“I was wondering if you’d show up,” she said, not bothering to interrupt her work while she spoke. “I take it you’re looking for Dandy?”

“Unless he doesn’t wish to meet me.” Geralt rubbed his thumb over the nail of his index finger, as big a show of nervousness as he allowed himself. “I don’t want to bother him.”

Nadine faltered and turned to face Geralt fully. Geralt felt oddly vulnerable under her scrutiny. But whatever she was seeing must have satisfied her, for she gave him a small nod of approval.

“Trust me, you wouldn’t be. He’s not helping clean up the stage anyway and as long as he’s busy talking - or doing whatever else takes both your fancy  - with you, at least he won’t be able to bother the rest of us.” Despite her harsh sounding words, her tone was warm and fond. It did something strange to Geralt’s chest to know that Dandy had found himself with friends whom he was comfortable enough with to let them tease him. “He’s behind the stage, you can’t miss him.”

Geralt nodded his thanks, but before he could make his way to Dandy, Nadine called after him again, “Don’t touch anything. The props are fragile.” When she caught Geralt’s eye, she added quieter but in a practiced tone of authority and intimidation, “I mean it. Don’t break anything.”

They both knew she wasn’t talking about props. Geralt returned her serious look and inclined his head. This time, when he continued on his way, he wasn’t stopped.

Nadine was right. It was impossible to miss Dandy. He was lounging comfortably on a box while another actor with shoulder-length dark hair tried to shoo him off so they could stow away his props.

The other actor looked up when Geralt came closer, their eyes going wide and darting between Geralt and Dandy.

“Oh,” they said awkwardly. “I, uh, I guess I can put my stuff away later. I’ll leave you to it.”

With that, they hurried away. Dandy let out a cheerful laugh and swung his legs back and forth, making dull thuds whenever his feel hit the box.

He didn’t seem to notice that he wasn’t alone.

“Dandy?”

Dandy startled and his one hand tightened around his cane. “Uh, who are you?”

Geralt clenched his jaw. “Fuck. I’m sorry, I forgot – I’m Geralt.”

Dandy stared blankly ahead, the fingers of his free hand drumming a nervous pattern on the box.

“Ah, pleasure to meet you.” A pause. Dandy tilted his head. “Judging from how Mika left, you’re either very intimidating or someone I should probably know.”

Geralt coughed uncomfortably. “To be honest, I’m not sure which one it is either.”

Dandy let out a quiet laugh and leaned back. “So mysterious. You want me to guess? Because I’m warning you, I’m not very good at guessing games.”

“We met yesterday. After…I’m the one who brought you back to the tavern.”

The change in Dandy was instantaneous. As quick as lightning, he jumped up, his teasing and the hint of weariness gone and replaced with a buzzing excitement.

“It’s you! I can’t believe you’re here!” The smile on his face wasn’t as big as Jaskier’s would have been, but the happiness in his voice was brighter than anything Geralt had ever heard before. “Really, I should have guessed it was you. No one else can move that silently.” He huffed. “You’ll have to work on that, if you don’t want me to startle every time you appear.”

Something warm tingled to life in Geralt. Every time. It couldn’t just be Geralt’s foolishly hopeful heart that made those words sound as if Dandy wanted him to come see him again after this, could it?

“Or when you disappear for that matter.” Dandy’s tone shifted into gentle reprimand and he wagged a finger vaguely in Geralt’s direction. “You were gone so quickly yesterday and without saying goodbye too.”

“I’m sorry.” Those words weren’t enough. They didn’t say that Geralt had wanted nothing more than to stay with Dandy, to get to know him, to have Dandy want him there with him. But it was all that his tied tongue allowed him to get out.

Dandy snorted. “You should be.” Amusement snuck into his voice. “I’ll have you know that it was really embarrassing when I stared talking to you, thanking you profusely for saving me, only to have Nadine tell me that you had left an eternity ago. I fear my dignity shall never recover!”

“Not if you keep being that dramatic,” Geralt shot back, before he could stop himself.

He froze, his eyes going wide as he held his breath, awaiting Dandy’s reaction. His slip up that Jaskier would have recognised without difficulty as teasing, must sound like a deadpan insult to anyone else – to Dandy.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said so quickly he nearly stumbled over the word. “I didn’t mean to-“

He was interrupted by a barking laugh coming from Dandy. “Not you too! First my own friends and colleagues tell me I’m too dramatic – can you believe it? Actors telling me I’m too dramatic! – and now even you, Geralt, my hero, are turning against me?”

Geralt shifted his weight, his instinct telling him to deny being a hero, but the way Dandy had said his name made him swallow his words of protest. Instead, he cleared his throat and aimed for something softer with his next words.

“I could make it up to you?”

Dandy’s smile turned into a grin. “Oh? How are you planning to do that? One daring rescue wasn’t enough for you?” His tone became sincere. “Because trust me, I couldn’t ask anything more of you. I owe you my life.”

“No. Trust me, you really don’t.” Geralt forced down the bitterness lacing his words. “No more heroics. But-“ he faltered, looking at the hat in his hand. Standing before Dandy now, made this gesture seem so much more insignificant. “I found your hat. I wanted to return it to you.”

Dandy let out a delighted little noise. “Wait, really?”

“It’s…yeah. I got your hat.”

Geralt waited until Dandy held out his hand to place it in it. Immediately, Dandy went to put it on his head. Geralt snatched his elbow, stopping him. He could feel the heat rise in his cheeks when Dandy made a questioning noise.

“Sorry, it’s just. It’s dirty. And the feather is broken. I tried to clean it best I could, but I don’t think you’d want to put it on like that.”

Dandy’s face did something complicated, but then he tugged his arm free and proceeded to put the hat on.

“I couldn’t possibly scorn such a gift,” he said teasingly, but something else was woven into his voice. Something more. “Now, how do I look?”

Geralt wasn’t sure he could speak. The word he croaked was more a strangled noise than the compliment he had intended to give, but it made Dandy’s lips twitch nonetheless.

“First you give me my hat back and now you give me such a lovely and eloquent compliment? Your generosity knows no bounds.” Coming from anyone else, those words would have sounded like a mockery and would have stung Geralt to the core. But from Dandy, they sounded so much like familiar teasing, as if they had known each other forever, that Geralt relaxed. “I wonder…may I be greedy and ask for one more thing?”

Anything.

“Depends,” Geralt said instead, though he was sure Dandy could hear his real answer in the miniscule tremble of his voice. “What are you asking for?”

Dandy’s smile grew wider. “The thing all artists are asking for. A review.”

“Let me guess, in three words or less?”

The words slipped past Geralt’s lips without thinking, but now that they hung between them, his heart sped up and his eyes zeroed in on Dandy, doing their best to see even the most miniscule shift in his expression that showed that he recognised those words, that they meant something to him.

All Dandy did was lift his brows and twirl his cane a little. Geralt told himself he wasn’t disappointed.

“I wouldn’t complain about more words. But three words does sound like something out of a story, so I’ll take it.”

The corner of Geralt’s lips tugged upwards. “They don’t exist.”

For a moment, Dandy was quiet, then he let out an indignant and altogether dramatic groan. “Really? That’s your review? That’s not – how is that even a review?”

Geralt couldn’t stop the soft fondness from welling up in his chest, as he listened to Dandy’s tirade. “I mean, is that a good thing? Do you think it’s terrible? You truly gave me the one review that is just utterly nondescript.”

Geralt hummed with a smile on his lips that he was sure Dandy could hear. “Do you think inaccuracy is a bad thing?”

Dandy scoffed. “Of course not. I’m not writing a history book, am I?”

“Thankfully not. You’d be terrible at that.”

“Are you implying that I’m good at writing plays then?”

Geralt let out a soft huff. “I didn’t say that.”

Dandy shook his head with a grin that was a bit wonky, but that got its point across all the same. This was the most shit eating expression there was.

“No, you can’t take that back. You definitely implied it.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, just for the sake of doing so. “You can’t prove anything.”

“Don’t need to. I played my fair share of shy young lovers. I know what someone sounds like who desperately tries not to sound like they just gave a compliment.”

Geralt grunted. It was strange imagining Dandy playing a shy character who was careful with their words. Then again, Geralt would have given his right hand to have seen that, if only to know what Dandy looked like when he was in love, even if it was only an act.

“I’ll take your silence as defeat. Which I shall graciously accept,” Dandy said and gave an exaggerated bow. “Now, back to ‘they don’t exist’. Because, you know, that’s not a new epiphany. Those characters and scenarios? They aren’t real. Everyone knows that. And that’s the whole point.” Dandy’s voice got louder with excitement and he stood up a little straighter. His fingers twitched, but they didn’t move otherwise. He probably wanted to use wild gestures as he had on stage, but wasn’t sure he wouldn’t accidentally knock something or someone over, now that nothing had its marks and places like it did during the play.

“You see,” Dandy said and leaned forward a little, “the point is they could exist. They start out as a vague spark of inspiration in the writer’s head and then, for just two hours, the theatre makes them real in the hearts of the audience. If we’ve done our job well, it’s going to stay real for a little while after the performance too. But it’s all about what could be and not what really is.”

Geralt’s brows knitted together as he listened to the explanation. It was clear that this was something Dandy had thought about oftentimes before. Listening to him felt like listening to Jaskier explain metre and the importance of key changes. Geralt didn’t understand a word of what he was saying and he wouldn’t be able to give a satisfying reply, but he loved seeing him get so swept up in his excitement nonetheless. Geralt loved it, for the sole reason that he got to see Dandy happy.

Still, Geralt was wrecking his mind for some reply, some way to not let this conversation die down. He clung to the thing that had always gotten Jaskier to light up.

“So, I take it you wouldn’t want me to tell you some real stories of adventures and monsters?”

Dandy’s brows shot up. “Do you have a lot of stories then? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t seem like the storytelling type – oh.” That last word was spoken so softly, so apologetically that something twisted in Geralt’s gut. Dandy’s hand reached out, searching, until it finally found Geralt’s arm. It wandered down until he gently held Geralt’s hand. “Do you know those stories from your friend? The dramatic one, you told me about?”

Geralt’s skin burned where they touched, searing him like a brand. He wanted to never let go.

“From him too. He certainly would have been better at telling them than me. Though less accurate.”

“Then how would you tell those stories? If they are yours to tell.”

“I- what?” An inexplicable sense of unease crept up Geralt’s spine. Something was wrong, though he couldn’t put his fingers on it.

“How do you know of monsters and adventures?”

Geralt’s blood turned to ice. “You don’t know,” he whispered as his eyes widened with the sudden cold realisation.

Dandy titled his head. He looked so trusting, so unassuming. He had trusted the wrong people at least once before.

“What do I not know?”

Geralt pulled his hand back, regretting it almost instantly, but he couldn’t let Dandy feel his hand starting to shake. Dandy’s brows pinched together and he drew back a little.

“Did I say something wrong?” Dandy sounded so painfully concerned and unsure. Of course he would be. He couldn’t know that the eyes looking at him where inhuman, that Geralt wore his scars like Dandy did his costumes and that the hand Dandy had held so gently was the hand of a mutant. “Geralt, are you alri-“

“I’m a witcher.” The words were curt and toneless. He had gone through this so often before – twice with Jaskier and Yarrow – but it never got any easier. The icy fear tearing its claws into his heart never showed mercy.

“A witcher?” Dandy sounded breathless. Then he narrowed his eyes and pointed a finger. “You’re not messing with me, are you? Because if you are, this really isn’t funny.”

“It’s not,” Geralt agreed. “Believe me, I know there’s nothing funny about this.”

Dandy’s face became unreadable. “Geralt…of Rivia?”

Geralt made an affirmative humming sound. He couldn’t bring himself to form words again.

Dandy let out a short laugh and rubbed his free hand over his face. “I can’t believe it. All my life, I don’t meet a single witcher and now… here were are.” His lips twitched into a smile, before a frown overtook his features again.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt finally said through clenched teeth. “I shouldn’t have come. I should have told you earlier.”

“No! I’m the one who’s sorry. It’s just. I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect you...to be you. My tutor told me about you - all those ancient stories about the White Wolf- but I never thought I’d actually get to meet you.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I need to think about this some more.”

Geralt’s heart sank. He had dealt with too many nobles not to recognise a dismissal if he heard one. Dandy had nothing to think about and even if he did, there was no doubt what his conclusion would be. Geralt wouldn’t get to see Dandy again.

“I understand.” Lips pressed into a thin line that barely resembled a smile, Geralt turned. “Goodbye, Dandy.”

“Wait!” Dandy called out. “You promised me stories. You will come back tomorrow to tell me some, won’t you?”

He sounded so hopeful that Geralt froze.

Dandy’s cane slid over the floor as the actor took some steps towards him. “And I know my performance today was good, but you should see me act while I’m wearing the full costume.” He gestured to the hat. He moved quicker than before, his voice almost desperate. “You’ll come back? You…Geralt? Are you even still there?”

Geralt stifled a curse. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “I’m here. Forgot to move louder.” He swallowed. “Are you sure you want me to come back? I won’t hurt you if you don’t -”

“I am.” The reply came to fast, it nearly cut Geralt off.

“Then I’ll will.” Speaking the words out loud, giving this promise, lifted a weight off his chest. He huffed, as he picked up Dandy’s flimsy excuse. “I wouldn’t want to miss your best performance.”

He took another couple of steps away, this time making sure they would be audible, before he stopped again, half turning back to Dandy and said, “I would have wanted them to become friends. The pirate and the knight.”

Dandy smiled weaky at the floor. “Yeah, me too.”

“You wrote the play, didn’t you? Why didn’t you give them a happy ending?”

Dandy shrugged. “I don’t know. I wanted to. But it didn’t feel right.”

“I didn’t know the play would be a tragedy.”

Dandy tightened his grip on the cane. “Would you not have watched it if you had known?”

Geralt was quiet for a long time, taking in every part of Dandy. His hair that was so much longer than Jaskier’s had ever been. His clothes that were more expensive than Yarrow’s had likely been. His eyes that were the same blue as the eyes of the man he had loved and lost.

“Yes, I would have.” He hesitated. “But I would have still hoped they would get the ending they deserved.”

Dandy’s posture relaxed. “Maybe I’ll convince Nadine to let me write a sequel one day. And then they get to be friends.”

“I’d like that,” Geralt said hoarsely. “I’d really like that.”

--

“You came back,” Dandy said, dropping the prop dagger with the retractable blade that he’d ben twirling.

“I promised I would.”

“Even though you knew how the play would end?”

