#I spent almost three hours trying to put the berries on a plate and they kept rolling in different directions 😅 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ethanesimp · 3 years ago

Text

THE OAK TREE // TWO E.T.

Pairing: Ethan Torchio x GN! Reader

Summary: Everyone at the Oakes Academy is aware of the rivalry that exists between two of the school’s best students, Ethan Torchio and Y/N L/N. What nobody knows is what a brilliant team they are when they’re at risk of their reputations being damaged and a killer’s on the loose.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death and murder, mentions of blood, mentions of death and descriptions of it, mention of suicide (pls read with caution, ily <3).

Masterlist // Taglist link in bio

CHAPTER ONE

A/N: Again, I apologize for the delay, life has been a lil bit crazy this past week. I also wanted to apologize for any possible typos because I’m working on a project but decided to take a break to finish this for you guys! I promise I’ll proofread this as soon as I get some time. Also, in the part where they’re texting, I recommend you check the texts on the Google Drive for context. Otherwise you might get a bit lost.

DON’T FORGET TO CHECK OUT TE AVAILABLE MATERIAL IN THE GOOGLE DRIVE WHICH YOU CAN FIND ON THE SERIES MASTERLIST

Taglist (strike means it won’t let me tag you): @oro-e-diamanti @gretavanfleetlove @victoriadeangeliswifey @cheese-toastie-11 @selenophiliaxx @superchrystaldrug @petit-poussin @bidet-and-legolas @fallingforyou123 @ethaneskin @soft-boy-ethan @teenyweenynightghost @reputationdamiano @cantaraiilmionome @tabi-toast @queen-of-brokenhearts @geklutst-ei @juststalking @cruz-ata @ohtorchio @ethan-torchio-angelo @unitermoonshine @everythingisdefinitelynotfine @marriedwithmarktuan @its-afucking-mess @juststalking @goldenpeaxh

LAST CHAPTER’S WINNING DECISION: They believe it is all real and go search for the body the finger might belong to. (The impact of this decision will be reflected next chapter).

Let the games begin.

You had to read the last part once more, so consumed by the shock that barely any words had registered into your brain. Your hands were shaking as you held it closer to yourself. Maybe it was all part of the disbelief because you found yourself scanning the words over and over again until you had the first paragraph memorized.

But then… then Ethan started laughing.

Short, breathy laughs escaped past his lips, immediately followed by sharp inhales, as if he were desperate to get more air to reach his lungs. You brushed it off and went right back to reading the last few phrases that were on the very back, even said them under your breath to try and make them become real because everything seemed like nothing but a dream, no, a nightmare.

Then it slowly dawned on you after you finished reading the letter. All worry subsided and you had no doubt in your mind you would’ve started laughing too if you weren’t seeing red. Consumed by the sudden rage, you turned to Ethan and didn’t hesitate to tackle him into the ground.

In any normal instance, you wouldn’t have been able to do it, but you’d caught him off-guard, which was confirmed by the surprised yelp he let out as his back collided with the muddy floor and dry leaves crunched underneath his weight. You moved to straddle him the second you felt him shift beneath you, as if he wanted to get up.

You looked at him for a split second. His face was illuminated by the soft glow of the red light. His distress was apparent. He was thrashing around to try and get you off him when you started hitting his chest over and over again. Your hits weren’t hard nor were they intended to cause any damage to him. In fact, he could have easily pushed you off him effortlessly if he wanted to, but Ethan didn’t even try. Instead, he let you continue hitting his chest.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you? You’re… a… fucking… psycho!” Each word was accompanied by another frustrated hit to his chest as tears slowly fell down your face and sobs rattled your body, “You were the only one who knew that. The only person in this goddamn school I ever—ever was stupid enough to tell it to. And you use it for one of your sick and twisted pranks? Fuck you. Fuck you!”

Your head fell and rested on his chest as you kept on crying. However, your words seemed to pull him back to reality. Only after a few seconds of you speaking, Ethan had already rolled the two of you around until he was on top of you.

You firmly held his stare as you tried to get him off you. For some strange reason, it sent shivers down your spine to see his eyes so full of fear. Ethan was always centered and glued firmly to the Earth. No matter the issue, he was always capable of keeping his cool, but now was far from being the case. His voice trembled as he tried to speak up, “Shut up Y/N! You’ve got no right to blame me for something that is clearly your doing. I have no fucking clue what your stupid letter said but mine said something that has me convinced it was you!”

His accusation was followed by him shoving his crumpled up letter into your face. You had to squint in order to see it better with only the aid of the red light. When you read the words placed at the very bottom, your eyes went wide and immediately looked for his in a desperate attempt to convince him it wasn’t you, but he had his head turned away. You firmly grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie so he’d look into your eyes, “I-I didn’t. Ethan I don’t like you one bit but I’d never. Not this.”

Ethan scoffed and shook his head. He got off you and turned around so his back was facing you, “You know what? I don’t give a shit what you did or didn’t do. I’m going to wash this disgusting stuff off me and report this in the morning.”

“What the hell? Are you crazy? Ethan, we're in the middle of a crime scene. We cannot leave it like this. I mean, look at you! You’re covered in blood because, let me refresh your mind, you fell into a fucking puddle of blood and found a finger!” You flailed your arms around furiously at his stupidity and started followed him the moment he started walking away, “What if this is real?”

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to look at you, “What is real? A threat that looks like it was written by a thirteen-year-old who just finished reading The Analyst? And the blood… it belongs to an animal for all I care,” He didn’t seem an ounce convinced by the way he took a second to come up with an excuse, and he couldn’t even look you in the eyes, “Besides, what do you want us to say, huh? Oh yeah, sorry. We’re out past curfew because of reasons we can’t tell you and we casually found a disembodied finger lying in a pool of blood. Ah! And I almost forgot the most important detail. We’re being threatened with things that are not only good enough to get us expelled but also get us thrown in jail. But everything is fantastic.”

You rolled your eyes, “Fine, do whatever the hell you please.”

Ethan nodded nonchalantly and walked away from you. A long and deep sigh escaped your lips at his stubbornness. You wanted to scream out in frustration at how stupid he was being, but decided it was pointless to stay behind, just in case someone arrived and found you standing there, with your clothes filled with blood.

——— ☆ • ♧ • • ♧ • ☆ ———

When you arrived back at the dorms, the first thing you did was take a hot shower as you tried to assimilate everything that had happened. Despite the water being so hot it almost burnt your skin, you still spent the whole time shivering and hugging your arms to your body.

You had washed the blood off the hoodie in one of the sinks and still threw it in the washing machine afterwards. You didn’t know what was going on and part of you was convinced you didn’t want to know. Either way, you weren’t going to risk being roped into a crime investigation as a suspect.

Afterwards, you collapsed into bed. Your whole body was aching and, if it weren’t for the fact that your phone had exploded with notifications after you connected it, you would’ve fallen asleep. You lazily felt around the small bedside table for your phone and picked it up. Most notifications were just memes Will kept sending to the group chat you had. However, you’d also received a message from Ethan.

Upon reading the first few words, you already felt the urge to throw the phone out the window. He was being annoying, not like that was a new thing at all. You responded to the text nonetheless and left the phone back on the bedside table. You turned around in your bed to try and find a spot that was comfortable and cuddled deeper into the sheets. Then, just when you were about to close your eyes, the phone vibrated again. You groaned and picked it up once more. After reading those texts, you were unable to sleep all night.

———

You spent the great majority of the night crying and shivering despite being covered by layers and layers of warm blankets. Those few hours before your alarm sounded extended into what seemed like an eternity and you didn’t want to leave the room, afraid you’d find something like what you’d just seen at the oak tree.

You only managed to sleep for about half an hour before your alarm went off at exactly six AM. Any other day, you would’ve snuggled back into bed for a little longer, but on that particular day, you’d jumped out of bed and hadn’t wasted a second before getting ready. You’d run out of the building to meet your friends at the dining hall, where you were currently at.

Damiano, Rory, Vic, and Will were already sitting at your usual table in front of the large window when you arrived. The curly-haired boy was practicing for a presentation while your three friends listened and made a few comments here and there on things they thought he should change.

“Good morning everyone,” You murmured, then took a seat in between Damiano and Will, who turned to look at you and frowned, “Are you feeling okay, Y/N?” You nodded and put on the best smile you could manage. Then you stole one of the berries from his plate even though you weren’t hungry at all.

You turned to look at Rory and Damiano, “Hey Ro, has the new phone you ordered arrived yet?” You questioned. After your conversation with Ethan the previous night, you needed to make sure it wasn’t them who had sent the text. Just the thought alone made you shudder in disgust and fear, but you just took a deep breath in and kept a soft smile on your face as your best friend shook their head.

“Funny that you ask that because yesterday I got an email from the store saying the delivery was going to take longer than expected because of the weather issues, so I gotta survive with this piece of crap for a few more days,” They sighed and placed the cracked phone on the table. You wanted to stop holding back the tears right then and there. Rory’s words were the confirmation that someone else had sent the text and you doubted it was Emilia. As much as you didn’t want to, with each passing second you started to believe the threat was true and that someone had died or was terribly hurt somewhere, and you needed to find them before it was too late to save them.

Then you remembered another one of Ethan’s texts and had to resist the urge to get up and go search for him because you needed to talk to him as soon as possible. Instead, you distracted yourself by listening to Will’s presentation practice.

You were close to nodding off at some point as he kept on speaking, “Back in earlier civilizations, it was believed that any type of illness was caused by demons and—Hey, Y/N!” You hummed softly as Will called your name. He poked you on the rib and you swatted his hand away, “Are you sure you’re alright? You look terrible.”

“Thank you,” You mumbled sarcastically, “I’m doing fine. I just stayed up working on a project and barely got a wink of sleep,” You let your head rest on Damiano’s shoulder and yawned.

“I wish I were that productive,” Victoria said as she played around with her food. Everyone had insisted on her eating at least a few bites even if she was still sick, “I never do shit.”

Thomas piped into the conversation, catching everyone by surprise as he took a seat next to Victoria, “To be fair, Y/N always complains about feeling half-dead from lack of sleep. I’ll never be crazy enough to sacrifice my sleep for a stupid assignment.”

“Yeah, and that’s why you’re one project away from failing Year 12,” Victoria laughed and Thomas rolled his eyes, “The other day I put him in charge of finishing this essay thing for philosophy and by the time I went back to check on him, he was already asleep. I honestly still wonder how we’re at this school. I would’ve thrown us out a long time ago.”

“Look who’s decided to join us today!” Damiano exclaimed with a large smile on his face as Emilia and Ethan took a seat right in front of you. It was an unusual occurrence for him to eat with you because, well, you were there and he couldn’t shut his mouth for half an hour while you ate, which usually ended in an argument that made the whole table annoyed.

You frowned at his appearance. He was struggling to keep his dark eyes open and his hand wouldn’t stop shaking. It was very apparent that he hadn’t slept much either from the bags under his eyes and his slow steps. Ethan was almost like a zombie.

He shook his head the moment his eyes met yours and your shoulders slumped. It hadn’t been Emilia either. You got up from your seat abruptly and walked away from the table without an explanation. You desperately needed a breath of fresh air before you went insane. So with quick steps, you moved down the hall until you reached one of the open windows next to a couch. You let yourself fall onto the couch and tightly shut your eyes as you breathed the fresh air in.

“You seriously need to calm down. Otherwise everyone will start to notice just how suspicious you’re acting,” You sighed at the sound of Ethan’s irritating voice and up straight on the couch. You rubbed your eyes with the back of your hands and looked up at him with an annoyed expression.

“You cannot ask me to calm down after what we saw last night. When will it get into your thick skull that whatever this shit is, it’s real. Those threats were real and if we don’t do something we’re both going to end up in jail, or worse, people are going to die. We don’t know who this psycho is nor what they’re capable of doing. We need to do something now before it’s too late,” The words rushed out of your mouth desperately. The urgency in your tone and your voice quivering as you spoke made his face fall. It wasn’t often that he took you seriously, but by the look in his eyes, you could tell he was just as scared as you were and that was enough to make him shut up and listen to all you had to say.

“Shit Y/N, can you lower your voice? We have no clue at all who could ev—” Before he could even finish the whole sentence, the Head Professor cleared her throat. But your heads snapped in her direction and you gulped in fear at the thought of her overhearing the conversation.

Your heart fell to your stomach the moment she spoke, “Just the two I was looking for. I need you in my office right now.”

Your eyes went wide as you turned to look at Ethan, who already had his head turned in your direction. He nudged his head in the professor’s direction and you both followed her as she walked to her office but stayed a few steps behind.

“This is it, we’re going to jail,” You mumbled loud enough so only Ethan could hear. He hushed you and pulled you along when you stopped walking. People were looking at you as you passed by and that only made you feel worse. You loosened the tie around your neck and gulped.

“We are not going to jail unless you don’t pull it together. Now breathe and keep on walking. I’m not your fucking babysitter,” He whisper-yelled and quickened his pace. You sighed and did the same thing. It surely couldn’t be that bad, could it? You were probably just overreacting and the events of the night before had nothing to do with this impromptu meeting.

You kept those thoughts in mind as the professor opened the door to the small office and you took a seat on one of the two squeaky chairs. The room smelled clean in a comforting way and you let your shoulders relax as you played with your fingers nervously and looked around the place.

Her office had always been your favorite out of all the professors’. The place was always warm and during the mornings, you could hear coffee brewing in her old coffee machine in the corner of the room. There were books scattered everywhere and piled in a way that didn’t look messy but inviting. During your first weeks at the academy, when you still hadn’t made any friends, you’d go into her office and read while you sat curled up on the couch and enjoyed the warm and calm atmosphere of the place.

Things used to be so much easier back then and you had no clue how things could’ve changed so fast. Back then your relationship with Ethan was decent and you had no trouble with anyone or anything, now you were being threatened into being framed for murder and being sent to jail.

“You totally forgot about our meeting today, didn’t you?” She asked calmly as she poured coffee into one of her cups, filling the room with the delicious and strong scent. The professor pushed her long dark hair out of her face and straightened out her uniform before sitting down opposite to you, “You looked quite shocked. I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything important.”

Ethan sat there, speechless, just like you. But then realization hit you and you realized you were just being paranoid and stupid. She’d told you about this meeting weeks in advance. It was supposed to have something to do with your chance to get the sought-after 100% scholarship to study your career at The Oakes.

“Nothing important whatsoever,” You replied quickly and sat up straight as you placed both hands on your lap. Ethan copied your actions and tied up his long hair with the black elastic that had been on his wrist.

Your eyes followed the professor as she dumped a small spoonful of sugar and mixed it around with the dark liquid. You couldn’t help but notice her hand shaking as she poured the milk and even spilled a bit of it down the side of the cup.

She cursed under her breath and apologized as she got up to search for a napkin. With furrowed eyebrows, you shared a look with Ethan, who shrugged.

“I apologize. I’m afraid I’m quite distracted today, but let’s continue. Shall we?” She smiled sweetly and opened up one of the folders on her desk as she sat back down. She grabbed two papers from inside and placed one in front of each of you.

You picked it up and examined its content. It seemed to be some sort of permission slip, “So, as I’m sure you both know, our academy offers a program for all our brightest students that gives them the opportunity to continue their college studies with everything paid. You two are the people with the highest grades amongst the whole generation. The semester is—.”

Her words were interrupted by a few quick knocks on the door before a professor pushed it wide open. He couldn’t stop fidgeting with his hands and playing around with his tie as he spoke, “The council wants to have a meeting, professor.”

“I cannot do it right now, I’m—”

“They want to have it now.”

The professor turned to the two of you nervously and laughed awkwardly. She stood up from the chair after quickly pushing it back, “I’ll see you another day, okay? Meanwhile, please send a scan of that permission slip to your parents and have them sign it, as soon as possible.”

Once both professors were out of sight and had closed the door, leaving the two of you alone, Ethan spoke, “Something’s wrong.”

“No shit. Neither one could stop shaking. I say we go and try to listen to what the council members are saying,” You suggested and stood up, but he grabbed your arm and pulled you to sit back down.

“We need to go back to the oak tree first. Y/N, if this is all real and there’s something going on, we need to find that body before they do,” He said firmly. Both his tone and stare were serious and you could tell that there was no way in hell he’d take no for an answer. Instead of arguing, you agreed and walked out of the office right behind him, but then you paused as his words registered into your brain, “Why do we have to find it before them?”

He didn’t stop walking to respond, so with a groan you started to walk faster until you were right next to him, “You weren’t even attending the school when it happened,” Ethan began to talk under his breath, so quietly you could barely make out the words he was trying to say, “It was years ago so I cannot remember exactly how the story went. You can ask Thomas though, he has better memory than I do,”

“Either way, there was this boy who’d just gotten into college and during the secret society’s initiation, he was told to climb the highest tower at that campus but he slipped and fell like ten stories. Like I said, it was a secret society that neither the public nor the parents knew about. If the story of what had really happened got out it’d ruin the school and some of the most important students would’ve been sent to jail, so they twisted it to look like a suicide and got away with it. The only reason we know about it is because one of Will’s cousins, the duke, was involved in it all and Will told us all about it.”

“I refuse to believe that’s true. C’mon, it’s Will,” You laughed, “The same guy who convinced everyone in class that your family secretly ran part of the Italian mafia.”

Ethan only shrugged and stopped walking to knock on the door of the greenhouse. You’d left yours at your dorm that morning from how distracted you were, so you had to wait for Mr. Murphy to open up and let you through.

When he finally opened the door, his eyebrows shot up in surprise as he looked at the two of you in confusion, “What in God’s name has happened to get you two in the same place without fighting?” He mocked. You rolled your eyes and shook your head as a smile appeared on your face.

“I assure you, we can both be perfectly civil. Besides, it’s for a homework we need to do. And believe me it’s the last thing I want to be doing,” You lied and walked into the greenhouse with Ethan following behind, “Anyways, we’re gonna go to the lake to get some water and—”

“I’m afraid you cannot go out there,” He interrupted. You frowned at his words and tilted your head to the side.

“Why? Did something happen?”

“Nothing you should care about, kids. Just go to class, yeah? There’s someone coming and if you want to stay out of trouble you better leave before they arrive.”

YOU CAN VOTE ON THIS CHAPTER’S POLL RIGHT HERE. THIS POLL CLOSES AT 12:30 PM CDT ON TUESDAY.

#ethan torchio x reader #ethan torchio fanfiction #ethan torchio x you

26 notes · View notes

galaxymysteryelephant · 3 years ago

Text

The Start of Something New 2

The second chapter is up, you can read it here.

Part one; Chapter one

---

There is a knock on Rex’s door promptly at 1800 hours.

It is as he goes to answer the door that he realizes he is nervous. He has to laugh at himself. Of all the things he experienced in his life and faced head on, this is the most nervous he has ever been.

Rex channels his nervous energy into opening the door. “Hey Ben,” he greets when he sees the auburn haired man waiting to be invited in. “Please come on in.”

“I bought these for you,” Ben says as he hesitantly holds out flowers, a bouquet of pink stargazer lilies.

Rex smiles as he accepts the flowers from Ben. “These are so beautiful.” He brings the flowers to his face and inhales their glorious scent. “Please make yourself comfortable while I go put these in some water.”

Rex watches as Ben removes his coat and hangs it by the door before heading to his kitchen to find a vase for his flowers.

“How was your day?” Rex asks with his head in a cabinet.

“It was alright,” Ben states. “I spent the afternoon with my brother, thankfully not talking about his wedding.”

“Is he your only sibling?” Rex asks as he fills the vase he found with water.

“Yes. Though I am quite close with one of his friends, and I think of her as a younger sister. What about you?”

“It is just Cody and I.” Rex places his flowers in the vase, then places the vase in the center of his island.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Ben says as he hands Rex a bottle of wine. “It is a berry moscato and should pair well with dinner. “

Rex gives Ben a soft smile and gently scolds him, “I said you didn’t need to bring anything.”

“I know, I just hated the idea of coming here empty handed.”

“Dinner should be ready soon. Please take a seat while I check on it.”

Ben takes a seat at the island as Rex checks on dinner. “How was your day?” Ben asks.

“Not too bad, it just got a whole lot better, if I am being honest.” Rex flashes Ben a flirtatious smile. Rex grabs two plate settings and sets out to serve two portions of food. “I hope you are hungry,” Rex states as he places one of the plate settings in front of Ben.

“It smells and looks delicious,” Ben claims.

“You don’t need to wait for me, dig in. I am going to get two glasses for the wine.”

As Rex pours wine into two glasses he cannot help but hear the pleased moans escaping Ben’s mouth at the taste of the food.

“Did you add any spices to this?” Ben questions when Rex sits across from him.

“The only thing I really seasoned was the chicken. And I seasoned it with fresh basil, thyme, oregano, rosemary, and mint.”

“It is really good. I love how all of the flavors work together. And the chicken flavor seasoned the vegetables really well too.” Ben smiles at Rex, “Where did you learn to cook?”

“My parents mainly.”

“I think you could have made it as a cook,” Ben admits.

“Technically I am one; I cook at the firehouse.”

“Is that an experience you like?”

“Yes and no,” Rex starts. “The thing about cooking at the firehouse is that we always need to be prepared for a call, so it’s better to make something that is quick and easy or can be eaten in a hurry. So, it is mostly sandwiches or the like. I have recently encouraged everyone to start bringing in stuff from home, so we can just heat it up when we have downtime. Yesterday, Jesse brought in a big pot of chili that he made, it was so good.”

Ben gives Rex a small smile. “Do you enjoy being a firefighter?”

“I love it,” Rex replies.

“How long have you been a firefighter?”

“About three years. Earlier this year, I received that rank of captain for all of my hard work,” Rex states proudly.

“Did you always want to do this?” Ben asks curiously.

Rex lets out a small sigh, “No. I wanted to have a career in the military.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I enlisted after high school and served for three years. My career was looking bright, I received the rank of captain and was happy, before I got discharged,” Rex explains.

“What happened?”

“I was injured on a campaign and deemed unfit for duty,” Rex gives the short version of events.

“Rex, I know you probably don’t want to worry me but I am curious. I want to know everything about you. So, can you tell me what happened,” Ben says after a moment.

Rex sighs and gives a curt nod. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before he begins.

“It was midday and we were trying to siege an outpost in the middle of nowhere. I was with a small squad when a battle broke out. At some point during the battle, I was shot. But adrenaline was pumping through me that I didn’t notice until after the skirmish was won. Pain surged through my body and I passed out.

“When I came to one of my men was by my side. He was pale and I knew from the look in his eyes that it didn’t look good, that I might not make it out alive. He told me that I was shot several times in the chest and shoulder. He had his hands pressed on my chest wound to stop the bleeding. I can still recall the smell of iron in the air and how blood stained his hands were as he called for a medic.

“The medic performed an emergency surgery right there in the middle of a battlefield. He removed two bullets from my chest which were mere centimeters from my heart. He requested an emergency evacuation and rushed me back to base, where I could receive better medical attention. When I reached base, I was rushed into another surgery due to complications.

“A day later, I was scheduled for another surgery, this time for my shoulder. The bone was shattered and the ligaments torn. The medics fixed it up as best as they could but doubted that it would ever heal properly, even with physical therapy.

“They informed my commanding officer of my medical condition. He came down to check on me himself. He advised me that I needed to pass evaluations, in order to go back to the frontlines. I failed every evaluation and was deemed unfit for service. They discharged me as a result. When I came back home I had to undergo a couple more surgeries and lots of physical therapy.”

Rex can see the pity that Ben holds for him in his gaze. It is one of the reasons he doesn’t talk about his time in the military.

“You must be stronger to overcome such trauma,” Ben states into his now empty plate.

“I suppose you can say that. To me it was more patience than anything.”

“If you don’t mind my asking how old were you?” Ben questions.

“I was 20.” Rex looks at Ben and clears his throat until the other man meets his gaze. “Not to be rude or anything but can we please talk about something else?”

“Of course.” Ben gives Rex a small smile, “My apologies if I made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t. I just think it is a heavy topic for a first date.”

“Is that what this is?” Ben asks teasingly, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

“Yeah, I thought it was obvious. We have a homemade dinner and wine.”

Ben laughs. “When did you decide to open the coffee shop?”

A smile takes over Rex’s features. “About a year ago. Cody came up with the idea actually.”

“So, why open a coffee shop if you are a successful fireman?”

“Believe it or not, the firehouse is underfunded. We have fund-raised but never raised enough money. Cody proposed opening a coffee shop where the profits and proceeds can go to getting equipment needed for the firehouse. Since opening the coffee shop we have been able to get another engine.”

“Cody seems like a wise man.”

“He is,” Rex smiles proud of his older brother. “If it weren’t for him the firehouse would only have one engine and one rescue. We have a greater response time now with the other engine.”

“That is great. I take it you and Cody are close to have decided to open a business together.”

“We are. He is not only my brother but my best friend. We have done so much together and have always been there when the other needs them. We have gone through a lot of hard times which only brought us closer together.”

“That sounds like a nice relationship. My brother and I are close but not as close as you and Cody. My brother and I are often at odds; we disagree about so much.”

“Well that is brothers for you. You may not always see eye to eye on things, you may annoy the shit out of each other, but you always have each other's backs.”

Rex gives Ben a quick smile and holds up his glass of wine, which has remained untouched until now. “How about a toast?”

Ben returns Rex’s smile and holds up his half-filled glass, “You can do the honors, dear Rex.”

Rex smiles bigger at the endearment before he comes up with the perfect toast. “To the start of something new.”

“To the start of something new,” Ben repeats.

Their glasses clink and they both take sips of the wine. Smiles dance across their faces when they place the glasses back down on the island.

“I am going to clean up in here and then we can go into the living room to chat and have some pavlova. Does that sound like a plan?”

“Yes,” Ben responds. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You are a guest, please relax.”

“As your guest, I insist on helping you clean up.”

Not wanting to argue and ruin this, Rex reluctantly agrees. The two begin clearing the island and washing the dishes.

Rex allows a comfortable silence to fall between them as they complete the task. He allows his mind to wander.

If Rex is being honest with himself, he thought Ben would have left after he found out about Rex’s past. After all, it is still something that haunts his dreams; it is still something he needs to deal with everyday. Most people do not want to be with someone from the military for that reason, because it puts a strain on the relationship. Rex only hopes that he didn’t ruin this budding relationship with Ben.

Rex is pulled from his thoughts when Ben lightly bumps his hip against Rex’s. It is something so casual and so domestic that Rex cannot help but smile.

I definitely didn't ruin this.

#star wars #the clone wars #captain rex #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan/rex #modern au #my writing #galaxymysteryelephant writes

3 notes · View notes

be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years ago

Text

A Family of Five- Part 4: Games and Surprises

Calum and Harlowe’s marriage hasn’t always been easy, but it has always been filled with love. This is a collaborative experience with In Sorrow and In Joy. Dad!Calum. Black OC.

CW: Over the course of this series, there are mentions of pregnancy, therapy, and postpartum depression. There is also 18+ Content (Smut).

Enjoy my masterlist | Series Masterlist

Support me on kofi

No one has my permission to repost my work of fiction. This includes translations as well

___________________________

Calum shouldn’t be this mesmerized by the way her skin looks. But he swears she used some kind of sparkly body oil. The glitter sparkles in the sun, her skin looks heavenly. Much more than it normally does. Brown glistening with gold flecks. He wants it coating his tongue. He shifts a little in his seat; he can already feel the strain in his pants. Calum should be concentrating on the menu in front of him. They already spent all morning in bed. She got in late last night from her reading, due to a delay. By the time she home, the last thing she wanted to do was fool around. Calum understood. Harlowe and he snuggled up in bed and she passed out pretty soon after curling into his chest.

However, the moment she woke up, Calum couldn’t keep his hands off her. She didn’t seem to mind either. It was slow, soft, lazy sex. Calum buried his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling the faint sweet smell of her products, a mixture of something floral and coconut. He loved it. He wants to smell it again. He wants to be gentle in the beginning this time. Her moans are so sweet against his ears, but he also wants more. He wants to hear the pleasure ripping over her throat, he wants to see her eyes roll back into her head. Her wants to see her let go. Calum should’ve offered to cook. But Harlowe wanted to try this little brunch spot that just opened and he couldn’t say no to her pout.

She’ll only be free for a couple more days. Then it’ll be back to school for her, the end of her spring break. With the release of her new book of poetry, she got invited to a book fest. So they didn’t get to spend nearly as much time together as they both anticipated. The kids are with his parents. Moving back to Australia had its perks for sure. Though, Ashton took them for part of a day. Calum received a video of Esha and Ashton competing in DDR. Ashton’s message attached to the video was I got my ass beat by a nine year old.

Should the entire two days they have together be spent solely in the bedroom, or whatever part of the house they happen to be in? No, Calum knows that. So he shifts again and pulls his gaze to the orange menu in front of him. It’s enough contrast to the blue shirt of his she’s wearing. She stole the royal blue button up form his side of the closet and he can’t say anything. Especially not with the way she’s left a couple top buttons undone and tied it up at the bottom. Slivers of her chest and stomach poke out. He desperately wants to run his fingers over the stretch marks he knows so well already. She looks like a fucking goddess in front of him. Going on a decade of marriage should make things stale. But things have started to heat up for them. She’s off the meds with a doctor’s approval and Calum’s enjoying the way her new energy.

Calum glances up at her once again. She’s resting her head on the flat of her knuckles, squishing the fat of her left cheek, gaze zeroed on the menu. “You’re thinking about something,” Harlowe grins before lifting her eyes.

The moment feels like slow motion for Calum. He can see every lash as her lids lift, her dark brown eyes landing on his. “You,” he says softly, “I’m thinking about you.”

“Well I suggest you start thinking about what you want to order. Because you got three seconds before our server comes up.”

Calum’s fucked. He has no clue what’s on this fucking menu. He doesn’t care. When the server shows up, he lets her order first and then takes the same thing. “If I told them to bring me toast and one lemon, you would be so fucked.”

He exhales a laugh. “No, I wouldn’t be. You would be though.”

“I blame the fact that I had two kids. I can eat a house and home.”

“You talk about Te Koha’s appetite, but you’re the real culprit,” he grins.

She levels a finger at him. “You shush!”

“Make me,” he laughs. Harlowe doesn’t miss the teasing lilt to his voice, the small smirk that lifts half of his lips. She’s noticed him shift in his seat several times while she was debating what to order. She knows what he wants. She will not give in that easy. He’ll have to work for it.

“What are we? 23 again?”

The smile falls again, he exhales a chuckle. He doesn’t like being reminded of that age, much. It’s nothing against her. It’s everything against him. It was him that tried to end what they had. She had just moved to California for her master’s in poetry. They had been something a step above friends with benefits and a step below a real relationship. It didn’t seem to matter much what the label was, but Calum felt himself, dying to call her about every little thing. She was the first person he wanted to talk to in the morning and the last one he wanted to hear at night. He nearly ruined all that too. Over text message. Stupid fucking text message.

“Hey,” Harlowe says softly, reaching for his hand.

Calum shakes his head, sniffling. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want to mention how stupid he was in that moment, how terrified he was of fucking it up with the best damn person for him that he did nearly fuck it up. “It’s nothing,” he whispers.

“Nothing my black ass,” she counters, tightly holding onto his fingers. “What’s up, baby?”

He’s doing it again. The same behavior that nearly lost her sixteen years ago. “I love you,” he exhales. “A whole fucking lot. Sometimes I guess it scares me what I nearly did; I’m still so sorry about that. I know I was young, and scared, and a whole bunch of other adjectives, but I was so utterly in love with you, I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t want to fuck it up. I still don’t want to fuck this up. I’m scared I will.”

Harlowe fights to keep the sigh from escaping her. She’s forgiven him. She knows getting Calum to open up requires more patience than she sometimes has. But God, does she wish he’d stop beating himself up over it. What words are left for her to say? “I’ve forgiven you, Calum. It’s time you forgive yourself. You’re human. You’re going to fuck up. I don’t think less of you.”

He nods. She’s right. He really ought to forgive himself. But the words to that message are burned into his retinas some nights and days. We shouldn’t do this; I shouldn’t do this. I can’t do this. You’re too good for me and I’m no good for you. I’ll ruin you. “But how? How do I forgive myself for something like that?”

“You admit it was a mistake. One mistake, amongst a lifetime of them. One you learned from. Clearly. Because we did it. We’re doing it. We’re literally married.”