“Even so.” It was foolish, but Geralt hoped Dandy somehow knew he was smiling at him, even if he couldn’t see it. “I still like the middle bits. They make it all worth it.”

--

The posters announced the theatre troupe would stay in town for at least another four weeks, before they were to continue their travels and bring their plays to the next city that would have them.

Geralt would know; he’d spent longer than he would like to admit, studying the posters. In a moment of weakness, he had taken one down, folded it and hid it in Yarrow’s sketchbook. The picture of Dandy on the poster wasn’t very detailed, but it was still him and Geralt felt better falling asleep at night, knowing that he had at least this small part of him with him.

The troupe only had a limited repertoire of plays and Geralt had watched them all, multiple times even. He came to every performance, took every chance he could get to see Dandy again.

Whereas he had felt like an intruder at first, it now almost felt like coming home when he went backstage after a performance as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

If anyone had asked him why he kept coming back, he would have said, because he was the only one who would be able to recognise all of Dandy’s attackers, so Dandy would be safer with him around.

Nobody asked. No one even seemed to question for a second why he kept returning. As days turned into a week, the other actors and stagehands waved or nodded at Geralt when they saw him, pointing him in Dandy’s direction without him having to ask first. With time, Geralt even learned that Mika very much wasn’t intimidated by him, as he had thought at first, when he caught Mika teasing Dandy that his admirer had come back and then had the gull to wink at Geralt as Mika left them alone.

When he wasn’t watching the plays or talking with Dandy, Geralt was looking for contracts. It was practically impossible for a witcher to find enough work in one place to earn him the coin to last four weeks there, but he did his best, taking any job he could get. It was worth it, if it meant he’d get to see Dandy again.

Still, he must not have been very good at hiding how little he ate or how much sleep he lacked for wont of well-paying work, for they refused to let him pay to watch the plays, no matter how often he came by.

--

Dandy scooted to the side on the box, leaving space for Geralt to sit down next to him. Mika threw them an unimpressed look, when they were once again forced to take care of their props later, but their expression shifted into something amused and knowing, that made heat rise in Geralt’s cheeks, that he prayed wouldn’t be shown in a treacherous blush.

If it did, at least Dandy wouldn’t know to tease him about it. Not that he needed to. Judging from the small smirk on his face when their thighs pressed together for lack of space, he knew very well what his proximity was doing to Geralt.

Yet, he didn’t voice any of his thoughts out loud, leaving Geralt to wonder just how much he knew, how much he wanted, how much he was willing to accept from Geralt.

So for now, Geralt gave the one thing he knew Dandy would appreciate. Stories.

He tried sticking to the ones Jaskier had written that he still knew by heart, repeating the dramatic lines that were sown into his mind. Dandy would hang on his lips, no matter what adventure he spoke off, but oddly enough, he appeared to prefer it when Geralt spoke of newer contracts told in Geralt’s boring to-the-point manner.

Dandy would lean against him when he told him of blissfully uneventful days, lay his free hand soothingly onto Geralt’s arm when he spoke of failed contracts and clutched his hand tightly in his when Geralt told him about the scars he had gotten.

The warm feeling in his chest grew with every minute he spent with Dandy and with every story the actor told him of his own travels in return. Of the cities the troupe had been to, the courts and beggars they had performed for and how the play about the pirate had actually been the first play Dandy had ever written – at least partially. The most work had still been done by Nadine, who turned out to be the head of the company, though Dandy stage-whispered to Geralt that she was more like a mother to the rest of the troupe.

Geralt loved those moments where it felt as if it was just the two of them, the only other people around, the actors that Dandy trusted and that welcomed Geralt almost as a friend.

He loved it – and he hated it.

Befriending Dandy again, without telling him the truth about what he used to be to Geralt felt like lying. More than once, he almost told him the truth.

But what was he even supposed to say? If he told Dandy that he was the reincarnation of someone Geralt had loved, he would think Geralt mad at best. At the worst, he would be plunged into dread and a crisis of self, leading to his hatred for himself and Geralt.

He couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk Dandy losing himself and the life that he loved.

Strangely, Geralt found that the thought of Dandy not remembering his past lives no longer hurt as id had before. Geralt still missed Jaskier and always would, but as he got closer to Dandy, he realised that it was no longer just the bard that Dandy used to be that was important to Geralt, but Dandy himself.

He was the same as Jaskier in some ways, but also different in others. Geralt wanted to find out all the ways in which Dandy was someone else. He wanted to truly know him, as the person he was now. As the friend, Geralt already saw in him, independent of who he had been in his past life.

So Geralt’s mind was constantly racing, trying to find something that would make him indispensable for the actor, something he could give to him - more than just stories - that would make him want to keep Geralt around for as long as he could.

As it turned out, he didn’t need to do anything of the sort. Dandy was more than happy to do everything he could, to make Geralt want to stay.

--

The first time Dandy invited Geralt to go for drinks with the rest of the troupe after a show, Geralt was both exhilarated and hesitant to accept the offer.

He knew, as soon as Dandy had asked, that he would be helpless and agree to come with him, but even as they were drinking round after round, Geralt’s mind wouldn’t stop going back to the fact that with every coin he spent so carelessly now, he would have to spend another night sleeping outside the city again and go back to hunting for his own food – if there even were enough animals reckless enough to come close to the city to let themselves be caught by him.

It would be hard, but Dandy leaning into him and putting his arm around him, blabbering happily at him in his adorable drunken state, made it all worth it.

When they parted in the early morning hours, Nadine pulled Geralt to the side. In no uncertain terms, she told him that since he was already spending all of his evenings around the stage, he could just as well help them around it. A pair of strong, helping hands was always appreciated and if Geralt was already there, Dandy wouldn’t annoy the rest of the troupe by senselessly worrying if Geralt would show up again. Of course, Nadine would pay him just the same as she would any other part-time stagehand.

Geralt was sure that it was just the alcohol talking, still he came by the stage earlier that evening and when he did, Nadine was greeting him with an appreciative nod and wasted no time ordering him around.

It was almost too good to be true. Like this, Geralt could afford to keep renting the cheap inn room, he had feared he would lose, and got to see Dandy more than he would have otherwise.

The only downside was that now Geralt didn’t get to sit on the box with him anymore while they talked, but experienced first-hand the annoyance of having Dandy laugh at him while preventing him from doing his work.

Geralt wouldn’t have wanted it to be any other way.

For the first time in far too long, Geralt felt like he was well and truly happy.

If he dreamed hard enough, he could almost make himself believe that life would stay like this.

[ad1thi]

@starklysteve  rhae asked for some winteriron recs (read: i volunteered to spam rhae w buckytony fics because i adore them), so in no particular order, and based on my memory alone, here are some of my favourite buckytony fics!!

(please remember to leave kudos and comments!!)

American Memorial: @/spqr

“Pick up the shield,” Tony said. Understandably, Bucky told him to go fuck himself

Losing You (Is My Supervillain Origin Story):  @amethystinawrites

There are a lot of things that Bucky regrets. The list is, quite frankly, longer than he can handle on most days and, right at the very top, is lying to Tony about who killed his parents. Bucky has known even from before they started dating, but he simply can't bring himself to say anything — to ruin one of the few good things he has in his life. It's selfish and wrong, but Bucky just doesn't know how to tell Tony that he is the one responsible for Howard and Maria Stark's deaths.

So when he starts receiving anonymous emails, threatening to expose the truth to Tony and the rest of the world, Bucky is desperate enough to agree to the blackmailer's terms, even if it means breaking up with Tony. Bucky cannot, under any circumstances, let Tony find out about his parents from anyone but Bucky himself.

Too late Bucky realizes that there is much more to the blackmailer's scheme than just having Bucky break Tony's heart. Too late Bucky realizes that despite his best intentions, he will still end up losing everything — in a much more permanent way than he could ever have imagined.

Hindsight: @amethystinawrites

Ever since he was a little boy, Bucky has dreamed of becoming an astronaut together with Steve, and he can hardly believe their luck when both of them are picked for the Ares 3 crew — the third expedition sent to explore Mars. It is, quite literally, a dream come true.

Things get complicated when Bucky finds himself inconveniently attracted to their mechanical engineer, however. Tony Stark is funny, competent, and absolutely captivating, but considering NASA's strict non-fraternization policy, Bucky knows it's better to keep his interest to himself — at least until they return to Earth. He can wait.

Not once does Bucky consider the possibility that all of them might not make it back alive, or just how much he'll come to regret not acting when he had the chance.

Arsenal: @tangodancer91 (part of a series) (also my all time favourite buckytony series ever)

Two years after the Civil War that tore apart everything she’d bled to build, Toni Stark sacrificed herself for her newly-reinstated teammates and ended up stranded in the past. Freed of her name, her fortune, and her hostile ex-teammates, she built herself a life as an agent for the OSS, the American secret service, and, having nothing to lose, accepted a mission to infiltrate the newest player in the war: an organization that call themselves HYDRA.

Then, she met a young draftee with a dreadfully familiar face, and they clicked like she had never clicked with anyone before. By the time she realized she’d fallen for the man who’d cost her everything, it was too late, but she’d always been an all or nothing type of girl, and if she was damning herself, well then…might as well go all the way.

Yield: @aurumacadicus (this is an a/b/o verse fic)

All Bucky has ever wanted was to win the contest for Tony's hand in marriage. It's a bit harder now that he's down to one arm, but luckily his friends are willing to help make up the difference.

Barnes Family Motors Inc: @phlintandsteel-ao3 (this is an a/b/o verse fic)

In a world where alphas legally own omegas, Bucky is just a small time mechanic from Brooklyn who gets lucky in a poker game. Tony is an omega whose life is fraught with abuse, until his luck suddenly takes a turn for the better.

In the grand scheme of things they may only be able to make little differences in the lives of those around them, but that doesn't mean it's not worth making them. After all, a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

The Long Con (don’t kid yourself): @phlintandsteel-ao3

When Tony finds out that Howard is thinking about changing the terms of Tony’s trust fund, he embarks on a not-so-elaborate scheme to prove that he’s totally settling down and not in continued need of Howard’s “guidance” until 25 instead of 21. Step 1: Get a fiance Step 2: ??? Step 3: Profit (Finally be free of Howard)

Unfortunately, Tony Stark is the worst con-artist ever, and may only be kidding himself..

Hot Mess:  @/niki

“Would serve him right if we had the world's most ill-advised one night stand.”

Imperceptions and Assumptions: @/NarutoRox

Afterward, Bucky would look back on their first meeting with fondness and a healthy dose of amusement. At the time, though, he’d mostly been confused - and more than a little embarrassed.

Bucky hadn’t paid much attention to the media in his early days, and hadn’t bothered really reading up on the team or anything, either, so when Steve had said ‘Tony Stark’, Bucky had just assumed.

The same way he’d looked at the three people who’d walked through the door - an imposing redhead in heels, a bored-looking brunette who dimpled when she saw him and Steve, and a sturdy-looking man wearing a slight glower - locked eyes on the man, and assumed him to be the infamous Tony Stark Steve wouldn’t shut up about.

It was Bucky’s first lesson when it came to Natasha Antonia ‘Toni’ Stark - never assume.

~

In which Tony Stark is actually Natasha Antonia 'Toni' Stark (which everyone knows) as well as Iron Man (which everyone does not know), assumptions are made, and there are misunderstandings.

From this prompt: How about a cross between my two favorite tropes? Nobody knows who iron man is other than Natasha/Antonia Stark's bodyguard but Bucky is in love with one or both of them

i know, you know (that i’m not telling the truth) : @imposter-human

psychic tony stark is called to work a routine case with detective bucky barnes; only, he seems to be more connected to the case than anyone thought

or, a psych au!!

the new romeo and juliet: @imposter-human

Bucky and Tony weren’t dating, because a firefighter and a detective couldn’t date (never mind that Tony hadn’t slept with anyone else since their thing had started, and he and Bucky hung out with an alarming frequency, and the whole precinct thought that they were an item). It didn't matter how many nights they spent together, how Bucky had a drawer of Tony's things and vice versa, they just couldn't.

It was a classic Romeo and Juliet situation, if Romeo and Juliet actively disliked each other on top of everything.

if found, please return to: @capnshellhead

Tony Stark shows up at Bucky's bar after a really tough break up and Bucky decides to look after him

gods of carnage:  @deathsweetqueen (part of a series)

On May 29, 1970, the Winter Soldier feels a burning sensation and looks down at his wrist to find a single name written in enduring ink: Antonia Margaret Stark.

HYDRA, fearing the defiance of their greatest asset due to a bond that cannot and will not be denied its due, immediately dispatches the Soldier, to locate, collect and deliver this newborn girl to HYDRA, which will become her new home, her new family and her entire world - to be raised as another one of HYDRA’s great warriors: their Engineer.

But the Engineer is a faulty asset. She thinks things that may get her killed one day. She wants things that she shouldn’t, that are not hers to want. She has a mind and body that belong more to herself than any handler, than any commander she may have.

And if she cuts her strings, when she cuts her strings, well, when you put sheep next to wolves, you ask for a bloodbath.

where i walk, you follow (where i burn, you burn):  @deathsweetqueen

At his father's command, Anthony Stark trades in his northern keep for a southern crown, wedded and bedded by Alexander of House Pierce, First of His Name.

Tony does his duty, becomes a wolf in name only, toothless and clawless, and a dark, gleaming ornament for the King, even if he would make himself a widower a hundred times over.

Honour demanded it of him, and so he did.

But it is Ser James Barnes, named the Kingslayer for his sins during the Rebellion, that draws his eye, gives him comfort in this pit of liars and monsters

So, what is honour compared to a good man's love? They are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love.

[Fic by deathsweetqueen, Art by MassiveSpaceWren]

Cat Parenting (And Other Meet Cutes):  @singingwithoutwords (this is an a/b/o verse fic)

Of all the ways Bucky could have finally gotten a chance to speak to his crush, why did it have to be his cat getting Tony's cat pregnant?

Codename Heartbreaker:  @rinnwrites (part of a series)

Today was a day that, contrary to popular belief, Tony Stark had most certainly not been looking forward to. It was election day, or election night, rather, and the polls were closed, the results were in; Howard Stark was the next President of the United States of America.

or

Tony Stark Bingo - R3: Election Day

Fate Strings Not Required: @akira-of-the-twilight

“Hey doll,” a new voice said from Tony’s side.

Tony glanced at the person approaching.

Someone was working the rugged, bad boy look. The new guy rocked a leather jacket and blue jeans.