Her inflection, her laugh, makes him crack a shaky smile. He looks down to the diamond ring. They made it, they are making it each and every day together. “Sorry for bringing it up. I just...sometimes I really get hit with how much of an idiot younger me was.”

“You live; you learn. Younger me was an idiot too. The girl I told off on twitter--yeah, not my most shining moment.”

Calum chuckles, head dropping a little remembering the rant she went on. “You didn’t exactly paint a pretty picture about me either.”

“Look, I was literally months pregnant with Koha and exhausted. The last thing I wanted to do was sit back and have thousands of people judging me-us- for not marrying sooner.”

“Valid. But you didn’t have to mention the one night I partied too hard and got sick, now did you?”

“Okay, but who cleaned up your vomit that night too? Off your own fucking floor? Me. Who took Duke to the vet the next day because you literally were lying under your sheets in the dark? Me.”

Calum groans. It wasn’t a shining moment for anyone. He was only going out for a few hours. He hadn’t had a drink in a while, keeping it out of the house while Harlowe was pregnant. It was a guy’s night tradition and Harlowe told him he should go out for just a little fun. So he did. He promised to have his phone on him, volume at it’s max and on vibrate incase she needed him. She was about six months pregnant, so it she wasn’t terribly far along. Just one night out with one beer, turned in a quick too many shots in succession, a woozy Uber back home and Calum promptly vomiting on the kitchen floor trying to get some water in his system.

Harlowe heard him from the bedroom, pushed herself out of bed and wordlessly cleaned it up. Calum can’t remember much after that but as Harlowe recounts, he almost cried because she was pregnant and he was the one acting like a child. Every other word out of his mouth was sorry because he hadn’t intended for it to get like this. Harlowe couldn’t carry him like before to the bedroom, so she shushed him and got him on the sofa. He made it only to the bed later, after waking with a killer headache.

The server returns with their food before he can defend himself. As Calum dunks a piece of french toast into the syrup, he speaks, “Still, it didn’t need to be put on social media.”

“Well, what do you want me to do, go back in time? That science hasn’t exactly been perfected yet,” she huffs. “Besides, we didn’t have to be married at that particular moment either. All the shit we had been through, we were living at our own pace. It still makes me mad to think that some people thought you had even proposed because you felt obligated to.”

Calum takes a strawberry off his plate and holds it out to her. “Eat this. Clearly I didn’t marry you out of obligation.”

“Strawberries aren’t going to make me calmer,” Harlowe retorts.

Pulling up from his chair, Calum stretches across the table and drops the berry into her mouth. “Just shut up and eat. Food will make you calmer, second only to my cock,” he adds the second sentence in a whisper. Just loud enough for her to here.

It doesn’t even shock her. Instead she smiles around her chewing. “So that’s how it is?”

Calum raises an eyebrow. “That’s how it is.”

Harlowe nods. She won’t let this go. She was going to go grocery shopping tomorrow. But now, she’s going to make him suffer a trip. Two can play this game. She plays just a little bit better too.

Brunch finished, and bill paid, Harlowe taps her fingers on the table. “We should probably get some groceries.”

“You mean tomorrow?” He trails his fingers up the skin of her forearm. He’s waiting to see that shake of her spine, hear the chatter of her teeth.

“I mean we’re already out now.”

Calum doesn’t let up, dragging his nails over the skin of her elbow joint. He watches her carefully, but he gets nothing. Though he can see a rigid line across her shoulders. She’s tensing, so she won’t give him a reaction. “You’re playing dirty,” he spits. It’s some pretend offense, but some of it is real. How dare she?

“Let’s go while we’re out, yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah, let’s go while we’re out.”

The actual grocery shopping goes by smoothly. Calum stirs the basket while Harlowe takes charge. It’s routine, especially if they bring the kids. Both of them like to bounce around and ask about items not on the grocery list. Sometimes they cave on the small things, but it works much faster when one of the takes lead over the trip. It’s as Harlowe browses through the choices of rice that Calum seizes his opportunity. He slips a hand into the back pocket of her jeans, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Can I help you sir?” Harlowe grins. Calum doesn’t miss her sharp inhale before speaking. She keeps a good game face, but he knows her buttons.

“Just enjoying the view,” he mutters, kissing her cheek.

A giggle escapes her before she shrugs out of the embrace. She tosses a box into the basket. Calum sighs and starts behind her again. He looks over the produce, onions and bell peppers before finding ones that satisfy him. While he ties off the bag, Harlowe walks up behind him, patting his butt and giving it a squeeze. Calum jolts before looking over his shoulder to the bright grin on her face. “You’re so proud of yourself, huh?” he asks as she scurries away.

He catches her on the wine aisle. Initially he thought she might be down the candy aisle. But when faced with the severe lack of blue shirts and his beautifully brown wife down the aisle, he knows wine is the second place to check. She’s not drinking right now, but she still likes to keep a bottle in the house for guests. He finds her holding up two different bottles. “I can’t choose. Help, please,” she whines, a pout pulling down her pouty lips.

“How long have you been holding those bottles?”

“For a while, waiting for you to find me.”

Calum’s laughter hits the empty air of the grocery store loudly. He inhales sharply before his laugh leaves him again. “Are you serious? Put both of them in the cart you fucking goof.”

She sets the bottles down, with a sigh. “Thanks. They were getting heavy.”

Walking around the cart, Calum holds his arms out. Only his wife, only Harlowe. They embrace and Calum still vibrates with his laughter. Before releasing the hug, Calum kisses her forehead, sliding his arms down her waist, resting on the curve to her ass. He lets his hands linger there, kneading softly, fingers playing at the loops of her jeans.

She shoves his hips. “I’m not going to cave, not here,” Harlowe mutters. She sounds a little breathless and that’s all the reaction Calum needs.

He grabs her chin gently, silver bracelet sliding down his slender wrist. “Oh yes, you will,” he commands. Harlowe bites down her lip, fighting her throat to keep the moan down. She can swallow it, keep it at bay. The grip tightens. He needs this. He needs her to cave, because God is he seconds from caving himself, seconds from falling to his knees in the middle of this fucking grocery store to beg for her, for her body, for her sighs, for her moans, for her hands on his skin.

She wrestles her chin away, exhaling hard. Defying him isn’t going to end well for her. Normally defying means punishments. But he hasn’t dished out any of those in a long time. Harlowe’s toying to see if he will. Calum probably won’t. Not after her spiral from Esha, he’s been extremely gentle during sex. She’s been good too with it, except for now. Now she’s tired of it. She wants to let go finally.

The walk to the check out is silent. As they load up all the bags into the trunk, it’s silent. It’s not until both doors are closed and seat belts are on does anyone speak. Calum starts the car, before turning to Harlowe. “What was that?”

“Disobedience,” she answers, staring straight ahead. “Which means punishment.”

Calum exhales hard. “Baby, are you sure? I don’t-I don’t want you to feel rushed into anything. I’m okay with taking things slow.”

“I’m tired of slow.”

“We can’t do some of the stuff we used to. I-I can’t just yet. I’m worried.”

“I understand. I’m not asking to dive in head first. I just am tired of slow.” Harlowe watches as Calum nods, but runs his hands through his hair. He looks too hesitant for comfort. He won’t do it, she figures. “Never mind, forget I mentioned it.”

“Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa,” Calum lifts her chin. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to touch you or have sex with you. If you’re tired of slow, you’re tired of slow. You have every right to be.”

“But you said you were worried.”

“Worried, yes. Against, no. I’m cautious. It took almost a year to get back to where we are. I don’t want to push you too fast.” Undoing his seatbelt, Calum stretches over the middle console, brushing his nose over hers. “But you’re tired of slow. So we’ll ratched it up a notch.” He seals her mouth with his. She wastes no time, parting her lips for him. Harlowe is eager to gain more than just slow, and gentle. She wants something to set her skin on fire.

Calum doesn’t slip his tongue into her mouth. Instead he pulls away. She whines, pushing forward even with the seatbelt pulling her back. He chuckles, patting her cheek. “This is what happens when you disobey.”

Even though a whine falls past her throat, Harlowe grins. This is it. This is the feeling she missed as her fingertips start to buzz. The drive home is silent between them, besides the low hum of the radio. Calum tries to keep his hands to himself, tries to punish her like she’s asking. He just can’t help himself anymore. “Unbutton your pants,” he orders at a red light.

“What?”

“Unbutton your jeans and get them down as far as you can,” he states again before glancing over to her.

Harlowe lifts her hips, slowly, popping the button her light denim jeans. She wiggles them down, suddenly very aware that a lot of people could be watching her in that moment. Her underwear selection for the day isn’t the most exciting, a simple pair of black cotton underwear with lace trimming. “What if people see?” she asks.

“Then they shouldn’t be looking. No one is watching, though.” Calum looks over again. The denim is about half way down her thighs, though she’s struggling to get them down more. “That’s good. Now sit on your hands.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just do as I’m saying, baby.”

Harlowe pulls her hips again and settles down on her hands. The moment her hands are covered by her bottom, Calum slips hand over her thighs. There’s still some firmness to them, but two children have made her soft. The cellulite is harder to miss, but the ridges underneath Calum’s fingertips are enticing. He really wants to sink his teeth into her thighs. As the urge strengthens, he squeezes at her flesh. Not enough to cause pain, but hard enough to soothe the lust. She exhales next to him, shaky.

“Scared?” Calum asks.

“No, horny, turned on.”

Dragging his knuckles up her thigh, he brushes over her clothed sex. The thin material is soaked already. He hums at the feeling and pushes the cotton to the side. He can feel her dripping onto his hands. Calum presses the pad of his thumb to a clit. She jolts, a hiss falling from her lips. “Did I say you could move?” Calum asks.

“Sorry,” she sighs.

Calum removes his thumb, sliding two fingers into her. She clenches around him, but doesn’t move this time. “Good girl,” he praises, curling them up into her. Harlowe releases another shuddery breath. Calum works his fingers inside her slowly. They’re about two minutes form the house. But he’s going to milk this. Harlowe doesn’t move in her seat but her grip on the door is deadly.

All the color is starting to drain from her skin around her knuckles. She moans occasionally, but mostly tries to keep those sounds contained too. Calum turns into the driveway of the house, putting the car in park. He pulls his fingers out of her. Harlowe starts to whine, but before the sound can fully escape her, Calum’s unbuckled himself and leaning across the way. He kisses down her jaw, inserting his fingers again.

Her breathe is ghosting over his cheek, and his exhales are blowing right over hers. “Cum for me.” Calum’s voice is strained, desperate. Almost pained, like he’s on the edge of breaking down too, watching Harlowe’s heaving increase.

“Fuck, shit,” she cries. She’s getting there. Her pelvic muscles are tightening around him. Her hips are lifting, her curls are pressed so deep into the headrest, if she doesn’t leave an indent, he’ll be shocked.

“You’re so close,” he coaxes, gently grazing his teeth over his skin. Right on the cusp of her orgasm, Calum considers pulling away, making her fall apart around nothing. He wants to ruin it. And that’s what he does, right on the edge of her cry, Calum pulls away from her completely.

Harlowe swears, slamming her palms against the door handle. Her cry is mangled. When she opens her eyes, Calum can see tears on the falling down her cheeks. With his clean hand he wipes them away. “You motherfucker,” she heaves, turning into his touch. “I hate you, a tiny bit.”

“You okay?”

She laughs, “I mean on the one hand, that was on track to be the best orgasm of my life and on the other hand, you ruined it, so...you know I don’t know.”

Calum brings his coated finger to his mouth, sucking them clean. He pulls his digits from his mouth with a pop. “Clean yourself up. There’s still ice cream and sorbet to put up.”

Due to two kids already, they keep the vehicles well stocked with tissues and wipes. Calum hands her the packet after taking one for himself. They’re baby wipes. Harlowe reaches behind Calum’s seat and unhooks the small plastic bag they leave in for trash. He is mindful to let her get her pants back up before opening his door.

Calum grabs two bags from the trunk when Harlowe walks around and pushes on his shoulder. The smirk on his face let’s him know everything is good. “You asked for it,” Calum counters with a pause. “Don’t get mad at me, doll.”

Harlowe huffs next to him. Calum giggles, hurrying into the house with his bags. She hates that pet name. The first time he used it, she immediately ceased him from using it ever again. He only pulls it out in instances like this, just to annoy her, to rile her up. Harlowe storms after him, careful of the paper bags in her hands. “Calum Thomas Hood!” she bellows into the house.

Pepper halts in her run to greet Harlowe. She knows that tone. “Pepper,” Harlowe coos. “I wasn’t talking to you angel. I’m sorry.”

Harlowe drops her bags and holds out her hands. Pepper continues over, rubbing in close to Harlowe’s embrace. Sissy and Jack come trotting over too. She scratches at their heads too. Calum rounds the corner of the kitchen, prepared for her fierce gaze, but she’s too preoccupied by the dogs. He seizes this moment and brings in the last of the grocery before locking up the car and the house.

“Don’t think I’m not still pissed about you calling me doll just because I’m playing with the dogs.”

“You know you love it,” he teases, his sing song cadence making Harlowe melt at the sound, but also grow a bit more frustrated. She hates the term, but somehow, it’s much less grating hearing it from his lips. It’s her more Southern upbringing. She is no one’s doll, no one’s play thing. She’s not plastic waiting to be structured. But for Calum she would be. For him, she would be a doll-the most perfect one too.

“I love you babies. But Papa Bear will eat my sorbet if I don’t hide it,” Harlowe teases.

“I bought a separate pint for me, so you shush,” Calum shouts with a chuckle.

Harlowe kisses the top of Jack’s head. “He’ll still eat some of mine.” She takes over putting away the last of the items, not even realizing Calum has disappeared until something cold touches her exposed stomach. She jumps into Calum’s chest, he snakes his arm even further around her waist. If he’s wearing rings, Harlowe swears she’s going to lose it. She glances down to see a bracelet. A new one in addition to the silver chain from earlier. Her gaze travels up from his wrist and sure enough his fingers adorn several of his favorite rings. His left hand slides up the back of her, the cold metal biting at her neck.

“Fuck,” she whispers. The rest of her sentence dies on her lips as he brings his hand around to her throat. There’s no pressure, he’s just cupping the front of her neck, thumb ghosting over her skin. The paper towels fall from Harlowe’s slack grasp.

“Pick those up, doll. Put them where they belong. I’m not doing anything.”

But he’s doing everything to make Harlowe turn into putty. She bends over, grabbing the still wrapped paper towel roll from the floor, ass lined up with his crotch. Rolling up to stand, she pops onto her tiptoes to put the roll with the others on the shelf of the pantry. Her butt pops out as she leans forward, sliding it next to other waiting roll. The pantry door closes and before she can blink, Calum grabs her hips and spins her around. As he takes a step forward, she takes one back, pressing into the woodend door.

His fingers trail across her stomach, pulling at the knot in his shirt. It falls open, her cropped camisole rests high on her waist. Calum presses his palm into her stomach, not too hard, but enough. She holds tightly to his wrist, tugging him even closer to her. “Tell me what you’re waiting on?” She asks, grabbing the back of his neck. Her lips ghost along his jaw, up to his ear. “You’re moving too slow.”

He doesn’t want to hurt her or scare her. Calum knows, however, he has to act fast. He pushes down the shirt from her shoulders, kissing across her shoulders. Once it falls into a heap at their feet, he pulls away, undoing his belt and pulling it from the loops. He pops the button on her jeans, pulling her back into him. “You won’t be saying that again,” he warns before turninf her back around.

Harlowe braces against the pantry door. Calum unzips her jeans before pushing them down her hips. It’s not until he starts kissing the skin exposed as he undresses her that Harlowe suddenly finds her stomach filled with butterflies. Her body has changed so much since having kids. Nothing feels firm anymore to her. It scares her to think maybe she’s not as attractive as she used to be to him.

Calum can sense something happening in her. He bites at her right cheek. “Stay with me, doll.”

“I’m jiggly though,” she sighs. Calum pushes up from his knees, standing at the back of her. His erection brushing against her. The sensation shocks her, her core clenches. Maybe she’s wrong.

“You feel that?” he asks, pressing harder into her.

“Yes,” she moans. He feels painfully hard against her.

“Jiggly or not, you are my wife. You’ve blessed me with two children and three dogs. You are stunning and incredible. Besides,” he grins, running his hand over her ass. “I like the jiggle. A lot more for me to play with. But I can show you a lot better than I talk about how attracted I still am to you.”

Harlowe chuckles, turning her head to look at him. His pupils are blown, she can barely see the brown in his eyes. The beam to his grin makes ease some of her worries. “May I?” he questions, fingers trailing over the edges of her underwear.

“Please,” she breathes.

Calum sinks back to his knees, kissing over the back of her thighs, before pulling her completely of her jeans. Her panties are next to go before Calum settles between her legs. She pushes off the door some more. “Fuck,” he groans. “You’re so pretty, ya know? It’s a gorgeous sight you this wet for me.”

Harlowe can’t speak before his mouth is on her, sucking hard. “Ah, shit,” she shudders at the first contact, fist slamming into the pantry door. He hums at the curse. He grabs at her thighs to keep her stance wide enough for him. Her body quivers above him. Harlowe can barely get her breath. It’s taking all her core strength to stay upright as Calum laps at her. The sounds are lewd, the slurping, the swears, the moans.

It’s a bad idea to take a hand off the wall, but Harlowe pushes up and looks down at Calum, his tongue swirling around her clit, flicking it. She grabs a fistful of his curls and tugs on them. He releases a moan, vibrating against her. Her stomach is on fire. “I-” she starts before her orgasm crashes over her. She groans, striking the door again with a closed fist. Finally, after what feels like forever, Harlowe exhales hard before gaining her breath. “Oh, fuck,” she heaves, resting her forehead into the door.

Calum teases her entrance with his fingers. Harlowe hisses above him. His palm is soft and warm against her thighs. “Shh, it’s okay,” one hand soothes her, the other still dancing around her opening.

“I can’t. Please.”

“Okay,” he agrees pulling away from her. Sliding out from beneath her, Calum stands. Shedding his shirt and pants, he guides her upstairs. Harlowe watches the muscles of his back work beneath his smooth brown skin. Inside the bedroom before Calum and turn around, she drags her nails across his shoulders and down his back. Her lips leaves wet kisses over his skin. Calum shiver at the love bites she leaves. Snaking her arms around, she feels over his chest and stomach, fingers playing at the chains around his neck.

“You’re moving too slow,” he teases. It’s mostly to prevent him from buckling right here. His knees are weak. With a laugh, she pushes him towards the bed. Calum climbs onto the mattress. As he settles and turns around, Harlowe’s already shed the camisole, arms now behind her back as she works to unhook the bra. “Should’ve let me do it,” he laughs, though it fades away as the cups fall away from her body.

“Got anything else smart to say?”

He shakes his head, watching her saunter to the edge of the bed. She crawls up his body, stopping occasionally to leave kisses on his thighs. He closes his has as his stomach tenses. Her lips and kisses are so soft, he swears he’s going to explode. His body feels like it’s buzzing. Her fingers curl into the band of his boxer briefs. He doesn’t refute the action, lifting his hips and letting her take them completely off him.

She settles high on him, hovering right over her cock. Calum opens his eyes, watching the smirk on her face. The warmth and wetness slide right over him. “Shit,” he huffs, watching her slide up and down his length. “Don’t do this to me, doll. Please don’t.”

Harlowe stretches forward, gently taking the lobe of his ear between her teeth. “Call me doll one more time and see what happens.”

Calum runs his fingers up her back and sides. He’s silent, waiting for her to pull back in satisfaction. He knows she will if he remains quiet and then he can go in for the kill. Sure enough, she does, Harlowe tugs on his ear one last time before pulling away. That’s when he wraps his hand around her throat, squeezing. “What was that, doll?”

The hold isn’t too tight, but it stops Harlowe in her tracks. He was just going soft on her, just to give her some semblance of control to not freak her out. Calum watches her carefully, waiting for the gulp she usually does when she’s uncomfortable. But it never comes. She keeps her eyes trained on Calum. “Sorry,” she whispers.

“Sorry what?”

“You might have to remind me. I forget.” The statement seems believable until she cracks a smile. That’s when Calum knows she’s acting out. He brings his second hand around her throat, and pulls her face down towards him.

“I’ll remind you,” he growls. “You’re going to take my cock. Don’t breathe. Don’t think. Just bounce.”

Harlowe lifts up, lining him up to her entrance. For a brief second she considers maybe they should use a condom. Doctors have told her getting pregnant a third time isn’t impossible it’s just improbable. They’ve already agreed to try for a third child, even if the odds seem impossible. They go without condoms sometimes. It’s usually discussed beforehand. “Would you like me to put a condom on?” he asks, grip already loosening around her neck.

Harlowe, with a rush of boldness, presses his hand back and slides down his length. “No,” she moans. “No, I don’t.”

Calum tightens the grip. “You’re still not addressing properly.”

Harlowe pulls herself up before taking him back in. She gives no verbal response, focused slowly on the bubble of heat starting. Calum watches her bouncing on his cock. It’s a sight to behold, the curls that shake with her moment, the way her breast bounce with her effort too. A moan slips over her lips, it’s tight and quiet from the pressure around her throat. Calum takes one hand away from her throat, wrapping it around her waist. He pulls her up and close to his chest, before driving his hips up into her. Harlowe braces herself above his hand, “Shit. God, don’t stop.”

“You will address me correctly, doll.” He gives a purposefully hard thrust, before slowly sliding out.

Harlowe whines at the lost of her orgasm. “No, please, I’m sorry.”

“Then address me properly. Sorry, what?”

“I’m sorry sir,” she cries, eyes begging him. “Please don’t stop, Sir.”

“That’s more like it,” he smiles, thrusting back into her. The sound of relief that leaves her makes Calum almost cum. Harlowe sighs above him, the sound a little high in pitch. Calum removes his hand from her throat, slowing. Harlowe takes over, sliding up and down his length. With a nipple in his mouth, Calum moans. He’s missed this. He’s craved seeing her like this. A thin sheet of sweat covers her forehead, her knees pop just a little. But it doesn’t stop her, she chases down her orgasm.

“Shit,” she groans, clenching around him.

Calum runs his fingers over the side of her face, moans falling from her lips before he can catch them. “That’s right, just take all of it. Just bounce, baby.”

“I’m close, sir,” she warns. Calum’s own orgasm is still far down the line. He prays she can hold out for one last orgasm.

“Cum for me, pretty girl. Let go.”

“I want you to cum though. I need it,” she whines.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll get there. Give me this one. Cum around my cock, pretty girl. Please.” Pressing his thumb to her clit, he rubs it in circles. Even though Harlowe has slowed the added sensation is too much. She cries out, spasming around Calum’s cock.

Calum holds her close, rubbing her back through the haze. “God,” he whispers. “You ought to see how beautiful you are when you cum.”

Harlowe chuckles into his skin, though it’s hot and clammy, it smells like home. “Mirror’s right over there,” she points, still nestled onto his cock.

“Don’t give me any ideas, pretty girl.” It’s silent for a minute as Calum gently scratches at her scalp beneath the coils wrapping around his fingers. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have one more in you?”

She might, it looks slim. Her legs already feel pretty unstable. “Would I be on my hands and knees?”

“No, we can arrange it so you’re not on your hands and knees.”

“Then, yeah, I got one more in me,” she laughs, sitting up.

“Lay on your back, baby.” Harlowe compiles. Calum hovers a for a second, drinking in the sight of her. “I know what you’re thinking. No, it’s not going to be slow. So strap in.”

His first thrust is easy, an adjustment. But three strokes later, her legs are on his shoulder, the bed rocking into the wall. Harlowe hisses a little, reaching up for him. Calum meets her with a kiss, still holding her thighs spread open. His thrust become so hard that her head falls ips over the edge of the bed. But she’s in direct view of the mirror. As the blood rushes to her head, she can see Calum’s gaze stuck on her, not even the reflection of her, just him gazing down at her. She chuckles until the pleasure catches up with her again.

“What’s so funny?” he asks breathless as his hips continue to snap into her.

“Someone’s working hard to put a baby in me.”

Calum grins, bending over again. He kisses her, even when he’s rough she’s still finding something to giggle about. He trails his tongue down her neck, tasting the salt of her sweat and the taste of juices still left from before mixing on his tongue. His stomach clenches. He’s not going to last much longer. But he’d like to give her that third true orgasm that he promised. So he slows a little, thrusting deeper, but slower. He circles her clit, watching as her voice comes out strained with her swear. “You gonna give me another one? You said you had one more in you,” Calum taunts.

“Faster, I need your fingers faster, please.”

He kisses on the underside of her chin. “Hmm, anything for you, baby.” Calum speeds up his fingers, feeling his own orgasm approaching faster. He won’t make it after her, but he can still make sure she sees her end. Harlowe grips tightly at his bicep, holding her head up from the edge. It hurts how close she is at this point. “God, fuck, Oh God,” she pants.

“It’s-fuck- it’s okay, baby.” Calum’s orgasm crashes over him. He knows his moaning pretty loudly in her ear, but the sound leaves him abruptly. He doesn’t still, still thrusting through the high.

“Calum, fuck,” Harlowe growls, voice thick with something like pain and pleasure. She clenches around him, his name falling from her lips again and again like a prayer.

Post clean up, Harlowe lays on her back, legs thrown over Calum’s waist. His fingers dance over her skin. He can see a few reddish purple marks blossoming on her skin. “Do they hurt?” he asks.

“No. They don’t ever really hurt unless I repeatedly hit that area.”

“I know. I’m just making sure.” He takes her spoon and scoops himself some of the peach mango sorbet.

“Hey!” she reprimands.

“I’m too lazy to get mine from downstairs. It’s too many steps.”

“It’s a flight and a half.”

“Still too many.” Harlowe finishes the last few spoonfuls, setting the bowl on the nightstand. Calum rolls his eyes. “I only wanted the one spoonful.” As they settle back on the screen, Harlowe wraps one arm around her stomach. Something feels different. A good different.

Harlowe’s hands shake. She ought to take this pregnancy test. That’s the only way to know for sure. But she can’t do it. She reschedules her OBGYN appointment too. Until next week. Next week she’ll have her bearings together. Her head will be on straighter and she won’t be thinking about what the hell she and Calum are going to do with a newborn. They’ve long gotten rid of the diapers, and the cribs. Does she really have it in her to have another baby this late?

Instead of going to her OBGYN, she ends up buying tampons and more sorbet. It’s a light period, but still a period. She should’ve known that she wouldn’t have gotten pregnant again. Part of her feels like an idiot for even thinking it was a possibility. Doctor’s told her chances would be slim. So why think that she would the special case?

Calum knocks on the bedroom door. After work, Harlowe mentioned being exhausted, so she took a nap. “Babe, dinner’s ready,” he says softly shaking her awake. Harlowe stretches after sitting up. Calum looks at his wife. She’s mentioned being tired most days. Her appetite isn’t much of a strange from normal, though the last few weeks she’s been extra sensitive about the smeell of seafood. The same thing when she was pregnant with Esha.

“You ought to go to that appointment, babe.”

“For them to tell me I’m broken. I know that already.”

“Maybe you aren’t. But you can’t stand the smell of seafood anymore, you’re craving nuts again. You’re tired. I think you might be pregnant.” He doesn’t want to talk to loudly, doesn’t want to give himself false hope. But the thought keeps nagging him. “You’re spotting as well. I don’t think they’re full on periods.”

Harlowe nods. Her silence speaks volumes. Calum doesn’t pushes it. He takes her hand and they walk downstairs to the dining room. “How was your nap?” Te Koha asks.

She kisses the top of his head. “Good, very good.” She settles in at the table next to Esha. She presses several kisses to her cheek.

“Mom,” Esha huffs. Calum sits across from her, watching the way she devours her dinner. Something is definitely up. Over the weekend, Calum steals a moment to call his mother. Joy warn him he has to do something even if it means dragging her to the office. On Tuesdays, Harlowe’s classes are finished early. So he knows he has to schedule it then, but he feels horrible forcing her. Joy, on the other hand, does not feel the same way.

Her office hours through, Harlowe starts packing her backpack when a knocks rings out. The door opens and Joy pokes her head through. “Well, isn’t this a nice surprise,” Harlowe grins, walking over to embrace her mother-in-law.

“I needed some help with something and figured I’d pop by to see if you were free.”

“Yeah classes are done, but Calum was coming to pick me up,” Harlowe states. “Let me call him, he might even be in the parking lot.”

“I didn’t see his car. But I’m not sure where he parked though.”

Harlowe gathers the last of her things and pulls out her phone. Calum answers on the second ring. “Hey, I’m leaving now. I know I’m late. Got hung up in the studio.”

“Hey. Don’t worry. Your mom’s here. She needs help. I’m going to go with her.”

“Okay. Tell her I said hi.”

“Calum says hi,” Harlowe relays moving the phone. Joy grins.

“So sorry again, babe. Lost track of time. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay. The kids catch the bus, so it’s all good.” They hang up shortly after and the two woman start towards the parking lot. Joy watches Harlowe closely as they walk to the car. She can feel it; Harlowe’s pregnant again. She’s not sure if it scares Harlowe to have another child and that’s why she refuses to believe it. But whatever the case it is, clearly the woman knows something is up. She avoids deli meats, she doesn’t drink alcohol, has quit caffeine all together, everything she should be doing in pregnancy. She knows. But why does she not believe?

During the ride, Harlowe notes the strange route. But feels a bit rude questioning Joy. When they pull up in front of the small beige brick building, Harlowe sighs. “I should’ve figured.”

“You need to know. It’s been nearing what ten, eleven weeks at this point? You’re starting to show.”

Harlowe snaps her head over to the older woman. “Show? I’m two ounces short of being a keg. I am not showing; it’s not baby fat.”

A soft grin plays over Joy’s lips, all too similar to Calum’s. She doesn’t mean weight wise. It’s written across the glow in her skin. She is showing without even realizing. “Then let’s find out, yeah?” The women climb out of the car and Joy takes Harlowe’s hand. “I know. You are pregnant though.”

It’s not nerve wrecking when she signs in her appointment. It’s not nerve wrecking waiting for the nurse to call her back. Harlowe doesn’t have nerve, listing the symptoms. It’s only when they break out the sheet to protect her skirt that the nerves start. Harlowe clutches Joy’s hand when they doctor slips on the gloves. She is pregnant. She knows it. She just didn’t want to be wrong. She couldn’t stand the thought that she the test would come back negative. That all those things were just her brain thinking, wanting a baby so bad, it played this trick on her. Harlowe stares up at the ceiling. She can’t bare to watch a blank screen.

Thump-thump, thump-thump echoes around the room. Harlowe’s eyes sting with tears. That’s all she needs to hear. “Call Calum, please?” she cries to Joy. “Please. He needs to hear. Can she please call my husband?”

The doctor grins and a nurse exits the room. “Give us one moment, okay?”

Harlowe wipes her tears, staring at the monitor. The door creaks open again. She turns to the sound to see Calum. He walks far enough inside and have the door close, but the heartbeat echoing makes him stop. That’s his baby’s heartbeat. Tears slip down his cheek and Harlowe laughs. “God, we’re both a hot mess of tears.”

“You’re pregnant?” he breathes.

She nods, the stiff paper of the bed crinkles under her movement. “I am. That’s our baby.”

Calum rushes over, burying his face into her shoulder. His tears are hot even through the cotton off her t-shirt. Inhaling deeply, Calum looks to the screen again. That’s his baby. His miracle, his next little one. The joy coursing through his veins lights his bones on fire. Though the late nights are tortuous, and changing diapers are not ideal again, after nearly seven years of not having to do it, he is fucking ecstatic.

Harlowe has been dying for a third baby and he wanted nothing more than to give that to her. It was out of his hands, it was up to the numbers, gods, and chances. But he prayed for it, he begged to the high heavens to give this to her. She needed a good thing in her corner after her long battle. He knew she didn’t take him for granted, but there’s nothing quite like knowing something is sort of within reach and never being able to reach it. Until now.

Calum turns his gaze, though blurry and watery, down to Harlowe. He wraps an arm around her hair and head, kissing her forehead repeatedly. “I love you,” he breathes into her skin. “And this baby.”

Harlowe holds to his bicep, pressing her face into the flesh and dense muscle. “I love you too. I’m so sorry I didn’t go sooner. I am so fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay. You were smart about your diet. You knew. And now you can believe it. It’s okay. I’m here.”

“But what if I wasn’t. What if I fucked up.”