His blue eyes lit up with joy as he approached Tony. “Something wrong here?” The new guy gave the first guy--the one insisting he was Tony's soul mate--a once over then turned his full attention on Tony. “You’re looking a little stressed, anything I can do?”

Tony took the hint.

Tony wrapped his hand around the new guy’s elbow. He kept his touch light and breakable in case he’d misread the cue.

“Just some guy claiming to be my soul mate, babe.”

The new guy’s eyebrows rose to his hairline in surprise. He chuckled and gave the first guy a smirk. “Strange. Last time I checked we were soul mates.”

Siren’s Treasure: @akira-of-the-twilight

Prompt: I really love the idea of playboy!Bucky flirt of the seven seas first-mate to Captain Rogers, falling completely overboard in love with our Blacksmith-Inventor Inexperienced!Tony who goes from confident captive to shy woe-begone man in the presence of Bucky's fierce affections. Virgin!Tony wonders what a siren like Bucky could possibly want with him. Bucky wants to know what the fuck Logan thinks he's doing flirting with the man who stole his heart like sunken treasures. Happy ending please?

“Sirens killed your crew?” Steve repeated.

The dark haired man nodded. Just an hour ago the Avenger crew had found the man clinging to driftwood in the middle of the ocean. Now he clutched the flask of rum Bucky had given him like it was all that kept him buoyant during these tumultuous times.

The man—Tony—had already downed more than half the flask and was still sober. “Not exactly my crew, but close enough. Yeah.” Tony uncapped the flask and threw back a mouthful.

Steve frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

Tony shrugged. “I wasn’t captain of the ship.”

“So what were you?” Steve pressed.

Road hazards: @riotwritesthings

Steve and Bucky's BFF road trip is not going well. For starters, Steve couldn't even make it, and for some bizarre reason asked Tony to take his place. The fact that it’s only a couple days before someone is trying to kill them isn’t nearly as stressful as the fact that Bucky and Tony have never really had an actual conversation.

It’s hard to avoid someone when stuck in a car with them though, and if they manage to stay alive they just might learn a thing or two.

Once Upon a Wintertime: @iam93percentstardust (this is an a/b/o verse fic)

Look, Bucky knows that he’s fulfilling every cliché in the book right now. He knows that, as a bodyguard, he’s not supposed to fall in love with his client. But Tony’s good and sweet and so, so lonely and how could Bucky not? He thinks he’s got a shot after Tony breaks up with his boyfriend but on a trip across the country, he finds out that Tony needs a bondmate or the board will steal SI—and Ty’s already said yes.

little bird: @thxngam

Bucky laughs, and it’s loud and unbidden, a way he hadn’t laughed for years before, tugging his giggling omega into his lap. Tony quiets and nestles into Bucky’s chest like he was made to belong there, and Bucky has noticed several times that Tony is much smaller than he is, but he never quite noticed how Tony always seemed to curl into him as a reason for his size.

Tony nestles like a little bird.

Teenage Dream:  @anthonyed

Tony Stark develops a crush on the school's bad boy who is too cool to hang out with anyone. At least, it's what Tony thinks. He never considered that James Barnes is probably as lonely as he is.

(in the process of editing)

The Best Laid Plans (of Mice and Men):  @arboreal-elm-ash-oak

His Dark Materials AU

It was Annalise who noticed their small visitor first.

“Tony,” the spider daemon said softly, skittering up the collar of his dress shirt, two of her eight legs resting delicately against his cheek, “Don’t startle them, but I believe we have a guest. Look, by the coffee table.”

A Kitten and a Soldier: @/ThatDamnKennedyKid

Bucky hadn't heard from Rumlow in years - since the whole Winter Soldier fiasco in Siberia. They've been discharged for nearly six years, but when he gets a message that only says "I need your help" , he grabs his jacket and keys.

The Prince’s Bride: @hddnone

After Tony loses the love of his life to pirates on the high sea, not much matters to him. He agrees to wed Prince Justin Hammer to gain access to vibranium and shut himself away in his workshop until the end of time, but a group of ruffians kidnap Tony to take him to Hydra.

Tony's rescue takes on an unlikely form - the Dread Pirate Rogers, who killed the love of his life five years ago.

A Princess Bride AU

A Kind of Destiny: @weethreequarter

A chance meeting at a wedding brings together an American war veteran and the Prince of Wales. Little do they know, the wheels have been set in motion for a relationship which will change not only their lives, but the monarchy itself. Bucky and Tony strike up a friendship at Steve and Peggy’s wedding, a friendship that soon develops into more. But it’s not so simple: Tony is the Prince of Wales, and heir to the throne of Great Britain and the United Kingdom. Any relationship is played out in the press and public eye, and then there's that pesky issue of succession to consider too. But Bucky is no coward, and when he finds something he wants, he’s prepared to fight for it. And fight he will, at Tony's side, for their very own fairy tale ending.

[dannyboyzone]

samuel one shot?🥺

Note; This is angst with a happy end, it doesn't have a name, so if you would like to name it, you are free to do so. Since the topic is not specified, I wrote whatever I felt like writing. Y/n will have they/them pronouns so everyone feels comfortable. If you don't, just change it in your head.

TW - Depression, mentions of suicide.

Today has more than 7 billion stories. So many people are experiencing it differently, yet so similarly.

Someone died today, and another person was born. Maybe they will change the world, or destroy it.

A student is celebrating passing his exams, while an adult across the world is crying in their dark room thinking about that they never had the chance to tell their parents that 'hey, I am trans, please accept me.'

Everyone has their own struggles, so why?

Why is Y/n pitying themselves so much? They keep asking themselves that.

They are so stuck up on their own self, just hurting about minor things. Like small sentences, that their old neighbour probably already forgot about. Things their family already forgot about.

Yet they keep asking themselves; Why do they care so much?

Even now, when they are crying their eyes out. Their knees are pulled up to their chest, sitting on the edge of the rooftop. They can't bring themselves to jump off, even though they crave death so much.

Who are they to be in pain so much when others have to go through war, confrontation, missing someone they can never get back?

" AAAAAAAAAA "

Y/n yelled out to the thin air, even though they were sure even people from a few miles away could hear. It didn't really matter though, holding it back was harder than caring for other's around right now.

That what caused them to be a mess anyway, caring for others that much. Running a hand through their hair, they started to rip it and shake their head while continuing to cry.

How pathetic, Y/N thought to themselves, leaving no other option than to repeatedly slap their own cheek.

When no one in this world cares for you, it's hard to care for yourself.

" Hey, are you done putting on a show there? " they were interrupted by a deep, husky voice.

Y/n sniffed and turned around a bit. Hanging one of their legs freely off the rooftop, while resting the other on their lap.

They raised their brow at the sight of the unknown man coming closer to them.

Man.. ? The closer he got, the more obvious it was that he must be a teenager, just really buff.

He still had a bit of baby fat on his cheeks, which was quite cute, as Y/n would think.

It's quite funny though.

The neighbourhood they are in is pretty old, out dated and full of graffiti everywhere. Yet this stranger is wearing such an expensive suit, that doesn't even have a single spot of dust on it.

So, what is he doing here?

Y/n sniffed, while rubbing the tears with their palm away.

" Who are you? "

The boy leaned on the barrier of the rooftop which Y/n was sitting on top of. There were only a few inches between them.

The boy took a glance at the other's eyes, swollen and red from crying. Their eyelashes were stuck together at some parts at the end, it's such a pity.

It would be a lie if he said he didn't check the person's body language out, he didn't care much, but he noticed that they were holding onto the barrier tightly.

He then took out a cigarette from his pocket, placing it in his between his lips.

" Don't you have better problems than that? " , said he, as the cigarette got put on fire.

Y/n ran a tongue through the inside of their cheek, wanting to move closer. They didn't though, as they decided that's not worth it.

They were quite raged, yet calm at the same time.

For the best guess, they wanted to be though. It was quite embarrassing to let a stranger watch your very own melt down, let alone not even be aware of it.

" Well, I have the right to know! After all, you saw more of me than what I am comfortable with! "

" .. It's Samuel. "

" Well Samuel, will you leave? I am trying to do something here! "

Samuel couldn't help but... laugh.

Do something my ass, he thought.

He took a smoke from his cigarette, and looked up at the sky. It was a really sunny sunday, perfect to just sit back and enjoy life. Sadly, not everyone could.

" Go ahead then, jump. "

Y/n blinked, what the fuck?

" Excuse me, how fucking insensitive are you? "

Samuel just shrugged a shoulder, in a nonchalant way. " So what? "

He put his cigarette out, turning his head towards Y/n.

That moment, their face was met with smoke. They couldn't help but cough, it felt so terrible.

This guy, is a complete fucking asshole. How can a person be so.. heartless? It's like there is no soul in their eyes. Truly, no one cares.

Y/n wanted to slap him, but as soon as they raised their hand, their wrist was squeezed. Samuel held their hand in the air, making it feel stuck. Their eyes met, and Y/n got shivers down their spine.

He has to let go, now.

" Someone who wants to die doesn't mind smoke in their face. They will be dead anyway, won't they? "

Y/n was in disbelief, but they could barely hear.

They were so afraid of falling off, they couldn't help but shake.

The ground was so far away, it could kill anyone. If anything were to fall, it would end the lives of the people walking by.

Samuel walked a few steps closer, watching as Y/n's eyes got filled with tears and fear yet again.

" ... You are scared of falling of, now that you don't have anything to hold onto. "

Y/n's head was filled with different kind of thoughts, but what scared them above above anything else, that this guy is right.

There is something in him, that Y/n isn't quite aware of, but finds comfort in. Admitting it is not an option, for now, they kept moving, as much as they could.

" Let go of me! "

With that, their wrist was free again. It had quite a big red mark over it, which didn't matter all that much. It would fade by night anyway.

Y/n immediately faced the door to the stairs, which was quite far away. They backed up, their breath becoming quicker and quicker. Staring down at the people underneath them.

They couldn't move backwards for long, because Samuel stood their, pressing the front of their body to Y/n's back. At least they didn't fall backwards to the cement floor of the rooftop.

" Jump, if you wish so that bad. Don't let me stop you. "

He rested their chin on the top of their head, and slid his hands in the pockets of his pants.

" I don't get you, how am I different? The elderly couple you would fall on, the flower shop owner, the boy drawing graffiti on the walls and that little girl in the cherry socks who had met her dad for the first time today.. they would all see you fall. So why does it matter if I see you?... Actually, don't answer me. It's because you wouldn't have to face them, but would have to remember me. They would all remember you for a life though. "

Y/n shut their eyes tight.

Who the fuck does he think he is?

They were filled with hatred and frustration, moving their fingers on the barrier that they held so tightly onto. Y/n wanted to escape, but quite frankly, they didn't know how to react.

Because the shittiest part of it all? No matter how rough it sounds, he is right. No one likes confrontation, but it doesn't mean it's always a lie.

Jumping off would be no use to anyone here. Maybe sometimes, all of us just want someone to hear the desperate yell of our actions. To pull us back in. The universe may not always serve it as you would expect it though.

Y/n let out a sigh, more so to even their breath, and carry their thoughts in another direction.

" So, what do you want from me? "

" I don't know if you know, but you talk while thinking. Why do you care so much about others? They don't want to be pitied, and some people that are better off from you, have these exact same thoughts and might think of you. But they don't help, like you don't help their situation either. So why not help yourself? "

Huh.. He must break hearts often.

The voice belonging to the cold hard truth was like a river.

It was ice cold, causing either tragedies or beautiful memories.

He stepped back, fixing his messy hair. That was the first time Y/n noticed that his knuckles had bruises on them.

That left a lot of questions, is he a gangster? But he is too clean for that. Maybe a CEO? But what would he do there then?

Y/n could have paced out for a bit, because the next thing they have noticed is Samuel walking down the stairs, back facing them, holding his hand up as a sorry excuse of a wave.

" When you are able to admit that you want a new life instead of death, you can come and I will show you a whole new world. "

Y/n looked down on their hand, taking a glance at a tiny old toy. It was simply a tiny plastic chicken, from a happy meal. It sounds ridiculous, but it was from their father, who seems to spend less and less time with them until the point they became strangers.

They always carried it around, even if it only had a meaning to them and no one else in the world.

Y/n wiped their tear, pulling their leg to the other side of the rooftop, jumping onto it.

" You sure do talk a lot compared to other assholes. " they laughed.

Unknown to what would happen next, they followed Samuel. What's the worst that could happen? At least someone wanted them by his side.

They held onto his suit, just like a lost child would.

" So, are you a gangster Mr Know It All? "

" You will find out. "

END

Outro;

Yeah, this is like.. shitty and makes zero sense our of context. But how would you react to that level of confrontation? I sure as hell don't know.

Also, Sammy went there bc was stressed bc he HAS to find new members for his part of workers.. well guess what happened next 👀

Sorry anon, I feel like this wasn't quite what you wanted, if you want to look at it as romance, if not then do not. I just couldn't imagine Samuel being madly in love, so the machine threw out this I guess. Next time please specify if there is anything you want!

[meltwonu]

| good in bed |     [chapter 3]

pairing; non-idol!chan x reader

this chapter’s notes; oral(both receiving), face riding, minor hair pulling 😳and some minor angst🥴 we are almost at the finish line for this mini-series~ thank you for everyone who’s been interested in it~ 💕💕💕💕

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - x

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Chan the last time you said that, Seokmin had to get stitches.”

Chan rolls his eyes at you, hands on the wheel of his car. He hadn’t said exactly where he was taking you for your little picnic because, as he said, “it was a surprise” so you had hesitantly got into his car when he had picked you up about 30 minutes ago.

“Seokmin-hyung only had to get stitches because he thought belly-flopping onto the beer pong table was a good idea and he cracked his skull open.”

“Yeah, but you were the one who gave him that suggestion!”

“I said it’d be funny! I didn’t know we were gonna have to take him to the urgent care!”

You laugh along with him, glad that whatever weird mood Chan was in the last time you’d seen him seemed to be gone. It was still weird to you that he’d left without saying anything but you’d figured it was just something really important that he had to take care of.

The two of you had kept talking throughout the entire car ride, watching as the sun slowly set along the horizon. You were slowly exiting the city from what you could tell; the skyscrapers and highrises becoming small in the rear view mirror. It was Chan’s idea to have a picnic closer to sunset to which you had agreed to, packing a warm blanket for when the sun eventually went down.

“As long as neither of us end up in urgent care again, I really don’t care where you take me, Chan.”

“See, now, you can’t say shit like that cause we’ll end up at a clown convention and then you’re gonna be really pissed.”

The whole thing feels… romantic to say the least.

Chan takes you to an area with grassy hills and close to little city lights to obstruct your views of the sky. “I figured we can do some star-gazing out here later which is why I suggested we go closer to sunset.”

“Oh… Chan, that’s--”

“Soonyoung-hyung’s really been on my ass lately cause I fucked up at practice a few times so I was thinkin’ like, ‘we need to get away from the city’, you know?”

You nod, pushing your thoughts away as you help him set up. He had even brought some fake candles and some wine to help set the mood. And although neither of you had said it was a date, it definitely feels like one. Chan holds your hand, feeds you first and even wraps a blanket around you once he notices you shivering a little bit.

“Can I ask you a question?” Chan peers up at you after taking a bite of his food. “Yeah?”

“This is cute and all but… we won’t get… like, ‘hills have eyes’ crazies out here will we?” He chokes on his food, eyes as wide as saucers at your question as he rushes to swallow before he replies.

“No! I mean, I don’t think so? There’s not really a yelp page for open grassy hills outside the city though.”

“Okay I just…”

“Are you scared?”

“Not really? Just… curious. There’s like nobody out here except for us and a few houses that we passed, so, y’know.”

“Aww, is the baby scared? I’ll protect you!” Chan sends you a killer smile that sends your heart racing almost immediately. You smile back, averting your eyes quickly as you take in the fresh air. There was still the tiniest bit of sunlight left, your eyes sliding shut as you enjoy the last bit of warmth before the cool night breeze took over.

Chan watches you, committing the image of you glowing in the sunset to memory. “Wow…”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, you’re just… beautiful is all. Like, the way the sun is hitting you right now makes you look like a goddess.”

Your brain goes haywire momentarily, rebooting as you tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

“Don’t say stuff like that!”

“Why not? Haven’t I said weirder things in bed?” You bite the inside of your cheek. Yeah, he’d said really possessive things and even jealous things in bed but the two of you were in a mood then. This time there was nothing prompting him to say any of that and it was really fucking with your brain. “Yeah I… guess.” Taking a sip of your cup of wine, you swallow down your feelings as best as you can.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, eating the food that Chan had packed and enjoying each other’s company until the sun had gone down completely. You take notice of the stars, watching them as you tug the blanket around yourself tighter. “Cold?”

“A little bit…” He finishes off his food, tidying up and putting the containers away in the bag he’d brought before filling his and your cup of wine. You wonder what he’s doing when he gets up from across you and places his cup next to yours on the blanket. But he slots himself behind you, caging you in between his legs and he wraps his arms around you to keep you warm.

“Is this okay?”

“Y-yeah…”

You hate the way Chan gets you to blush so easily. And you hate the way your crush on him grows every single time. There was definitely a fine line between being friends with benefits and actually dating Chan that you felt like had already gotten crossed a long time ago. But, simultaneously, you also didn’t know how Chan felt at all. You knew Chan was usually very vocal about his feelings and the two of you had even confided in each other through relationships and breakups. Hell, even one night stands were a topic of conversation with him on multiple occasions. But this was just weird to you now.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Mm?”

“You’ve had this… faraway look in your eyes today, that’s all. Like, you laugh at my jokes ‘n stuff but then you look kinda sad after.” Chan’s voice is soft and warm; his lips kissing the crown of your head before he nuzzles into your neck. “You can tell me anything you know. It’s always a judgement free zone when you’re with me.”

“I know, Chan. Sorry, just… life’s been kinda weird lately I guess. But I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about it yet? You know what I mean?”

Chan hums, kissing the column of your neck. “Yeah, I feel you. But you wanna know somethin’?”

“Sure?”

“Wouldn’t it be romantic to fuck under the stars?” There was the word. Romantic.

“I mean… yeah?”

“That’s also kinda why I took you out here, I thought maybe we could? The atmosphere is nice and there’s nobody really around so…” Fuck it.

“Fu--Fuck, Chan…”

You tangle your hands into his hair, grinding down onto his face. You weren’t sure if face-riding was considered romantic but you also didn’t really care the second Chan’s tongue dips into your pussy. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you in place as his tongue licks stripes from your clit to your hole, licking up your wetness. You don’t really know how long it’s been since he started or if anyone can hear you out in the open but if there’s one thing, you’re definitely glad you wore clothes that were easy to get out of.

“God, your mouth is so good!” You untangle a hand, reaching back and gliding it down his torso until it rests over his cock straining against his jeans. You squeeze him through the material as he moans against your folds, drawing circles on your clit in harsh motions as his own hips thrust up into your palm. You can feel your orgasm already building; grinding down onto Chan’s tongue harder. The two of you continue like that for a little while longer until Chan taps on your thigh.

Thinking something is wrong, you lift yourself off of him, watching as he licks your wetness from his lips.

“I could eat you out for hours, but if you’re gonna cum, it’s gonna be on my dick.” You nod, helping him strip down until he’s as bare as you are. “Chan if we get in trouble for this…”

“We won’t! I promise. There’s nobody around here for at least half a mile or something.”

You take his word for it, pushing him down onto the blanket. He watches as you slot yourself between his legs, wrapping a hand around his cock and smearing the precum all over the head and shaft. You slowly lean in, kitten licking at his cock before you wrap your lips around him.

“Ugh, fuck!”

This time it’s Chan that tangles a hand through your hair, guiding your mouth down onto his cock slowly. He resists the urge to fuck your throat open, deep breaths and groans on his lips as he does so. You let him control the pace, bobbing your head up and down with his guidance.

There’s a few times when you deep throat him where you feel his soft and romantic side chipping away slowly; the hand tangled in your hair gripping tighter as he holds you on his cock. And it happens a few more times before Chan completely pulls you off of him by your hair, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple.

“You’re such a little minx, did you know that?”

You smile up at him, a thread of spit still linking your lips to his cock. “You’re the one who suggested we have sex out here so I mean...” There’s a chuckle on his lips as he lets go of your hair, smoothing it back down before he lays on his back again. “Wanna ride me?”

“Okay.”

You take a moment to shimmy on top of him; his hands immediately finding purchase on your hips. He helps guide you, watching as you position yourself over his cock. You sink down on him slowly at first, getting about a third of the way before you think ‘screw it’ and sheath him completely inside of you.

It knocks the breath out of Chan in an instant as you giggle above him. “Jesus, slow down!”

“Why?”

“I’m tryna enjoy the mood here! And you look pretty sitting on my dick like this. The stars around you… If you looked pretty in the sunlight earlier, now you just look ethereal with the stars surrounding you and basking you in the moonlight.”

You hate it here. You really really do.

“Oh… thanks” He nods up at you, a cute smile on his face. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

Choosing to ignore his last statement, you start riding him, alternating between swiveling your hips and grinding down onto him. The curve of his cock inside of you is enough to hit your g-spot; whines spilling from your lips as you chase your high.

Chan can tell when you start to get a bit tired as he plants his feet firmly onto the ground and thrusts up into you.“Ugh, Chan…”

He pauses for a second, his hands on your hips caressing your skin. “Something wrong?”

“No, just… you feel really nice…”

“You too, baby.”

You brace yourself on his torso as you ride him, the sound of your moans mix with his in the quiet moonlight.

Lifting your hands off of his torso, you snake your left hand up your torso, playing with your breasts and pinching your nipples while your other hand slides down to rub at your clit. The sensations have your toes curling and whimpering Chan’s name. He can feel the way you tighten up around his cock, finding it harder to thrust up into you. “Fuck, you’re so close, baby, I can feel you getting so tight.” 

“Y-yeah...” 

“Wanna cum together?” 

“Mmhmm...” Chan helps guide your hips, licking his lips while he watches you touch yourself. “You’re so pretty... Lemme see you cum, baby.” He whispers words of praise, urging you to cum as his hands continue to caress your skin. You grind down onto him harder when you feel the tension in your lower abdomen about to snap. And when you cum on his cock, he follows suit, your name spilling from his lips the entire time the two of your ride out your orgasms. 

And when you start to come down from your high, you can’t help but slump forward onto his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively as you catch your breath. 

“Fuck, baby, that was... intense.” 

The two of you stay in that position a while longer; Chan admiring the stars above you as you enjoy his warmth and listen to his heartbeat. There’s words on your tongue you want to say but you keep it to yourself for now. 

“This is nice and romantic and all, but d’you think we should get going?”

His voice breaks you out of your thoughts, nodding slightly against his chest. 

It takes you two a while to clean up and get dressed, lugging all of your things back to his car. Chan doesn’t say a word to you the entire time, and you don’t really make an effort to either. 

He opens your side of the car, letting you in before he slides into the driver’s seat and starts the ride home. It’s pleasant for most of the ride back; the radio filling up most of the silence until you realize that the two of you are almost back to your place. And the thoughts on your mind from earlier come back at full force. 

“Hey, Chan?”

“Yeah?”

“What are we?” He turns onto the street where your complex is, hands tightening around the wheel unbeknownst to you. There’s an awkward silence even when the car stops in front of your place, Chan turning off the gas as he sits in his seat, unsure of what to say. 

“I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” 

“I... I don’t know how I feel right now. I don’t know what’s right...” 

“Okay... I understand. That’s fine.” 

You lay in bed tossing and turning all night regardless. You knew you’d probably have to stop this soon, you just didn’t know when. And yes, while you liked Chan, he still seemed confused and unsure if he wanted to take this to a different level or if he wanted to stay as friends with benefits. You could respect that. There was no real reason to be mad at Chan so you tried to not be.

There was a fine line that the two of you knew you’d crossed, that was obvious. And it was only fair that the two of you were most likely equally as confused as the other so you try to let it go, telling yourself you’ll try to clear the air with him tomorrow or something, if he doesn’t do it first. You wanted him to say something but you, too, weren’t really saying much. The two of you were both skirting around the topic so there was really nobody to blame. You shrug in bed, letting all your feelings go in hopes of finally getting some sleep.

But your phone rings next to you in the midst of your thoughts, tired eyes blinded by the sudden light as you check to see who it is. 

You feel yourself heating up, a blush forming on your cheeks as you stare at your phone screen. You didn’t want to push him for more, but damn, he’d definitely gotten your attention now.

[litwitlady]

Never Have I Ever (5/?)

Read the Board Game Verse on AO3.

The next Friday night Michael shows up early and with a list of demands. ‘Put on some warm clothes and grab a couple of blankets you don’t mind getting dirty. We’re taking this show on the road.’ He heads into Alex’s kitchen to pilfer the fridge, and Alex doesn’t bother asking questions, he just does as told.

Outside at Michael’s truck, they toss the blankets and whatever Michael took from his kitchen into the bed. ‘Your firepit? Where are we going?’

‘The desert. Our old spot. Hop in.’ A little thrill shivers down Alex’s spine as he climbs into the Chevy. In all their years of each other, spending the night in the desert has only ever ended one way.

Their drive out is twenty minutes of quiet, radio softly playing between them. Michael’s window is down despite the chill, and Alex enjoys the way the wind dances through his hair, making a mess of his curls. Every couple of miles, Michael glances over at him with a promise-painted smile, the same way he used to when they were seventeen.

They turn off the highway, tires kicking up dust clouds behind them. Beyond the mountains the sun is setting, pink and purple and orange flames licking at the first stars daring to blink down at them. The desert around them looks the same as it ever does with pockets of snow still unmelted from the season’s first snowfall. Eventually, two familiar mesquite trees appear and it’s like coming home, both of them breathing a little easier.

Michael puts the truck in park. ‘This place never changes.’ He slides out of the Chevy and before Alex has even set foot on solid ground, he’s managed to float everything out of the bed and onto the desert floor. ‘You want to sit on the ground or would the tailgate be easier?’

He looks nervous and that makes Alex nervous. ‘On the ground, near the fire. Just need a hand getting down there.’ He reaches out to Michael, asking for help but also offering comfort for whatever anxiety is biting at both their heels. Michael helps him onto the blanket and plops down beside him, the fire close enough to keep the encroaching sting of autumn winds at bay.

Scattered around them is an array of food. Everything from paninis oozing melted cheese to a handmade Greek salad from a recipe Michael had found at Isobel’s house while rummaging through her cookbooks. ‘I might have gone a bit overboard, but in my defense, I skipped lunch and was starving.’

Alex is already halfway through one of the paninis, eyes closed in satisfaction. ‘This is delicious.’ Michael makes a mental note to keep the panini maker he’d borrowed from Max. It’s not like Max ever uses it anyway.

Once they’ve eaten their way around the blanket, Michael gets back up and removes a large black case from his truck. ‘There’s a reason I wanted to come out here tonight.’ He winks down at Alex. ‘And no, it’s not the reason you’ve been thinking since I first mentioned the desert.’ Alex looks away quickly, hiding the disappointment that suddenly floods his face.

Michael doesn’t notice, too busy pulling a large telescope from the velvet lining inside the opened case. ‘Mars is brighter than it’s been in years this month. I’ve been itching to get out here and have a look. Isobel gifted me the telescope on our shared birthday in June. I was going to pawn it.’ He shrugs and peeks his eye through the eyepiece, adjusting the fingerscope per the instructions he’s found on his phone.

Alex looks up at the night sky and finds Mars with his naked eye. It is extraordinarily bright, a glowing pink orb rising through the inky black expanse of space. And when Michael finally captures it in the lens of the telescope, he gasps and grabs at Alex’s arm. ‘You can see so much detail. All the pockmarks and craters. And the dust looks almost orange. It’s amazing. Look.’

He drags the telescope closer to Alex so he doesn’t have to move much, checking through the eyepiece one last time to focus directly on the red star. Leaning back on his heels, Michael motions at Alex to take his place and turns his own eyes upward. They are both looking at the same star but he also knows they are seeing something entirely different. He huffs out a sharp laugh which draws Alex’s eye away from the telescope. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘Nothing. Just metaphors and nonsense. The ways that perspectives get so warped and are so hard to understand when everyone doesn’t have the same telescope.’ Alex gives him a funny look and Michael laughs outright. ‘I’ve been hanging around Max too much.’

Alex shakes his head gently. ‘No. I think I get what you’re saying. For a long time, we’ve wanted the same thing, but we’ve been coming at it from our own messy angles. I’ve often thought we were similar to the codes I break. We’re on the same page, but written in a language the other needs help translating.’ Michael nods at him, smiling sweet.