“Then it would be a mistake. One among a lifetime of many. We would’ve handled whatever came our way, together. Right?”

“Always together.”

Back in the car, Harlowe hold the print out of the sonogram, gently rubbing her fingers over it. She was smart and Calum would always be right by her side. “So, are we good on babies?” Calum asks.

“God, yes. No more, please.”

Calum laughs, grabbing her knee. “I have a consultation next week.”

They’ve weighed their options. Calum’s against her going in major surgery. Though Harlowe’s response is that a vasectomy is still surgery too. “What if I wasn’t pregnant?”

“Then I would’ve cancelled it, unless we were done trying.”

“Well, I’m done trying,” she laughs.

“Should I schedule before or after the birth?”

“Before,” she whispers. Though worry flashes through her veins, she feels like waiting won’t help her. She prays nothing happens in this pregnancy, but part of her is tired. If she’s not meant to have a third child, then she’s not meant to birth a third child. There are still other options.

“You’re worrying again. None of that. That’s our little one growing in you. It’s all going to be okay.”

She nods, though he can’t see it. It’ll all be okay.

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood fic #calum hood imagine #calum hood blurb #calum hood x black OC #calum 5sos #dad!cal #dad!cal series #dad!calum #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer imagine #h writes

18 notes · View notes

starfirette · 5 years ago

Text

Every Which Way: Chapter Three

The Way To Safety

➡️a/n: CUIDADO! This chapter contains violence on the same level as the Mandalorian tv series.

➡️ prev chapters found on masterlist

➡️ Included original characters: Wendi Q’ohl + Ryder Vizsla

➡️ JOIN THE TAGLIST | VIEW SCHEDULE | >> CONTINUE ! <<

Din does not want to speak with you.

The days go by slowly and almost painfully. You have no friends in the covert besides Paz, and Paz is, if anything, your tutor. Conversations rarely extend beyond the hour long lessons he gives you each night. He doesnt’t have much time to give you outside of that as he sleeps during the day then stands guard during the night. Your hourly sessions are carved out of his meticulous schedule to begin with, so interaction with him is all routine. You are thankful for him, though.

WIthout him, you’d be going insane.

There isn’t anything for you to do aside from practice your letters and general literacy. It’s a pain, honestly, but Paz’s methods make it easier. Sounding out each letter takes time on its own, but having a pre-established vocabulary does help a little. Overall, you’ve adjusted to your new lifestyle.

You’d gone a week without seeing Din. You tried to get messages to him via Gold but she had just as much knowledge of his whereabouts as you. According to her, Din often times goes out to track bounties. His position in the covert is a bit vague, but most of his earnings go to the covert. He funds foundlings and repairs to the tunnel. The more foundlings rescued, the more rooms need to be built, the more armor needs to be built; it’s always difficult to tell when he’ll be back. From what you’ve heard, bounties can take several weeks. And Din, being as skilled as he is, tends to take on the most difficult bounties out there.

Life among the covert is deafening; you are not one of them, not really. Paz goes out of his way to invite you to the meetings in the main hall. Gold does as much as she can by answering all of your questions concerning your new life and the covert’s ‘Way”. You don’t officially understand everything. Not even close.

What you know so far is Mandalorians are extremely reclusive. You’ve never seen any of them without their helmet or weapon of choice. They never eat with anyone. The closest they get to that is filling up baskets with meat and cheese, then retreating to their rooms. Although strange, it’s nice to be alone in the gathering hall in the dead middle of night, nibbling at the cheese and berries in the dark.

Among being reclusive, they are also loyal. Their creed depends on loyalty. No one does anything that can betray the covert.

You are sure that’s the only reason you’re remaining there. Several Mandalorians have made their feelings about you clear, such as Ryder and Wendi. Ryder is rude, overall. As for Wendi, she has her moments. She pretty much ignores you majority of the time, though she can be surprising. She’ll check up on you time to time, asking you blandly if you’d want to join the covert meetings; you know Gold had put her up to it, but still, she wasn’t too resigned.

Pressing matters always seemed to have her consumed in her angsty bubble. You yearned to know the gossip that lurked over the covert. You want to help. You also want to know the status of your life.

Aniri would no doubt have you listed as a fugitive.

Emelea being who she is would not easily give up losing you. Despite being a ‘lowly servant’ she feels threatened by the idea of someone escaping her ranks. You know that since Din essentially betrayed her, (in her eyes she would see it as a betrayal) she would be targetting every Mandalorian she could get her hands on.

The death of her brother would have driven her into a frenzy. She never seemed to care for Melv, but she and Riz were always inseperable.

Thinking of Melv, you become sad. Melv was the kindest of the entire family. He made points to fight for rights for the women and the peasant people of the village. He brought food to the punished maids and intervened in several, several execution attempts. You’d always hoped Melv would inherit the throne, but he was a weak young man. The weakest of the triplets, small and frail and soft spoken. The idea that Melv had been killed by his own brother did not shock you but it did break your heart. He did not deserve that.

He would have been a kind king.

You think of this as you shower in the early morning.

The shower stalls are seperated with thick screens so the girls can remove their helmets but also have friendly conversation with their friends. You opt out of the chatter; no one would want to talk to you anyways.

While you lather the soap into your hair, you can’t help but think of Din. You miss him. That is undeniable. You miss his looming presence. Your first days of true life were spent with him by your side, and now that he is gone, you feel lost.

As the warm water streams down your body you look at your hands. The true color of your skin is a blessing to be proud of. The shape of your body is something you are grateful to embrace.

You shouldn’t feel unhappy. You should feel glad and excited; as much as you’d like to credit that to adjusting solely, you know deep down it’s the lack of Din Djarren that is killing you.

Rinsing yourself of soap, you sigh. Life must carry on. Din Djarren would likely never be in your life again. You must go on without him. As painful as that feels you must accept it.

Drying off slowly is a luxury. You still roll in the happiness of being able to take your grand time doing whatever you want; sleeping as late as you want.

In your stall you pull on a long sleeved shirt and beige trousers that feel soft around your hips. Over your clothes you slide on the armor plates, and you then use your shirt to clean off the fingerprints.

Your wet hair gets pulled out of your face with hair clips Wendi had given to you (unwillingly).

Feeling clean and prepared to face the day, you leave the stall, ignoring the chattering of the Mandalorian young girls and women around you.

In the hall you wander, thinking. You’ve learned a new word from Paz, and it’s contemplation. It’s thinking but maximised. You contemplate all the cornerstones of your new life you are trying to build. There has been no outcome so far. Aniri did publish you as a fugitive to the galaxy but that had been several days ago. Din Djarren was safe from the slander. Under his guild code he was protected. His identity is essentially unknown beyond the covert. Given that you were not the bounty in question, he hadn’t done anything wrong--by the guild’s standards. This would not matter if Mandalorians were not in a negative, pre-coined light. The Empire wants cooperation from everyone. As far as you know, the covert here has no intentions of cooperating.

You don’t know much about the war, or the Empire, or about anything. You gathered over the week here that Mandalorians are in hiding and don’t like ‘Imperial Scum.’

You suspect they are housing you partially to get under the Empire’s skin.

Contemplation. It’s tiring.

Given you can only stroll through the tunnel, you do so, walking the lengths a few times before you abruptly run into Wendi.

You can feel her steely gaze past her helmet’s visor and you want to sink into the shadows. Ah, but you shouldn’t.

You raise your chin, trying to seem confident, and you ask her what she needs. She doesn’t stop you for pleasantries like chatting.

“Have you seen Paz?” she asks.

You hadn’t. “Not since last night,” you offered.

“Have you seen Ryder?” she followed up.

Repressing a shudder, you shake your head. “Ryder and I are not friends.” That would have to suffice her.

You, though, are not sufficed. “Why? Is something wrong?” You cared for Paz’s well being.

“Paz has not returned from his nightly watch,” Wendi says. She sounds gritty through her modulator. “You haven’t seen him at all? He didn’t...didn’t come to see you?”

You couldn’t contain a mask of confusion. “Why would he?” you wonder.

Wendi sighs, impatiently, and she shakes her hand dismissively. “Never mind.” She stomps away, the metal soles of her boots clattering against the cobblestone. You ran after her. Muddled by her confusing words, you struggled to speak. “What’s going on?” you asked.

“It’s none of your buisness,” Wendi sighed impatiently. She burst into the furnace, obviously going to the next best person, who was and always will be the Armorer.

“Nothing,” Wendi says exasperatedly.

Gold had been doing nothing, simply standing in front of her boiling pot with her hands folded behind her back. “I have not recieved any transmissions,” Gold says quietly.

“What’s happening?” you asked, loudly now.

With an irritated huff, Wendi turned to you. “Ryder and Paz are the nightwatch guards. They have not returned and they are meant to be back at dawn. Neither are responding to transmissions.”

“Then let’s go up to find them,” you say. “Wouldn’t that be best?”

Wendi scoffed. “Leave the work to us, girl.”

“Q’Ohl, k’uur,” Gold says coaxingly. “Y/n. I implore you for help.”

You’re stunned. With burning ears, you looked to Gold with wide eyes. “How could I help?”

“There has always been one rule here,” Gold explained. “Not to leave the tunnel. This rule applies to everyone. The covert is in hiding, so we may only leave here a few at a time. A group of even three Mandalorians attracts attention. The only ones who are ever in then out are Din, Ryder, and Paz. Din is gone. Ryder and Paz have not returned from the nightwatch. I suggest you and Wendi both go above ground to search. A single Mandalorian with a normal woman would not raise many questions.”

A sound of frustration passed through Wendi’s modulator. “If that is your official advice, I will take it,” she said finally. Though I will take it with reluctance. The silent words hung over your head like a spider dangling on its web. “Will weapons be required?” Wendi asked.

“Take the bare minimum,” Gold instructed. She passed by to open her safe of weaponry. To you she offered a leather belt that strapped around your hips and to your thighs. “This is,” she says while handing you a small gun, “a blaster. The side clip is the safety. Seeing the orange means it is on. Point and shoot. Blasters are realtively easy to aim with. This particular blaster fires plasma shots, which will strike and splatter onto your opponent.”

You hesitantly attatched the blaster to a holster on your right hip.

“This,” Gold says again, “Is a besbev.”

You stared at what she held. You lifted your eyebrows. “A...a flute?”

Gold twirled the instrument in hand, showing to you the opposite edge. “See, now?”

See, you did; the opposite end had a razor sharp blade. “This will be a weapon in hiding. It’s perfectly safe and normal looking, considering it is a real instrument. Use it the way you would use a blade.”

You slip the flute into the holster that runs down the outside of your thigh.

“You’re giving her the-! Fine. Y/n, let’s leave now.” Wendi snapped as she grabbed a larger blaster and sword from the weapons locker.

You felt a bit on edge with your arsonal of weapons now on your body. “Y/n, you will be alright,” Gold says when she notices your discomfort. “I have one more weapon for you.”

She returns to the locker and sifts about. She reveals a long knife with a smooth hilt. It curves out and you grasp it weakly. “The beskad,” Gold says. “A traditional Mandalorian weapon. Quite literal in its use. I made it myself, out of pure beskar. The end of the hilt has a hidden compartment,” she explains, tapping the underside, “with a line of what we call whistling birds. The side button,” she then says, gesturing to the frog of the hilt, “activates the stream. Aim the underside of the handle towards the opponent and double tap the button. Whistling birds are rare but effective. This beskad is yours to keep. Use the birds wisely.”

You nod. “Thank you,” you say before sheathing the beskad in your inner thigh holster.

“This is the Way,” Gold says.

You nod, taking a breath. “This is the Way,” you repeat, softly. You follow after Wendi.

Wendi leads you to the exit of the tunnel. You’d been here with Din, who had put his arm around you to guide you through the darkness. Your eyes have since adjusted to the dim lighting underground and you stepped over the loose rocks that were scattered across the ground.

Emerging into the sunlight hurts your eyes. You winced, averting your gaze from the sky. It smelled of early morning and the aftermath of a storm. Despite the desert and lack of complete greenery, you could still pick out the scent of rainwater.

“Where do we start?” you asked Wendi.

“We’ll have to split up,” Wendi said. She looked around the alley way for a moment, no doubt ‘contemplating’ her plan. “Yell for help if you need it,” she says in a flat tone. “I’ll hear you.”

With that not-so comforting promise in mind, you split up from Wendi. Venturing around the city alone is thrilling.

You’re not sure where to look, or even who you should be trying to avoid. Troopers are lurking around with blasters in hand, but they’re occupied and distracted by their own conversations. Easy enough. Maybe.

You lurked about, making sure to duck into alley ways as you keep your eyes peeled for any Mandalorian.

The thumping of your heart sets the tempo for your steps. You race around and search. Should you call for them? Should you regroup with Wendi?

Just as you consider doing it, something crinkles behind you.

A stormtrooper has approached you. You freeze under the pressure of his gaze.

“Hey,” he said. His modulator is different sounding. It’s unfamiliar and terrifying. “Can I see some identification?”

“I don’t have a card,” you say, trying not to tremble.

“Can I get a name?” he tried.

“Melvanna Weslyn,” you stuttered out. The queen had been the first name that came to mind, but you’d deviated. Melvanne somehow deviated into Melvanna and you couldn’t really tell how. “You lookin’ for something, Anna?” the trooper asked.

“M-my husband,” you stumbled over the words. “Late night...he never came home. Drunk, I think. “

“Which bar?”

“Dunno. We live out on a farm. He comes in town occasionally, so I don’t know his usual spots.”

The trooper tapped his comlink and put in an information request on your husband, Riz. Again, that had been the first name that came to mind.

You thanked the trooper, trying not to show how anxious you are. You’ve become dreadfully aware of the weight of your weapons on your legs.

“Come with me, ma’am, I’ll help you look.” The trooper didn’t seem like he would take no for an answer.

You followed him; you are nervous that he would spontaneously be able to read your thoughts.

You took note of all his armor, the white sheen and the rifle on his back. You don’t know how to fight. You don’t know how you will fight him off. You don’t know how you will resist him taking you prisoner.

Every alley is empty, every building cleared.

“Sorry, ma’am,” the trooper says finally after you have both scoured the entire village. “Good luck.”

You bowed your head. “Thanks for your help.” You turned to scurry away. You had almost gotten away with it before the trooper grabbed you by the wrist, holding you from leaving. “Whatcha’ got there?” he asked.

You grimmaced.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, feigning confusion.

“The blade,” he says, pointing to your inner holster. “That real beskar?”

“What’s beskar?” you asked. That might have been a mistake because the trooper reached for cuffs from his belt. “You have any information on the whereabouts of a Mandalorian covert?”

“No, sir. Why, sir?”

“Imperial higer ups want to know,” the trooper said with a shrug. “You sure? You’ll be rewarded for any information. Where’d you get the beskar, lady?”

You shrugged back. “Gift from my husband. I’m only looking for my husband. Sorry, sir.”

The trooper sighed, but relented. He set the cuffs back on his waist. “Have a good day, ma’am.”

You sighed a heavy breath of relief when he left your line of view. You collapsed against a wall of an alleyway, still heaving from your chest. Goodness.

How curiously abnormal your day has been! More like your entire week, actually.

You rubbed your chest, trying to coax your heart into settling down.

Veering out of the alley you searched for a new place to look. But a shriek tore your throat as a set of hands grabbed you by the waist. You’re being yanked back into the alley while you thrash; you grabbed for your flute and fumbled with it in your hand.

“Hey,” a voice hissed in your ear. “It’s me.”

You fell back into the grip of Din who had arrived from nowhere. You turned to look at him. The flute nearly slippe from your hand, but Din caught it. He gripped the flute and pressed it into your palm, wrapping your fingers around it. “Curve your wrist like this,” Din instructed as he made the motion for you, his bare hands adjusting your form. “Aim here,” Mando then said as he guided your hand to his torso. The blade of the flute knicked his armored plates with a squeal that phurt your ears.

“Where have you been?” You gasped. Your hands curled into fists against his chest. “You’ve been gone.” I’ve missed you, you want to say. I missed you every day this week.

“Bounties don’t catch themselves,” Din said softly, trying to make you laugh. You didn’t. You wrench away from him and sheathe the flute at your side. With a burning face you stuttered a goodbye before turning to run away.

Din caught your wrist before you could depart.

His hands are bare, and warm, and calloused. “Why,” he says in a low voice, “are you out?”

You yanked your wrist back. “Paz and Ryder are missing. You were missing.”

“You’re meant to stay with the covert,” Din said carefully. “I’ll take you back.”

You stumbled over your feet as you moved back. “No,” you said sternly. “I’m not leaving until Paz is back.”

“Paz?” Din repeated; his teeth snapped shut, a sound you could hear dimly through the beskar. You frown at his reaction.

“So you’ve met Paz,” Din muttered to himself. He cast his gaze to the ground. Overwhelmed with frustration, you lifted your chin high. “Yes,” you snipped. “You cannot attempt to—to have a say in my social life when you’ve been gone the entire week I’ve known you.”

“It’s been a week,” Din insisted, “and I always intended on coming back.”

Your frown deepens. “Why should it matter? You said no attachments.”

“I said I’m not a good person to be attached to,” Din corrected. His shoulders squared out as he leaned over you, visor tilted down to peer into your eyes. “I never said we shouldn’t become attached.”

With trembling lips, you turned away. “What do you want, then? What is ‘attachment’ to you?”

You’d been dying to know since that first night he spoke to you.

“That’s just why I am sorry. I’m not a good person to become attached to.”

“It’s not an option for us,” Din snapped. “Go back to the covert and stay put.”

“No,” you snapped back, teeth clenched tight. “I’m looking for my friend.”

“Who let you go?” Din demanded.

“The Armorer sent me,” you replied. You felt a sense of victory when Din failed to say anything to that. “I came with Wendi, but she said we ought to split up.”

Hearing this, Din balled his fists up tight. “Wendi left you,” he seethed. “You’re going back now.”

“I am not!” you yelled.

It frightened you to hear your voice raised so loud. The chance to stand your ground had finally come and you were not going to let it pass you by. With taught brows, you said again, “I’m looking for Paz and Ryder.”

Din caught your wrist, holding onto you tightly. “It’s unsafe.”

“Let go of me!” You screeched as you tried to free yourself. His grip is like iron. He does not yield while you make a show of struggle.

“You can’t even get away from me,” Din mutters. “I’m staying with you.”

He released your hand. You stumbled back, dirt kicking around your boots. “Fine,” you hissed.

Standing under the blazing sun you and Din stared at each other for a long moment. Silent. It felt like a challenge which you eventually came to lose; the weight of his eyes, while they are unseen, is too much to bear. You flushed down to your neck; breaking the stare, you looked for a lame excuse to readjust your holster.

“You have weapons,” Din noted. You scowled through your sweat. “An exceptional discovery,” you snap. “The Armorer gave them to me.”

“And you know how to use them?” Din asked.

You paused before answering. “I know the general premise of how to use them,” you finally allowed. Let’s see where he can go with that one.

You heard the beginnings of a retort break through his modulator; cutting him off mid word was a distant, though loud, explosion. Your heart dropped into your stomach like a stone in water. You whirled around, searching for the source.

Running into the main square you look all around the sky for smoke, fire, anything that would be an Anirian sign.

“Would that be them?” you asked.

“Paz? Maybe not. Ryder? Possibly.”

Following Din‘s sprint left you wheezing. At the side of a speed bike did Din stop. He straddled the seat and looked over his shoulder, waiting for you.

Furious, you mounted the seat behind him. You wrapped your arms around his torso, wishing you could yell at him some more as the bike sped out of the village.

You kept your face tucked into his cape, a bruise forming on your forehead as the bike flew by sand dunes. You held on for your literal life. A fall from the bike at such a speed, even onto sand, would no doubt hurt like nothing you’ve ever felt.

When you dared to peek up, you could see a small battle taking course in the distant of the desert. Figures bobbed back and forth under the blaring sun. Echoes of blasters bounced around the caverns and canyons Din’s bike began to approach. Half a mile from the fight, Din stopped the bike and spun to look at you, holding you by the shoulder. “Stay here,” Din shouted over the brawl.

Nothing could escape you aside the measly “Alright” you squeaked.

The upclose gunfire and wrestling brought you to a memory that felt distant but had been not even ten days ago. Din rescued a servant girl and ran with her from a similar scene: court guardians and guns. Now you saw three Mandalorians in the midst of a fight rather than one.

Trembling, you reached for your blaster. Aim and shoot. Aim and shoot.

Plasma. It’s only plasma. It would hit the target more or less. It would.

You darted forward, pushing through the thick sands. The recoil of each shot you fired hurt in the joint of your shoulder but you fought past it. You shot roughly four times before taking down a single court guardian. In the back of your mind you wondered if it was murder. Perhaps you’d taken a life.

Perhaps you’d care later.

You don’t really think much of it in the blurring moment.

Once you’d been registered by the other guardians as a threat, more approached you.

You see Paz’s armor dart forward and tackle a guardian to the ground. You urged yourself to keep pointing and shooting. It was working, to your complete shock. A shot ricocheted past Paz and into the back of a man that had been wrestling with Din. You hoped Din would thank you for that later.

Raising your hand again to shoot another guardian left you defenseless-you’d been swept up in the adrenaline and hadn’t noticed a man creeping up behind you. Grabbing you by the torso he tugged you into his back, hugging your arms so they got pinned to your sides.

You fearfully shot the blaster. It burned into the guardian’s foot and he howled in pain. You grabbed the besbev and twirled it twixt your fingers. With as much strength as you could summon, you thrusted the blade of the besbev into the guardian. He scattered back, landing into the sand with a thud. You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t see the blood that bloomed over his uniform, not because you couldn’t handle it, but because you feared you’d want to do more.

A part of you yearned to get the ultimate revenge on every Anirian you could find. Keeping that piece of yourself in check is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do in your life.

The fight stuttered to a halt as the remaining men (including you) held one another at gunpoint. Three Mandalorians and a servant girl had cleared a swarm of 12 court guardians into five.

Din stormed your way in an instant, pushing you behind him while your arms shook with pain, desperate to keep your blaster up and aimed.

“I see we’ve reached the point of negotiation,” a guardian says. The wind whistles in your ears. The surreal scene couldn’t register in your brain. Half of you wanted to run and never look back; another half wanted to kill and maim.

“There will be no negotiation,” Paz declares. “The lady stays with us.”

“That girl is property of the Anirian council,” a guardian says. “She is property of the Empire.”

“Not anymore,” Ryder snarled.

“She bears no beskar helmet,” another guardian points out. “You have no claim to her.”

“The woman is mine,” Din boomed. “She isn’t going anywhere.”

“The law says-”

“We’ll take her by means of the law,” Paz cut in smoothly. “She’ll stay with us, fairly. This does not have to end in bloodshed.”

“How do you intend on keeping her?” a guardian spats. “She is a fugitive of the planet Aniri. If she cannot be aprehended in twenty four more hours, the law says she must be killed.”

“Let’s kill her now,” a different guardian sneers. “A servant girl like her has already been defiled. There’s no reedming an indecent whore.”

BANG.

You flinched, a gasp wrenching in your gut.

Din’s gun had shot four shots in a matter of a second. Four of the five court guardians collapsed into the sand. You hadn’t realized how quick it had been until Din spoke a moment later. “Send the word back to your people that Y/n will not be returning,” he instructed. “Or, you can be killed. Here and now.”

The final guardian raised his arms above his head, clearly as stunned as you were. “I require,” the guardian fumbled over his words, “proof of ownership or citizenship within twenty four hours. If this is not delievered, more will come for her.”

The three Mandalorians exchanged a glance. They all had their own way of communication. You couldn’t even understand what was going on in their heads.

Ryder jutted his chin. “Walk over here, slowly.”

“Drop the blaster,” Paz added.

The guardian dropped the blaster in the sand. You stared in shock as the guardian got cuffed by Paz.

“Take Y/n back,” Paz said, careful to leave out specific details. “We will reconvene tonight, Djarren.”

Din nodded.

Paz and Ryder took the court guardian in their large grip and pushed him forward to walk. Your jaw had dropped when you were escorted back to the speed bike by Din.

“You...how did you do that?” you guffaw. The four men dropped like rain in a split second, right before your eyes.

“Get on the bike,” Din instructed as he mounted.

As you shyly wrapped your arms around his waist, Din said something so softly you almost missed it before the bike sped back towards the village. “I had to keep you safe.”

>>next chapter

50 notes · View notes

chronicallyhaughty · 5 years ago

Text

I just love being with you

@ricky-toffee WELP. This... took a while. Ironically this was mainly because I fell in love with the prompt, lol. But here, have almost 3k words of me loving demons loving each other.

[Genyatta, AO3, Ko-fi]

———————————————

The plot of land is small, but it has everything Zenyatta needs. The little orchard he tends barely qualifies for the name, being more a copse of apple trees, but the apples they produce have an unusual sweetness. His blatant interest in the apples the moment Ingrid offered him one to try when he first came to look at the house must have been what convinced the Lindholms to allow him to purchase the house.

Like most of the other houses on the surrounding islands, the cottage Zenyatta has called home for the past three years is a deep red with bright white corners, and simple black shingles cover the roof. With help from his neighbours, he has renovated it piece by piece until it is very much his own.

It is a one floor building with an attic best suited for storage instead of people, but Zenyatta has considered preparing the space for year-round habitation. There is a brick chimney for the open fireplace in the living room – that would help keep the attic warm in the colder months, as it does for the bedroom – and the room is traditionally furnished with sheepskins and wooden sofas that double as additional storage.

The back of the fireplace juts into the bedroom, helping the radiators keep the whole house warm during the colder months. The solar panels on the roof provide enough power for lights and even hot water for the shower, in moderation. In the winter months he boils water on the kitchen wood stove for the dishes and laundry, and walks or skates across the ice to shower at the Lindholm’s house.

The island is small, just under ten acres, and pine trees take up most of it. He has a small dock and a rowboat with a motor that he rarely bothers to install, much less use. It is not a long trip over to his neighbours, after all, and he enjoys the exercise. Beside the house there is a root cellar, a garden shed with an open section for firewood, and a hammock he has set up between two of the sturdier apple trees. The wildflowers and rose bushes, strawberries and raspberries thrive, and the floor of the pine forest, small as it is, is covered in bilberries and lingonberries.

He has placed a little fox statue by the door, for protection and good luck.

This particular day has been spent picking berries in the forest, and as afternoon turns to evening he’s just putting on a pot of coffee to go with the bilberry pie he baked, when there is a knock on the door.

Now, a knock on the door wouldn’t be alarming for most people, but, well. Zenyatta happens to be the only occupant on this island. The only visitors he usually receives are the Lindholms, and they usually call ahead, or at the very least announce their presence with the engine on their skiff.

There has been no rumble of an engine tonight.

The knock comes again, and Zenyatta hums to himself, “’Tis some visitor, nothing more,” and goes to open the door.

Beyond the door stands a man. Perhaps. Many minute details about this man tell Zenyatta that there is more to him than what meets the untrained eye, like the way he holds himself, the way he quickly glances over the hall before finally settling on Zenyatta.

“Can I help you?” Zenyatta asks regardless, because he has manners.

“I saw the light on, decided to come say hello.” The man smiles winningly at him. For a second he glances down to the dock where only his own boat lies at rest, considers calling out the absurdity of that statement, but, then again… Zenyatta smiles back, enjoying the swiftly disguised surprise on the other’s face.

“Well, do come in. I just put on some coffee, in case of an unexpected visit. How fortuitous!”

Should the man prove troublesome, Zenyatta is confident he can handle it. Should he bring no trouble, well, then he will have made a new friend.

“Sugar? Milk?” Zenyatta checks the oven. “Pie?”

At that, the man, who had been casting his eyes about Zenyatta’s home with interest, visibly perks up and focuses on the kitchen.

“Yes! To all three. Please,” tacked on almost as an afterthought. Zenyatta doesn’t mind, letting the man admire the cornflower blue cupboards as he goes about fetching another cup, plate, and dessert fork.

“I believe that in our excitement we forgot to make introductions,” he remarks as he puts on oven mitts and carefully extracts the pie. “I am Zenyatta. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Genji, and likewise. Man, that smells amazing.” Genji is suddenly nearly right on top of Zenyatta, looking over his shoulder at the pie. Zenyatta hadn’t even heard him move. He gestures at the plates next to the pie tin.

“Guests first.”

—————

“There’s something about you,” Genji says through a mouthful of bilberry pie. It is nice to have his cooking appreciated. “You are far from home, I think.”

“And you are not?” Zenyatta retorts, and Genji laughs, not answering. A true enigma.

Together, they manage to demolish half the pie in between hours of conversation, until Zenyatta glances outside to find it pitch black.

“Oh dear, it has gotten so late already. Can you find your way in the dark?” Genji begins to say something but cuts himself off when Zenyatta continues. “Or perhaps it would be safer for you to spend the night?”

“Well, well…” he leers, and then, “Hey! Safer? I’ll have you know that you’re the one who’d be safer if I spent the night!”

“Be that as it may, I will prepare a place for you to sleep, then,” Zenyatta laughs, and again at Genji’s exaggerated pout when he realises that this place won’t be Zenyatta’s bed.

He quickly gathers bedclothes and extra sweatpants for his guest, forgoing a shirt as none will fit. He keeps a mattress inside the storage compartment of one of the wooden couches, and easily sets it up with the linen and pillow and duvet on the living room floor. Genji shamelessly changes right there in the living room, but Zenyatta only laughs. His enthusiasm certainly is charming.

“Good night, Genji,” he says at the door, smiling down at the man wrapped up before the fireplace.

“Night, Zen,” Genji murmurs. The door closes softly between them, and Zenyatta meets the eyes of the little jade fox figurine on his dresser.

It doesn’t move, of course. It is only jade. But it still reassures him that the night will pass peacefully.

—————

“I swear I heard a scream in the night,” Genji says at breakfast. He’s certainly putting away cheese toast like he’s unbothered by it.

“It might have been a deer or a fox. Their calls can sound eerie if you haven’t heard them before.”

“Yeah, maybe. Or maybe it was a ghost.” Genji grins at him, and Zenyatta can’t help but laugh.

After breakfast, they go for a walk around the little island, Genji making faces at the sour lingonberries and threatening to throw Zenyatta into the sea when he laughs at him. They get back just in time for Zenyatta to hear the Lindholm’s outboard engine start up.

Genji loses some of his good humor as he helps Zenyatta fill two baskets with jars of apple jam from the root cellar, and plops down into the hammock as Brigitte berths.

By the time Zenyatta has helped her fasten the skiff and asked how her family is doing, Genji is on his phone, playing some game by the sound of it. Brigitte startles when she spots him.

“Brigitte, this is Genji.”

“Oh, um. Hello!”

Zenyatta can practically see the cogs turning in her head, how there’s only Zenyatta’s little boat at the dock beside her family’s skiff, how any visitor reasonably would have to pass by the grocery and mechanic shop her family runs, but this man definitely hasn’t – at least one of the many Lindholm children would have noticed a boat coming or going, and they surely would have made a ruckus.

Genji doesn’t even bother to look up from his phone when he says, “yo.”

She shoots Zenyatta a curious look, to which he can only shrug. He honestly still isn’t sure how Genji got here, either.

“Well, I won’t intrude too long,” she says, easily picking up the two baskets full of apple jam, heavy though they are.

“Good,” Genji mutters, loud enough to be heard. Zenyatta stiffens.

“Be safe, Brigitte. And let Ingrid know that the roses she gave me seem to be coming along wonderfully,” Zenyatta says, louder than intended, as he accompanies her to the dock, keeping the skiff steady as she gets on with her cargo. Brigitte gives him a sympathetic smile and a cheery tack! before she cranks the outboard engine awake on the second pull and expertly navigates the little boat back to the larger island.

It takes some doing to irritate Zenyatta, but even he has his limits.

“Finally,” Genji grumbles.

“That was unnecessary.”

“Her visiting? Yeah.”

“Your rudeness.”

At this Genji deigns to look up from his phone, clearly startled. Zenyatta takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly.

“Do as you please, I suppose.” Zenyatta puts his sunhat back on. Trimming the beautiful roses Brigitte’s mother so kindly shared with him earlier this year sounds like an excellent activity to focus the mind and calm it down.

Zenyatta is almost embarrassed at his outburst. While Genji certainly has acted a bit spoiled, Zenyatta still feels somewhat betrayed. He’s known Brigitte for three years, for goodness sake, and Genji for mere hours. Why would he act like this? As though he is entitled to all of Zenyatta’s time and attention. Bizarre.

He busies himself with checking over the vibrantly pink roses climbing the lattice by the kitchen window, childishly ignoring Genji while his temper is still simmering. There is no need to react when he’s like this. He will calm down and they will discuss what happened. In a while.

He loses himself in gardening, finding almost meditative calm in the work, until a strange shadow passes over his flowers, breaking his concentration. He looks up to find Genji on the roof, for some reason. Once he notices Zenyatta’s eyes on him he easily jumps down, landing heavily but rising unharmed.

“I, uh. I fixed the shingles. Some of them looked like they were about to fall off.”

He’s rubbing the back of his neck, head bowed and eyes elusive. Zenyatta politely doesn’t mention the abnormally deep grooves Genji left when he jumped down.

“Thank you, that was very kind.”

“I’m sorry,” he bursts out, looking like it confuses him a little bit to say it.

“You do not need to repay me, not for the food nor the bed, and while I appreciate the apology, I am not the one who was slighted,” Zenyatta says, meaningfully.

“I know,” Genji grumbles, but he’s fighting a smile. Like a puppy, he’s excited to get approval.

“But, if you’re bored, you can always help tend the strawberries.”

“Sure! What do I do?”

—————

“Why don’t you just buy food? This seems like a lot of work,” Genji interrupts as Zenyatta is explaining how to recognise a weed. Not rudely, per se, more out of genuine interest in the answer.

“It is rewarding work. And besides, someone has to do it somewhere.”

“Doesn’t have to be you,” Genji shrugs. Zenyatta gets the sense that whoever Genji is, or was, many things have been handed to him on a silver platter.

“I enjoy the work. It is strenuous at times, but helping something grow? That is a wonderful thing.” Zenyatta is happy to explain. Genji looks thoughtful, and pays close attention to the rest of Zenyatta’s instructions.

There is something deeply endearing about Genji’s intense concentration as he shuffles around in the dirt, muttering the name of each plant and weed to himself as he checks one and removes the other. Zenyatta can’t help but smile as he watches Genji nurture, in slightly too small dungarees that Zenyatta isn’t even sure where he got. Maybe Ingrid? They look almost comedic with how short in the legs they are, and they stretch to a worrying degree over Genji’s thighs. Yes, quite the tight fit…

Genji swears loud and sudden, slapping at a mosquito, and Zenyatta rips his gaze from his houseguest’s shapely behind before he’s caught looking.

“Man, that bug would have regretted everything if it had gotten any of my blood,” Genji laughs, turning his head to grin up at Zenyatta. Zenyatta makes a split second decision.

“Why?” he asks.

Genji blinks up at him, opening his mouth, then closing it again. Zenyatta looks back at him evenly.

When no words seem immediately forthcoming, he raises an eyebrow.

“What gave me away?” Genji asks, and Zenyatta has to slap a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing at him.

“You literally just implied– oh, Genji,” he does laugh a little, he can’t help it. Genji looks so put out by Zenyatta having figured him out, even a little bit. “You show up out of nowhere, at a very unlikely location, eat like a horse–”

“Hey!”

“–and expect me not to figure out that something is going on?”

“In my defense, most people don’t even want to consider the possibility of… supernatural things.” Genji flaps a hand, indicating said supernatural things.

“You’re not wrong,” Zenyatta allows. Genji gets to his feet, clasps his hands, unclasps them, goes to put them into his pockets before realising it’s too tight a fit, instead leaving his hands to rest limp on his thighs. The very picture of nervousness.

“I don’t mind,” Zenyatta continues belatedly. “That you are… whatever you are.”

“You don’t even know what, exactly, I am. I’m, Zen, I’m not… a good creature.”

“Arbitrary.” Zenyatta surprises both of them with the sharp word. “Good is an act, not a state of being. You have done nothing but good things here.”

“But I…”

“Even humans have spats from time to time. It is how you react to the disagreement that truly defines you.” Zenyatta softens. “You apologised. That says more about your character than your classification does.”

A beat passes.

“You’re right.” Genji nods to himself, then again, more determined. “Hey, Zen. Wanna see something cool?”

Zenyatta makes a gesture as if to say, the floor is yours, and Genji grins, boyish and excited to show off.

Then he flicks his pants open, and drops them.

Before Zenyatta can react to that, Genji’s now boxer and t-shirt clad frame starts to change. His already muscular form grows even more imposing, fabric stretching to the point of near tearing, and his skin darkens to a mild greyish color, decorated by red markings. Horns in that same dull red sprout from his forehead, and his teeth lengthen to fangs. He grows at least thirty centimetres taller.

Transformation complete, he cracks his neck, practically oozing self-confidence.

“Like what you see?” he asks, flirtation even more evident than previously.

Zenyatta looks him over. He does like what he sees. And now that he knows what Genji is – an oni, unless he’s forgotten everything his mother ever taught him – well, is there any harm in indulging?

Genji leans in, towering over Zenyatta in this form, grin decidedly shit eating.

“Well?”

Zenyatta hums, contemplative, before smiling back.

“Well, show me what you’ve got.”

—————

Zenyatta sits up properly and stretches with a groan. He certainly tries to stay active and fit, but during the cold winter months his options are limited and some of his musculature tends to slip. It is always a bit of work to build it up again in the warmer months. But he seems to have managed adequately this year.

Genji is breathing heavy, face turned to the side as he’s on his front. The pillow is torn, likely thanks to Genji’s fangs and claws. Zenyatta lets the purple bruises littering that grey tinted neck and shoulders soothe any irritation he may have felt at that.

As he rises, suddenly starving, the oni whines pathetically, rubbing his face against what remains of the ripped pillow.

“Zenya, I can’t get up.” Zenyatta laughs at him and finds his underwear. Perseverance in the face of opposition is a virtue.

The fire in the stove is only embers, but they rekindle easily enough under Zenyatta’s ministrations. Zenyatta is chopping vegetables for an omelet when Genji staggers into the kitchen, gloriously naked.

“You’re a demon,” he groans in greeting, rubbing his face and electing to lean against the kitchen table rather than sit down on a chair. His words have no bite, rather the opposite, a wonderment and admiration reflected in his gaze when he removes his hand.

“You’re realising this only now?” Zenyatta teases, waving the wooden hilt of his knife at Genji, showing off yet another fox carving.

Genji blinks at it. Then blinks again, twice, in rapid succession. Zenyatta laughs, delighted.

“Oh! You hadn’t!”

“You–!” Genji gapes at him like a fish, and he’s still attractive. Then he throws his head back in a laugh. “Oh, I really should have, shouldn’t I, trickster?”

Zenyatta only grins, sharp and vulpine.

———————————————

[AO3, Ko-fi]

#genyatta #overwatch #haughty fanfics

32 notes · View notes

captainchrisfics · 6 years ago

Text

Before the Oscars

About: There’s a fight in this fic- a pretty big, blowout argument right before what is only one of the largest, most important awards shows in cinematic history. Don’t worry (spoiler alert) my sappy heart wins over. Requested by @patzammit , hope this was what you hoped for. Sorry for the wait- I am a college student who usually avoids her responsibilities by writing, but does have to actually do stuff sometimes. Anyway, @ everyone this time, please continue to send prompts they’re super inspiring and give me something to write about when my brain is otherwise fried :)

Word Count: 2,619

I heard the jingle of Chris’s keys as he unlocked the door, swinging it open and causing a lump to jump from my stomach to my throat. Before I saw him, I heard him uttering excuses. “I’m really sorry, like really really sorry,” his voice was getting louder as he walked down the hall. “The shoot ran long- I mean, you know how it goes. It’s crazy when we all get together, right?”

He finally reached the doorway to our bedroom where I laid tucked in with a book in my hand. I looked up expectantly at him to see Chris leaning against the door’s frame, his hand tucked in his pocket and a smirk on his face. It was forced though, his eyes always gave him away. They were soft and hopeful and pleading for forgiveness despite the nonchalant show he was putting on. He knew he’d hurt me.

“I’m not in the mood to talk about it,” I said, turning back to my book. I’d had the rest of the afternoon after my parents and I finished our lunch, sans Chris who had promised to be there, to think about exactly what I would say to him. Really I just spent it sitting with my anger and hurt while trying to ignore it with a book.

Chris was taken aback by that answer. I saw his smile falter for a moment before he put it back on, straightening up and coming to sit on the foot of our bed. “Well,” he said, putting a hand on my leg under the cover. I pulled away from him. “I hope you’re still in the mood for the awards show tonight.”

Great. Contrary to what seemed like the rest of the world, I forgot the Oscars was tonight. Despite how upset I was with Chris now, I would much rather deal with pretending to be happy for the next few hours than deal with the internet shit storm that would arise if Chris showed up alone. Plus, he was giving me those damned puppy dog eyes. He had this pleading look that was even worse than Dodger’s on steak night.

I huffed and set my book aside. “Let me go get ready then, dear,” I said, hoping my words dripped with sweetness, my fake smile so wide it tugged my cheeks. I pulled my legs even farther from Chris and sauntered over to our bathroom. He sighed, throwing his back against the mattress and staring at the ceiling.

I had chosen a navy dress for the event with a gorgeous plunging neckline. The top was embroidered and sparkled so beautifully in the slightest bit of light until it met my hips where it turned to a ballgown of tulle. I remember trying it on and being so elated in it, I couldn’t wait to wear it on the red carpet. For as long as we’d been together, I always accompanied Chris to his events, so I’d worn a lot of dresses, but I knew this one was special. As I finished applying my foundation, I grew so disappointed in how the day had been ruined. A dress as perfect as this one deserved the perfect night, but I knew that was out of the question.

We were supposed to meet my parents for lunch, they loved Chris so much. I think they were more upset when he didn’t show that I was, proof I was getting used to it. Lately, he’d been flakey- leaving me sitting with two plates set at the table and, one growing cold since Chris came home hours later than he said he would, or going on dates we’d planned weeks in advance by myself since he suddenly had to work. I could handle waiters asking me if I was still waiting for the other party when it was just me, maybe because I became desensitized, but in front of my parents? It was beyond embarrassing. I couldn’t show up to this awards show now, playing the endlessly encouraging, understanding girlfriend while Chris got the award for best actor.

Thinking about all of it made the disappointment and anger swell in my chest again. I heard the mattress springs squeak and hoped he had enough sense to stay out of the bathroom. Naturally, instead of leaving me alone, Chris decided now was the time to comfort me as if that didn’t offer enough irony. “I don’t know if you look better in my sweatpants or that dress,” he whispered right against my ear.

Usually, I would say I’d have to show him I look best in nothing, but this was utter bullshit. Chris knew better than to apologize by trying to get me into bed. At least I hoped that until he wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, knocking my elbow as I applied a berry lipstick and smearing it up to my nose.

Chris laughed from his stomach, and I guess I would’ve as well if not in my circumstance. I wriggled out of his grip and walked closer to the mirror, scrubbing furiously at my upper lip with a concentration that left wrinkles in my face makeup. “You’re so fucking insufferable,” I spat at Chris in the mirror, who stood where he had before but now with wide eyes and hands raised as if to say he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“I was just coming to apologize,” he tried to explain. I whipped around, pointing my lipstick at him like a weapon. In hindsight, every part of this would have been hilarious if I wasn’t filled with so much anger. I stood yelling at a man who seemed twice my height and three times my width when we stood next to each other, brandishing lipstick as a knife with a pink mustache, half of an eye done, and almost all of my hair falling out of a messy bun.

“You were coming to apologize?” I said, trying to keep my voice level even though I could hear my voice rising. As I yelled at him, it sounded like my voice was coming from a different person. “Don’t patronize me, Christopher. You have absolutely no right to stand me up today, in front of my parents nonetheless, and then come home and act like everything is fine,” I took a step toward him with narrowed eyes. Chris just gaped at me in shock, realizing there had only been a handful of times in the past few years that I had been this angry- let alone at him.

“I-I’m sorry. I thought it was just lunch with your parents,” he tried to defend, holding up his hands in surrender. I rolled my eyes, tossing my hands up in the air to feign realization. “Oh, duh!” I slapped my forehead. “Obviously you can just skip out on lunch. And the opening of my gallery. Oh, plus my sister’s wedding. How could I forget my birthday? Or our anniversary, Chris? You missed our fucking anniversary for a photoshoot!” I rattled off events he should have been there for, things he promised he would experience with me before bailing with some half-assed excuse about work.

Chris’s eyes softened as it dawned on him that this was much more than just one lunch date left unattended, it was months of blow-offs we hadn’t talked about boiling over. “It was all for work-” Chris continued trying to defend himself. He stopped as soon as I held up a finger to shush him. If I had to listen to another thoughtless excuse, I’d be spending the night at my mother’s instead of the Oscars.

He shook his head before starting again. “No! You don’t get to say that shit and walk away! I have responsibilities outside of this relationship, I have a lot of people and their money depending on me and I’m sorry if it sucks for you, hell it sucks for me too, but that’s my job!” I’d never seen Chris raise his voice like that before, the kind of yelling that made veins bulge in his neck. Quieter, almost as if he didn’t want me to hear, he said, “if you need someone to be there for you all the time, maybe I’m not who you need at all.” That pushed me further over the edge, that he was acting as if he had any room to be hurt when he’d put me through all of this.

“Bullshit, Chris! I’ll spell it out if I have to. I’m upset that you consistently lie to me, you continue to give me false hope that maybe you’d make it when you knew you couldn’t, and you don’t even fucking care enough about me to say anything! It’s not about being there, it’s about telling me you will be when you aren’t, it’s trust Chris, so if you think I give a shit about all of these stupid events, then maybe you don’t know me at all…” I trailed off, my voice hoarse from yelling. The feelings that had sprouted in my chest grew to reach my throat, choking me in the process. I realized I’d maybe crossed a line when I saw the tears brimming his blue eyes that somehow managed to look so much clearer when he cried.

“I swear I-”

I tried to compose myself before this battle turned into a war. “I don’t want to hear any more rationalizations,” I said, much more calmly before with the feeling bottled up in my chest finally released. “I want to finish getting ready so this day can be over and I can go to sleep.” Feeling like I had to do something, I walked past a speechless Chris with slouched shoulders and sad eyes to grab my curling iron before locking myself in the bathroom.

I slumped against the door, crying before I even hit the floor. Chris and I rarely fought, let alone had a screaming match like that. I couldn’t even remember what it was about the last time it happened as if that matters now. I didn’t care about the makeup I ruined or the fact that Chris probably stood right outside the other door listening, I just had to get it out.

Then, I took off my makeup to start from scratch. I’d be damned if Chris got to go to something as big as the Oscars without me now, after making me go through so much on my own. I curled my hair and then reapplied everything that I had ruined with tears and finished my makeup. By the time I was done and I summoned the courage to open the door, it was almost time to leave. Chris was gone so I put on my dress, shoes, and jewelry, just trying to get it done.

I found Chris standing by the doorway, nervously adjusting his cufflinks. The floor creaked, grabbing his attention. He always looked incredible in a suit, but I wasn’t in the mood to find him so attractive. I tried to bury those thoughts under all of my hurt. He smiled at me softly and I could see a compliment forming on his lips, but for whatever reason, he stopped himself.

Together, although we might as well not have been, we walked to a car waiting for us and rode to the event. Chris climbed out first when we arrived and grabbed my hand to lead me down the red carpet. To keep up appearances, I didn’t protest. Instead, I held his hand and we walked in front of all the photographers with smiles that didn’t reach our eyes completely, not that anyone noticed.

We went through all of the motions of the event without really relishing in any of it. There were a couple times when the Marvel movies Chris was a part of won, which sent a surge of pride through me. No matter how mad I could be at him in a moment, I always wanted to support Chris. Each time he came back grinning, and in those seconds it didn’t feel like a facade. We had honest, overwhelming happiness that overcame our argument, even if only for fleeting moments.

Eventually though, Chris and I ended up right back at our apartment like before. Chris sat on the couch watching the news while I got ready for bed. We still hadn’t said much to each other, save for a few pleasantries here or there. I took my makeup off and changed into one of my boyfriend’s old t-shirts before climbing into bed. It really smelled like Chris, not the expensive cologne he wore to award shows. It smelled of the mountains and football games in the best way possible. I picked up the book I’d tossed onto his side of the bed what felt like a lifetime ago.

When I was barely even a page in, the door creaked and I looked up to see Chris pushing it open. He had a tub of ice cream in one hand and two spoons in the other. “It’s not a white flag but…?” Chris asked suggestively, walking slowly like he was walking on eggshells. “It’s as good as one,” I said, accepting his act of apology with a soft smile.

Chris handed me the peace offering before stripping himself of his tux and putting on pajama bottoms before climbing into bed next to me. I was already a couple of scoops deep into the vanilla when he started speaking.

“I didn’t realize you were that hurt and I’m really sorry for that,” he began. I sucked on my spoon, allowing him to continue. Chris looked at me with raised eyebrows like he was waiting for me to speak, too. I took another scoop from the tub to stall my follow up, causing Chris to laugh. That sound always managed to lighten the mood. He cleared his throat after it was quiet for a moment before saying, “I was just so caught up in work, not that it’s any good excuse, but I didn’t realize how I’d pushed you aside in the process.”

I agreed though it was hard to keep the tears from falling. I’d been waiting to hear those words for months, so I decided it was my turn to own my share of our fight. “I should’ve told you how I felt from the beginning,” I said, taking a break to lick my spoon. “Before it all built up.” Chris nodded and joked that it’d be nice to have a warning next time. “Promise we’ll work on it?” Chris posed with so much genuineness it almost made up for everything.

I stared at the ice cream sitting between us, contemplating where we could go from there. The part after making up, in my opinion at least, was the worst. It’s awkward and uncomfortable and that’s never how Chris and I were. Suddenly, there was a spoon hovering in front of my face with a dollop of ice cream. Chris looked at me with a grin despite his tired eyes. After I didn’t take it, he playfully frowned and ate it himself. I moved the carton to the side table and took the spoon from his hand, setting those aside too. Chris looked at me with raised eyebrows since I rarely took the lead. Regardless, I leaned in and kissed him for a moment. He kissed me back, it was soft and filled with sincerity, like he was trying to show me how much he really loved me. When we pulled away to breathe, he said, “I don’t want you to think I’ll ever stop caring about you. I love you so much… and I always will.”

#Chris Evans #chris evans fanfic #imagine chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans oneshot #captain america #captain america fic #captain america one shot #fanfic #Steve Rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers one shot

1K notes · View notes

dopescotlandwarrior · 5 years ago

Text

A Hero Among Us-Chapter One

On AO3

Chapter One

Claire pushed herself up from the mattress and wiped her nose. The skin was tender and burning from days on end of crying since her husband died. He was buried one week ago and her life had become intolerable, more so every day. The coalition of wine growers was circling around her like vultures waiting to pick her apart. They would buy her property at ten cents on the dollar or burn her out, and they did not care which.

Claire paced in front of the windows of her parlor looking at grapevines as far as the eye could see in every direction. This was Frank’s dream, not hers, and she knew little about viniculture and nothing about running a farm. He had died too quickly to tell her much, a feeling that left her boiling with resentment. “You hateful man, refusing to prepare for your death was a sure way to make me fail.”

Claire was raised in the upper class of London society and enjoyed a refined lifestyle and social status granted by her family’s wealth. When she married Frank Randall, the son of a prominent family, he brought her to America and sunk eighty percent of her dowry on this piece of land in St. Helena California. The remainder was used to build a fine house, vines, equipment for wine production and labor for the first planting. The law allows a widow’s dowry equal to one-third the original but it was all tied up in the dirt she now lived on.

She walked outside to clear her head and ambled down the rows of vines, inspecting the large leaves and berry clusters. She had no idea when the harvest should take place or how she would find anyone to help her. On numerous occasions, she rode into their tiny town and tried to hire the immigrants who were looking for work but they refused her. She scanned the three hundred acres of vines and felt utterly defeated.

Claire walked into the enormous kitchen where misses Crook stood kneading dough for bread. The opulence of this room and others made her choke with resentment. Everything Frank did was grandiose, a symbol of his position and wealth. Up to his death, he had not spent a nickel of his own money and knowing he was dying he had not made provisions for her support. Claire felt the bile rising in her stomach and tried to clear her head.

“Misses Crook, I am riding into town to buy a chicken, hopefully, two. We need eggs and the chicken we have must be laying in the vineyard because I cannot find a single egg.”

Two chickens were in a sack tied to Claire's saddle as she made her way home an hour later. She was lost in her thoughts allowing a group of men on horseback to surround her. She recognized them as landowners in the area who wanted to force her off her land. They were getting pushier with their demands and Claire bit her lip and remained quiet hoping they would leave. One of the men pulled the sac from her saddle and shook it, allowing the chickens to escape into the fields. The men laughed and raced away from her, one of them fired at the dirt in front of her horse making it rear in fright. Claire was unseated and hit the ground hard, knocking the wind out of her. The horse galloped away.

Claire tried to pull air into her lungs and her restrictive corset made that impossible. She felt herself dying and panicked trying to reach the laces at the back. Just before she blacked out she felt strong hands pull her jacket back and an arm reach in to pull the upper laces. This continued until she could take a complete breath.

“There ye go lass, breathe deep and don’t try to get up yet. Yer safe for now. How far is yer home?”

“Not far.”

“Well, I ken that’s where yer horse is about now. Can ye get up yet?”

There was no ladylike way to pull this off she realized and accepted his hand to pull her up. She stood still until the dizziness was tolerable and then let go of his hand.

“Thank you, sir, you saved my life. I am very grateful. Have you seen two chickens running around? Those men let mine go and they are desperately needed.”

“If I had I would have eaten at least one, feathers and all, sorry to say. It’s been a few days for me mistress. Come, I will help ye home and then be on my way.”

Claire noticed the sun sinking into dusk and worried for her safety. She promised him some food and felt huge relief for the escort.

“I am Claire Randell, my vineyard is up ahead. And you are…”

“I am nobody named James Fraser. Pleased to meet ye, mistress.”

He explained how he came to America with the gold rush, funded by several tenants on his estate. He had worked tirelessly, however, he never found any gold before the money was gone. The only work was in the vineyards so he started walking.

“You poor man, I’m surprised you can even stand. Here I can walk faster, let’s hurry.”

Ladies in London don’t walk with purpose, they stroll, to let the world know they needn’t rush after anything. She fell into that pace quite naturally and now felt ashamed to force this huge man to take tiny steps.

“Come in James, let’s get you fed.”

Jamie looked at the huge house and started walking backward, looking in all directions.

“Thank ye, mistress, I will wait out here. Would ye like me to catch yer horse for ye? Is that him, grey dapple munching on some hardy vines?”

“Jesus Christ, yes, please catch her before she mows down an entire row!”

Jamie rushed into the barn and grabbed a scoop of grain to lure the beast away from the vines. He approached her speaking Gaelic just above a whisper as he held the scoop full of grain out to her. She startled at first, still scared from her gallop home but caught the scent of grain and changed her mind. Jamie kept talking to her stroking her neck and letting her nibble at the grain. She walked behind him to the barn and entered her stall gratefully. Her reward was the remainder of the scoop. Jamie looked around the impressive barn with four stalls for horses, hayloft above and storage space, a lot of it. Once he pulled the tack off the horse he returned to stand in front of the house.

Claire opened the door wide so the man could see misses Crook who ordered him to the table where his supper was getting cold. Jamie flew through the door not wanting to provoke this commanding woman. When he saw his meal he almost cried, there was so much there to eat!

Claire and misses Crook were not a minute behind him bringing their own meals to the table. Claire nearly dropped hers when she saw empty plates in from of the man. She looked under the table and on his lap and finally asked where his food went.

“Apologies mistress, I ate it.”

“Oh, let’s get you a little more then.”

She picked up his plate and returned a minute later with the plate piled high with dried beef, vegetables, potatoes, and bread. This plate would have fed her for an entire week but she wanted to demonstrate there was plenty of food here. While Jamie was catching Brimstone Claire ran into the kitchen and ordered misses Crook to make more food and quickly. She desperately wanted to hire this man to help her save the vineyard however she had little money to pay him. Until she sold the first harvest she would prove she could feed him.

“Do you mind if we join you, sir?”

Jamie shot up from his seat and bowed slightly saying it would be his honor. He looked around at the joining rooms, all large, sumptuously decorated and wondered where the lady’s husband was. He fancied the lady but kept his eyes down on his plate. She was speaking to him like it was a Sunday social which confused him. He decided misses Crook was her mother who referred to her daughter as, mistress. That was very odd. Why else would she be dining at the same table? Whenever possible he would look around him for the husband.

“Mister Fraser, may I speak to you about a proposition I have?”

“Of course, mistress.” Responding to her allowed him to look at her and he felt the air evacuate from his lungs requiring a spontaneous deep breath to restore him. He blushed and lowered his gaze.

“I would like to hire you, mister Fraser, to help me run the vineyard if you know anything about this type of farming. I have very little money but I will keep you fed and give you a cottage to live in that is safe and warm. I will also need help hiring workers when it’s time to harvest the grapes. Can you tell me what you know about vineyard management mister Fraser?”

“It isna time to pull the fruit yet, another three months for white and four months for the reds. You watch the sugars when the time is near, every day, early, at sunup. When the sugars rise you harvest the grapes as fast as possible. Extract the juice, add yeast, and put the juice in barrels to age for a few years. Or you take the fruit to the auction and sell it for the highest price possible.

Claire was stunned. In three minutes this man had summarized the answer to all her questions. The questions Frank refused to answer, to give her a fighting chance. Her eyes were wide staring at the strange man. When she could find her tongue again she spit out sentences without pre-thought and nearly gave him her complete life history. She was in a sense, begging for his help. After five minutes she closed her mouth, blushing fiercely at her lack of manners and feeling dread he would refuse her. She looked down at her lap.

“May I ask ye, where is yer husband?”

“Dead. Sorry, didn’t mean to skirt that issue.”

Jamie was too quiet for too long giving Claire the impression he would be leaving this very night. Try as she might to hold her tears at bay they spilled freely from her eyes and dropped into her lap. She held her linen napkin to her face in embarrassment and Jamie felt his heart melt at her sadness. She was so young, he realized, with a monumental task ahead she knew nothing about. Now that he knew she was a widow it clicked in his head that she is the landowner folks were talking about at nearly every post he passed. There was a general warning to stay away from her or face consequences. Jesus lass, yer in a hopeless mess and I wonder if ye even know it.

“Please mistress, dinna cry, I will help ye.”

Claire dropped her napkin and jerked her head toward him with wide red eyes. She smiled, and it lit up her entire face, the dining room, and the whole world that Jamie lived in. When he realized he was staring at her he dropped his gaze quickly.

“Come with me. Let us find you a suitable cabin to live in while you are here. There is one that is bigger than the others for the manager. That is you. Whatever you need for your home I will provide to the best of my ability. You have made all the difference in my life mister Fraser and I am so grateful. When we speak again, please be ready to discuss your compensation and the successful continuance of this vineyard. Do we sell the grapes or make wine, things like that.”

They were halfway to the cabins and she stopped abruptly and turned around. Her smile was radiant, her chest was heaving with excitement or exercise and her eyes latched onto his making his heart pound in his chest. “It has been a very long time, but I feel hopeful again. It is glorious!” She jumped up like a child playing and strode on toward the cabins.

“This is the biggest cabin and closest to the water pump. There are two buckets in each cabin and a small stack of towels. There is a small stack of firewood in the back and six enormous trunks that you are welcome to cut up. I believe the ax is sticking out of one of them.”

Jamie watched her in fascination. In their brief association, he had seen her get thrown from her horse, nearly pass out from her corset, cry with frustration at her horrible circumstances, and then brighten with relief. Through it all her impeccable manners and elegant carriage never wavered. He hated her, in general, for being British, for bowing to the monarchy that crushed his homeland. He would keep his distance and work hard for her. When the grapes were sold he would return to his home in Scotland.

When she bid him goodnight she hummed making her way back to the house. The sound made him feel happy. He closed the door to his cabin and put his back to it surveying the space that would be all his until the fall. It had been so long since he slept in a bed, had a fireplace for warmth, a door to lock, and fresh water right outside. He took deep breaths to lower his heart rate.

Jamie sat on his bed with a great sigh. The weeks of walking with little food or water had taken their toll, he was exhausted and the food was like a sedative in his stomach. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Muscles cramping, bladder painfully full, feet sweating from leather boots. Jamie rolled onto his back, momentarily confused about where he was. He remembered the night before and stumbled in the dark to the door. He walked quickly toward the back to relieve himself taking great gulps of cool crisp air. The sun’s rays were just breaking across the horizon and he watched as they raced across the land and eventually touched the grapes making them glow inside. He turned in a circle to survey the property and it was amazing. Aside from the level acreage, there were steep hills that were terraced with lines of vines. Perfect for the deep reds this region was known for.

Jamie owed his limited knowledge to the owner of the first Vineyard he worked for. The man took him under his wing when he saw what a hard worker he was. He taught him so much in the three months he was there. Jamie had enormous respect and gratitude for the man and felt his face turn hard and angry at the way it ended. He was run off the property when the wife was caught sneaking into Jamie’s hut. He had no idea she was there until he was yanked out of bed and run off the property in his bare feet. His boots and clothes were thrown at him like he was a common thief or the lowest human that lived. He started walking, shaking from the indignity, hurt pride, and sorrow for what the man thought now. Two weeks later he watched Claire get thrown from her horse. That was yesterday.

Jamie pumped water to wash his face and parts of his body he would dare. He felt better after that and walked the rows of vines inspecting for bugs and fungus. The plants looked remarkable. The Sassenach will have a very good harvest if they could just watch the sugars. The whole growing season came down to someone watching the Brix number which equates to the amount of sugar in the grape. Each type of grape was harvested at a different Brix rating. He had confidence the former husband had purchased a hydrometer. He would trouble misses Randell today for some paper to write all these facts down before he forgets.

Jamie was high in hills studying the plants when misses Crook came out with his breakfast. When she couldn’t get his attention she ran back for the bell. Jamie came down the slope at record speed making misses Crook put her hand to her mouth. The man must be part billy goat, she thought watching him.

“Here’s ye breakfast mister Fraser.”

“Yer Scottish misses Crook." How could he miss the burr his ears longed to hear? " How did you come to raise an English daughter?”

Jamie was so shocked at first he didn’t realize he watched the woman through slit eyes. He was very suspicious of this turn of events and thought to be on his guard.

“My daughter? Who might that be laddie?”

“Misses Randell.”

“No lad, I have managed the house of mister Randall for many years, and now I serve misses Randall in the same capacity.”

“How do you take yer meals with the mistress then?”

Misses Crook laughed and told him it was hard getting used to her unorthodox ways after her husband died. She would not be eating without misses Crook so she would either sit and eat or watch her wither away.

“They are British woman, how can ye serve them without poison?”

“Well, I ken it wasna mister and misses Randell that raised arms against the Scottish people or oppressed the traditions that were lost. A babe canna choose which country to be born in and ye’d do well to ken such.”

With that, she gave him a scalding look and walked away taking great strides to put distance between them. Jamie started out loving the sound of her burr and now he was just confused. Stay on task he decided, leave these wicked Brits to their own lives as they will perish in the fires of hell.

He inhaled his porridge and jumped back up the hill to continue his review of the plants. By lunchtime, he was done and beyond impressed with the hardiness and overall condition of the plants. He would have to ask the mistress where the vines were purchased.

For the rest of the day, Jamie went through each outbuilding to find what Randell had purchased for his wine business. There was twice the equipment he anticipated and wondered how shocked Randell was to be dying halfway through his first growing season. He was certain he suffered from that knowledge, why else would he not prepare his wife to take over in his absence. Jealousy, because she would live while he decayed in the ground. Wicked man Randell, glad yer dead. If Jamie had such a thought about anyone else, non-British, he would cross himself and asked forgiveness on the spot. Brits were not human to him and had no rights to decency or moral behavior. Like his father before him Jamie hated Brits.

The last building was locked so Jamie went to the house and knocked on the door. Claire pulled the big door open, walked outside, took his arm, and walked him back in. She led him to the dining room and told him to sit as lunch was being served. Jamie watched her help misses Crook bring plates of food to the table while she talked about her weird day.

“And then I turned around and there they were, looking at me like, well, where do we sleep? It was so odd but I am very happy we didn’t lose those birds and they are already fully feathered so just a few more months until we get eggs. Thank goodness.”