They spend an hour searching through the various stars and distant galaxies before a growing ache in Alex’s chest pushes him to ask a question he’s been holding inside since they decided to work on their friendship weeks ago. ‘One day you’ll be able to find your star. The one you’ve been searching for since you crawled from that pod. And you’ll figure out how to finish building your ship.’ He pauses to collect himself, already feeling the emotion in his chest threatening to overwhelm him. ‘One day, you’ll be able to go home.’ His eyes start to burn with unshed tears, but he keeps going, meeting Michael’s gaze with determination and readying the fortress around his heart he was so sure he wouldn’t need anymore. ‘Is that still what you want?’

Michael reaches up and swipes at the first tear that falls from the corner of Alex’s eye. ‘I found my star a long time ago. And I’m not going anywhere without you.’

Alex drops his eyes to his hands. ‘I have no right to ask that of you. I know that. Not after all the leaving I did.’ He tugs nervously at the hem of his shirt, hands starting to shake with the cold. ‘But I’m never going anywhere without you ever again. I promise.’

‘I know.’ Michael grabs an extra blanket and wraps it tight around Alex. ‘So what’s tonight’s game? Didn’t see you toss anything into the bed when we were leaving.’

They both lean back against the Chevy’s tire. Alex stretches the blanket around Michael’s shoulders so that they are sharing more than just the woven wool’s warmth. ‘How about the classic drinking game, Never Have I Ever? Sans alcohol but with a new twist.’ He grins, lips sharpening at the edges and eyes darkening with dare. ‘Instead of taking a drink, you have to kiss the other person.’

Michael snorts. ‘So we’re just soundly saying goodbye to the friends experiment then?’

‘No. Platonic kisses only. No kissing on the mouth and no use of tongue.’ Alex hears the bullshit in his words and knows Michael does too. His nerves return and he begins to second guess himself. ‘Or we can play like normal. There’s still plenty of wine left. Or not at all. I’m happy to just sit here with you too.’

‘That’s okay. I like the new rules. Not much of a wine guy anyway. Who goes first?’

‘Me.’ Alex sits up a little straighter and spends a fair amount of time considering his first move. ‘Never have I ever used my telekinesis to do literally anything.’ He follows the statement with a cheeky grin, clearly quite proud of himself.

‘Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be? That’s how we’re going to play?’ Alex tries to suppress the manic giggle that bubbles up in his throat but loses the fight pretty quickly. Michael shakes his head. ‘Have a placement preference?’

‘Nope. I’m looking forward to wherever you choose.’ He blushes and struggles to meet Michael’s eye, muscles tensing in anticipation once he feels Michael shift against him.

A breeze nestles between them, but neither of them notices. The cool air doing absolutely nothing to assuage the heat pulsing between them. Michael presses his lips to Alex’s temple, less a kiss than a remembrance of every kiss that has come before. Alex closes his eyes and lets this new memory burn a spot next to all the others.

It’s strange. Michael has kissed him goodbye dozens of times over the past few weeks. None of them half as affecting as this barely glancing touch.

Abruptly, Michael pulls away. ‘Never have I ever gone to war.’

Alex reopens his eyes at the sound of Michael’s voice. ‘If we keep this up, we’re going to dig ourselves into a hole, Guerin. One we can’t get out of.’ He brings his fingers up to the sleeve of Michael’s shirt. ‘You told me to dress warm when all you’re wearing is this thin t-shirt.’ Michael watches as Alex slowly guides the sleeve up over the top of his arm. Alex bows his head far enough to leave a trail of rough, chapped kisses where the bony end of his collarbone meets his shoulder.

Michael’s breath hitches the instant Alex doesn’t stop with one single kiss. The dry scrape of his lips sending goosebumps down to his toes, his heartbeat a staccato rhythm echoing throughout his entire body. ‘That doesn’t feel at all platonic.’ His voice is low and strained, edged with the desire to flatten Alex hard against the wool blanket beneath them.

Alex smiles and smacks his shoulder with one last loud kiss. ‘I guess that depends on your perspective. Never have I ever stepped foot on another planet.’

‘How about I share a little bit of my perspective with you?’ He scoots impossibly nearer to Alex, hand cupping his cheek and tilting their mouths dangerously closer. Their breaths mingle together although Alex is almost certain he’s not breathing at all anymore. Michael’s lips hover over Alex’s, the anticipation building to a crescendo they’ve both been waiting for since five Friday nights ago at the Wild Pony. And it doesn’t matter how many times they’ve kissed before. Because there’s never, not once been this much hope waiting for them on the other side.

When Michael’s lips finally land on Alex’s skin, they narrowly miss his mouth. Instead they fall at the corner of his lips, a sliver away from touching home. Alex exhales, half-groaning with the comedown. He’d been sure, so sure this was their moment. Swallowing down what he really wants to say, Alex turns to Michael just as he pulls away. ‘Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.’

‘I think this was the best idea.’ He tilts his head and smiles at Alex so beyond innocent that Alex yelps when Michael pushes his shoulders roughly onto the blanket and slides effortlessly between Alex’s welcoming thighs. Alex barely has time to take another breath before Michael’s mouth steals it away, sucking at his bottom lip so desperately Alex has to lift his head to chase after Michael’s urgency.

The kiss is needy, both of them grasping at each other like they’re dangling off a cliff holding on with nothing more than their fingertips. Michael’s hands tug at Alex’s hair, jagged, work-worn nails digging into the softness of his scalp without apology. And Alex fills the gaps between Michael’s ribs with his fingers, feeling Michael’s lungs expand with each new, shuddering breath. Eventually twisting Michael’s t-shirt so tight in his fists it rips at the seams.

One kiss becomes two becomes twenty until neither knows whose tongue is whose anymore. Michael’s shirt is long gone and Alex’s pants are shoved halfway down his thighs before either of them has the sense to stop. ‘Your skin is like ice, Alex. It’s too cold out here for this, even with the fire.’ His breathing is ragged, his chest heaving. Leaning back on his knees, he helps Alex back into his jeans, despite his ardent protests that he’s not too cold, and grabs the remaining blanket to wrap around them. Even with two thick, wool blankets, the night air is still harsh enough to make both of them shiver. ‘Maybe we should go back to your place.’

‘No. Please not yet.’ Alex shifts closer to Michael, joining their bodies wherever he can reach. Laying his head on Michael’s chest, he hums in satisfaction at the steady beat of his heart. ‘You’ll keep me warm. Tell me about the stars like you used to.’ Alex points to a random patch of desert sky. ‘Isn’t that Polaris?’

Michael snorts into Alex’s hair. ‘You’ve always been so bad at this. You can’t really see the North Star from here. It’s not bright enough.’ He drags Alex’s still-raised finger to another part of the sky. ‘That’s Gemini. The twins. I’ve always thought of me and Max as Castor and Pollux. But the version where only one of them, Pollux probably, is immortal.’

‘Max is Pollux, I’m guessing?’

Michael nods, chin tapping against the top of his head. ‘Yes.’

The stars glow brighter as Michael spends the next hour recounting so many of their mysteries, fingertips dancing up and down Alex’s arm like he’s tattooing the stories into his skin. Alex pretends like he’s never heard them before when in reality he’s had them all memorized for over a decade. The stars and Michael’s stories are what had kept his first tour overseas from chewing him up and spitting him out.

Tilting his chin, Alex kisses into Michael’s neck, leaving a sloppy trail in his wake as he nibbles up to his ear. ‘Take me home.’

The warmth of Alex’s house beckons as they pile everything back into the truck. With no traffic, they pull into the driveway in record time, not bothering to unpack the Chevy before heading inside and straight to Alex’s bedroom. They collapse onto the bed and undress each other slowly, allowing the furnace’s heat to melt them into nothing but nerve-endings and sensation, their sweat-slick skin sliding smoothly together.

Once they’re sated and sleepy, Michael throws a leg over Alex’s thighs and wraps an arm around his waist, tugging him as close as possible. ‘I guess we’re dating now.’

[danganronpa-21]

Naegiri Week Day 5 - Touch

Here’s Day 5 - Touch! It’s my yearly obligatory “involves pregnancy in some way” fic. I would categorize this as a mild hurt/comfort, so thankfully, I think there are no warnings to issue. I hope you like it, and please let me know what you think! 

Fun fact: I wrote this entire one-shot in Comic Sans.

___________________________

Two minutes.

 Makoto just had to wait two minutes.

 When did two minutes get to be so long?!

 Heartbeat resting rather uncomfortably in this throat, he glanced longingly over at Kyoko. He’d hoped that she might be able to grant him some semblance of comfort, but even she looked as nervous as he was. Her whole torso stiffened; her eyes fixed intently on her own hands. One finger traced patterns along the bare skin, for once not seeming to mind the texture. Hands that looked like overcooked hamburger meat, Makoto thought. Hands that belonged to the woman he loved. Hands that belonged to the mother of his child. Children, his mind corrected. They weren’t sure which it would be yet. That’s what they were waiting on, after all. Quietly, they prayed for a positive pregnancy test.

 He uncrossed his legs, leaning forward slightly to stare at the floor. Off-white bathroom tile, he remarked to himself, as if it were anything extraordinary. It’s something he and Kyoko picked out together when their house was first being built. He remembered how much time they’d spent thinking over simple things like that, wondering what would be best. Times like that seemed miles away now, but he guessed that some parts never changed. After all, they were still sitting there, thinking too hard about what was to come next for them. He hoped Kyoko wouldn’t be too upset this time if they got another negative. The last time she’d been sorely disappointed, but the time before that, she held onto her determined attitude. The time before that… well, there had been so many times that they all blended together.

 It was funny. They had such an easy time having their first. Their little angel, a baby girl they’d called Hope, had been a complete accident. He could have laughed at how reckless they’d been; they were only a few years into being intimate with one another. Neither of them expected to get pregnant out of nowhere like that, and they were nervous about being good parents… but Hope was the best thing that ever happened to them (no joke intended). In fact, she was the catalyst for the decision to have another. Back when they first got engaged, Kyoko told him that she only wanted one child, for the sake of giving an heir to the Kirigiri family. If they enjoyed having the one, she said she might consider having another, but it seemed so outside of the realm of possibility then. When she told him that, Makoto expected to only have one child.

 What a funny turn of events it was for Kyoko to curl up in bed with him so many months ago, her head leaning on his shoulder. One look at her face and he could tell that she wanted something. Not just anything, either. It was something she wanted rather desperately. The batting of her eyelashes at him was proof enough.

 “Can I help you, Kyoko?” He remembered giggling, nudging her head with his own. In his lap was a self-help book he’d been reading as of late, meant to teach the meeker population how to put their foot down. It had been a birthday gift from Toko, as well as a bit of a jab. Perhaps a bit of unknown foreshadowing, even. “You’ve been sitting there giving me sweet eyes for the last few minutes.”

 If she had any remorse about being found out, she didn’t show it. She simply kept on enticing him with her fluttering lashes and soft smile. “I guess I was just thinking about how far we’ve come, and how lucky we are.”

 Makoto nodded. “We are really lucky.”

 “Yes, we are. After all of those years of pain, we finally get to experience a healing world. We have well-paying and engaging careers, the most considerate friends anyone could ask for, a cozy home, the best kind of love from each other, and the most flawless little girl this world has ever seen…” Makoto couldn’t help but recall how silvery her tone was. When it was all rich and saccharine like that, it felt like listening to liquid caramel. He could listen to her talk like that all day.

 “It’s comforting to see how much has fallen into place for us, isn’t it?”

 She took her turn to nod, wearing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. If he hadn’t noticed her reluctance before, he certainly would have then. “Yes, it is. Even with all of this happiness, though, I find there is something more I long for.”

 The most he could think to do in that situation was blink in surprise, turning his head to look at her. As much as he trusted her, he would have to confess that a seed of worry buried itself in the pit of his stomach at the sound of those words. For all he knew then, she could have been asking to get a new pet, to open up their relationship, to start following a new religion, anything! The anxiety of it all made him start to nibble his lip a bit, but he tried to maintain his composure for her sake. “And what is that?”

 His wife seemed to curl in on herself ever so slightly, and a deep shade of rose dusted itself across her cheeks and nose all of the sudden. Though he turned his face to meet her eyes, she’d just as quickly turned away to stare at her empty lap. “I… I… well, I…”

 “Yeah?” He supplied encouragingly, raising his eyebrows.

 “I… I want another baby.”

 “You… You do?” Excitement cut into him like a knife through a spongy cake. His heart began to thunder in his chest; a smile begged to form on his lips. While he anticipated having the one baby, he secretly wished that Kyoko would change her mind. More than anything, Makoto wanted to have a big, happy family with his wife. He’d have been happy with just the three of them, but he wanted his daughter to have the experience of growing up with a sibling, like he did.

 “Is that okay?” Kyoko asked in a small voice, the rouge colour in her face darkening.

 “Of course it is! I’d love to have another baby!”

 That day seemed like such a long time ago. Something like four months later, they found themselves in their current position: sitting together waiting for a positive pregnancy test, the announcement that would tell them that their dreams were going to come to life. All he could do was stare anxiously at Kyoko, who continued to trace swirled patterns on the palms of her hands. She had had to remove her gloves to take the test, fearing getting urine on them, and had yet to put them back on. Honestly, he hoped she wouldn’t. Right now, he just wanted to hold her hand.

 He uncrossed his legs and wiggled closer to her, hope that she might take the hint rising in his chest. These two minutes would be some of the most agonizing of their day, even worse than overseeing Hope’s failed attempts at potty training. It made the most sense to go through these next moments together, sitting as close as possible. Without thinking, he leaned his head on her shoulder. The corners of her mouth twitched upward at the action, but she refused to give him a full smile.

 “I suppose you can tell how nervous I am, can’t you?”

 Reaching up to brush a strand of her long hair behind her ear, he chuckled. “I think it would be more of a concern if I couldn’t tell you were nervous after all this time. You’re almost trembling.”

 She ducked her head down, as if she were ashamed. Makoto didn’t know what for. Everybody had the potential to get nervous, even world-class detectives. Especially world-class detectives! World-class detectives who were trying to be moms for a second time even more so. “God, am I? I hadn’t noticed.”

 “It’s only a little, but I’m pretty observant. You taught me how to do that.”

 Her index finger began to reverse the spiral it had just finished tracing, still holding most of her attention. Did these little finger movements give her some sense of comfort? He’d never noticed before. She’d certainly used them to soothe him before, but did she enjoy them too? It was hard to know whether he should be happy that he could still learn new things about her, or disappointed that he still had yet to become observant enough. He’d always thought her love language was less about touch, and more about words of affirmation. “I suppose I did.”

 “Kyoko, honey… are you okay?” His eyebrows lowered, and all of the sudden he realized how sweaty his palms were becoming. In the midst of all of his happy reminiscing, somewhere in the back of his mind, his nervousness caught up to him.