“Mister Fraser, why are you not eating. Are you ill?”

“Mistress?”

“You must eat so you can work hard and not fall over. C’mon, you cannot get up until all this food is gone.”

Jamie filled his plate while his mouth watered and his stomach growled. He was deliriously happy when there were plates of food in front of him, especially with the directive to clear them or be stuck there. He was very good at following orders, Claire and misses Crook watched him eat with widening eyes.

Jamie sat back with a happy contented look on his face that made Claire giggle. He smiled back at her despite his resolve not to. In fact, he would not extend any kindness to her at all now that he knew how badly she needed him. He shook his head at such ridiculous ideas. He could never be anything but nice and accommodating to her. She was a very special person. Fragile and vulnerable and…

“Mister Fraser!”

“Misses Crook?”

“Get about yer business!”

Jamie was looking around at the cleared table and absence of Claire. He must have been daydreaming and lost track. He was allowed to eat in the big house so he better be more conscious of his behavior while here.

“I came to the house for the key to the large outbuilding on the property. I am taking an inventory of equipment. Would you please ask misses Randell for it?”

Claire appeared a few minutes later and finished lacing up her boots before standing and announcing she was ready to go. Jamie walked toward her with a questioning look.

“Do ye plan to go with me, mistress?”

“I can’t wait to stretch my legs and have an adventure. Do you not want my company, sir?”

Jamie didn’t know how to respond to that so he motioned for her to go first and followed dutifully to the outbuilding. Claire opened the door and Jamie nearly fell over.

“By Christ, I had not expected so many barrels, and they’re new, can ye small the oak? What would make him purchase so much equipment if you dinna mind my askin.”

“He wanted my entire dowry sunk into this place so he kept spending until the money was gone I assume. Every acre, vine, outbuilding, house, barn, and all that is in them was purchased with my dowry.”

Jamie could not imagine how much money that would be or why her family would have to offer such for someone to marry her. She was so beautiful and cultured it was unfathomable to him. He looked at the neatly stacked rows of barrels and felt something strange in his stomach. It felt like excitement. What the hell was he excited about? He would help her put up a small portion of the harvest and set it to aging in one or two of the barrels, but for him to get back to Scotland the majority of the grapes would have to be sold.

He felt strange when Claire was nearby and decided solitude was best. He would speak to misses Crook about taking his meals outside, away from the prettiest eyes he had ever seen and away from his need to make her smile.

Jamie looked through piles of equipment and pulled out a hydrometer followed by a genuine smile.

“We have everything we need, well almost. Misses Randell, I need to tell ye somethin. Word has spread around these parts that no one is to work for you. Anyone who does will pay consequences.”

Jamie watched Claire’s face fall into sadness and he ached for her. He thought of only one way to ensure they had enough hands for the harvest but they had to act fast. Some of the men would be walkin.

“I don’t know how much ye know about Scots mistress but we dinna sit well with intimidation. If ye tell a Scot not to sit on that rock or pay consequences the first thing he’ll do is go sit on that rock. Ye ken? Ye need Scots to work the harvest and they’re aplenty in San Francisco but ye have to act fast. Can ye write to the paper there and place an add for Scottish immigrants who want to work? No tellin how long it will take them to get up here and ye may have to feed a number of men long before the harvest but I dinna think ye can hire workers that have been bullied by the coalition.”

Claire was pacing with hands on her hips. She was deep in thought giving Jamie some precious moments to look at her.

“These men cannot be intimidated you say?”

“Aye.”

“I trust you mister Fraser, implicitly. I will go write that letter and pray they come.”

She handed him the key to the outbuilding and turned in a swirl of skirts heading for the house. He had that feeling in his stomach again and grunted in disgust before returning to the plants to start pulling leaves.

By mid-afternoon, Jamie was lost in his thoughts pulling leaves from around the berry clusters to increase the sun that hit them. Large crowded clusters were thinned by dragging his hand down knocking the grapes off. It was California growers who first started thinning the clusters to push more robust flavors into those that matured. When he heard Claire’s voice he almost jumped out of his skin.

“I’m sorry mister Fraser,” she said giggling.

“It doesna sound like it mistress,” he said smiling at her.

“What are you doing?”

“Ye see how big this leaf is? If there are too many around the cluster the sun canna get to the berries and the sugar will suffer. Ye need to leave the very top leaves to protect the cluster from the mid-day sun, but the sides should be free of shade for morning and afternoon sun, see?”

“Why are you knocking grapes to the ground?”

“That is to thin the clusters for the robust flavor this region is known for.”

“I am so grateful to you mister Fraser for teaching me!”

She put her hand on his arm and seemed unaware she was doing so. Jamie didn’t move a muscle and hoped for a few more seconds of contact before she let go. She walked away smiling and he wished she never had to leave him.

“Like this?”

Jamie turned around to see Claire on her second vine. She indicated her handy work for him to check and he smiled at her.

“That’s perfect. Look at yer hands mistress, maybe rub your fingers across yer cheek. They are soft are they nae?” He watched her nod her head. “If ye keep doing that yer fingers will feel like this.”

Jamie rubbed his rough fingers across her cheek making her blush fiercely. She turned her back to him and continued working on the leaves.

“I doubt my fingers could ever feel so rough mister Fraser so I intend to continue this work for ten more plants.”

Jamie was in his head after touching Claire. Canna you see what ye do to me lass, he thought. Ye get my head thinkin impossible things, my guts shake with anticipation of somethin that will never be, and when ye touch my arm I canna move, in fact, I can barely breathe. So please go away. Just when he thought the situation could not get any worse, it did. She started humming.

58 notes · View notes

ohdaim · 5 years ago

Text

Hard Day’s Night - Chapter 2

The Gala

First chapter (AO3)

If anyone ever asked Ela about her job, she would only have one thing to say. She loved what she did. For all of its stresses, it wouldn’t be a lie. Her boss was a touch flaky, but he was brilliant. The person she deemed her true boss, based on his knack for actually being at work every single day, was no less. That was part of the enjoyment, impressing upon the world that she belonged with people like them. She deserved to be there.

All the more prominent a reminder to herself as she reworked Noct’s schedule yet again. Such tedium made her feel smaller on some days.

She loved this job, and it loved her. It treated her right, was totally committed, and didn’t want to lose her. She’d been reminded of this with the pay raise she’d gotten after her day off post-incident. It was accompanied by a non-disclosure agreement to keep what had happened a secret, but it wasn’t as if she’d ever tell anyone about it. She wouldn’t even know what to say.

Almost died having a sex dream so visceral that I’ve revisited it every night since was not on the table.

Finalizing the new schedule, she sighed. Accepting the fact that she shouldn’t be fantasizing about— no. She shouldn’t even think about it. She tilted her head a little to look past her monitor. On the other side of the wall of glass that looked into Ignis’ office, the man flipped through a binder with a frown on his face.

She closed her eyes and sighed as she leaned back in her chair. She couldn’t think about it in broad daylight. Not with him right there. An unreasonable paranoia that he would somehow know kept her steady.

That and the question of Noctis not being there until the very end. Being her dream, presumably the last experience she was meant to have before dying, why wouldn’t he be there the entire time?

She opened her eyes and began to straighten things on her desk, tidying unnecessarily before bringing her mug to her mouth for a dose of much needed caffeine. Her thoughts continued to race.

It must’ve been situational. Ignis and Ravus were the last people she’d seen, so of course they would be the subjects of the dream. Noct’s brief feature in it had probably been a reflection of a memory. The first one she ever had of him.

Thinking that far back to the days before she’d worked at Caelum Corp, was all but impossible. But that memory, when she’d met Noctis, that one would always be with her. It marked the change of her luck.

She smiled softly at the memory of Noct’s cameo. It had only been a kiss, but it warmed her face just thinking about it now. Touching up the schedule one last time, she decided to extend his lunch hour by another half. Ignis would notice, but she’d chalk it up to Noctis needing more time to prepare for the gala.

—

Ignis loved a fair number of things. A can of Ebony on his commute to work. The light scent of lime and lillies on an attractive person. Perfectly organized files. Cooking. The cat he’d briefly adopted when he’d been silly enough to think he’d have the free time to properly care for it.

Love, to Ignis, came in the form of accidents. He’d never meant to love Ebony. Most found canned coffee questionable at best, himself included at one point. He’d simply been a busy university student who’d developed a taste.

He’d certainly never meant to love Madam Selene, the only pet he’d ever had. What had that been— three weeks? The single photo he’d gotten of himself with the cat remained his profile photo on all of his social media accounts. Perhaps it was misleading since that had been nearly a year ago, but he hardly frequented them enough to be bothered.

One thing he enjoyed, something he feared would cross that threshold, was every morning spent at work with Ela. These quiet moments were dear to him, and like everything he grew to love, he would never outwardly voice it.

He stood up from his desk in an idle and unnecessary stretch of his shoulders. Looking through the expanse of his glass wall, he watched Ela type something at her computer, then pause. Her eyes flitted back and forth as she read, and her lips parted with a soft sigh he didn’t hear but recognized in the tension that left her with it. Then, she rested her chin on the heel of her hand. No drawing today. She appeared thoughtful.

Ignis forced himself to look away. Walking around his desk, he went to a filing cabinet and pulled it open to look for a binder. There was much to do today. The gala was already a headache he’d been dealing with for months now. The last thing he needed was a distraction added to the stress.

A frown pulled at his mouth as he immediately rethought that. Ela wasn’t a distraction. She was the quiet morning, the face he would see before they both had to put on something a little less sincere, his partner in performing.

He allowed another glance at her as he walked back to his desk. She’d leaned back and closed her eyes. A negligible bit of concern came to him. Was she feeling the pressure of the day already? But she was already sitting up, eyes open, hands quick in their movement over the things on her desk. When she brought her coffee cup to her lips, he fought a smile.

With the binder left on his desk, he took out what he’d made for her the night before. It was different from the usual, and he hoped she enjoyed cheesecake as much as she seemed to like his pastries.

His computer gave a muted beep, likely indicating an updated schedule for Noctis, who was verging on late this morning. Ignis suppressed a sigh, pouring his focus into the last bit of the morning quiet that was left.

This morning, however as equally pleasant it was as most others, felt different to Ignis. Maybe it was Ela’s sudden day off she’d just returned from that was slipping them up. Maybe it was the new dish he placed on her desk as she stared in slight awe at the admittedly showy garnish he’d given it with berries and sauce.

But he knew, as he smiled at her excitement when taking that first bite, that it was a strange morning because of what had happened. How where they to move past nearly dying with one another? How were they meant to address what had happened while unconscious?

Being subject to magical psychological warfare was no small matter. Whether it had been a… pleasurable experience was entirely beside the point. Once she’d been sent home, and the exact contents of the projectile were made known, he’d been mortified.

Ela made a small, pleased sound as she took another bite, and Ignis had to leave. Perfect timing, it seemed, as the elevator doors opened while he stepped away from her desk.

Prompto, as was his nature Ignis noticed, bumbled out of the lift with a bag at his back, packages in his arms, and a smile on his face.

“Yo!”

Ignis felt ire build, sudden and sharp. There it went, the pleasant morning. Prompto winked at him as he passed by, dumping the packages onto Ela’s desk carelessly.

Automatically, Ignis crossed his arms over his chest, watching as the delivery boy scratched at his goatee and leaned playfully on her desk. His job was done, yet he lingered. He was always lingering. If anything was a distraction, it was Prompto. Ignis knew them to be friends, but a friend didn’t make it a point to waste time giggling and flirting every day.

“That looks great,” Prompto said, reaching over her file organizer to the plate of cheesecake. “Share?”

She intercepted him, knocking his hand away and picking up the dish to hold it out of his reach. “Back off.” It was said in a hiss, but she was smiling. “This is the only gourmet food I ever get.”

Ignis unintentionally perked at the notion that she considered it gourmet. His spike of pride was dampened by Prompto’s laugh.

“Yeah right.” He gave up trying to get the cheesecake and began to fiddle with the packages on her desk. “Don’t pretend you don’t get fancy food all the time by having this job.”

Ela put the dish down with a roll of her eyes. “It’s not as glamorous as you think, Prom.” She looked over the things he’d dumped on her desk, her brows arching at one of the parcels. “Hey, they came in time!”

She lifted it and stood from her desk, only to look at Ignis as if she just realized he was still standing there. There was a stall, a second where her eyes flicked to Prompto before she rounded her desk to stand in front of Ignis. “The business cards we ordered came in, sir. I can’t wait to use them at the event.”

Ignis looked from her face to the package in her hands. “That’s fortunate.” Meeting her eyes again, he uncrossed his arms and tilted his head in a slight nod toward Prompto. “Do make sure your friend doesn’t miss his other deliveries.”

Prompto fumbled, uttering a string of sounds that Ignis had no time to listen to. He walked back to his office and closed the door behind him. Passive aggression wasn’t strictly something Ignis sought to practice, but he couldn’t stop analyzing the details. Was he so forgettable that Ela no longer saw him when Prompto entered the room? Why had she looked at the delivery boy before approaching him?

He shook his head and drew the blinds at the glass wall to allow himself privacy. He couldn’t afford to spend the day checking on her, anyway. He trusted her to get her job done, and he had no right being concerned over Prompto’s interest in her. Ela could do whatever and whomever she wished, he reminded himself. He couldn’t fathom why this seemed to bother him. When had his care for her become defensive, bordering on possessive? It was wrong for such a fair number of reasons. Professionalism, proper boundaries, and long term personal commitments aside, he shouldn’t have been entertaining anything beyond their simple mornings together.

Sitting at his desk, he considered the tasks for the day that lay ahead. One of the largest involved a plan of diverting Regis from a guest of the gala the former CEO deemed most inappropriate. Noctis had wanted to invite the man anyway, on Ignis’ advice, after a bit of research. Ignis couldn’t understand the hatred coming from Regis, considering how influential and impressive the supposedly offensive guest was. It was engrossment enough that he successfully forced Ela and the Delivery Boy from his mind entirely.

—

Ignis didn’t like the look of her on sight. Primarily because she was far too young and abjectly unqualified. Her blouse was wrinkled and untucked, and her exuberance abutted excessive. Ignis peered at her through the blinds at the glass wall of his private office as she looked around the open floor of the empty assistant’s office. When she appeared to be cooing over the potted violets Luna had placed on the unattended desk just the day before, he flicked the heavy blind closed and turned around.

“Noct, did you accidentally pick up a child from the nearby secondary school on your way to the office today?”

Noctis sat in Ignis’ desk chair, running his hands down the armrests with interest. “This thing new? It’s better than mine.”

Ignis was having none of this. “You cannot be serious.”

Noctis stopped rubbing the chair and sighed. “She can do the job, Iggy.”

There was no way on Eos she could do the job. Ignis rose a brow. “Show me her resume.”

“She doesn’t have one.”

Drawing in a slow breath, Ignis stepped toward his desk with a hard frown. Of course she didn’t have one; that would’ve been far too much to ask. “How old is she?”

Noctis sent him a confused look. “I didn’t ask. What does it matter? She needs a job, and I need an assistant.”

Ignis crossed his arms. “So take her to the nearby Crow’s Nest. I’m sure they could use a fresh face among their servers.”

Pushing the desk chair back, Noctis stood up. “I already told her she had the job.”

Suddenly, Ignis had a horrible thought. His arms slackened, and he gave the other man a worried look. “Please tell me you aren’t sleeping with her.”

Noctis’ confusion became incredulity. “N-no, what? Ugh, Iggy, she’s the woman I told you about. The one from the crash.”

That didn’t explain as much as Noctis seemed to think. Ignis knew few details about what had happened the week before. Noctis had helped someone from a car crash. He’d taken her to the hospital, and they’d become fast friends by the time she was let out with her minimal injuries taken care of.

Noctis held up a hand before Ignis could say anything. “Look, just give her a chance.” He dropped his hand with a sigh. “She’s really smart.”

“Perhaps she received good marks in history or… spelling last semester,” Ignis said, still not convinced. “That doesn’t mean she’s the appropriate choice for a position that generally requires a decade of experience.”

“My dad gave you this job when you were only twenty two,” Noctis countered.

It was a weak argument. Ignis had been chosen by Regis when he’d been a mere teenager entering university. He’d been recognized due to his various accolades and awards. He’d been trained and groomed for his position. That was a far stretch from being pulled out of a burning car and immediately thrust into a job that offered the best benefits and a salary that neared 100k.

Ignis could tell he wasn’t going to change Noctis’ mind. Resigning himself to this, he sighed. “Alright. I’ll help her acclimate, but I expect nothing less than perfection after I’ve trained her.”

Noctis smiled, leaving the office to speak to her. Ignis could hear her excitement through the open doorway, and he turned away from it, already wondering how long it would take to change her mind if Noctis was unwilling to bend.

This entire situation was ridiculous.

He went to his desk, relaxing into his—yes, it was new—chair to start the onslaught by notifying the accounting department that she should only be receiving entry level pay. Even if she miraculously lasted longer than a week or two, she’d never know the difference.

—

Around five in the evening, as most workers left the building, Ignis stayed later, always finding at least a dozen more things that needed to be done before the day was up. Ela was often the same, and today proved to be no different for either of them.

Ignis found this a blessing at first due to its familiarity. He would remind her that rest from work was necessary even if it made him a bit of a hypocrite. When the time came around, sometime just before six in the evening, he suddenly remembered the gala was taking place that night. So it would’ve been a waste of breath for him to remind her of anything outside of how important it was that Noctis presented himself well.

He’d kept his blinds closed all day to keep himself focused. For that reason, her goings on the entire time were a mystery to him. It was far from the usual, more interdependent system they had with each other, but today was, as he’d acknowledged, rather strange. Time to reacquaint himself with her, he thought as he walked from his desk to the blinds, intent to open them and stop closing himself off.

He pulled on the blinds, but froze after they parted just in front of him. In the open expanse of her office area, Ela was unbuttoning her shirt. She glanced toward the elevator nervously, then rolled a small shrug over her shoulders. Undoing the buttons of her top, she pulled its hem free of her pencil skirt and slipped it down her shoulders. She placed it on her desk and walked over to a dress that hang from the coat rack nearby.

Ignis quickly closed the blinds, his hand remaining on the parting strings as he averted his gaze to the side in complete confusion. What was she doing changing in the middle of the office? Everyone had gone home, but he was still here. Had she completely forgotten about him after he’d holed himself away in his office all day?

Shamefully, he tugged a little on the string, opening the blinds enough to see her hold the dress up to herself. There was no mirror in the area, but she seemed to be alright appreciating herself with a small onceover, holding the garment to her chest. The smooth arch of her back, the dark straps of her lacy bra, the creamy skin of her bare shoulders and waist— Ignis swallowed at the sight of it.

She hung the dress up again, nimble fingers unzipping her skirt at the back and working it over the curve of her hips. Bending forward, she let the skirt slide down her legs and pool at her feet. Black in its entirety, her undergarments were stark against her pale skin and covered… very little.

Ignis couldn’t believe he was still looking. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t move.

The straps of the garter pulled against her skin as she picked up her skirt from the floor. She put the garment with her top, using a finger to casually adjust her rear pantyline. Then, she reached across her desk for something. When she turned around, Ignis felt a millisecond of fear. Only she didn’t notice him, instead focusing on her reflection in the glass wall.

One of her new business cards was in her hand, and she tried placing it between her breast and her bra. It didn’t seem to be working. She frowned, her hands resettling the bra more comfortably. The motion bounced her breasts, and Ignis could no longer find his breath.

Nothing seemed to be working. She pulled the card from her bra, holding it between her lips as she reached behind herself. Her bra came loose, and she did a little dance, shimmying her shoulders until she was free of it entirely. It fell to the floor, a slip of black that took Ignis’ remaining sense with it.

His grip on the parting string tightened, his eyes devouring the sight before him. She was a vision. The gentle slope of her neck brought goosebumps to his own as she brushed back strands of her hair that had fallen out of its professional updo. The lush curves of her breasts taunted him. He wondered if they felt as supple in person as they had during the— He fought the thought of it, his gaze leaving her hardened nipples for the little dips of her collar bones.

She plucked the card from her lips and considered her reflection with a tilt of her head, and Ignis began to curse himself for not moving away from the glass when he could’ve. He cursed himself, and he cursed the glass for being between them.

Thankfully, she seemed satisfied with herself and turned around. Ignis remained still as she walked over to her dress. Her casual gait, measured in the sway of her hips and the lithe curves of her body, had him inhaling a quick, sharp breath that sent relief through his burning lungs.

She touched the garter at her hips with both hands, pulling at the straps that connected to her stockings. They dug into her thighs, little indents in her skin for a moment. Then she was letting them go and smoothing hands down the sheer stockings.

The bend of her back, more hair falling loosely over her shoulders, the brush of her inner thighs against each other as she walked— Ignis needed to move. He backed away a step, the string connected to the blinds still tight in his grip.

She had a slight stumble, her stockings slipping on the polished floor. Her startled laugh and the slap of her hand on her desk were loud enough for him to hear clearly. It snapped him into reality enough to have him pull the string. The blinds closed in a quick jerk, leaving ripples of movement that gave him panic.

He let go of the string, his hand tense. The blinds continued to waver, and he went to the door to quickly lock it. He stopped himself at the last moment, finding that to be more guilty. He couldn’t possibly leave his office now, but if she did realize he was still there, it would have to seem like he’d been too consumed with work to have seen anything.

His heart thickened, beating harder in both the sudden spike of guilt at accidentally invading her privacy and the excitement of what he’d witnessed. How could she change in the middle of the office? Had she done this before? The questions pulled at him as he went to his desk.

He rested a hand on the surface, staring blankly down at his desktop calendar. Sudden visions assaulted him. Sweat slicked skin pulling and sliding against his own, her breathy moans at his collar and neck, and her warmth consuming him completely.

That had happened right here.

He pushed away from his desk with a hard swallow. Except it hadn’t happened at all. He looked toward the glass wall, seeing nothing beyond the closed blinds. Was she still changing? Surely it would be safe for him to leave somewhat soon.

The fresh image of her analyzing her reflection right in front of him came to mind. Yearning, hot and heavy, fell over him. With a forced calm, he crossed the room to his private restroom. A splash of cold water should do the trick, he thought. He wasn’t going to acknowledge his reaction to her. Not this time.

He took off his glasses, placing them aside before removing his gloves. The water cooled him, but the pink tint to his cheeks remained. He could only glance at his reflection, shame biting at him. Both hands rested on the edges of the sink, he leaned forward and closed his eyes. The light pressure against him drew out a shaky breath. He held himself still there for a short stretch of time, unmoving though his body begged for more.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t do this. Past experience proved well enough that he could in his worst moments of silent desperation. It also wasn’t that he shouldn’t. He knew damn well this was wrong, and that— that was the crux of it.

He backed away from the sink, letting go to run fingers through his hair. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t or that he certainly shouldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

He opened his eyes, meeting his reflection in the mirror.

He wouldn’t.

Swallowing thickly, he dropped his hand from his hair. He was straining in his trousers, the angle of him uncomfortable and pressing against his right thigh. He undid his belt to fix this.

That was all.

He looked down as he set himself free. The cool air of the bathroom kissed his heated skin. When he took himself in hand, his other poised to pull his waistband back up. He’d tuck away his shame. Even if it felt impossible.

He smoothed his hand over the shaft. Just the minimal movement to adjust himself. His eyes closed as his fingers took a tighter hold. His other hand left his waistband, going to the edge of the sink in a hard grip. His lips parted with a heavy breath. He thought of Ela’s look of soft concentration, of the way she’d smoothed her hands over her bare breasts. Her nipples had been pert and her hair beautifully messy.

He shifted his hand to the base, resting there before drawing back to the tip in a languid pull of his wrist. A shiver coursed over him, and he repeated the motion. His back arched forward, shoulders curling. His grip on the sink steadied him. He froze and clenched his jaw.

He was going to let go. He wouldn’t do this. He remained unmoving. All he could hear were his heavy breaths.

Then… he relaxed.

The memory of Ela bringing him coffee and placing it on his desk came to mind, immediately juxtaposed with the image of her sprawled across the same surface, bared for him.

“All yours,” she’d say in either situation.

He let go of himself and pushed away from the sink. This was a waste of himself. To hold himself back this way when she was so near. A shame, he thought with a touch of self deprecation. With shaky hands, he drew up his waistband and fastened his trousers. Pressed flush to his navel, his cock throbbed.

He washed his hands but didn’t put on his gloves. He slid his spectacles into place, the sudden clarity a comfort. Leaving the restroom, he crossed his office to the door. His resolve wavered, a brief question posed by his conscience over how indecent it would be for him to approach her while aroused. He ignored it in favor of opening the door.

Ela stood near her desk, feet still bare of shoes. The dress covered her but for its unzipped back. She’d let down her hair and it flipped over her shoulder as she quickly looked at him.

“I-Ignis?”

He stopped two steps out of his door. “Elanore.”

A beautiful blush came to her cheeks, and her eyes escaped his. “I didn’t know you were still here.” She tucked a lock of her hair behind an ear and smiled at him, meeting his gaze once again.

He wanted to assert the truth. Of what lay deeper. Of what they’d shared, however unreal it had been. His voice, though, was seized by the sight of her easing the dress off her shoulders. The dark fabric slipped down her arms and caught at her elbows before she slowly shifted out of it.

He strained harder in his trousers, taking slow steps toward her. The dress fell away with a few final movements of careful hands. She stepped over it as it piled on the floor, meeting him in the middle of the room. The attractive blush on her face reached down her neck and kissed her collar. Ignis’ eyes traveled over it, then freely traced the inviting curve of her breasts.

She took one of his hands, lifting it first to press against her cheek, then to her breast. “I’ve never—” She cut herself off with a quick breath that he felt in the movement of her chest. Unbelievably soft in his hands, she stepped closer, her body brushing against him. “It felt so real, you know? And now we’re here. Alone.”

Ignis lifted his free hand, disbelief seeping into his immense arousal. He cupped her face, and when her eyes fluttered closed, he understood. She hadn’t been unaffected by the shared fantasy they’d survived through. She wanted him in return, and Ignis— he would always be there.

Their lips met in a wet tandem, a sudden break in the calm. She grasped at his shirt, the buttons snapping loose. His hand kneaded her breast, thumb roughly teasing the peak. Her bare feet stepped on his designer shoes, lifting her just enough to press herself harder into the kiss, into him.

Ignis wanted to fuck her. It was the basest thought breaking free from the furthest depths of his psyche. He wanted Ela, and he no longer cared if it consumed him.

His hands left her to find her waist. He walked forward, leading her back in steps that were punctuated by the roll of her tongue in his mouth. When she bumped into her desk, she broke the kiss. Ignis followed. He couldn’t be without the taste. He wanted to savor her.

She undid his trousers with the same ease she’d had with her bra, tugging them down and freeing him from his confines in quick motions. Her hand was soft around him, her lips pliable and wanting against his own.

He moaned into the kiss. She began to jerk at him, slowly and steadily. This time, he broke contact, gasping at her touch. His eyes met hers, their noses brushing. Her hand was an exquisite vice over him, pulling at more than his desire alone.

Her hands left him to draw her panties down. Kicking them off, she sat on her desk and reached for him. Being drawn forward by her grasp on the hem of his shirt, he was hit with the familiarity of this situation. How similar it was to the deadly fantasy. Her desk was lower, so he had to bend down to meet her. The tip of him grazed her just before she began to push him away.

He stilled, his heart hammering in his chest. Documents shifted on her desk, the Moogle paperweight clattering to the floor as she turned around. His hand, grasping air, hang between them. She grabbed it as she looked over her shoulder. Pressing it to her side, she hitched a knee on her desk.

Ignis moved forward with her, his other hand lifting to brush her hair over a shoulder. He pulled her close, his mouth nipping at her shoulder, his cock firm and aching behind her. When she rested her weight on the desk, bending forward, he arched with her.

“Ignis.” It was a plea, her head lowering to the desk. He wanted to lean back, to see how she prostrated for him, but he couldn’t leave her.

Answering her want, he skimmed his hand down her hip and over her ass to take himself in hand. He entered her roughly, though she accepted him easily, so slick he moaned into the quiet air when his hips met her fully. He began a steady rhythm, long draws and hard thrusts. It rocked her desk, her monitor shifting with every rough jerk of their bodies.

It was everything he wanted. She was everything. The wet warmth that engulfed him blinded him to all but her sweat-glistened skin and wild hair. She cried out that she needed him. Needed him harder. Needed more of him. He indulged, enjoying her shuddering gasps as their bodies met in increasingly intense slaps of skin.

She lifted herself, resting a hand flat on the desk. Her other arm rounded, reaching back to tangle fingers into his hair. Head turned, her mouth met his. The kiss was wet and uncoordinated, more of a shared moan held between them.

Ignis was melting, falling apart to his basest components. He sank into her, a rough rutting repetition he’d never experienced before. He saw only white and felt only bliss. It burned and coiled, coursing through him and into her.

He wanted to give her every part of him.

A hand gripping her waist, he reached for her breast, holding her back flush to him. She whimpered his name against his lips. He was close. By the feeling of her tightening around him, he could tell he wasn’t alone.

He bit down on the sweet ache in his heart. Burying himself in her as deep as he buried his ever growing desire. He wanted to be closer. To blur the bounds of their physical forms. She squeezed around him, and the air thickened with her loud, breathy cry. He thrust harder. He reveled in her coming around him. Her legs quaked, and he kept going, intent to overstimulate, to draw it out.

“I, ah, I love you,” she panted, her hand in his hair tight and pulling. “Ignis, I—”

He spilled into her, his hand at her hip holding her in place. He— he wanted to give her every part of him. His heart burst into a litany of joy. “I—” He gasped. His mouth was so dry now. He licked his lips and opened his eyes.

His reflection stared back.

Clarity hit him at full force. He looked down, unable to face himself. Cum covered his hand and the sink. It dripped in slow rivulets down the basin’s edge. He cleaned it before washing his hands.

What little satisfaction there could possibly be found by his own hand was diminished by the reminders of why he shouldn’t have these thoughts or feelings. Spying on her had been an unfortunate accident. He couldn’t think about it or the intense fantasy any longer.

He buttoned himself up, then smoothed his collar, finally looking at the mirror. The Ignis before him appeared calm, bereft of the storm that swelled inside.

As it should’ve been.

—

The venue for the gala was ornate and startlingly baroque. Ela marveled, somewhat ironically, at all of the golden accents. Her gown was black to keep things simple and unobstructive. She was here to help Noctis. Networking, too. But mostly for Noct. Speaking of, where was he? She peered around the place, past the finely dressed bodies, for her boss. To no avail, apparently. Almost every man there looked the same, sporting a tux and holding a glass of champagne.

Well. Most of the men.

Ela’s gaze stopped on Ignis. He spoke with a small group of people some distance away. The corners of his mouth were upturned in the lightest smile as he spoke. When someone said something in response, he paused. His lips pursed, then he said something that made the others laugh. She made herself look away when she realized how closely she was watching his mouth.

Although Ignis was wearing the standard black tie like all the rest, he had a presence that separated him. Palpable grace. Ela made a ninety degree turn. As much as she wanted to greet Ignis, she still couldn’t face him quite yet. Their interactions that morning had flustered her enough.

He suspected nothing of her dream. How could he? Still, she felt like she was unintentionally acting weird. It was a mercy that he had stayed in his office all day, especially that he’d left early to get ready for this event. She hadn’t had to cover up her embarrassment over something that was really none of his business.

“I wish Prompto was here.” The voice, smooth and friendly on the verge of inappropriate, considering her relationship with its owner, made her stop in her tracks. Noctis approached her with a soft, casual smile.

She returned the smile with a roll of her eyes. “He couldn’t scrounge up the one grand entrance fee, sir.”

His smile waned. He wanted to groan, she could tell. “Don’t do that here.”

She rose a brow, her smile growing. “Why not, sir? This is where it matters most. At least try to pretend you’re a professional.”

Noctis looked down at himself, a finger touching his crooked tie. His smile returned, slightly sheepish this time, as he gazed at her again. “How long do you think I can fool everyone here into believing I’m not a mess?”

She lifted her hands, brushing his away so she could straighten his tie. “You’re brilliant. If you’d just have better attendance, you’d know everything.” She twisted the fine fabric, pulling it taut in the right position at his neck. When her hands dropped, she looked up and paused.