 His wife swallowed thickly; her fingers motions drawing to a halt. “I’m trying to be,” it didn’t have to be expelled, but he could see the sigh brewing within her, “I don’t know what I will do if this pregnancy test is negative.”

 Makoto shrugged. “What’s the big deal if it is? Most couples take a year to six months to conceive. We’re only four months in, so it’s not like we’re falling behind or anything.”

 Kyoko didn’t answer. She just kept staring at her hands, probably thinking that it was easier than looking him in the eye. Two years ago was the last time he saw her this nervous, and it was over their first baby. In some ways, he supposed he should have expected it. Anything baby-related tended to throw her for a loop. In spite of that, he still couldn’t help but feel as if this seemed a little weird. Having to watch her in such a state made him itch to take hold of her hand.

 “Is there something else bothering you?”

 “I’m just…” she swallowed, “I want it to work this time. I know that we can keep trying, but… Every time the test comes back negative, I worry that something’s wrong.”

 “Do you think Hope was a fluke, or something?”

 She sighed. “I do worry about it sometimes. You and I never expected to get pregnant so soon, and it was almost completely by accident. If I hadn’t pushed you to um… you know…”

 Makoto’s face burned the colour of a cinnamon heart. There were several points in which it might be a good idea to recall the night they’d accidentally conceived; this was not one of them. He gulped, and tried to push the thoughts of the way she looked that night out of his mind. “You think we might not have had her?”

 She groaned, shoving her head into her hands. “What bothers me is that I have no certainty of whether or not that is true. You know just as well as I do that I have been loaded up on poison expelling medications with all kinds of unusual side effects.”

 The blush in Makoto’s cheeks deepened, and he had to fight off the urge to utter the words: “Yeah, like cancelling out the effects of birth control”. At the time of Hope’s birth, that had been their magic secret to having children.

 “We don’t know for sure that that’s having any effect though, Kyoko.” His hand found its way to hers almost effortlessly, his thumb stroking the back of it. “It’s so easy to get worked up about the chances, but we don’t know anything for sure. You’ve said yourself half a million times that life is unpredictable. There’s still a good chance that we’ll pick up that pregnancy test and it’ll be positive!”

 The detective slowly lifted her head. “And if it isn’t?”

 “We’ll keep trying, then,” he flashed her the sweetest smile he could muster, “We’re both too stubborn to give up so easily. You can’t get the reward without putting in the effort, right?”

 A grin crossed her own lips. “I suppose not. Would you… truly be willing to keep trying?” Finally, she lifted her head to fully meet his gaze, her eyes sparkling with a sense of longing. “No matter how long it may take for me to become pregnant?”

 “Of course.” As weird as it may have seemed to others, he considered it to be rather special that he could be the one to comfort her in trying times. There were a scarce few souls who got the privilege of seeing the detective at her low points, and thus, many of their friends were never able to comfort Kyoko when she felt poorly. Makoto, on the other hand, got to look after her every day. Just getting to see her gradually win back that smile won him relief stronger than jumping into a chilled pool on a sweltering summer afternoon. On a list of his favourite things, he’d most certainly put Kyoko’s smile. He was honoured to get to protect it every day of his life.

 Gently, she slipped her hand out from underneath his. At first, he worried that she might try to pull away, but the sensation of her fingers wiggling to intertwine his own made that concern ebb away. “Thank you for saying that,” at last, her voice regained its usual calmness, “Now, what do you say we see if fate is on our side today? I believe two minutes have passed.”

 Makoto could have jumped for joy. His concern for his wife had him so wrapped up, he hardly noticed the drifting minutes. The test that would confirm the first sign of their second bundle of hope could be found sitting at the ready on the countertop. “You wanna look at it together? Count of three kind of thing?”

 She giggled. “Definitely. On the count of three, we can both stand up.”

 “Bet I can stand up faster than you!” He teased, poking her tongue out at her from between his lips.

 It did earn him a laugh, but also a nudge with her shoulder. The decision to not release the other’s hand seemed to be unspoken. “Oh, hush and just start counting!”

 “Alright. Here we go.” Deep breath. Another deep breath for good measure. Alright. Go time. “One…”

 Kyoko squeezed her eyes shut and took in a big gulp of air like a child bobbing under the water for the first time. Fighting off the chuckle that brewed in his chest at that image was hard. Whatever she needed to do to get through this, he would allow her. Heaven knew he would probably need his own coping strategies to deal with his excitement. “Two…”

 Makoto’s entire body tingled. His fingertips got the worst of it, yet tiny twinges of tingles danced all over him. Only his stomach received respite from it, and even then, it took on the form of a myriad of twirling maple keys all fluttering down in a storm.

 “Three.”

 An eye witness would not have been able to tell which half of the couple shot to their feet faster. It was a soccer game too close to call. Within seconds, Makoto and Kyoko sprung to their feet and were staring at the test on the counter. A black countertop, for the sake of contrasting their white tile floors. The little white pregnancy test stuck out upon it like the strawberry slice on top of a piece of shortcake.

 One pink line, the test read.

 Not pregnant.

 It didn’t take looking at or saying anything to Kyoko to sense her disappointment. The air around here simply grew more somber to match her disappointment. He half-expected to feel her hand withdraw from his own. To have them retreat back into their shell of loneliness, just as she would do once this was over. Only… they didn’t. Her fingers stayed interlaced with his own.

 “I… I’m sorry,” it was the only thing he could think to say after he’d spent so much time comforting her, “I thought that maybe, we might-”

 She cut him off. “There is no need to apologize.” The strength in her timbre caught him by surprise. Expectation led him to believe that she would have a dash of brokenness as she spoke. That not happening caused his heart to skip a beat. When he turned to look at her, the beat skipping happened again, for he realized she wore a soft grin. “We can keep trying. We could be successful next time.”

 “You’re… Y-You’re not upset?”

 She shook her head and squeezed his hand. “How could I be? I’ve got you right here.”

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Note: Today is so beautiful, you all deserve this 8,000-word chapter a few days early. Thank Uncle Joe and Aunt Kamala. If you enjoy it, please leave me a little comment telling me what you liked best. They really keep me going!

Chapter 13

Nelly had never suffered stage fright in the theater, but as her taxi pulled up to the Villa, she felt like she was getting a year’s worth at once. Her taxi wasn’t the only vehicle in the front drive. A handsome red-and-black Packard was there, expelling a man in a seersucker suit and a fashionable woman who shimmered in a dress the color of a deep blue sapphire. She wished desperately for a drink. She wished that she hadn’t eaten a plate of scalloped ham and potatoes before leaving. She wished that she’d asked Buster what to wear, how to comport herself, what to say, but all she had to go on were her own acting skills and a small measure of courage. She wondered if he’d be surprised to see her show up, if he’d forgotten the invitation altogether.

She had rented her dress from Carmela’s for the handsome sum of $37. It was pale green like a luna moth and layered in silks and crepe de chine. Silver beading was stitched across the front in a design vaguely resembling a rising phoenix. She’d also purchased a white-feathered rhinestone headpiece for $12, but her necklace was her own and its green gemstones only glass. Her hair was waved, each side done up in a braided bun. For her lips she’d chosen a dark rose, and she’d applied some turquoise shadow to her lids above the kohl liner. She felt like a perfect imposter, albeit an elegant one. 

Until they’d pulled up his drive and she’d sighted the Villa, she hadn’t really understood just how rich Buster Keaton was. The residence was white and enormous, a sort of boxcar shape with both ends bent inward, with a red clay-tile roof and another large house to the left as you were approaching the Villa from the back. A long paved drive wound up the back of the house where palm trees, Mediterranean cypresses, and a carpet bed of flowers studded the hills. Buster’s easy, humble manner on the few occasions she’d interacted with him in person had made her feel increasingly at ease with him. It had begun to feel like they were on the same level. Now she realized how incorrect that feeling had been. She’d been in a few stately houses back in Evanston—those belonging to her mother’s higher-society friends—but they were nothing to the sprawling grandeur of the Villa. 

The jets of a stone fountain in the center of the front drive splashed pleasantly as Nelly stepped out of the car and tipped the driver, holding her door, with a five-dollar bill. She smiled and tried to look easy, like she belonged there and was in the habit of handing out handsome tips. Her only thought as she approached the tall arched doorway of the Villa was, I’m going to flub my lines.

It was a warm night and no one was wearing coats, but there was a maid in the foyer prepared to take them nonetheless. Just outside of the foyer, a beautiful young woman was smiling and clasping the hand of another beautiful young woman, who was accompanied by a beautiful young man. The beautiful young woman looked a whole lot like Norma Talmage and Nelly realized that she was none other than Natalie. Her heart went wild. Before she had time to think about what she would say, it was her turn to greet the hostess.

“How do you do?” she said.

“Very well. How do you do?” said Natalie, smiling. She was slim and petite, with a dark bob parted on the side and prettily waved.

“Very well. I’m Nelly. I worked with Bus—your husband—on Steamboat Bill.” She didn’t know what made her blurt it, only that Natalie was looking at her without a hint of recognition in her eyes and Nelly felt she owed an explanation for how a nobody like her ended up among the big names. She fancied that she saw something in Natalie’s expression change a little, but the smile didn’t waver.

“Very pleased to meet you. You’ll find refreshments just over there. Buster will be down in a little while. I’m sure he’ll be pleased you came.”

Nelly wanted to do something to soften Natalie’s impression of her, compliment the house or her dress, a costly-looking beaded yellow one that hit slightly above the knee, but she was already greeting the next guest.

Seven or so couples mingled in the space beyond the foyer. There were two square white columns supporting an upper level, a majestic stone staircase leading up to it on the right, and arched doorways to the left and right leading to unseen parts of the house. There were arched doorways everywhere, in fact, and a long table filled with an assortment of French hors d’oeuvre. A recessed area with white-streaked black marble steps stood at the rear of the open room, leading out to a loggia from which Nelly could just see the backyard. She itched to find the washroom so she could powder the sweat off her face.

A butler appeared at her elbow offering a cocktail and she took it at once. When she was sure no one was watching, she gulped it in one go and hid the glass on a nearby table. She had no business being here. She wondered whether she was meant to have invited somebody. All of the other couples seemed to know each other and were engrossed in conversation, and she was the only one without a partner. She stood on the checkerboard marble floor with her hands knit in front of her, smiling and trying her best to project an air of belonging.

That smile faltered when she saw who came through foyer next. It was Louise Brooks! She was wearing a low-cut black gown that revealed the cleavage of her small breasts and her lips were a deep cherry red. She was accompanied by a man that Nelly didn’t recognize. Nelly’s mouth began to go dry and she was keenly aware of how damp her underarms had become. She had nothing to anchor herself to for comfort or security. As the minutes ticked by and she remained unacknowledged by the other guests besides polite smiles and nods, she began to feel hot and dizzy. Her heart was beating rapidly. She needed to escape. She wondered if anyone would notice if she made a casual break for the loggia.

“Hey, Buster!” a man called. Some people pointed up and waved. Nelly followed their eyes and saw Buster on the second level above the loggia. He put up his hand gravely like a king recognizing his subjects and started down the stairs.

In the next horrifying moment, he lost his footing and took a hard tumble straight down. The room erupted in gasps and shouts. Buster had come to rest on his back at the foot of the stairs with his limbs splayed. His eyes were closed and he wasn’t moving. Some of the guests rushed toward him.

Then, with a mildly baffled expression, he stood up and brushed the dust off the arms of his suit jacket. Someone began clapping and pretty soon everyone joined in, laughing and cheering him. Only then did Nelly realize it had been a pratfall. She didn’t know if it was funny. The sight of him lying so still for those few heart-stopping moments had rattled her. 

“A drink?” The butler was at her elbow again.

She looked away from Buster. “Please.”

He handed her a martini glass with a little orange wedge on the side and sugar on the rim and she sipped, the spell of her own panic broken somewhat, though not for very long. Still more guests were filtering into the room. She recognized Marion Davies and Norma Talmadge with another thudding of her heart in her throat. The room seemed to be getting famouser by the minute. Buster was greeting guests a few yards away, sober and unsmiling, unaware that she was there. She wondered if he’d forgotten that he’d invited her. It seemed quite possible.

It was too much; she gave into her impulse to steal off to the loggia. Trying not to draw attention to herself, she stepped down into the recessed area, through an arched doorway, and into the loggia. White wicker furniture, potted trees, and pink orchids adorned it. Sconces on its inner walls burned with real flames, while two hanging fixtures gave a stronger light.

It felt a few degrees cooler outside. The sun had by now fallen and only a few streaks of purple remained in the sky. Nelly’s cocktail tasted of citrus, and she licked some sugar off the rim. The glow of the drinks hadn’t yet hit her. Too much scalloped ham in her stomach, she supposed. She stood next to one of the columns beneath yet another arched doorway and looked down what seemed like one hundred white marble steps, illuminated by carefully concealed electric lights, leading to the huge sunken swimming pool. The green lawn seemed to go on for miles. She still couldn’t get her head around the sheer excess of Buster’s abode. She remembered a two-reeler in which a down-and-out Buster, looking pitiful, stood in a bread line but was denied a loaf at the last minute. How humble and sad he had seemed!

“Hello,” said Buster behind her. 

She shuddered in surprise and turned around to see him walking toward her. “You always sneak up on me,” she said.

“Nelly.”

The split-second astonishment on his face told her two things. One, he hadn’t recognized her. Two, she looked as good as she thought she did. A sudden warm confidence renewed her. 

“What are you doing out here?” he said, stopping a few paces from her. He raised his own cocktail to his lips.

She took another sip of hers, deciding there was no point in not being honest. “I realized I was out of place and wanted some air.”

Buster looked at her appraisingly. He was wearing a well-tailored navy-blue suit and the flowers on his matching silk tie were embroidered in bright gilt thread. It was the prettiest tie she’d ever seen. “Thought you wanted fame and fortune,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows. “I want a job as an extra. I never said anything about fame and fortune.”

“What about your starring role in Shakespeare’s big talkie?” he said. Although he wasn’t smiling, it was definitely a tease. 

“I want the role. I hadn’t thought about what happens next,” she said, and it was true. She wanted to be an actress because she liked it. She wanted recognition for that acting, but it had never occurred to her, not seriously anyway, that recognition might lead to prominence or money. Now, among Hollywood’s elites in Buster Keaton’s extravagant mansion, anything seemed possible. Silence fell between them and she finished her cocktail. 

Buster said, “So what do you think?”

“Of what?”

“My house. The Villa.” He came to her side.

She met his eyes and was alarmed to feel a sort of flutter in her middle as they regarded each other. She thought of Natalie greeting her in the foyer and was disgusted with herself. “It’s, uh …” she said, distracted.

“Vulgar?”

“No, that’s not what I was going to say. I think it’s wonderful. I’ve never seen anything like it.” “But it is vulgar. I think it’s wonderful as well, but it’s vulgar. You can say it.”

“If you insist,” she said, looking away from him. It was difficult to look him in the eyes now.

“You’re not being honest,” he said. 

For a panicked second, she thought he was referring to her feelings. But no, they were talking about the house. “I never thought you lived like this,” she said. “I guess I don’t know what I thought. I’m not used to it.”

Buster nodded. “You thought I was that honest boy from the pictures.”

“Well that’s how you seem when you’re working. I mean, when you’re filming a picture.”

He sipped his cocktail. “It’s expected,” he said, sweeping his hand to indicate the house. “When in Rome, you know.”

“Well I suppose that tells you that I’m out of place, that I’m not used to it.”

“C’mon, I’ll help you find your place.” He held out his elbow and she found she couldn’t refuse. She linked her arm in his before she was properly aware of it. His arm was warm and the material of his jacket was soft against her bare arm. He smelled like cigarettes and aftershave. Her mind protested, Natalie, his wife Natalie. But she was powerless. They walked back up the steps to the recessed area, then up the other pair of steps to the checkerboard floor. The room was now noisy with conversation. A Victrola playing jazz could barely be heard.

Buster dropped her arm and stopped in front of Marion Davies and her male companion, who were near the hors d'oeuvre table sipping drinks. “Nelly, this is Marion and Dick. Marion and Dick, this is Nelly.”

“How do you do?” said Nelly, blushing. 

With formalities out of the way, the lovely blonde-haired Marion asked with a polite smile, “And what do you do, Nelly?”

“I’m a theater actress. I worked with Buster on his last picture,” she said, the answer coming out just as smoothly as if she’d rehearsed it. 

More polite conversation commenced, and Nelly began to relax. This was one of her mother’s garden parties when she was a teenager and she was practicing her charm and manners with the adults, that was all. Sure it was artificial, but that was okay. 

As soon as there was a lull in the conversation with Marion and Dick, Buster spun her toward a nearby man looking to be about forty, slightly heavy with large, broad arms. “Clarence, Nelly. Nelly, Clarence.”

Clarence ended up being Clarence Brown, who had directed Norma Talmadge in Kiki. Nelly told him that she had liked it and Buster said in a whisper, his breath hot on her ear, “Careful you don’t charm him too much, he just got divorced.”

Next, Buster turned her toward Jack Conway and his wife Virginia. She didn’t recognize his name and kicked herself for not paying more attention to title credits when Buster explained that he was Jack Conway the director. She had seen Brown of Harvard, though, and was able to find common ground with him by telling him that she liked it. She was just starting to feel like she had established a good rapport with the Conways when Buster whisked her away again. She was now faced with Louise Brooks, sparkling like the dictionary definition of sex, and her date, a slim-mouthed man in a grey double-breasted suit who did not sparkle with anything. 

“Louise and George, Nelly. Nelly, Louise and George.”

“Call him Wet Wash,” said Louise, giggling. 

“She’s not his wife,” Buster whispered. Nelly swallowed at the feeling of his breath against her ear again. 

Again, Buster’s butler approached her and again she accepted a cocktail. This one was bright green and mint-flavored. Nelly hadn’t seen Louise Brooks in any pictures, but she’d seen her in plenty of magazines, so she expressed her admiration for Louise’s sleek, dark-brown bob instead. Louise received the compliment good-humoredly and asked Nelly what she did. Buster placed his hand on the small of her back. The weight of it was exquisite, but brief. He leaned over to say, “You’re on your own now, kid. I have to mingle.” Then he was gone.

“I’m a theater actress,” said Nelly. 

And Louise said, “Oh, what have you starred in?”

And pretty soon she was telling Louise about the humble Vista, the revues, and playing Helena and Maria like it was nothing. It was suicide to be seen paying more than momentary attention to a girl in the presence of Nate and the two warships that were his sisters-in-law, but from the minute Buster saw Nelly out on the loggia, a vision in green, he couldn’t seem to leave her alone. There was no reason why he should worry so much about whether she was having a good time or if she spoke to the right people, but now that she was here, he felt compelled to look out for her. Maybe it was how drunk she’d gotten at that speak-easy. Without guidance, she seemed liable to slip and be swallowed up. Or maybe it was her unspoiled Midwestern ways, which reminded him so much of folks he’d known in Muskegon.

He wondered that he’d never noticed that her eyes were blue.

His sense of duty toward her became more powerful with every drink. He knew he’d suffer the consequences in the form of one of Nate’s jealousy attacks, but that punishment seemed far removed as his guests got drunker and their sense of abandon greater. Morning was far off and the night was still young. Now was a time to be happy about it all, to stop tormenting himself about how to make Nate happy and thinking about being saddled with twenty M-G-M gag writers who wouldn’t know funny if it high-kicked them in the forehead like Joe Keaton. He was with his friends in his palace, there was a pretty girl to charm, and life was okay. Somewhere north of nine o’clock, Nelly was sitting in the family room on a settee opposite Louise and George, who were sharing a chair. Perched in George’s lap, Louise’s sparkle drew lots of men’s eyes, Nelly noticed. Of course, that sparkle had a lot to do with the shocking low cut of her dress and its promise to expose her breasts if she moved just a little this way or that. In spite of Louise’s glamor and unabashed provocativeness, Nelly liked her. She was down-to-earth, and they soon discovered a mutual love of books and music. Another citrus cocktail had been handed to Nelly by the butler at some point and the warm glow of spirits was finally upon her. She couldn’t remember why she’d been so worried about this party. She belonged perfectly.

Louise was in the midst of a story about her first feature role which was to begin filming in Mexico the following month when Buster wandered over. It had been over an hour since Nelly had last seen him. She looked up expectantly, waiting for him to sit next to her on the settee. Instead, he moved closer and seated himself straight in her lap. 

“Buster!” she cried, trying not to spill what remained of her drink. 

He sprang up and looked at her lap, his brows knit in confusion. Then he sat next to her, folded his hands, and looked at Louise and George, as if unaware of his mistake. Louise laughed appreciatively and George smiled. Nelly tried not to laugh, but couldn’t help it. He really was funny, playing the boyish Buster she knew from the screen. 

“Oh. Nelly,” he said, as though noticing her for the first time.

“Buster,” she said dryly. 

“I don’t suppose you like to dance,” he said. He searched her eyes and nodded slowly, as if coming to an answer. “No, I don’t think you do.”

“What?” she said. Her cheeks were warm and there was a joke she wasn’t understanding.

“Go dance with him!” said Louise, laughing. “That’s what he’s asking.”

Buster responded with a mock pained look and opened his hands, as if to say, Great, you just ruined it. 

Silently, he offered his elbow to Nelly, looking straight ahead and not saying anything, back to acting like one of his characters again. She took it and cast Louise a helpless look as he led her away. As they headed back toward the room with the checkerboard floor, she kept her gaze straight ahead. She didn’t want to risk catching any of the Talmadges’ eyes if they were around.

A medium-tempo jazz number was playing on the Victrola. Buster wasted no time in placing an arm around her waist and taking her hand in his. He led her onto the checkerboard floor where a number of other couples were dancing. She smelled whiskey on him where she hadn’t earlier and wondered if he was drunk. Buster hummed along to the song, which wasn’t one she recognized, but she liked the jaunty saxophone. He was a good dancer, nimble and coordinated.

She looked into his eyes and what she thought she saw there made her certain that she was in over her head. She quickly glanced away. She was getting that gay happy feeling she had the night at the blind tiger and wished to squash it. Natalie might be somewhere in the room and Buster was dancing with a girl other than his wife, so she had to have all her wits about her. 

Don’t you know who she is

Looking right at me is

Sugar

My sugar

She looked at Buster’s hand curled around hers. She’d never noticed how big his hands were for such a small man. Feeling the danger in it, she glanced back at his face. He was regarding her impassively. She dropped her eyes again.

Bees would not be buzzin’

‘Round her if she wasn’t

Sugar

My sugar

I declare that honey hasn’t got a thing on her,

No sir!

Buster hummed as he swanned her around the room. Nelly finally worked up the courage to look over his shoulder to see who else was in the room. To her relief, she saw none of the Talmadges, which could only mean that they were in the living room. She made a note to spend the rest of the night out here offering herself as a dance partner so she could avoid finding out how they felt about Buster inviting her to dance.

In conclusion therefore

That is why I care for 

Sugar

She felt a little out of breath when the song ended. Part of her was relieved that they were no longer drawing attention to themselves and the other part was disappointed, especially when Buster released her hand and dropped his hand from her waist.

She started to thank Buster for the dance, but his attention was elsewhere. Her eyes followed his and fell on a man who wasn’t much taller than Buster, but seemed far bigger. Maybe it was the breadth of his most defining features: that distinctive cleft chin, the prominent nose and ears. Or maybe it was just the way he had loomed so large in her fantasies. 

“Well there’s your Don Juan,” Buster said softly, breaking the spell. “Won’t you go to him?” 

“Oh, I can’t,” she said, terror grabbing her.

Buster touched her chin and steered her face back to his. “Do you want to be in pictures?” He looked at her in an earnest way. 

“Yes.”

“Then let’s meet him.” He placed his hand lightly in the center of her back and walked her to the object of so many of her torrid dreams.

“Jack, this is Nelly. Nelly, this is Jack,” he said. 

To Nelly’s alarm, Buster melted off into the crowd and she was stuck staring up into John Barrymore’s face.“How do you do?” she said. Tremulous didn’t begin to describe how she felt.

He smiled. “How do you do?” His voice was deep and rich and aristocratic, exactly as she had imagined it. “Do you care to dance?”

She managed to nod and he pulled her close to him, guiding her in a waltz step as a slower number began. It was a new version of “In the Good Old Summertime” that she hadn’t heard before.

In the good old summertime

In the good old summertime

“And what’s your story, Nelly?” Barrymore asked.

Nelly felt like she might be drowning.

You hold her hand and she holds yours

And that’s a very good sign

In a daze, her cheeks flushed, she found herself telling him not about being a theater actress or working with Buster, but of playing Kate in the first talkie adaptation of Taming of the Shrew. Unlike Buster, Barrymore knew Shakespeare back to front and she felt sure somehow that he would understand. He smiled and listened, the perfect gentleman. She explained that talkies were a natural fit for Shakespeare and would forever change the way audiences experienced him. All the while, the soft dreamy notes of the music carried them along. She had been gay and light-hearted before, but now she was overpowered by Barrymore’s sheer presence. He was strong, he was beautiful, he seemed a little dangerous. Maybe this was what real love felt like.

She was surprised when he released her hand and thanked her for the dance. The music had ended just like that. She felt as though she’d only been dancing for seconds.

Before she had time to do anything other than return his thanks for the dance, another man touched her shoulder. “May I have this dance?” he said in a refined English accent. He was about Buster’s size and quite handsome.

“Of course,” she said, taken aback. She was dizzy with the drinks and the encounter with Barrymore. She wanted nothing more than to retire to the washroom to touch up her face and memorize the details of her conversation with Barrymore, but it wouldn’t do to be rude to one of Buster’s guests.

The man grasped her waist and took her hand as a Dixieland jazz tune began. He smiled. He had full lips, blue eyes, and thick wavy hair that was turning white at his temples and forehead. In spite of that, he looked and sounded young. She tried to remember if she had ever danced with three such handsome men before in a single night.

“I’m Nelly,” she said. “A stage actress.” 

“You probably don’t need me to introduce myself,” said the man. His voice was light and cheerful. He bore forward and she stepped back, left foot, right foot, to the side. A tango. 

She didn’t recognize him at all, but guessed that he was a director. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are,” she confessed. “I’m pretty new to town.”

The man’s smile broadened. “You’ve really no idea?” He seemed delighted by this news.

Nelly smiled and shook her head. “Not in the faintest.”

“Shall I spoil it for you or do you like a mystery?” he said.

“I like one well enough,” she said, trying to remember her tango steps. 

“I’ll give you a clue. Clue starts with C.”

Beautiful changes in different keys

Beautiful changes and harmonies

“You’re charming,” she said.

“That’s not my name, but it’s a good guess.”

Watch that, hear that minor strain!

The song changed tempo and they trotted across the floor. She was definitely out of breath now.

There’s so many babies that he can squeeze, 

And he’s always changing those keys.

She studied his face and shook her head again after a few seconds. “I can’t place you. Are you a director?”

“The first four letters were right,” he said, winking. “When you said ‘charming.’”

She spelled them in her head, C-H-A-R, and the penny dropped, along with her jaw. “I can’t believe it!” she managed. 

“It’s not often I get to surprise anybody,” he said, looking satisfied. 

She searched his face for hints of the Little Tramp, but couldn’t find them. “I never knew your eyes were blue. I thought they were brown.”

“One of my many secrets.”

“Well, you are a director. I had that right!” she said, and that made him laugh.

When the dance ended, Charlie Chaplin kissed her hand before releasing her and she felt truly like she was walking on the moon as she sought out of the washroom. It didn’t seem possible that this was her life. She relieved herself, then appraised herself in the mirror. It was scalloped and gold, with the names of famous Italian cities stamped around the edges, FIRENZE, GENOVA, ROMA, MODENA, VENEZIA. She was happy to see that her makeup was mostly bearing up under the dancing, but she touched up her lipstick and powder. Although she was a little flushed, she felt far more in control of her faculties than she had been the night of the blind tiger. There was great irony, she supposed, in the fact that she had felt out of place that night too. Whether in low company or high company, Nelly Foster managed to stick out. Her head whirled with the encounters she’d had over the past few hours, Marion Davis, Louise, John Barrymore, and Charlie Chaplin.

And Buster, the architect of it all. As she left the washroom, she wondered where he’d gotten off to. She hesitated in the corridor, reluctant to rejoin the revelers on the checkerboard floor or face the Talmadge clan in the living room. Once again, the loggia seemed the logical solution. She crept off to it, wondering what time it was. 