She could smell his aftershave from this distance. Her eyes traced the line of his jaw upward, to where his hair softly fell to frame his face. She wanted to lift her hand again, to brush his hair behind his ear. Maybe kiss his jaw for encouragement. Instead, she blinked and met his eyes, forcing away the crazy thought.

His lips parted, his eyes shifting between hers. Then he cleared his throat. “You look beautiful.” It was his turn to blink, his eyes averting for a moment. “Very… professional.”

She wasn’t wearing a bra because the gown she’d chosen was so tight, it wasn’t needed. Was it bad form that she’d decided to go backless? Selfconsciously, she ran a hand up her opposite arm. Warmth came to her face despite the doubt. Because Noctis had never called her beautiful. She knew he was only picking on her for calling him sir, but that didn’t stop her heart from picking up its pace.

Before she could rebuff, he looked away and ran fingers through his hair. It was growing past his jawline, and appeared to be somewhat styled today. She was impressed. Not that that was anything particularly new for her when it came to Noctis; he was a litany of pleasant surprises. She wanted to think that’s part of why he kept expectations of himself so low.

“I’m gonna—” He looked around, at anything else. Pink began to color his cheeks, something Ela rarely saw. Lunafreya must’ve arrived. “I’m getting drinks.”

Ela watched him walk away, deflating as he disappeared into the crowd. Right. Of course he’d rather be near Luna. She was his… whatever they were. Ignoring the swell of disappointment that had begun to overtake her warm feelings, Ela resisted the urge to give herself a once over. She had a mirror in her clutch, but she’d just arrived, and she looked fine. Noctis had called her beautiful. Sure, he’d been joking and immediately rushed away after saying it, but that didn’t mean she looked bad!

Right?

Her fingers were fumbling with the clasp of her clutch when she heard her name. She froze and looked up, her head arching higher than it had with Noctis to meet Ravus’ eyes. A rush of memories bombarded her, a flash of feelings that made her throat tighten. Like Ignis, she didn’t think she could face Ravus just yet.

But he was already here. Staring down at her. Holding out a hand. “Don’t drink?”

She blinked at his question, then looked down at the champagne flute he was offering. Drawing in a quick breath, she took the glass. “I do. Thank you.”

He nodded, lifting his own glass to his lips. She took a drink with him, the taste of champagne unfamiliar on her tongue. It tingled on its way down her throat, and she smiled at Ravus even though he didn’t return it.

“How are you feeling?”

His question, like the first one, slightly startled her. She drank more of the champagne before answering.

“Getting right to the small talk, then?”

Ravus tilted his head, eyeing her. “Asking after your health, rather. Last we met, you were being escorted from your office. I trust you’re now well, being as you’re here.”

Ela bit her lip while he spoke. It was like opening a late century book and letting an Old Tenebraen gentleman monologue at her. Ignis’ accent was so much less pronounced, being second generation Lucian. She was used to his soft lilting tones. Ravus’ was cutting and thick, and she’d been too focused on the tour the first time they’d met to notice. Not that he’d spoken much to begin with.

“Yeah,” she said intelligently. Another sip from the flute. She didn’t want to talk about what had happened. Just the night before—and again that morning in the shower, gods help her—she’d thought about how heavy he’d been in her mouth, how he’d stretched her— She drained the glass, following it with a small laugh. “I’m alright. How are you?”

He continued to consider her. Why did it feel like he was attempting to deconstruct her? She refused to wither under his gaze, meeting it steadily. The champagne was already singing in her blood.

“My thoughts have been owned by a singular idée fixe, as of late,” he said, his look unwavering. He nodded at the empty glass in her hand. “Another?”

She was too busy rolling her eyes to catch on immediately. Then, she nodded, looking from her empty glass to Ravus again. He reached an arm out, eyes not leaving hers, stopping a member of the wait staff as they passed. They stilled, eyes shifting between her and Ravus.

Ela placed her empty flute on the tray they balanced, taking a new glass with a smile. She was feeling so lovely and light. She liked champagne. “Thank you so much.”

They nodded before walking off, their bowtie a deep maroon and smile much less genuine than her own.

“What thought had been plaguing you?” Ela brought the flute to her lips but drank him in rather than the champagne.

His hair was longer than Noct’s but much more styled. His jawline was a beautifully hard line, his eyes two sharp, unique points. She bit her lip again. Forget Old Tenebraen gentlemen; he was a perfectly sculpted statue.

“I pondered the possibility of acquiring your expertise.”

The statue was speaking to her. She blinked, using the glass to hide her smile. Then, she lowered it, her gaze shifting downward to stare into the pale beige liquid. “Is that some sort of come on?”

Her eyes flicked up to peer at him through her lashes. The champagne was smoothing out all of the edges around her. A light buzz in her mind. It came to a blunt end as Ravus replied.

“Nay, I would like to offer you an opportunity for better employment.”

It wasn’t so much curt as impatient, similar to the sure, sure Ignis would give on the rare occasion that he didn’t have time to completely hear her out. It left her with the same hollow feeling, which only deepened the more he spoke.

“I’ve a department that needs a director who is highly organized and self-driven.”

Already, she was shaking her head. She loved her job, and her job loved her. She was but two late night crunches with important paperwork away from putting on a ring and calling it forever. There really was no polite way to reject someone outside of pure directness. So that’s what she did.

“Why?” Ela startled herself with the question. She’d meant to give him a definitive no.

Ravus drank from his glass slowly, his eyes never leaving her. The way his jaw worked suggested he was savoring the champagne while he eyed her. She refused to be unnerved. Or charmed. Except she was already just a little of both.

“Consider it,” was his only answer. He took another drink, eyes closing briefly.

Almost content to let it go, she watched him. Her mind was ablaze, this sudden—super fucking vague—job offer changing the direction of her thoughts. She’d been under the impression their rapport had been less professional toward the end. Friendly, even. Dare she think… flirtatious? It felt silly to think that now.

She was flattered all the same, still shaking her head. “I don’t need to. I’m not leaving Caelum Corp.”

Ravus opened his eyes, the blue and lilac of them falling on her curiously. “If it’s the comfort of familiar faces that keeps you here, I’ll allow you to hire anyone of worth you know for your team. What university did you attend? I’m sure there are alumni already in my employ.”

A sour feeling began to pool in that hollow place left in her, the fluff of his flattery doing nothing to abate its course. He was only offering a job because he thought she was something that she wasn’t. Assumptions. Apparently, Ela wasn’t the only one who’d been making them. She mulled over her reply for only a moment.

“I didn’t go to college,” she said, adding a shrug. Not to add indifference to the statement, but because it wasn’t something that ever crossed her mind until someone else made it a point to mention. This job had been her life after— out of high school. She didn’t know much else and, frankly, didn’t feel that she needed to.

She sipped from her glass of champagne in an attempt to settle herself, attention piquing at the sight of Noctis. He curved his way around the crowds, dodging people with one glass in each hand. He had a smile aimed at her, and his bowtie had somehow become crooked again.

“Hey,” he breathed through his smile, seeming younger for a moment. He stopped in front of her, straightening his back before offering out one of the glasses.

Ela looked at it but didn’t take it. Both of her hands were preoccupied. One held her glass while the other gripped at her clutch. She really didn’t need to drink any more than she had already as it was.

“I trust that is for my sister,” Ravus spoke up.

Ela looked up at him next, realizing that yes, that’s right Lunafreya was actually related to Ravus. Which now seemed a little weird, given how well she knew her compared to her brother. He usually blew off events like this.

“Oh, right.” Noctis speaking made Ela settle her attention on him again. He drew the glass back, his expression a soft sort of sheepish. She only ever saw that face when Ignis caught him attempting to get out of an obligation. He never gave her that look, but Ravus could get it out of him, evidently.

She reached for the glass, taking it from Noctis in a swift pinch of her fingers on the delicate stem. “I’ll take it to Luna. You two should go over your speeches.” She peered from Noctis to Ravus with a serious expression she didn’t fully mean. “Tonight is important, boys.”

She didn’t wait for either of them to respond before weaving through the guests away from them.

—

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret stood taller than Ela, even with the three added inches on Ela’s heels. Her features were soft and her smile warm. Although a decade Ela’s senior, she’d never treated her with anything but honest respect. Ela understood why Noctis loved her.

“For me?” She took the glass Ela held out to her. “How thoughtful, thank you.” After a polite sip, she added, “I’d almost expected you to sit this out. How are you feeling?”

Ela rolled her eyes. “Luna, please. Ravus just asked me that. I’m fine.”

Luna laughed a little, most of it in her eyes. “Did he? I’d wondered when you would finally meet one another. Never did I expect it to be such a deadly experience.”

Flashes of her debaucherous dream assaulted Ela, and she lifted the glass to her lips, closing her eyes to repress them. The light feeling the champagne created began to overtake the hollowness left by her earlier conversation.

Glancing at Luna again had her meeting the other woman’s eyes. She appeared expectant. Of what, Ela had no idea.

“Really, I’m okay. No one’s asked Ravus and Ignis if they should be at a party so soon.”

Luna crossed an arm under her chest, her other holding up her glass. Her nails were painted a pale blue, and Ela wondered how the hell she always got away with wearing pastels to black tie events.

“Neither of them took such a hard fall the way you had. We were so worried, Noctis and I.” She arched a delicate brow, saying more that Ela missed by the sudden high pitched laugh that cut through the air.

Through a wide gap in the throngs of people, they spotted Ignis making his way across the gala proper. His arm was about the slender waist of a woman in a deep red dress. He seemed to be guiding her, saying something too quiet for them to hear. She laughed again, the lush curls of her hair draping over his shoulder as she drew herself closer to him.

He stopped in place, a gasp leaving him. Her face disappeared into the crook of his neck. His eyebrows arched over his glasses, which became askew as the woman lifted a hand to his jaw, turning his head toward her.

Ignis was quick on grabbing her wrist, tilting his head back to say more things that were too low to hear over the din of the party. Lipstick smudged his jawline. His arm pulled her closer at the waist, flush to his side.

Ela stared at the scene, suddenly perplexed.

“Who is that?” she asked Luna, unable to look away from the woman as she shamelessly grabbed at Ignis.

“I haven’t a clue.” Luna sounded just as surprised. “A lady friend of Ignis’, perhaps? I’ve always been curious about his taste… Thought it would be men, really.”

Ela’s stomach began to sink again. The woman backed Ignis two steps until he was pressed against one of the supporting columns that made up the rococo interior of the venue. She hiked a leg up, catching it at his hip. The slit of her dress bared everything from ankle to ass for all to see. Ignis let go of her wrist to grab her thigh, his gaze going over her shoulder to meet Ela’s.

Feeling embarrassed at seeing her boss this way, Ela averted her eyes. As if she were invading his privacy rather than it being him presenting an inappropriate show for everyone in the middle of the party. She looked at Luna with wide eyes, desperately wishing she hadn’t seen any of it.

“Not what I expected, either,” was all she could say. And it wasn’t. It really, really wasn’t. She suddenly felt sick.

“I’m surprised you didn’t already know.” Luna drank from her glass, clearly a bit uncomfortable with it herself. “You and Ignis must be close, given how well you’ve worked together for so long.”

Ela blinked at the assumption. She and Ignis weren’t close. She and Ignis weren’t even friends. He was her boss. Her slightly intimidating, secretly kind, and very professional boss. Her brow furrowed at the last thought. Maybe less than professional now. She didn’t know what the hell that had been about; she didn’t care to know. She couldn’t believe she’d been embarrassed all day about having a sex dream that featured him when, if around the right woman, Ignis became unrecognizably uncouth.

The corner of her eyesight where Ignis remained, the giggles of the woman still filtering through the air, burned with the need to look at the travesty again. No, Ela hadn’t known Ignis was attracted to people who were so blatant with their affection. To say this was jarring her would’ve put it mildly. She felt like she could throw up the cheesecake she’d eaten for breakfast.

Instead of responding to Luna, she drank deeply from her glass, emptying it with a grimace. Reminding herself that this was an important party, she schooled her expression and forced a smile to Luna.

“Who are we impressing this time?” A subject change. Business talk. Good. Ela resisted the urge to take a deep breath. “I haven’t seen Regis yet.”

Luna considered her for a moment. “He wasn’t feeling well. Noctis and I visited him this afternoon.”

Ela nodded and wondered what the point was in her ever making schedules for Noct if he always diverged from it.

“As for who we’re hoping to sway,” Luna said, her voice growing softer, conspiratorial. “There’s tell that an important representative from Aldercapt Industries is in attendance. I haven’t seen him myself, but I’ve heard he’s terribly charming.”

Ela latched onto that, grateful that Luna had taken the subject change in stride. “Should Noctis be worried?”

Luna laughed, brushing her braided hair over a shoulder. Her simple earrings sparkled in the lighting, and Ela felt the telltale ripple of envy. Luna was so casual, downplaying herself despite being one of the most important people there. She had the audacity to treat Ela like a friend. Because they were friends. Ela just wished she were less likable so she wouldn’t feel so guilty over how she felt for Noctis.

“I’m fairly certain I’m the one who should be worried,” Luna said. “With how you’d kissed Noctis upon waking from the incident, I hadn’t seen him so overcome since his first kiss with me. ”

Ela’s mind came to a complete stop. Her eyes left Luna’s, roaming the area that surrounded them. Ignis and his woman were gone. Beyond the crowd, she saw Noctis, still where she’d left him with Ravus. Neither seemed to be enjoying the conversation they were having. She had kissed Noctis. She’d kissed him, and he’d kissed back.

“Ela, it’s merely a jest.” Luna’s voice brought her attention back to the woman next to her. Her amusement had softened. “He was rather stricken, but you can’t have helped it. The psychological effects of the—”

“I really kissed Noctis?” Ela blurted, her mind trying to catch up.

Luna’s blonde brows pinched, then rose in realization. “You must not remember. Oh, I’m sorry to have mentioned it.” She put a hand over her mouth, then dropped it to tack on, “I assure you it’s a non-issue.”

Ela nodded, but she wasn’t entirely present. “I need some air.” She left Luna, putting down her empty glass on her way to the exit.

—

She couldn’t win.

Her wrists ached from typing without a break all day. She’d skipped her lunch hour to get the reports finished in time. Ignis had said he expected them by the end of the day. She knew, from the two weeks of working at Caelum Corp that, to her boss, the end of the day meant as late as nine in the evening.

Ela was going to do one better, though. She’d have it completed by five, when the sensible people left the office. Maybe then she’d get to leave, too.

Leaning back in her desk chair, she circled the joints of her wrists and stretched her fingers. It was a quarter til five, and she was finished! Across the open space of her so-called office—more of a lobby, she thought—the printer spat out copies of the completed reports. It was music to her ears.

While the printer did its job, she organized everything on her desk, slotting her phone into her bag and placing it on the edge so she could pick it up on her way out in just a few minutes. She could taste the freedom, the time away from the dreadful Ignis Scientia. She wished Noctis came in more. He was her actual boss, after all.

The paper from the printer was warm on her hands. She arranged the reports exactly like Ignis had instructed, down to using color coded paper clips to fasten them rather than stapling. It was absolutely perfect. She felt a thrill walking into his office knowing he’d have nothing to complain about. Was there a chance he’d even give her a… look of approval?

She stopped in front of his desk. “Sir, I’ve finished the reports.”

He didn’t look up from the documents he read. He didn’t say anything. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then cleared her throat.

“Sir, the—”

“Alright.” It was impatient, and when he looked up, her gaze was met with disinterest. He put down the document he’d been focused on and took the stack of reports. “Completed them so soon. Hm.”

Ela felt a swell of pride in her chest. Was that praise? She opened her mouth to say it was no problem, but stalled when Ignis glanced at the first page of the topmost report before turning and dropping the stack directly into the trash bin next to his desk. The swift thud of it hitting the bottom she felt in her bones.

Ignis returned his attention to the documents on his desk, saying nothing more. Ela remained there, standing in front of his desk. Nothing. Her pride crumbled, and she swallowed.

“Was—” She cleared her throat again. “Sir, was there something wrong with the reports?”

This time, he acknowledged her immediately. His eyes met hers, a finger easing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The corners of his mouth were turned down in a faint frown. She couldn’t possibly see what she’d done wrong here. Anger burned in her stomach, but she squashed it in hopes of talking it through with him directly.

When his lips parted to speak, she prepared for whatever correction he had for her. She steeled herself because she needed this job. She was still learning, but she knew she could do it. She just needed him to give her a chance.

“Get me a coffee.” He said it with the same amount of seriousness that he said everything else. “There is a shop four blocks west. Large, medium roast, no cream or sweetener.”

Ela gaped slightly. “Right now?”

Ignis rose a brow. “Too difficult a task?”

This was ridiculous. She bit her lips and shook her head, fighting the compulsion to tell him off. Being manipulated was nothing new to her, especially by the likes of older men. Ignis was different, though. He wasn’t exploiting her so much as giving her an unnecessarily difficult time. She didn’t know his motives, but she didn’t really need to.

She just needed to prove she wouldn’t break.

—

The air outside was chilly and slightly humid, an abrupt change from the atmosphere she’d left behind. The venue’s entrance was open, giving way to a wide expanse of steps that led down to the sidewalk. Each corner of the staircase was adorned with a statue of an angelic figure, the gender of which too vague to define. Ela walked down the steps toward one, wishing she had a cigarette.

The statue towered overhead, twice her height. Her eyes traced the wings of it, of the dark spots on the stone that implied it had rained earlier. At the foot of the stairs, she rounded the statue to lean on its base as she thought. She was abruptly halted by the sight of a familiar face.

One hand tucked into a pocket of his trousers, the other holding a silver vape pen to his lips, Loqi Tummelt turned toward her with mild interest. His blond hair was dry, a sign that he hadn’t been out here for long. A small, barely there cloud left his mouth as he said her name. She’d come out to think, but this was better, in a way. She eased at the way he offered her the pen. Taking it, she sidled next to him and brought it to her mouth.

“I didn’t know you were here,” she said. “You should’ve emailed me.” She had to stop herself from leaning back against the statue’s base as she took a hit. The granite was wet, darkened like the cracks in the sidewalk.

“For what?” He took it back from her, the pen between tight lips.

“I heard an important rep from Aldercapt industries is here.”

“I know.” He actually chuckled. “That’s my boss.”

She was surprised by this, eyes widening as she looked at him. Loqi had wanted to work for that company for as long as she’d known him. Every event they’d both attended for the past three years had always held brief intermissions of them commiserating over their positions as assistants.

“Congrats,” she said, smiling slightly. “Is it everything you ever wanted?” She took the pen from him, drawing from it with a deep breath. The nicotine alleviated her nerves, and she closed her eyes as it slowly left her in a long exhale.

She had serious doubts about Aldercapt Industries being all that great. She hadn’t heard the best things about the company. Loqi had sang their praises for so long, but a brief look had revealed enough negative media attention that she’d felt a deeper dive to be unnecessary. His admiration had become off-putting after that.

“It never is.” His hand left his pocket to straighten his tie. “But I can’t say I’m disappointed. You still with the Caelums?”

“Always.” It was released into the air with an unseeable huff of vapor. She passed the pen back to him.

“I’m surprised. You complained about your boss so much that one time.” Loqi took a step forward, stretching a little with the pen clenched in a hand. “Not the heir but the other one. The one with the glasses.”

Ela fought a roll of her eyes. This was another thing he always brought up, the contentious relationship she’d had with Ignis in the beginning. Everyone knew they hadn’t gotten along, but that had long since passed. Loqi just liked to be negative. He liked to keep others in uncomfortable positions, to remind them of things they’d rather forget and move past. She didn’t trust him because he comisserated but never truly supported her. He wanted her to do well, just not better than he did.

“Not treating you that well at Aldercapt, huh?” She touched his arm, and he turned around to face her. “Always have to be a dick.”

His shrug was a casual roll of his shoulders, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Ela knew better. Loqi was a bundle of nerves. She was waiting for him to ask about Cor, the previous head of security who’d retired before she’d ever worked for Caelum Corp. Loqi always asked about the other man, his scorn over being thrown from the Caelum building years before an apparent obsession of his. He didn’t take rejection well.

“No vacation days,” he admitted, shoving his hands into his pockets. “No sick days. Nothing. I’ll end up dying there from overworking. Happily.”

She huffed a light laugh. Happily. What a ridiculous thought. No one owed a corporation their entire life.

Her watch began to beep, and a quick glance at it told her she needed to be meeting with Noctis soon to go over the last minute preparations for the presentation. Without so much as a “Gotta go”, she walked around the base of the statue and ascended the wide stoop.

—

Her watch alight with a message, Ela swiped it away to read later. She couldn’t visit her sister today. Three months into her new job, and she’d yet to tell anyone but her sister about it. What was there to tell, anyway? Her boss disliked her; it was only a matter of time before she slipped up. Ignis would find a way to get rid of her if he really wanted.

“Could you collate these, Elanore?”

Elanore. No one called her by her full name but him. She looked up from her computer to Ignis, who stood in the doorway of his office. A large, messy stack of files, spilling with documents, rested in his hands. Shocking that he’d walk even that far for this request. He’d called her from his desk that morning and given her an unapologetic “Clear your schedule. We are working late on the Coernix project for the rest of the week.”

Shoving her desk chair back, pasting on a pleasant smile, she nodded. “Got it, sir.”

She took the stack from him and watched as he walked back into his office. The blinds had been opened, his office a fishbowl for her to observe. It was very much the other way around, though, her every move on display for his discerning eye. She kind of hated this job. As much as it seemed to hate her, at least.

The papers fanned when hitting her desk, scattering among what was already there. The Coernix project was small and short notice, an acquisition Caelum Corp made just so they’d have easier access to fuel resources for more important projects later on. So far, the paperwork she’d had to handle had been standard, but the previous owners of Coernix had been so unorganized. Most of her work on this came down to alphabetizing and trying to make sense of the poorly structured system that had been in place before.

It was, in so many words, really fucking boring.

She rounded her desk and took her seat again. Opening a desk drawer, she pulled out the case for her wireless headphones. It was nearing eight in the evening. Ignis had, so far, overlooked her zoning out around this hour on days that they’d work late. Her job wasn’t necessarily difficult, in her opinion. It was just a lot. Ignis was constantly asking for things, and she was readily meeting them. Easy. So she hoped her putting on music wouldn’t be something he felt the need to stop tonight. The tedium of organizing documents didn’t need that much brain power.

Putting the buds into her ears, she peered over her monitor to Ignis, sitting at his own desk. He sipped from the takeout cup she’d brought just an hour earlier, before the cafe down the block closed. Even from there, between his long fingers, she could make out the “Dingus” written on the cup’s side by the barista.

“I told them Ignis when I ordered,” she’d said, pretending to be sheepish.

He’d stared at the word with the hardest frown, and the deeper it went, the more amusement she felt. She was finally beginning to understand him. He took himself too seriously. On top of disliking her, he was impatient, cutting, and horribly intelligent. All things he’d used against her so far. This was such a small, petty way of getting back at him, but she could only do so much.

“I guess there’s a lot of similarity there.” She said it as if thoughtful, playing dumb and friendly. She was so used to playing dumb and friendly with him. She held up her hands, palms up, as if weighing the two names. “Ignis, Dingus. Pretty close. All the employees at that cafe are teens just trying their best, sir.”

His brow had furrowed, and she’d fought a smile. She dared him to mention her own age. She wasn’t above shoving a finger into his chest to call out discrimination. She needed this job.

He’d taken the coffee to his office, nothing else said on the matter. She’d won for the time being. It was a shame, the way it felt less satisfying than she’d hoped. She could win against him in these insignificant ways, but none of it mattered when all she truly wanted to do was win him over.

She smiled to herself as he drew the cup away from his lips and glanced down at the incorrect name written on it. Leaning back in her chair, she made sure her earbuds were comfortable before opening the music app on her phone.

Pressing play did nothing. She frowned at her phone’s screen, the song appearing to begin playing despite the silence in her ears. She took out one of the buds, looking it over before putting it back in. She turned up the volume on her phone. The sound of the song was faint but there, and she realized a moment later just where it was coming from.

Standing abruptly from her desk, she looked into Ignis’ office to see him staring at one of the bluetooth speakers on his desk. The music came through the small opening in his cracked office door, resounding off the glass walls. She’d completely forgotten she’d been connected to them before. He’d made her take audio notes during a visit to one of the labs earlier in the week—“handsfree, Elanore, it’s important”—and he’d listened to them that morning, his soft judgement coming through when mentioning how often she’d said “um”.

He looked her way now, brows arching. She scrambled for her phone, pressing pause on the song and disconnecting the bluetooth. Looking up from the device, she wondered if she should go apologize for the disruption. After the coffee thing, he probably thought it had been on purpose. He was already facing his computer again, typing as if entirely unbothered.

Slowly, she retook her seat and made sure her phone was connected correctly before pressing play again. The song began in the middle, right where she’d paused it. Too loud at first, she turned down the volume and sighed.

I’m achin’ now, I’m achin’ now. It’s times like these I need relief.

She shifted the papers around on her desk, unfocused because shit. It just had to be one of the more suggestive songs. Skipping the song for now, she listened to the next and poured her concentration into organizing the disaster that was the Coernix paperwork.

When she finished just past midnight, she took the files to his office. She was slow about coming in. Not tentative but careful. Her knuckles paused just over the doorway before she knocked. Ignis, fiddling with his pen in quick motions between his thumb and forefinger, seemed to be considering an important dossier. He was humming, a quiet sound that reached her in pleasant waves. She’d never seen him this relaxed, and it made her pause there in his doorway for longer than she meant.

He suddenly looked up, the pen in his hand coming to a stop. “Finished, I presume?”

She lowered her hand, holding up the stack with her other arm. “Yes.”

“Good.” He nodded toward where he wanted her to put them in the usual spot on his large desk. The back end of his pen touched another stack. “Begin on these next.”

She nodded, trading out the completed work for the new pile. With a pause, she stayed in front of his desk. “I’m going to that convenience store on the corner. I need an Ebony. Do you want one?”

She wasn’t asking because she felt bad about blasting music at him. She wasn’t even asking because she wanted to suck up. It was just… polite. She also needed a moment away to think about him humming the melody of the song she’d accidentally played.

His brows pinched. “At this hour?”

She blinked. “I need the caffeine, sir.”

He looked from her to his computer screen. Then he seemed to make a decision. “Right. I’ll join you.”

She blinked again, stepping back from his desk as he stood up. She couldn’t imagine Ignis perusing a dingy shop in the early morning hours in his Gucci attire. “I’m fine going on my own.”

He ignored her, taking his jacket from the coat rack in a corner of the room. A glance at the watch on his wrist, and he gave a light shake of his head. “Hardly halfway finished, and it’s already nearing one.” He slid his jacket on, one arm at a time, turning to her as he adjusted the collar. “We’ve a long week ahead of us, Elanore. Perhaps we should stock up on Ebony while out. It would save us the trouble of those teens in the cafe who can never seem to get my name correct.”

She gripped the stack of documents tighter, forcing a small laugh. This wasn’t at all what she’d wanted, but he was already passing her on the way out of his office.

—

Her climb up the stairs was halted at the uppermost step, a voice— a pair of voices catching her attention.

“It’s a wonder we haven’t been investigated already.” Ignis. Oh?

“This is entirely unrelated, and you’ve already sent her on her way.” Ravus. Oh?

Ela froze, holding her breath because they were being so quiet. They were standing just a yard or so away from the venue’s entrance, a wide column not entirely obscuring them.

“The fact remains,” Ignis said, sounding frustrated. Ela imagined him pushing up his glasses to pinch the space between his eyes. “We don’t know who the perpetrator is, or what their motives may be.”

“We know their motives.” Ravus sounded much less scandalized. “You found her in a private room and made an ass of yourself in the middle of the gala. We know exactly what they’d planned to do to her.”

Ignis sighed. A silence followed, and Ela stepped closer, wanting to eavesdrop more. What were they whispering about?

“Ela?”

She startled, looking up from her concentrated look at the wet ground. Ignis peered beyond the column on one side. Ravus took a step back to do the same, both men staring. She rounded the column, smiling. Not sheepishly— that would imply guilt. “Getting fresh air.”

“It’s rather cold to be—” Ravus gave her a once over, cutting off just as Ignis cleared his throat.

She looked between them. Had it been that obvious she was listening in? She wanted to ask what they were talking about, but considering the way she’d been shut down after the last incident, she didn’t want to waste her breath.

As far as the weather, she didn’t think it was all that cold. The barest pink rose to Ignis’ face, and she figured they must get colder easier than she did even in those tuxedos. She took in the light flush, her eyes tracing his jaw, down to the smudges of lipstick that remained on the curve of his neck. Averting her gaze to Ravus, she found him looking pointedly away from both of them. He must’ve been uncomfortable, too, not mentioning the lipstick to Ignis already.

Ignis began to remove his suit jacket. “Here. To keep warm.”

She rose a hand in protest, about to explain that she was going inside anyway. When she caught a glimpse of one of his shirt cuffs, she frowned. “You lost a cufflink.”

He brought his wrist up, frowning in turn. “Must’ve come off when— ah, well.” Dropping his arm, he took his jacket off completely. His face grew slightly pinker. It really wasn’t that cold. “Perhaps it’ll turn up.”

Ela bit her lip, shaking her head at the offer of his coat. The woman he’d been making out with had probably loosened it when she’d grabbed him. Ela didn’t want to think he deserved that for how weird that situation had been to witness; this gala was throwing her for too many loops, and she wished Ignis could’ve, at the very least, remained normal. She didn’t want to think he deserved it because she knew how much those cufflinks meant to him.

“I’m going inside,” she said, throwing a thumb over her shoulder. Her other hand came up to motion vaguely at Ignis. “You have something on your neck.” She wanted to wipe it off, but she also didn’t want to get too close to him. The three of them standing there, alone as they were, was beginning to dredge up memories of the dream. She’d yet to digest her kiss with Noctis. She didn’t need these thoughts, too.

With his jacket draped over an arm, Ignis’ brows arched above his glasses, his hand coming hesitantly to his neck. As his blush grew, she turned around to leave them to whatever whispering they had left to do. He should probably go inside, too, if he were that chilly. She had more important things to think about and even more things to suppress.

—

Ignis didn’t return to his office. Or, if he did, it was only to gather more paperwork or file what they’d already completed. Some of the more important reports were only held in paper copies and needed to be transcribed into data that could be accessed from their network. Even worse, some of those irreplaceable reports were handwritten. Halfway through the week of late nights, and she had a splitting headache. Because all of the more tedious tasks were falling onto her.

It didn’t help that Ignis had pulled one of the lounge chairs up to her desk. They were comfortable, for clients and guests, and Ignis leaned back in his, one finger tapping against his mouth while his eyes flitted across a document in his hand. While she typed things out, occasionally squinting at the more difficult to read pieces, he went through them to first determine if they were worth keeping a record of at all.

So far, everything had been worth keeping.

Ela flipped over the report she was currently working on, and her hand cramped. She frowned, flexing her fingers before relaxing her hand on her desk. She took that moment to stretch her back, too. She’d barely moved since they’d stocked the minifridge with Ebony. Now that Ignis had made the other side of her desk his new base of operations, she had even less reason to get up.

She grumbled under her breath, stretching out her legs underneath the desk. What was Ignis’ problem? She’d thought they’d had a moment when he’d went with her to the convenience store two nights earlier. He’d recommended a flavor of “crisps” to her that she already really enjoyed. It had turned into them jokingly arguing over whether they should’ve been called “chips” instead.

They were chips. She was Lucian, for Astrals sake.

It’d been the first time she’d ever heard him laugh. The next day, after he’d dealt with his usual business, he came out to her desk, setting up without warning. Did he not trust her to get it done properly on her own?

Looking up from her sore hand, she met his eyes. His mouth pinched with a frown, his finger leaving it as he put the document down. “Do you need a break?”

What she needed was a smoke. She was trying desperately to quit. She would quit. With a shake of her head, she went back to typing, but the muscles in her hand were still tense.

Ignis sighed. “Why don’t we move to the sofa? I’ll type while you sort.”

Head jerking up to look at him, she blinked. “The what?”

He tilted his head toward the couch in the waiting area, upholstered with the same black leather of the chair he’d pulled over. Standing up, he tapped his current stack of documents neatly before sliding them into the large binder that then went into a box that sat on the floor near his feet. When he picked it up, he looked down at her impatiently. “Come. No wasting time.”