Unfortunately, the loggia was not a refuge. As soon as she stepped foot on it, she heard such blatant sounds of passion that sent her scurrying and blushing back to the room with the checkerboard floor. The front door seemed to beckon. There was a grandfather clock just outside the foyer that told her it was a quarter to eleven. The mere thought of the late hour made her yawn; she was accustomed to being asleep by nine-thirty each night. The night had been enjoyable and, all things considered, she had comported herself alright. It seemed wisest to call a taxi and quit while she was ahead.

“You’re not leaving?” said Buster behind her.

She startled again. “How do you manage to do that?” she said, turning around

“Do what?” He had a whiskey glass in each hand and was wearing a nonchalant expression.

“Oh, you know what,” she said. “And yes, I was thinking of it. It’s getting late.”

Buster cocked his head, indicating the front door. 

“What?” she said.

He rolled his eyes in mock impatience and cocked his head again, wordless, playing his character. She followed him, her heart quickening as she followed him out the massive arched mahogany door and into the circle drive where the fountain splashed. She couldn’t imagine where they were going and why. He went left and led her past topiaries, then left around the corner of the house. Outside, it was dark and still. The leaves of palms waved above them and shrubs sheltered them from sight. Buster sank down in the lawn some feet from the marble steps of another loggia, this one with a squarish entrance.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Instead of answering, he reached up and offered her one of the glasses. She took it and sniffed it. It was straight whiskey. Her stomach remembered the way it had felt coming back up that night in his hotel room in July and she hesitated.

“Did you get your break with Barrymore?” Buster said, looking up at the sky. 

Nelly set the drink in the grass and lowered herself carefully next to him. She had to return the dress the following day and would be responsible for any damage, including grass stains. “I didn’t get a chance to bring it up.”

Buster tilted his glass to his lips. “I can talk to him if you’d like. Or Sam Taylor.”

Nelly frowned though he couldn’t see her face well in the diffuse light coming from the loggia. She picked up the glass and swirled it, then plugged up her nose before she took a drink. All the same, the whiskey still burned going down. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she said at last. The question had been growing on her ever since he invited her to the party and, influenced by the cocktails, she wanted to know.

Buster took another drink. “Is there a reason I  shouldn’t be?” He lowered his chin and looked off into the distance.

“Are you drunk?” she said. She didn’t have proof, but she was pretty sure she was more sober than him by miles.

“Does it matter?” he countered. 

The conversation wasn’t getting anywhere. “All I mean to say,” she said, “is that you don’t have to introduce me to your friends. When I called you the other day, I wasn’t expecting this. In fact, now I don’t think I ought to have called you at all. I ought to have just found a way to ask Mr. Taylor myself.”

“Everyone has an angle,” said Buster, knocking back the last of the whiskey. 

Nelly had not thought of herself as someone with an angle before, but there was some truth to his words, even though she didn’t like to admit it. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you doing these days?” he said. He pulled a flask from his jacket and refilled his glass.

The flask shocked Nelly a little bit, but she bit back a blunt remark and answered his question as if she didn’t notice. “Working on the United Artists lot. They put me in the prop department and I paint backdrops once and awhile. I’m hoping to get a part as an extra in the new D.W. Griffith. Anything they’ll let me do, really. It pays my rent fine.”

Buster hmmed. She saw that his hair was beginning to resist the lacquer he’d put in it and was coming loose, a curl here, a wave there. Likely it was the cocktails speaking, but she wanted to take the glass of whiskey away and stroke it. 

She followed his gaze. The Villa looked down into the soft, firefly-like glow of Beverly Hills. The light from the distant mansions wasn’t enough to dampen the stars, which hung white and clear overhead, peeping through the palm leaves. The grass was dewy beneath her hands and goose pimples rose on her arms as a breeze stirred. It was decidedly cool now. Although October in California felt nothing like October in Illinois, there was something of autumn in the air. She shivered. It was like a scene out of a picture, Buster and his girl under the stars, dissatisfied because they hadn’t yet sorted out their misunderstanding. Then she gave herself a mental shake for being fanciful and romantic, reminding herself of how Natalie had welcomed her into the Villa earlier. This was her home just as much as it was Buster’s; she was Buster’s girl.

“Cold?” said Buster. 

She protested, but he was already shrugging out of his jacket. He arranged it around her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said. His face was close as he tucked the jacket and she turned away. She reached for her glass and took another swallow of whiskey. She wasn’t ready to face her thoughts without more liquor on board. 

“Pretty dress, by the way,” said Buster, leaning back on an elbow. “Might be the prettiest one here.”

“Thank you. I rented it,” she said, warmth rising in her cheeks.

“Why?” 

She laughed. “Why? Why’d I rent it? Well to begin with, I’m not rich, and if you’re going to act, you need to look the part.”

“Are you acting?” said Buster.

She choked back another mouthful of whiskey and grimaced. “Sure I am.”

“What does your father do?”

It was an odd non-sequitur. “He’s in real estate,” she said. “Why?” The warm bloom of a proper drunkenness was settling on her.

“And he does pretty well for himself, I guess?” said Buster. 

“I guess.” She rolled the glass between her hands.

“You didn’t want for anything growing up?”

“No.”

“Most of those people in there, they didn’t grow up so well. We all just got lucky, that’s all. Right place, right time kind of thing. We’re just kids with a bunch of money, buying toys and palaces. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of around them. Everyone’s pretending just as much as you.”

She considered him, his face deeply shadowed in the feeble light. There was something dark and melancholic in his mood.

“Anyway, I should have told you to bring someone,” said Buster. “You would have felt a little better I bet. Do you have a steady?”

She shook her head, wondering what it meant that he was asking her if there was a man in her life. “No steady. And I did feel a little better, after you introduced me.”

“Good.” He tossed back the rest of his glass and scooted closer. “How was Jack Barrymore? Did he live up to your dreams?”

She grew hot and took another swallow of the biting liquor before answering. It was the second time he’d brought up Barrymore. The truth was, events had moved so fast she hadn’t had a chance to think about her encounter with Barrymore in any depth. And now that Buster was so distracting and near, she found it hard to think of Barrymore at all. “What makes you think he has anything to do with my dreams?”

“ ‘Cause you said so, that night I picked you up from the speak-easy. It’s alright, I won’t tell his wife. They’re getting a divorce, anyway.”

The joke felt cruel, the barb of it directed more at her than Barrymore and his wife. It made her feel ridiculous and scheming, ashamed of the dazed way she’d looked up at that singular face she’d only seen on screen, imagining that this could be her break, that she might be captivating him or falling in love. The worst of it was that it might be true. She did have an angle, possibly more than one. 

“That’s mean,” she said, looking out at the distant houses. 

“Well, it’s true. And I suppose you heard about Chaplin’s scandal, how he got soaked for almost a million in that divorce of his,” he said.

She acknowledged that she had. 

“I just hope Nate’s kinder to me when the time comes,” he said. 

She looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean?”

His lips twisted in a bitter smile. “You can’t seriously think that we’re happy.”

“Nate?” she said.

“My wife. Natalie.”

“Oh.” The conversation had taken a dangerous turn and she finished her whiskey before saying, “I hadn’t thought about it.” Her heart thumped in her ears.

“Do you like me, Nelly?”

“Yes. Why?” She tried to sound casual, but wasn’t sure if she succeeded. 

She hazarded a glance at him, fearing what she might find in his eyes, but he was looking straight ahead again. What she didn’t dare say was that she liked the profile in front of her—the aquiline nose, the soft lips, the dark brows, the heavy-lidded eyes—better than Barrymore’s. She had for a while now, she realized.

Buster shrugged and pulled the flask out of his jacket again. Nelly, by now feeling the whiskey’s full effects, did something shocking without a single thought. She snatched it from his hand, raised her arm as high as she could, and flung it down the hill. 

“Hey!” said Buster, somewhat loudly.

“Shh,” she said. “We’ll be heard.”

“Don’t shush me, sweetheart, this is my party and I can drink as much as I like, you hear?”

He looked like such a mixture of things in that moment—bewildered, indignant, hurt—that she leaned in and kissed him.

He didn’t react. 

For a split second, she was sure that she had misread all of the signs she thought she’d noticed and was about to be in serious trouble with him. Then his hand was at the back of her neck and he was pulling her into a deeper kiss, nothing at all like the chaste, brief pecks he gave on screen. She threaded her hand in the shorter hair at the back of his head to keep him where he was. His arm came around her shoulders and she braced her free hand against his chest. She was thrilled to find that his heart was pounding.

“You shouldn’t drink anymore tonight. You’ll have an awful headache in the morning,” she said in a whisper, when he pulled back for a moment.

He kissed her again. The heat in her cheeks was rapidly starting to spread to other regions of her body. Now that this was happening, she didn’t have a single thought for anything but Buster. Her entire world had come down to him, and he felt too right for her to worry about morals or consequences. 

She leaned her forehead against his as they broke apart. His breath warmed her lips. He was looking at her silently and she looked back. Gradually, the world began to fade back in. She could hear a faint peal of laughter from within the Villa and she wondered how long it would be before someone would miss the host and go searching for him. 

“I guess we should go in,” she said, after a few moments of silence.

Buster looked at her. His finger traced the bow of her upper lip, then the seam of her mouth. When she parted her lips in response, he captured them again. She closed her eyes and cupped his cheek as her world narrowed back down to the sound of their kisses and his soft, needy exhales. It might have been just seconds or whole minutes before Buster jolted her back to reality with the press of his tongue against hers. She drew back, feeling light-headed, and he followed, biting her neck, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to tell her that this could get out of control quickly. The base part of her wanted that—very much—but the rational part of her mind was waking up. 

“We should go,” she said.

“We’re by my wing,” said Buster hoarsely. “There’s a staircase to my balcony. You could wait in my room for me until the party’s over. I’d get you out before morning.”

“We can’t,” she said, even as he was arguing against her neck with more gentle love-bites. 

“Why not?” His head went lower and his tongue outlined her collarbone.

“It’s dangerous. I bet your guests are already looking for you.”

Almost on cue, laughter echoed out from the area of the drive and the fountain. Aware that it could be the Talmadge sisters, Nelly took the opportunity to stand up and brush herself off before he could persuade her—and he was perhaps too close to persuading her. She’d lost track of the whiskey glass and whether she had finished what was in it. She was decidedly intoxicated. “C’mon,” she said. She stuck out her hand for Buster. He let her pull him up and swayed beside her for a moment, wincing and rubbing his forehead.

“Will you call a taxi for me?” she said. 

He reached out and touched her cheek, looking at her for a long quiet moment as if to memorize her. She noticed that his mouth was smudged in lipstick. 

“Oh dear. I got lipstick all over you,” she said. “Do you have a handkerchief? I don’t have mine on me. My handbag’s inside.”

“You and that damn bag, always leaving it behind.” He reached out and fished in the breast pocket of his jacket on her shoulders. 

She dampened the handkerchief with a little saliva and scrubbed at his lips. “Ow!” he said, frowning. 

“Don’t be a baby, it’s almost off,” she said, wiping at the corner of his mouth. She stood back. It was hard to tell because of the shadows, but she thought that she’d gotten most of it. “How do I look?”

Buster smirked, the first real smile she’d seen on him the whole night. “Defiled,” he said. “Better stay out here while I call that taxi.” He pressed her hand before he left, and she was alone with the most impossible tangle of thoughts, the foremost of which was that she wanted him to come back as soon as possible so that they could finish what they’d started.

She stepped into the loggia and sat down in the nearest chair. Stunned didn’t begin to describe her feelings. Buster’s jacket around her shoulders enveloped her in the smell of him, cigarettes and his own unique scent. Drunk, she was buoyed on a comfortable wave of happiness. She and Buster had done something daring, it was true, but in her heart’s core it was what she had wanted and she didn’t regret it a single bit. She’d only stopped it because she was afraid of being caught. Under normal circumstances, that thought would have alarmed her, but inebriated she could be honest with herself. It wasn’t to say that she didn’t get the thrill of a lifetime when she thought of her dance with Barrymore or even handsome Charlie Chaplin; she did. It seemed, though, that she had fallen for Buster without even knowing it. She shivered and not because of the chill in the air.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she said, standing up and catching his hand when he reappeared a few minutes later.

He gave her hand a squeeze and passed over her bag, which he was holding. “I did you one better. Caruthers said he’d take you home. He’ll have the car ready in five.”

“Five minutes is a long time,” she said suggestively.

“Even I can’t finish that quick, honey,” he said, and she was glad he couldn’t see how brightly her face burned.

“I didn’t mean that you goose, I meant this.” She leaned in and kissed him again.

“Oh. Yeah, that,” he said. He pulled her against his chest and gave her a long, searching kiss. 

This time, Nelly didn’t pull away at the touch of his tongue; she met it and Buster groaned. With one hand, she stroked the fallen strands of hair at his forehead. “Thank you,” she said, when they broke apart. “Thank you for inviting me tonight.”

“Sure you won’t stay the night?” Buster said, kissing the corner of her lips.

“I’m not crazy,” she said.

“If you were, would you?” he said, drawing back to look in the eyes.

Her heart pounded. “Yes,” she said, after considering it. “I guess I would.”

He pulled her close and embraced her. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, thinking that she could stay here in his arms all night. Another burst of laughter and conversation came from the direction of the fountain. Car tires crunched on the gravel.

“We better behave,” Buster said.

“You’re probably right.” 

He released her and sat down in one of the chairs, and she followed his lead. He took her hand between both of his and they fell into silence. She wanted to tell him what the night meant to her, but couldn’t find the words. She looked out at the distant houses and up the stars, wondering if she’d ever get the chance to kiss him again or if she was just a passing fancy for a starry, booze-filled night. Too soon, there was the honk of a horn and Buster let go of her hand, standing up. “I think that’s your ride,” he said. They walked back to the drive, Nelly a few paces ahead of Buster, where a dark-colored Packard was waiting. Buster approached it and opened the nearest backseat door. He took her hand and helped her into the car. “Thanks for coming,” he said, after regarding her for a quiet moment.

She wanted to give him a parting kiss on the cheek, but couldn’t with his butler for an audience. “I had a beautiful night,” she said. “Thank you so much.” He gave her hand another quick squeeze and went around to the driver’s window, where he said to Caruthers, “Get her home safe.”

As the butler pulled away, she watched Buster walk back to the Villa. He didn’t turn around once, but continued until he reached the mahogany front door and slipped inside. Only then did she realize she was still wearing his jacket and had forgotten to check him for lipstick again.  Soundtrack: Red Nichols’ Stompers - “Sugar” Paul Whiteman’s Orchestra - “In the Good Old Summertime” Paul Whiteman’s Orchestra - “Changes” You don’t know how many times I’ve listened to these songs on repeat the past two months.