She followed him, pushing the chair back into place as he put the box down on the coffee table. After another prompting nod from him, she sat down on the couch like he’d suggested. It was immediate relief on her back. She sank into the plush feeling while he disappeared into his office. Closing her eyes, she listened to the ambient hum of the air conditioner. She counted her breaths.

“Elanore, you may rest when you go home.”

Her eyes snapped open, and she sat up. “Sorry, sir.” She reached into the box for the binder. Opening it on her lap, she was startled a second time by the clunk of something placed on the table in front of her. A can of Ebony. She looked to her side, the couch shifting as Ignis sat next to her, and reached for the can without hesitation. With how much coffee she’d been drinking, she wasn’t sure how helpful it would be. She’d built a mighty tolerance working here. “Thanks.”

“Mm.” He nodded, cracking open his own can. She knew that meant he didn’t want her wasting anymore time talking. She’d gotten enough memos about “maximizing your time, Elanore” to understand what the man was about.

Her sip went longer, and when she placed the can back onto the coffee table, Ignis was already typing away at the laptop he’d brought from his office. His elbow bumped hers every so often, but he didn’t appear to notice. She sifted through the files, not letting it bother her.

When she came across a contract that was as old as she was, binding Coernix to a now defunct company that sold mudflaps, she spoke up. The air conditioner had cut off, and she’d already emptied her Ebony to no avail, so her voice broke clear in the room, just over the sound of his typing.

“I don’t think this is important. We should shred it.”

Ignis paused, glancing at the papers but not taking them from her. “Alright. Begin a discard pile.”

As she put the paper down in a separate part of the coffee table, her watch beeped with a new message. Like all previous attempts at communication from her sister, she swiped it away to be read later. She tried not to feel guilty. She was doing this for her. She was working so she wouldn’t be stuck where she was forever. She was going to fix everything. Someday.

“Is that important?” Ignis asked.

She looked at the next document she’d picked up. “I haven��t read it over yet.”

“No.” Ignis looked at her watch. “The messages. Considering how late it is, you should let whomever know of your whereabouts.”

Ela stared at him for a second, then waved him off. She didn’t have a roommate or a boyfriend waiting up for her. Her sister shouldn’t have been awake at this hour anyway. She knew she shouldn’t have bought her sister that new phone with her most recent paycheck. But it had been so much money… And Ela didn’t know who else to spend it on.

“On yourself,” her sister had said, eyes not leaving her new phone. It boasted an amazing camera.

“And what would I buy myself, Ellie?” She’d sat on the edge of her sister’s bed. The machines were louder in person than they were on the phone.

“Art supplies. Makeup.” Ellie had looked at her then, sunken eyes full of excitement. “A new car.”

Ela had given her a tight smile, looking at one of the monitors, listening to the measured beeping. She didn’t want to drive anytime soon. So far, taking the bus only meant waking up an hour earlier than she would’ve if she drove herself to work. It was a small price to pay.

“A convertible,” Ellie continued, grabbing one of Ela’s hands and squeezing. “I’ve always wanted to ride in one of those. Feel the wind in my hair. Eat a few bugs.”

Ela’s smile broadened, became more genuine, and she’d squeezed back. “I don’t make that much money.”

“Then save it. We can go for a drive when I get better.”

Ela looked at Ignis now and gave him a small smile. “It’s fine. Let’s keep going.”

His eyes searched her face, and for a moment, she feared he wouldn’t believe her. That maybe he’d find a way to use this against her, to finally get rid of her. Her personal life —what little of it that existed— was hers, though, and her sister was solely her responsibility. No one had to know. No one would ever know. She wasn’t going to be hurt again.

The train of thought came to a crashing halt when Ignis nodded, reached for his Ebony, and tried to drink from the empty can.

“Drat.” He put his laptop down and stood up with the can. Looking over his shoulder on his way back to his office, he asked, “Would you like another?”

She nodded, stifling a loud yawn once he disappeared into the other room. Her eyelids felt heavy, but she estimated she had another hour or two left in her. It was only midnight.

Ignis returned with the promised Ebony, and she drank a bit from it before returning to the task of sorting. Words became hard to understand, hard to read. They blurred and swayed, and she leaned into something warm to gather her concentration, her eyes coming to a close.

Just for a minute, she thought.

When she woke the next morning, it was the to the smell of fresh coffee and indistinct chatter. She lifted herself, a suit jacket pooling on her lap. With a wide, bleary look around, she saw Ignis talking to someone being much louder than he was.

“Thanks! It’s a new route for me so I’ll catch you tomorrow, probs!”

Ela watched the stranger pass on his way out. He shot her a finger gun as the elevator doors closed. Who could be so happy this early in the morning? A check of her watch told her she had to be at her desk in twenty minutes. She groaned, dropping her feet to the floor and pushing the jacket off of her. She couldn’t believe she’d slept here. That was the nightmare level of bad luck and something she’d worried would happen after so many nights spent late in the office.

Standing up, she oriented herself and looked at Ignis, who looked at her. He was dressed down, his unbuttoned dress shirt and suspenders a pleasant sight compared to the usual tightly buttoned suit. Was she still dreaming? Then she realized something, picking up the jacket that had covered her. Barefoot and feeling crusty, she rounded the coffee table toward him with it.

“Um. Good morning, sir.”

He took the jacket from her, draping it over an arm. “If you would like to go home for an hour to freshen up, please do. Return promptly by nine.”

She nodded, fully intending to take that offer. Part of her wanted to ask why he hadn’t woken her up. A larger part of her wanted to ask him what cologne he wore because she loved the smell that lingered on her from his jacket. The largest part won out; the part that told her to keep pushing forward and not think too deeply about it.

—

In the somewhat warm embrace of the venue, surrounded by the guests and overly ornate decor, Ela was further stalled on her way to Noctis. But of course.

“El, babe, didn’t expect to see ya here.”

She grimaced at the sound of the voice, its thick accent setting off alarms in her mind. Her shoulders automatically rose, a sense of defensiveness falling over her like a shroud. She turned to the source of the noise, not hiding her displeasure.

With his press badge looking polished and the usual smarm on his face, Dino gave her an exaggerated once over. He was on the prowl. She suspected almost any woman would do, but one unfortunate fact would always haunt her. It was what made him beeline for her at every event. He was the only boyfriend she’d ever had. And he knew it.

“El,” he said, stepping closer. “El for love.”

She made a disgruntled noise, just short of a groan. “Dino, I don’t have time for you.”

She’d liked his eyes when they’d first met. She’d found his accent obnoxious and his smile sleazy, but he’d made her laugh. He’d been so uncomplicated, and in the end, his lack of depth had become… boring.

“No time for your first love?”

She regretted ever telling him that. It had meant to be a joke said over the bowl of popcorn between them when he’d said something especially stupid during a movie. I can’t believe my first love is this big of an asshole. Gods, had he clung to it.

“Torture me after the presentations.” She tried to brush him off. Usually, all it took was a few pointed statements, then he’d wander off to other women to harass. He wasn’t necessarily a bad guy. He was an awful guy. Harmlessly awful.

“If ya wanna talk torture, hows about you let me wear your thighs like earmuffs,” he said, more serious than anyone had a right to be saying something like that to another human being. “I’ll eat you out ‘til I’ve got you comin’ so hard ya waterboard me.”

She lifted a hand, palm toward him. Her mouth opened, then closed. What was she even supposed to say? She had to admit, that was a new one.

“Gladio, get him out of here.”

She didn’t process the newest voice—still trying to work through the amalgam of verbal shit that had just been aimed at her—until Noctis was at her side.

Dino began to protest, albeit lightly, coward that he was, when Gladio brought a great hand down on his shoulder. She didn’t get to see much of him being escorted out because Noctis was bumping her elbow with his own to get her attention.

“You alright?”

She turned to him, remembering she needed to walk him through the main points of his presentation. “Right. Noct, we should—” Then she remembered, as she looked from his eyes to his mouth, that they’d kissed. It had been so warm. Warm and too brief. She swallowed, forcing her eyes back up to meet his. “We should go over your points really quick.”

He didn’t seem to think that was important right now. “Are you sure he wasn’t bothering you?”

“It’s Dino. He always bothers me.”

Noctis looked off, in the direction where Gladio had taken the reporter. It wasn’t the first time Dino had been pulled out of an event for pressing too hard. She couldn’t understand the continued fascination; their relationship had only lasted two months, and the last time she’d seen Dino, he’d seemed almost entirely over her. There had even been a small hope in her that he’d merely ask a few questions about Caelum Corp before moving on during tonight’s party.

Looking at her with what she thought was soft concern, Noctis frowned. “I heard there was someone—” His frown became a grimace. “It would be a creep like him. Be careful, okay? I need to talk to Iggy.”

Then he was off, brushing past Ravus on his way toward the exit. She stared after him, confused and hoping he wasn’t just blowing off the refresher she’d planned. Be careful? She was growing further and further from understanding what was happening anymore.

Wait. Ravus.

She blinked, looking up at the man as he stopped in front of her. She closed her mouth, not even bothering to wonder how long it had been hanging open. This night continued to get away from her; now all she hoped to do was get through the presentations without Noctis falling off the stage or Ignis having another gropefest with a scantily dressed daughter of some important bigwig. Ela was going to gray early, just like the man in front of her apparently had.

Ravus ran a hand through his hair, not caring how unkempt it made him appear. She watched the way it fell back into place, touching his high cheekbones and catching in the light of the chandeliers overhead.

“I’m not going to work for you,” she blurted, hoping to cut this off here and now. She’d said no, and she’d meant no. It had been one thing after another all evening. This, at least, she felt she could stop.

Ravus frowned down at her, a hand shoved into a pocket while the other once again coursed fingers through his hair. “Make no mistake, you’d be an asset to any department. But I’ve no intent to pressure.”

“Great.” She wasn’t trying to be rude, but her patience was dwindling. She was supposed to be helping Noctis, and Ravus was a distracting wall of fancy words, muscle, and old fashioned charm. “I’m getting another glass of champagne. Excuse me.”

He caught her by the hand, stopping her after one step. She looked back and up at him, pulling her hand free but not walking away.

“Don’t drink the champagne.” He was serious, suddenly. More so than before. “Someone soiled it. I hear it’s making others ill.”

Ela hadn’t heard anything like that. She looked around, spotting no one causing a scene over it. That didn’t mean it couldn’t be true, she told herself. For what reason would he lie to her? A man nearby took a glass of it from one of the serving trays still being walked around the gala.

“Shouldn’t we stop others from drinking it, then?”

Ravus sighed, a quiet sound that broadened his chest for a moment. “We aren’t certain…”

Ela had a thought, sudden and curious, because there Ravus was, once again avoiding eye contact. He kept making that worried motion with his fingers through his hair.

“Tonight is making everyone weird,” she said, providing him with an excuse. She had no clue what was going on, but everyone seemed slightly off. He’d been so self assured when she’d first seen him; and now his eyes were so much softer when meeting her own.

“Indeed.” He nodded, once, finally dropping his hand to his side. The other left his pocket, outstretched to her. “Would you care to dance?”

She looked from his hand to his face. She’d never danced at one of these parties. People attended so they could flaunt and increase their wealth. They came to make professional connections. The only people who danced were those who wanted to be watched. Gazing out toward the dance floor, she spotted a few couples and one eccentric woman in a feathered gown dancing alone.

Facing him, she put her hand in his. What could be the harm? She had a small mess of business cards in her clutch she’d yet to hand out. The attention could help, she reasoned.

What she couldn’t reason, though, was why Ravus wanted to be seen with her.

He took the lead, first by weaving her through the bodies to the more open area of the dance floor, then by drawing her close, his other hand coming to her waist. He smelled like sylleblossoms, something she usually associated with Luna. It was pleasant and flowery, but out of place. The Ravus in her dream had been musky and— fight the thought, she told herself. Even if he was holding her terribly close now.

His hand holding hers was gentler than the one at her waist. The carbon fiber of it was surprisingly warm around her hand. Probably from having been in his pocket. She hadn’t thought about his prosthetic, hadn’t given it attention because, in her research into him, she’d learned that he didn’t like to talk about it. Not explicitly. She’d been able to tell through his body language in photos. In the sheer absence of the topic across all media in which he could’ve been found. It was most often covered by a glove —both hands, for science— but it was bare tonight. She peeked at it now, at the smooth, white finish and the intricate, silver joints.

“I must admit,” he said, catching her attention. His hand tightened on hers as they spun a wider turn. “Part of me is relieved at your adamancy to remain loyal to the Caelums.”

She matched his steps across the polished floor. “Why’s that?”

There was no explanation for why she felt so confrontational with this man. Maybe the night’s events had tired her. Maybe he felt like the only one who’d push back. Maybe she needed that right now.

“Did you realize how underqualified I am on paper?” she asked.

She wasn’t. Underqualified, that was. But she knew how others saw it, and why it had taken her so long to start attending events like this.

His hand over hers held tighter, and she squeezed in return, slowly spinning with him. He didn’t acknowledge what she said with anything more than a roll of his eyes. It was surprisingly expressive of him, she thought.

“There is a rule in my company that employees aren’t permitted to fraternize with one another.”

“We have the same rule,” she said, thinking about how it had been the main reason she’d never approached Noctis romantically.

Ravus drew her closer for a short stretch of seconds, arching her in a dip before lifting. Internally, she laughed at herself for pretending that was why she’d never told Noctis how she felt. The scent of sylleblossoms only drove it home, and the laugh bubbled out of her quietly. “Did Luna spray you with her perfume?”

Ravus arched a brow. “Yes. I arrived directly from my lab. She believed the chemical smell inappropriate.” His shoulder tensed, then relaxed underneath her grip. “How could you tell?”

She quieted her laugh, smiling up at him. “You smell like a garden. Not earthy but—” She bit her lip to keep from laughing when he frowned at her. “I’ve always wanted a garden,” she added in an attempt to amend. It was true; she always had. It also wouldn’t do any good for her to insult the head of a company that was working so closely with her own.

Especially now, with so many eyes on them. Ravus had wanted to be seen. With her. She still didn’t understand.

His frown remained, but there was no edge to his voice. “You tease me.”

She realized as he held her ever closer that it wasn’t a confrontation she’d wanted. His hand left her waist to press flat at the arch of her back, resting there. Skin to skin. Flashes, not so much images coming to mind as spikes in sensation, came to her. How roughly he’d taken her in her dream, and the contrast of that to the gentle but stern man who held her now.

“I could taste it,” he said, “for hours. Long into the evening. The sweat. I couldn’t rid myself of the memory of how you felt.”

Ela stared at him, her eyes widening in confusion.

“This is inappropriate. More so, had you accepted my offer.” His jaw worked. “But I cannot forget the fantasy, however much it was driven by another.”

The dance ended even though the music continued. She stared up at him, a slow creep of awareness coming to her the more he spoke.

“I wonder.” His hand at her back smoothed upward. It caressed her shoulder blade and came to rest at her nape. When he bent forward, she moved with him. They were flush to one another, his heartbeat rocking against her, strands of his hair tickling her cheek. “Should I dare hope to at least kiss you? That, I must say, has been most consuming. He wouldn’t allow me.”

It wasn’t a confrontation she’d needed. No.

She tilted her head, chin lifting upward to—

A high pitched screech of audio feedback from a microphone made her jump. She pulled away from Ravus, her footing wobbly. She rested a hand against his chest to steady herself, then jerked it back. Heat came to her face, a burn that was accompanied by the sudden drop of her stomach. Her mind swam, awash with thoughts, drowning.

“Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, distinguished guests.” The opening speech began, the party continuing with no respect to what chaos was happening in her life.

Ela swallowed, repressing more now than ever. Only she… couldn’t. Not anymore. Not this. Ravus looked from her to the man on stage. Then, he turned and began to make his way through the crowd. It was a beat before she followed. At the bottom of the stairs leading up to the stage, she slowed. Ravus ascended them, passing Ignis. Already on the stage, stood Noctis, just beyond the man who would soon introduce both him and Ravus to the entire venue.

Ela stared at Ignis, unable to really absorb what Ravus had said. Ignis, to his credit, smiled softly. A morning smile. A pastry smile. Encouragement in expression. It softened her, eased her turbulent thoughts into something she could push to the back of her mind.

She snapped opened her clutch, quickly withdrawing a silken tissue. One hand coming to his jaw to make him tilt his head, she wiped away the smallest remaining bit of lipstick on his neck. He must’ve missed it when cleaning up. She didn’t want to think about it.

Her eyes flicked from the smudge of red to his own eyes, a brilliant green focused on her. His smile waned, and she was so close, she could smell the champagne on his breath when he thanked her. She wasn’t the only one imbibing more than was necessary, she thought. Some things made a bit more sense. Drawing away, she considered wadding the tissue back into her clutch, but Ignis took it, tucking it discreetly into a pocket.

“After you,” he whispered, taking her hand in one of his own. His other motioned for her to go ahead of him up the steps.

Once on stage, she schooled herself into a professional smile. Several paces in front of her, Noctis and Ravus began their presentation on the co-branding project. Where she’d expected to worry about the two of them talking over one another, she instead found herself stunned by the sudden confidence Noctis appeared to have. As Ravus spoke, Noctis looked back at her, smiling over his shoulder.

Next to her, Ignis tensed, and that made her tense. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t look at him. Because, as the presentation continued and she’d mentally sifted through what Ravus had said, she realized she hadn’t had a sex dream about them. It had been a fantasy. One they had shared. That she remembered vividly, and Ravus claimed he couldn’t get out of his mind. She’d… reflected on it more than once since it had happened. Had they, as well? Had Ignis?

Against her better judgement, she gave him a side glance. His profile offered nothing but his slight frown. He lifted a hand to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He caught her, from the corner of his eye. She didn’t look away when he returned her subtle glance, one of his careful brows arched. She knew the look.

Alright, there?

She wasn’t but nodded, just once, a slight movement before returning her attention to the men speaking. He relaxed next to her, lifting a hand to pat her with a comforting gesture. The touch of his hand at the curve of her back felt like a spark. Static electricity along her skin, shooting directly up her spine.

Ignis remained unbothered, his hand resting there, unmoving for a short stretch of time, then falling away. Of course he didn’t think about it. He’d probably banished the memory to the darkest depths of his mind. What a relief, really.

—

She held his tuxedo jacket and watched him with mild fascination as he fixed his cufflinks. They were round and silver, accented with tiny marks to make them look like little compasses. He noticed her staring, and she startled at the sound of his chuckle.

“A gift from my mother,” he said, taking the jacket from her. “To help guide me on my path to success.”

Ela nodded, surprised he’d share this with her. She didn’t know what to say. He’d grown a little more talkative during the past week of late nights working together. It was still unsettling. Luckily, Ignis spoke before she had to.

“I think of them as a good luck charm.” He rolled his shoulders while adjusting the jacket. His fingers went to the buttons, beginning in the middle. “I wear them to every major event.”

It was such a fancy way of dressing, and Ela wished she could attend the event, too. She didn’t have a reason to go, and the attendance fee was too much just for one night. Ignis finished buttoning his jacket and returned his attention to the cufflinks. Ela liked them, but she didn’t say so.

Ignis looked up at her, dropping his arms to his sides, one hand coming to rest at his hip. “You must think me silly.”

She shook her head, covering a smile with her hand. He must’ve been in a good mood, talking to her as if she weren’t a constant irritant for him. They had finished all of the paperwork in time. She wasn’t entirely sure what the event was about, Coernix acquisition or not, but the excitement was apparent on him.

“Not at all,” she said, dropping her hand. Her smile waned as she looked down at the stack of unfinished paperwork on her desk. It was everything she’d had to put on hold for the Coernix project. “I’ll have these finished before I go tonight.”

Looking up at him, she found his brow pinched. He put a hand on his hip with a frown. “You’re going to continue working?”

She nodded. Why not? There was a lot to do. She couldn’t dance and mingle with potential clients, but she could be useful here.

Ignis’ frown sharpened. “No, you’ll go home.”

Ela’s jaw loosened, confused at his sudden order. “Home?”

He moved his hand in a vague motion. “Not necessarily home. Go out with your friends, whatever it is you do.” He arched a brow, his frown easing. “You’ve worked late all week. Your dedication is appreciated, but you need rest.”

Hand leaving his hip, he walked toward his office. Ela stared after him. After all of his pushing, his intense rush to have everything done, this felt like cold water being thrown on her. He disappeared into his office, and she looked away, still confused. She picked through the documents on her desk, wondering if he was serious. It would only take a few hours to get them all processed…

“Ela, were you not listening?”

Her hands paused in their shuffle of the papers. She looked up quickly to see Ignis shaking his head. He stood in the doorway of his office, his frown slowly becoming a smile.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it.

“You’re not allowed to work late without me.” He nodded toward the papers in her hand. “You’ll finish those on Monday.”

She lifted the stack of documents. “It’s really not a prob—”

His smile grew, and along with it, her confusion. “You’re overstepping. We make a fine team, but I’m still your superior. Now go.”

She snapped her mouth shut, then nodded. Sure. She’d leave. Whatever the boss wanted. Feeling odd, she put the papers down and began to gather her things into her bag. She was further disquieted by Ignis’ chuckle before he closed his office door. She looked at the nameplate, deciding she wasn’t beginning to understand him after all.

He’d called her Ela.

—

She applauded along with everyone else once the co-branding project was officially announced. Noctis turned to her fully, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

“Great job, sir,” she praised, stepping toward him, delighting in the roll of his eyes. It was what she needed right now. She wanted to embrace this familiarity. To embrace him.

Before she could gather the nerve, Ravus turned around next. No smile came to his own face, but when her name fell from his mouth, it was soft. He slipped a hand into his jacket, pulling out something small and thin. A business card.

The sight of it made her perk up. Right! She had her own she’d been neglecting. She opened her bag, intent to trade with him. If Ignis and Ravus could be professional, she could, too. The thought was laughable, all things considered.

Ravus looked at his card, then reached into his pocket again, fishing for something. Ela glanced from hers to Luna, who’d joined them on the stage. She hugged Noctis as Ravus withdrew a pen and wrote something on his card. Ela’s card bent in her hand as it curled. Luna kissed Noctis twice before letting him go, his face dusted with red.

“I’d like you to have this.” Ravus’ voice cut through her attention. He held out his card, flicking it between fingers to show her the back. “I’ve written my personal contact.”

She took it from him, bringing it close to stare at the simple design. Black lettering on a white matte background. A simplistically drawn amaryllis graced the back of hers— for success and strength. She tried to draw from those intended feelings when looking at Ravus. He still held the pen.

“May I?” She took it from him and wrote her own. The numbers fit nicely along the outer edge of a pointed petal. She handed it to Ravus when returning the pen. She wasn’t going to tell him to call her. She was close to suffocating in her thoughts and felt the weight of the others watching.

With the presentation over, she wasn’t obligated to stay any longer. Turning to Ignis, she met his eyes and touched his arm. “I’m heading home.”

He lifted the hand on his opposite side, looking as if he wanted to say something. He wouldn’t make her stay late if she didn’t want to. Dropping his hand, he nodded. “Goodnight.”

She gave both Luna and Noctis a wave, feeling unbelievably tired suddenly. Ravus was already making his way out of the venue, the same line of thought on his own mind, she supposed. She walked in a different direction, having parked on the street rather than forking up more money to park in the garage underneath the building. She turned his card over in her hands as the chill air kissed her heated skin outside the entrance.

Putting it in her clutch, she descended the stairs. The cold air brought clarity. Or maybe just calm to the storm. She could think about everything later. She was now on vacation.

#ignis scientia/original female character #ravus nox fleuret/original female character #noctis lucis caelum/original female character #ignis scientia #ravus nox fleuret #noctis lucis caelum #ffxv fanfiction #daim writes

2 notes · View notes

effyeahzimbits · 6 years ago

Text

Swawesome Santa 2018 Submission

Title: Five Times Bitty and Jack Allowed Fate to Get the Better of Them…and the One Time They Took Matters into Their Own Hands Rating: T+ Pairings: Jack/Bitty, mentions of Shitty/Lardo, mentions of Holster/Ransom. Very, very brief Jack/OC and Bitty/OC. Warnings: Alcohol use, brief mentions of Jack’s overdose. Summary: Bitty always felt like he was missing a train he was meant to have taken. Jack always let the universe decide which direction he should go in. It took them three New Year's Eves before they got it right.A 5+1 things AU fic created for the Swawesome Santa, gifted to @loveyoutoobits! I hope you like it.

Five Times Bitty and Jack Allowed Fate to Get the Better of Them…and the One Time They Took Matters into Their Own Hands

31st December 2017 Bitty’s first New Year’s Eve in Boston was spent in a bar. He wasn’t a stranger to bars, especially the loud, gaudy one he was in right now. But he had previously rung in the new years with his parents at family parties back in Madison, Georgia, and had been desperate for a change of scenery. When his best friends had suggested a night out on the town, he had jumped at the chance. He never turned down an opportunity to dance and spend the night with his friends. That was also the night he first met Jack Zimmermann.

Now, Bitty didn’t know a great deal about hockey culture. He knew the game and enjoyed it just as much as his friends did, but he never took that much interest in teams’ rosters and star players. But Jack Zimmermann, the Providence Falconers’ current captain, he knew. If only because he scored a hat trick in their last game against the Bruins and Holster was furious for a week. Bitty had been impressed enough to Google him, and had been impressed further by the man’s understated smile and bright blue eyes. Still, he was just another hockey player. Just another hockey player who turned out to be the best friend of Lardo’s new boyfriend. Bitty could see right away he wasn’t the partying type. While Bitty and his friends downed shots and sang at the top of their lungs and danced without a care in the world, Jack simply sat at a booth nursing a single beer and watching them have a good time. When questioned he just said he was perfectly happy as he was, and Shitty (Lardo’s boyfriend) would confirm it. Bitty mostly forgot all about him and continued partying. That was, until he felt Jack’s eyes on him. No one knew how he did it. Hell, even Bitty himself didn’t know how he did it. But one moment he was playfully beckoning Zimmermann from the dance floor, and the next Jack was joining him. He looked just as surprised to find himself there as anyone else, but Bitty wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity. With Shitty, Ransom and Holster all hollering excitedly behind them, Bitty tugged Jack towards him. It turned out that Jack Zimmermann wasn’t a bad dancer. He was a little shy and awkward at first, swaying stiffly beside him. Bitty would later blame it on the alcohol, but at the time he just simply didn’t think and grabbed Jack’s hand and pulled. Jack’s professional athlete build wasn’t fazed by the gesture, but something in him was, and it was enough to encourage him to move. A couple of songs in, and Jack was matching Bitty’s peppy rhythm. Bitty couldn’t put his finger on it, especially with his brain fogged with a haze of Jägermeister and Red Bull, but there was something between them that neither of them expected. It was almost an electricity, thrumming with an energy that made the hair on Bitty’s forearms stand on end. It started at their joined hands and vibrated through them until it resonated in their chests. He’d barely said more than two sentences to Jack Zimmermann all night, but suddenly Bitty wanted to kiss him. He could tell the exact moment Jack became aware of the connection. The easy smile on his face quickly dropped and was replaced with an uneasy confusion. There was a muttered excuse – Bitty couldn’t hear it over the pounding music – and then Jack turned and hurried out of the bar, fighting his way through the crowd. Bitty watched him go, then shrugged carelessly and turned around to dance with his friends again. It wasn’t until he woke up the next morning, slightly hungover but content, did he wonder if the universe had tried to give him something and he let it pass him by. 5th May 2018 Bitty had explicitly said no parties. Every birthday for the last four years his friends had threw a raging kegster to celebrate. For his first birthday out of college, all Bitty wanted was to call his parents, bake some nice food and share it with his friends over a glass of good wine and the Great British Bake-Off reruns (the better ones, before Mary, Mel and Sue had quit the show obviously). Ransom, Holster and Shitty had taken a little more persuading, but had soon agreed after Bitty had promised his signature peach cobbler and black forest brownies. His phone call to his parents lasted nearly an hour. His relationship with them had been a little strained since coming out, but it was slowly getting better, and he hung up with a big smile on his face. Lardo had still been in bed at ten that morning, so he went to the store to fetch baking ingredients on his own. It was cliché, but it was a perfect spring day, like it was the movie of his life. Working as a junior social media and marketing assistant had its perks, like weekends off. Today was a Saturday, so he wandered down to the fresh foods market for his ingredients. The peaches weren’t quite as sweet as the ones back home, but the ones here were a close second. He left an hour later with his tote bag full to the brim with ripened fruit and fresh spices and fingers sticky with pear juice. He stopped by his favourite deli next, the one with the premium butter and organic flour. His budget never usually stretched past Walmart, but he had birthday money burning a hole in his pocket. It was late afternoon by the time he got home. The kitchen smelled strongly of ground coffee, and he found Lardo perching on a chair and trying to hang purple streamers from the lampshade. She had put on her favourite sweatshirt for the occasion, the one with a rubber duck wearing sunglasses, and that alone made Bitty’s chest swell with happiness. They finished putting up the streamers between them and had lunch, squabbling over whose turn it was to use the one decent plate they had. It was Lardo’s, who overruled Bitty’s birthday argument with a smirk and a flick to his forehead. An hour later he was elbow deep in pastry when the buzzer rang. It was Ransom and Holster, bearing wine and beer and takeout menus, though they all knew they’d be too full of pie to eat the Chinese food they’d still order. The wine was shared out and they were put to work, greasing tins and chopping fruit. Shitty appeared not long after, and gave Bitty a slurpy, whiskery kiss on his cheek before handing over more wine. He wore a suspicious grin for a whole hour and sang loudly and out of tune to the radio as he peeled peaches. When the buzzer went a third time, everyone looked around at each other in confusion, except Shitty, who just grinned even wider. Bitty rolled his eyes and wiped his hands on a towel, wondering who on earth Shitty had invited. Maybe a stripper. He didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved when he found a shy looking Jack Zimmermann in the hallway. He was pleasantly surprised though, especially when Jack sheepishly held out a small bunch of flowers and wished him happy birthday. He’d met Jack a handful of times since New Year’s Eve. He’d learned that Jack wasn’t quite as stoic and robotic in real life as his television interviews would have you believe. He was quiet and reserved, but also thoughtful and could hold his own in an intelligent discussion. His accent was just as endearing though, and Bitty found his awkward shyness adorable. Bitty never denied the attraction to himself, but it was never one he would act on either. Parties and clubs might not have been his thing, but it turned out that quiet gatherings with people he knew were more to Jack’s taste. He threw himself into the baking, listening to Bitty’s instructions with keen ears and following them with enthusiasm. After a glass of wine Bitty would even call him charming, quick to tease or crack a joke. If Bitty didn’t know any better, he’d say Jack was flirting with him when he flicked flour in his face or purposely nudged his pie out of the way when he tried to take a bite. But Bitty did know better. Guys like Jack were never Not Straight. And even if they were, Bitty was never their type. It was probably the best birthday he’d ever had, anyway. By the end of the night, his and Lardo’s apartment was a complete mess. The streamers had fallen, there were plates and takeout cartons all over the living room and the kitchen was filled with dirty pans and covered in a fine layer of flour dust. They’d eaten and drank until they were fit to burst, argued over which Bake-Off contestant would win in a mud fight, and Jack had offended them all by declaring he didn’t find Mary Berry all that great. Come midnight, Ransom and Holster had wandered back to their own apartment and Lardo had dragged a wasted Shitty back to her room. Bitty told Jack he didn’t need to stay and help tidy, but Jack insisted anyway. It was only when they were both alone did Bitty feel it again. That strange electricity that drew Bitty towards Jack like a moth to the flame. He couldn’t blame the alcohol this time, not after only two glasses of wine. Jack either wasn’t aware of it, or was ignoring it, focusing hard on wiping flour from the counter tops. Bitty tried to do the same, humming along to the quiet tune playing on the radio as he filled a trashbag full of rubbish. They worked without a word, moving around almost in tandem, like they had done it a million times before. Bitty didn’t believe in fate, or soul mates, or past lives. At least, he didn’t until their rhythm was suddenly broken and they bumped into one another. Jack had flour on his nose and a dirty cloth in his hand. Bitty had a smudge of cherry sauce on his mouth and was holding a stack of empty plates. They both laughed and then went still. It felt like they were both waiting for something as they looked at each other, taking in lashes and eyes and noses and freckles and dimples and mouths. Waiting for what though, they didn’t know. Jack’s phone pinged. It was loud enough to break the reverie and they both pulled free from the spell. Jack could never leave a text unanswered, and for the briefest of seconds Bitty wished that he would. Ignoring a text would make him not-Jack though, so he couldn’t be too disappointed when Jack took a step back and pulled his phone from his back pocket. Bitty cleared his throat and continued his task like nothing had happened. Jack was still staring at his phone screen a couple of minutes later. His brows were slightly furrowed, but Bitty couldn’t read the expression on his face. He questioned him gently, and Jack almost jumped, like he’d forgotten where he was. He managed an apologetic smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He didn’t explain himself or the text message, and simply announced that he had to leave. With a last ‘happy birthday’ he showed himself to the door and left. Bitty felt like he had just missed a train that he was supposed to take. 31st December 2018 They didn’t go to a bar that year. Ransom and Holster threw a party in their apartment, though it was thankfully not as outrageous as the kegsters they used to host in college. Their work friends were accountants and administrators and fellow consultants so Bitty wasn’t expecting it to get too wild. He’d had a pleasant, sleepy Christmas with plenty of good food and catching up with family, so didn’t mind that this new year was different to the last. Lardo brought Shitty along, who naturally dragged Jack with him. Bitty was over the moon to hear this, hoping that maybe fate would give them both a helping hand this year. However, it appeared that fate had other plans in store. Jack appeared at the party as promised, but Bitty hadn’t expected to see a young, smiley blonde man attached to his hip. Jack introduced him as his boyfriend, and Bitty felt like the floor had abruptly disappeared from beneath him. It was a lot to process all at once. He’d started to have suspicions that Jack was Not Straight as Bitty had originally thought, and to have that confirmed was a little overwhelming. Then to learn that he was also suddenly spoken for left Bitty with a bitter taste in his mouth. He and Jack had grown close over the last few months, and he thought that they shared everything over a glass of wine and a slice of pie. It turned out that was wrong though, and Bitty wasn’t sure what he felt more betrayed about. Still, he plastered on a smile and congratulated them as if it wasn’t a knife through his heart. Jack’s partner was funny and charming and handsome and everyone liked him. Bitty wanted to hate him, but he couldn’t bring himself to. The man had asked for his macaron recipe and talked about his cat for a full twenty minutes for god’s sake. When Bitty had first walked in, he’d eyed the mistletoe hanging over each door with hopeful eyes, but now he just glared at it acrimoniously. It was an ugly way to feel, but Bitty couldn’t help but think the universe was laughing in his face. The worst thing was, Jack looked happy. Bitty was pleased for him, but it was tainted, and he hated that it was marred that way. He spied Jack’s hand casually sitting on the man’s waist or spotted a chaste peck on the cheek between them and wanted to down another shot. He didn’t want to spend the night torturing himself, but he didn’t want to succumb to the jealousy either. He left at eleven, feigning a headache and smiling through the well wishes. He would spend tonight pitying himself, and then starting tomorrow he would get over Jack Zimmermann. August 3rd 2019 Getting over Jack Zimmermann was damned hard. But Greg helped. Bitty had met him at one of Shitty’s law school mixers. He was an ex-college rugby player, dragged along to the event by his friend. Tall, broad, half Greek with a mop of dark, curly hair and an accent that made Bitty’s knees weak. He hadn’t dated seriously since college, and it was hard work. Between working their full-time jobs, Greg’s beer league rugby and Bitty’s figure skating, they barely had enough time to squeeze in dates and time together, but Bitty enjoyed it all the same. Greg wasn’t Jack. They didn’t share the same sense of humour, and Greg’s taste in music and television wasn’t to Bitty’s tastes, and Greg was bossier and more assertive than Jack ever was. But he was also kind and caring and Bitty had a nice time with him. Even if he wasn’t Jack. But that was okay, because nobody could be Jack but Jack. And Bitty had to be fine about it. He could do that. They hadn’t had time to hang out much lately, but tonight was Jack’s birthday, and Shitty was throwing a get together in his honour. Bitty hadn’t originally wanted to bring Greg along, though he wasn’t sure why. Shitty had invited him too though, and Greg seemed to be looking forward to it. Bitty couldn’t exactly tell him no. He had no idea what to get Jack for his birthday. What do you get the man who has everything? And if he didn’t have it, he had more than enough money to buy it anyway. This year, Jack had bought Bitty an entire collection of cookbooks from his favourite baker. Bitty knew it cost more than a whole month’s worth of his wages, though to Jack it was probably nothing. How could Bitty match something like that? He knew Jack wasn’t expecting him to, but it still made him feel inadequate. Whatever it was, it had to be something special. It was almost an apology. I’m sorry we haven’t hung out much and you’ve taken a backseat to my actual Greek god boyfriend. Bitty didn’t think he should feel too guilty though. As far as Bitty knew, Jack was still with his own boyfriend. It was never talked about in the media for obvious reasons, but still, Bitty would know if they’d broken up. No, this get together would be good for the both of them. They could exist in the same room without that stupid electric connection between them. And even if it did appear, their boyfriends would keep it at bay. Right? Wrong. It wasn’t an entire collection of cookbooks, but Bitty turned up on Jack’s swanky Providence doorstep with Jack’s favourite pie and a Barnes and Noble gift card. A feeble attempt, but he’d genuinely been stumped. He knew Jack liked history books, but Bitty was frightened of getting the wrong one. He explained this to Jack in a nervous ramble as he handed them over, but Jack laughed and thanked him sincerely anyway. It was only after Bitty stepped over the threshold did Jack notice who had been standing beside him. Bitty introduced Greg hurriedly, hoping his edgy fluster wasn’t completely obvious to either of them. Jack was polite and smiley and shook Greg’s hand, but something about it seemed fake. Bitty tried to ignore it, heading straight to the wine. His friends were already around, and he greeted them with false enthusiasm. Once he had his glass in hand and looked around the apartment he noticed Jack’s boyfriend was nowhere to be seen. The pictures of them both were gone, as were the cat hairs and various caps and hoodies they used to share. Jack and his boyfriend had broken up. Bitty could’ve kicked himself. He had been so wrapped up in getting over Jack he’d forgotten to be a friend in the meantime. How long had it been since they had last hung out? Or had a lengthy phone call? The only thing Bitty had managed lately was a few quick texts and picture messages every now and again, all of which Jack had promptly replied to. He felt like an idiot. He had to apologise, but he wasn’t sure that this was the right moment. Jack looked like he was enjoying himself. A few glasses of wine later, Bitty managed to push his guilt aside for the time being. He’d always loved Jack’s kitchen, and couldn’t resist baking in his top of the range oven, no matter the occasion. He was pulling out a tray of freshly baked mini tarts when he realised he was being watched. People had popped in and out the whole time he was baking, to fill up drinks or fetch snacks, but this time the body lingered. Bitty turned to tell them they’d have to wait a bit longer for the tarts to cool, but the words disappeared off his tongue when he noticed it was Jack. Jack stood in the doorway, a half-drunk bottle of low alcohol beer in his hand. He had a determined look in his eyes that made Bitty go still, though his heart started to hammer in his chest. He didn’t say anything, waiting for Jack to make the first move. The energy was between them again, throbbing loud and unspoken. The metal tray shook in Bitty’s hands. Jack opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He closed his mouth again, frowned, thought about it. Jack had never been one to say a lot, but each word was usually carefully thought out and selected. Bitty waited, expecting something insightful and meaningful. Jack opened his mouth, closed it, frowned again and thought some more. Greg made them both jump. He was never quiet or graceful and strode in to the kitchen with a booming voice. He was half drunk, grinning at them and calling back to the others as he filled his glass, stole a mini tart and gave Bitty a swift peck on the cheek. He left almost as quickly as he appeared, but the moment was ruined. Jack gave him a stiff nod and retreated to the living room having clearly lost his nerve. Bitty slammed the hot tray down onto the marble counter, feeling like he’d missed the train again. 31st December 2019 Tonight, Bitty was going to get drunk. He knew it was silly and immature, but these last few months had been stressful and depressing. He felt like he deserved to let loose and get messy and see off the year in style. A lot of things had happened this winter, including a promotion, Shitty and Lardo’s engagement, and his and Greg’s breakup. He hadn’t been angry or surprised, just disappointed. Greg wasn’t Jack, after all. Jack wouldn’t be attending the party. He’d had a string of games and a long roadie over the last couple of days and wouldn’t be making it back to Providence until past eleven pm. Bitty knew that Jack would head straight to bed rather than get changed and drag himself to a loud and crowded bar after all of his travelling, and Bitty couldn’t blame him. The season had started off rough, and Jack hadn’t much time for anything in between practicing, playing, resting and all of his extra-curricular events. Bitty knew this, but couldn’t help feeling frustrated. He’d tried to reach out, especially after his breakup, but Jack felt distant now and Bitty didn’t know how to bridge the gap. He didn’t have the energy anymore. He decided that if Jack was interested in preserving their friendship, it was his turn to make the effort. Bitty wasn’t holding his breath. It was a fun party. It was the same LGBT+ friendly bar they went to two years ago, and Bitty felt an affinity for it. It almost felt like déjà vu, and if Bitty tried hard enough, he could almost imagine Jack sitting in his corner and nursing his beer. He wouldn’t though, he was done with torturing himself over Jack Zimmermann. He threw himself into the moment instead, filing to memory the song that was playing, the way he felt shimmying to the music, the sight of Lardo’s glittery red lipstick, the smell of Holster’s cheap cologne, the taste of Jägermeister on his tongue. His phone buzzed at some point, but he ignored it. It buzzed a couple more times and he ignored it again, wanting to switch off from everything that wasn’t this party and this drink in his hand. Midnight was drawing closer, and he was sober enough to be aware of the heavy feeling in his chest. He watched Shitty and Lardo and Ransom and Holster dancing together and all of the other people surrounding him, and he never felt more alone. He suddenly started to wish he was anywhere but there. He wanted to be wherever Jack was. But Jack wasn’t here. Instead there were dozens of good looking, charming boys dancing around him. A few had tried to catch his eye, and he knew he would have no problem finding someone to dance with. And if they so happened to share a kiss when the clock struck twelve, then where was the crime in that? Just a kiss, on New Year’s Eve, between two consenting adults. No big deal. The man whose arms he fell into just happened to be tall, and dark, and blue eyed. Maybe he had a type. He didn’t look much like Jack, but if he thought hard he could just feel Jack’s hands on his hips. He looked hard at the boy’s face, trying to imagine Jack in the high cheekbones and full lips. He shook his head, wafting away the daze. That was stupid, he couldn’t keep doing this to himself. He looked away, but he was starting to see Jack everywhere. A man by the bar had the same jacket. Another guy on the dance floor had the same awkward dance steps. A boy waiting by the toilets had a similar smile. His eyes drifted toward the door and even saw Jack standing there, a single flower in his hands and watching him. But it wasn’t real. None of these men were Jack. Bitty turned back to the one in his arms and waited for midnight. 31st December 2019 Jack was done waiting. He was tired of letting everything else dictate his life for him. Ever since he was born he felt like the universe had already decided what was going to happen to him. The Q, the overdose, rebuilding his career from the ground up. He couldn’t choose his team. There was only one in the AHL who wanted to set him on after the scandal. He was forever grateful, but it wasn’t something he could choose. He’d worked damn hard to get where he was today. An NHL team, a captaincy and two Stanley Cups under his belt. The last time he made a decision for himself he ended up nearly killing himself. Even now, he was worried that choosing something for himself could ruin everything. So, he waited. He let people walk in and out of his life as they saw fit. He allowed situations to happen to him, never fighting them or questioning them. It was just the universe deciding for him and he was in no position to try and take control. Until now. Jack stood in the doorway of the bar, watching Bitty dancing with another man. He turned the flower around in his hands. It was the same kind he’d bought for Bitty on his birthday a year and a half ago. It was a little cheesy maybe, but he had known Bitty would like it. He’d texted, letting him know he was on his way, but Bitty had never seen the messages. Bitty clearly had different things on his mind. And the old Jack would have turned away, deciding it was just what fate had decided for them, just like always. But not this Jack. This Jack was tired and in love. He strode forward, pushing his way past the various bodies towards the dance floor. Bitty’s eyes had drifted over him like he hadn’t realised Jack was really there. Jack couldn’t really blame him. He hadn’t been there, not recently. He’d been caught up in the start of the season, dealing with his own break up, torn between wanting to give Bitty space or comfort him after his. It had been a hard few months for both of them. Jack figured it was time to make it better. He grabbed Bitty’s arm and pulled him around, ignoring the guy he was dancing with as he protested. Bitty opened his mouth to tell him off, but they were both momentarily stunned as they stared at each other. Bitty was shocked to see him, but Jack was stunned yet again by just how beautiful this boy was. And he was going to have him. He was going to take matters into his own hands. He’d rehearsed a speech in the car, but the words left his brain. He suddenly couldn’t think of anything to say. He didn’t know how to explain what he was thinking or feeling and awkwardly fumbled. Bitty watched and waited with a familiar patience. Bitty never rushed him. Bitty always knew that each word needed time and thought. But still, the words wouldn’t come. Instead, Jack dumbly held out the flower and hoped that would be enough. It was. As the people around them started to chant a countdown, Bitty and Jack stepped forward. No more running away. No more making excuses. No more letting opportunities pass them by. Bitty jumped on the train. Jack took control. They couldn’t help but laugh, gazing at each other like they were the only two people in the world. The clock struck twelve. “Happy New Year, Bits.” “Happy New Year, Jack.” They kissed. The End Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it :) thank you for the notes and the kudos and comments this year - I appreciate every single one of them. For those of you interested - Jack’s mysterious partner was intended to be Kent, but I deliberately left it ambiguous so choose your own!

This was posted for the Swawesome Santa 2018 event and gifted to Loveyoutoobits.

#omgcp #omgcheckplease #checkplease #zimbits #jack zimmermann #eric bittle #zimbits fanfiction #zimbits au #my fic #my writing #my work #new years eve au #five things plus one #5 + 1

134 notes · View notes

thespooniewrites · 7 years ago

Text

Sugar High - Part 6

We’ve all accepted that I have no discipline or self control by now, right? Decided to do another Tanner POV chapter.

@cog-writes @golden-eyed-writer, @lux-scriptum, @theguildedtypewriter, @ava-burton-writing, @asttralhell, @desiderii, @jmlascar, @christinawritesfiction @kira-desomma @alongftride @toothlessunicorn @panticwritten @persephones-crown @myself-after-midnight @sheralynnramsey @nadiawrimos @artattemptswriting @purple-personal @bethwrotethis @forlornraven @sincerestaffect Let me know if you want to be taken off/added to the tag list :)

Pt 1 . Pt 2 . Pt 3 . Pt 4 . Pt 5 . Pt 6 . Pt 7 . Pt 8 . Pt 9 . Pt 10

______

Saturday mornings for Tanner always started with a jog, a shower, breakfast and citrus oolong tea, then a few hours reading whatever novel he was working through that week. He didn’t mind if he didn’t think about it too hard, but all of these things were done alone. Sometimes he’d meet up with friends later in the day if their schedules happened to line up, but mornings were always alone.

Always, except this one.

This morning Tanner woke up to a cheek on his chest and the sound of soft breath. He woke up to a warm body in his arms and a feeling of home that he didn’t dare dwell on. Well, didn’t dare dwell on for too long. Clearly he wasn’t the type of man to deny himself pleasures when they presented themselves so eagerly, and the feelings of belonging and of rightness practically begged to be reveled in. If only for a moment.

He knew he couldn’t keep this feeling forever, but he could have it for now, and for now would have to be good enough.

Without waking Reed, he reached for his phone on the bed side table. His muscles were sore when he moved; memories of the night before making damn sure they weren’t going to be forgotten any time soon. Tanner checked the time and immediately wanted to jump out of bed.

12:03 PM

Not that he had any real reason to be up, but he was not twenty-one anymore. Sleeping until noon was simply not something men his age did.

But he had to admit, it was nice. He was well rested and relaxed. The sunlight coming through his window no longer resembled the mornings which he so often spent alone, but instead it was warm and bright and belonged to an early afternoon spent with the best kind of company.

His phone started buzzing in his hand and the screen lit up with Mina’s name.

Carefully, he slipped out of bed, grabbed a pair of soft grey sweatpants, and quickly tiptoed out to the living room. When he answered, his voice still had a sleepy growl to it.

“G’morning.”

“Good morning to you too.” Mina laughed in his ear. “Wow. You just woke up didn’t you? It’s noon, and you’re you! What are you doing only just waking up n-”

He didn’t respond. Just waited.

“Oh my god?”

Yeah, he didn’t need to explain. She knew him too well by now.

“Oh my GOD! Well done Tanner!”

“Yeah, yeah, praise and celebration all around.” A dopey grin spread across his face as he bounced on one foot trying to get his pants on. “What’s up? Did that Bradner guy call you again?” Clients had an awful habit of calling Mina on her days off, choosing to bypass his phone entirely.

“No, nothing like that. I’m just in your area. Passing by Pulse Brew in about five… four…”

His favourite coffee shop. She was close. “Are you asking if I want anything?”

“Yes. Three… two…”

“Two lattes, two croissants please!” He had to get his request out fast. The countdown was genuine. Once she hit zero, there was no going back. “Oh, if they have any of those raspberry cheese danishes…” Reed seemed to like berry things.

“One of those instead of one of the croissants?”

“You got it. And whatever you want, on my dollar, obviously.”

“Obviously.” The clamour of the little cafe joined her voice through the phone. “See you soon, boss.”

“You’re the best, sweetheart.”

“I know.”

Mina arrived fifteen minutes later, arms full of so much stuff Tanner was amazed she didn’t drop it all. “Stopped at a grocery store because you always forget fruit.”

“I don’t forget fruit.”

“You load up on veggies and forget nature’s candy. Don’t deny it.” She was right, as usual.

He took the bag from her and started putting its contents away in his fruit-bare fridge.

“Two lattes, one croissant, one raspberry cheese danish.” She placed the food on his counter, then swung a garment bag by its hook. “Dry cleaning.”

Tanner crossed the room and took it from her. “God I love you.” He hung it up in his front closet. Normally it would go in his bedroom, but he didn’t want to wake Reed quite yet.

“No you don’t, and you better not start. I didn’t get you on that site for nothing. Also, put a shirt on.”

“No. It’s saturday. My house, my rules.”

“Whatever. Just don’t fire me for ogling a little. And, finally, doorman Jeeves-”

“Jones.”

“Doorman Jones had this for you.” Mina inspected the box she had tucked under her arm. “A macbook? Didn’t you just get a new one?”

“It’s not for me.” That same dopey grin found his lips, this time accompanied by a blush. He took the box from her with gentle hands and left it on the counter with the pastries and coffee.

Mina’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “I take it back, fall in love with me. He gets such great stuff! Why don’t you ever buy me laptops?”

“I paid for half of yours,” he said with a shrug. “I also pay your salary.”

“A third of it. I have other clients, you know.”

“That may be true, but we both know I’m your favourite.”

Mina rolled her eyes and scoffed. “No shit. Anyway, naked man, I’ve gotta run so give me a hug.”

“I’m not naked.” He pulled her into a hug anyway.

She squeezed tight around his waist. “Shirtless man didn’t have the same ring to it.” She left, singing her favourite song since she’d declared him wealthy in money but not in love, and told him to find a ‘damn sugar baby, you lonely boy’. The door closed behind her, cutting off her much-too-loud rendition of Patsy Gallant’s Sugar Daddy.

Tanner went to the bedroom and lingered in the door for a moment to take in the view. Reed’s pale skin was covered in marks that he would have felt bad for leaving, if each and every one wasn’t absolutely intentional. His favourite was a bruising bite in the curve where Reed’s neck met his shoulder.

He went to Reed’s side and stroked his hair, pushing fiery strands off his forehead.

Reed stretched and blinked a few times before he looked up at Tanner. Panic flooded his eyes and he leapt out of bed. “Shit! I’m so sorry!” He yanked his pants on without boxers. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep!” He pulled his shirt on and started buttoning it up. “I didn’t mean to overstay or cross a line or anything, shit, sorry-”

Tanner stilled Reed’s fingers, gently grabbing his hands. Did Reed really not want to stay? Had Tanner moved too fast by letting him? “It’s okay, you didn’t overstay your welcome.” Would it be wrong to admit that he liked the company? “What I said last night still stands. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

Reed eyed him carefully, like he was searching for a lie. When he didn’t find whatever he was looking for, he relaxed and slumped against Tanner’s chest.

Tanner wrapped his arms around him and held him close. “My assistant brought breakfast. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

After lending Reed a hoodie and pants more comfortable than the skinny jeans he’d worn the night before, Tanner led him out to the kitchen. He gestured to the coffees, right next to the box he’d left on the counter. “Hope you like lattes. One of those is for you.”

“Yes, big latte fan. Thanks.”

Tanner’s back was only turned a moment to grab plates, but when he turned around again, Reed’s mood had visibly changed.

He was staring at the laptop box, all the colour drained from his face.

“Reed?”

“That’s not for me, is it?”

“I…” Tanner was suddenly very unsure of his purchase. “Yes, it’s for you.” The longer the silence stretched, the more his pulse tried to break it. He was sure the neighbours could hear his racing heart. “I can return it,” he said, voice quiet and with a slight tremble.

“Is it rose gold?”

“That’s what you said you wanted, so, yes.” Tanner’s hands had gone cold.

“Did you - ” Reed swallowed hard and a tear slipped down his cheek. “Did you get this last night?”

“Yes.”

Reed didn’t say anything for much longer than Tanner was comfortable with.

“Seriously, Reed, if you don’t like it I can return it.”

“Please don’t,” Reed whispered. “I love it. I love it so much.”

Tension left every inch of Tanner’s body as he went to Reed’s side and pulled him into his arms. Reed shook and sniffled. While this wasn’t the reaction Tanner expected by a long shot, it was better than he could have hoped for. Even if it did almost give him a heart attack.

#drabble #tanner kelly #reed blackwood #tanner and reed #sugar baby reed #sugar daddy tanner #reed is bad at reactions #i have no self control #so what else is new #my stuff #my writing #my ocs #sorry i'm throwing these at you guys so fast #i'm professionally procrastinating #rly good at it

58 notes · View notes

much--madness · 7 years ago

Text

Fic: Mistletoe

Rating: PG13 Pairing: Arima Kishou/Sasaki Haise For my TG secret santa, @animeobsessedandotherfandoms Sorry for posting so late! But I made it x.x My first attempt at TG fics. I hope you like it @w@

AO3 Link

There was a well known secret in the CCG.

It was one shared by many of the investigators there and the reason why it was called a secret was that no one actually openly acknowledged it.

At times, there was tension among the ranks. Friends and comrades that were at ease with one another would stare a little too intently at each other, eyes suspicious and a little shifty, wondering if perhaps… Maybe… the one that they were looking at shared in this secret.

It was the worst kept secret in the CCG.

And that secret was that almost everyone there was a little bit in love with Sasaki Haise.

The only ones that were possibly immune were those investigators that hadn’t had the chance to meet him yet. But even so, there were still those that had caught a glimpse of him and without even knowing his name, found themselves curious and entranced. And then there were those who knew his name and feats but not his face that developed the same affection.

Even from the very beginning, the young man that trailed in the wake of Arima’s shadow drew curiosity and speculation. At first, the attention had been clouded with suspicion but the more people saw of him, the more they grew captivated.

There was just something about Sasaki Haise that inspired such feelings. It wasn’t just one thing either, it was a multiple of things that ensnared others. From his shy smile to his alarming strength, and even the way he treated others, even strangers, with a politeness that still somehow felt warm and inviting.

And the best part of this worst kept secret was that this young man, who had unknowingly captured so many hearts, was completely oblivious to it all.

Now, there were two holidays that seemed to really set the investigators off at the CGG when it came to Haise.

The first was, as expected, Valentine’s Day.

As cliche as it was, many had eagerly planned to pursue the young investigator with gifts of flowers and requests for coffee dates. But to the dismay of all, not a glimpse of Sasaki was to be seen that day. The feeling of romance and pursuit of it quickly faded by the following day. Fortunately, the dejected mood quickly lifted with Sasaki’s return the following week.

And yet, no one had the guts to approach him. It seemed as though the magic of Valentine’s day didn’t last past the 14th.

The only other holiday that seemed to inspire such courage was Christmas. And it was all due to a well known plant, an innocent sprig of green leaves and red berries. Mistletoe.

Mistletoe was found in an abundance around Christmas. It was hung in plain sight and in the most bizarre places, like the entrance to the Quinx’s home, the Chateau. It made a brief appearance for a whole two hours before mysteriously disappearing.

It was almost amusing to see where sprigs of mistletoe ended up, for some people took them down while others relocated them. Of course, many used this time old tradition in an attempt to catch Sasaki and in doing so, win a kiss from him.

Somehow, no one was able to catch him. Sprigs of mistletoe that were confirmed at their station, almost guaranteed a stolen kiss from their crush, seemingly disappeared into thin air. It left the scheming investigators in a huff when Haise passed by, giving each a friendly smile before going on his way. It still warmed the hearts of many in the cold winter, but many more mourned the lost chance.

The attempts continued with Haise none the wiser all the way up to the 25th. With no one having been successful, for who could keep stealing a kiss from Sasaki a secret, the majority of the CCG resigned themselves to try the following Valentine’s day.

As much as they had come to adore Sasaki Haise, Christmas was still spent with loved ones and friends.

December 24th found the Chateau covered in decorations. On the window, a cheerful reindeer cut out poked its head from the side, welcoming visitors inside.

And inside, a modest but heavily decorated tree stole all the attention. With four subordinates in his care, Haise couldn’t say no to how each of the Quinx members wanted to decorate the tree.

The outcome was a mismatch of ornaments and colors. From delicate glass ornaments to smiling little figures wearing Santa hats, every branch seemed to hold some sort of decoration. There were also Christmas lights, blinking merrily, which Shirazu had strung. In retaliation, Urie had added elegant red and white bows made of ribbon.

The decorations were just shy of being an eyesore, but Haise loved it because everyone had contributed to making the tree what it was. At least everyone had agreed on a single topper, a classic Christmas tree star that shone brightly from its place.

Beneath the tree, there was an assortment of gifts. Nothing too big, but there was something for everyone. The pile would only grow larger as he could hear the crinkle of gift wrappers still being handled and cut throughout the house.

Haise shook his head at their last minute preparations, but he was still smiling fondly. The Christmas spirit was at an all time high.

Dinner was well on its way and this year it was just the Qs and a couple guests so it was nothing extravagant. Still, the process of cooking the meals had Haise moving about the kitchen with a bounce in his step. From outside the kitchen, the Qs could hear Haise’s singing, their mentor’s voice drifting in and out of song as he worked.

Urie, who had been the only one properly prepared for Christmas Eve, had been lounging on the couch. A mug sat in front of him on the coffee table, the aroma of chocolate sweetness filling the air. Haise had even put three squares of marshmallows into the drink and Urie guarded it jealousy from his teammates.

Not that he needed to, Haise was sure to have more coming if it was needed

A knock at the door had Urie mentally grumbling and forced from his comfortable position. The door was opened to reveal Suzuya Juuzou, who was staring at the wreath that one of the Qs had hung on the door. He didn’t even seem to notice Urie standing there until the Urie cleared his throat.

Never one to be embarrassed, the androgynous man burst through the entranceway, making a beeline to where he could hear Haise’s voice.

“Haiseee…!” He called out happily before disappearing into the kitchen.

His subordinate stared blankly at his treating back and came into the house in a less explosive manner.

“Merry Christmas,” Urie huffed. The others had been nagging him throughout the week, telling him that he needed to get more into the spirit. So it was only today of all days that he allowed himself to utter those words in a tone that was a little bit more than friendly.

Hanbee nodded a greeting in return. Urie played host while Haise and Juuzou’s friendly chatter filtered in from the kitchen.

Shortly after, Saiko came barreling down the stairs, arms full of neatly wrapped presents. Tooru followed at a more sedate pace, also carrying a load of gifts. Surprisingly enough, Urie could see Shirazu’s gifts tucked under the tree beside his own.

With the room full, the peaceful silence was a thing of the past. From the kitchen, Haise kept one ear trained on the chatter from the other room while he watched Suzuya ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ at each dish that had been prepared. More than once, Haise had to slap at the other man’s hands to stop him from sneaking a taste.

Of course, Suzuya pouted at his friend, pleading with such fierce eyes that Haise relented and offered him a sugar cookie instead.

Haise returned to the living room, a plate full of cookies just in time to see Arima and Mado enter. Like an excited puppy, Haise greeted them both with warm smiles and hugs.

Then just as quickly, he turned around and chided Shirazu who had been patiently shaking one of the gifts. Sheepishly, the younger man returned the present to its place under the tree and flopped on the couch.

“Watch it!” Urie hissed, barely dodging his teammate’s elbow.

An argument broke out between the two, Urie and Shirazu bickering for a moment while Tooru tried to calm them both down. surprisingly, it was Juuzo who broke it up by shoving a cookie in each of their mouths, effectively shutting them both up. He gave a happy hum of approval when the arguing stopped, pleased that order was restored.

The two didn’t dare start up again and grudgingly munched on the cookies.

In the meantime, Haise had gone into full host mode and was setting the food on the dinner table. Arima followed behind him, happy to help even when Haise insisted that they should all relax and enjoy the atmosphere.

After dinner, the adults were amused to see the younger investigators barely contain themselves in excitement. It wasn’t even the act of receiving gifts that caused it, but the exchange and watching each person’s reaction.

Shirazu tore into each gift, strips of wrapping paper surrounding him in a mess. He was always so grateful for each gift though, even hugging the plushie that Saiko had gifted him.

Urie was more meticulous about his unwrapping and took his time to fold away each square of wrapping paper. It was almost torture to watch him reveal his gifts, but the way his expression softened was well worth the wait.

“Oh,” Haise exclaimed out of nowhere, “Arima-san, I’m so sorry! Your gift arrived later than all the others and I didn’t get a chance to wrap it properly.”

He turned guilty eyes towards his mentor, fidgeting on his spot on the couch. “Would you mind if I gave it to you tomorrow…?”

Arima was shaking his head though, a slight smile on his face. “You don’t have to wrap it for me, Haise. I’m perfectly happy with however you want to give it to me.”

But Haise would not be deterred. “It’s a Christmas gift,” he said passionately, “It needs to be given the same care that I gave all the others so I can’t give it to you without wrapping it.”

“Tomorrow will be fine then,” Arima said agreeably. Haise smiled in return.

“Haise!” Suzuya called as he left the bathroom. He held something in his hands and in his excitement, wanted to show it to his friend. He moved with such speed towards Haise that no one realized what it was until Suzuya was dangling it above Haise’s head. “Look! Look!”

Punched between two fingers, there was the recognizable green of the mistletoe and notable red of the berries. Suzuya was almost trembling with excitement while everyone else in the room seemed to freeze.

“What is it?” He wondered, staring at the plant with a curious tilt of his head.

“Th-that’s mistletoe,” Tooru managed to choke out.

“Where the hell did you find that?” Shirazu demanded with a groan.

“Is it poisonous?” The possibility only seemed to further excite Suzuya.

Haise’s cheeks had tinged pink, but he remained standing where he was, caught between the mistletoe with Suzuya.

Akira laughed, a teasing smile on her lips when she said, “You have to kiss Haise, Juuzou!”

He blinked large eyes at Akira. “I can kiss Haise?”

“Kiss! Kiss!” Saiko cheered while wrapped in her new fleece blanket.

By Akira’s side, Arima had his arms folded across his chest but he gave an indulgent smile at the two.

“It’s a Christmas tradition,” Akira explained, “when you’re caught under the mistletoe with someone, you have to kiss them.”

“I’m not sure if that should count,” Tooru mumbled. “Technically, he brought the mistletoe and forced the–”

“Kisss!” Saiko cheered.

“Okay,” Suzuya said.

“Suzuya, you don’t have to–” Haise tried to stop it but his friend simply leaned forward and pressed his lips against Haise’s cheek.

“I kissed Haise!” Suzuya declared victoriously. While not exactly what they expected, the group still laughed and cheered.

The mistletoe was disposed of to prevent any other surprises. Haise was teased over his blushing face for the remainder of the night. It was an eventful Christmas Eve and it left all of them with a sense of warmth that went bone deep.

Eventually, the group dispersed. Juuzou and Hanbee we’re the first to leave. Juuzuo hugged Haise tight, his gift of a warm fluffy scarf wrapped around his neck.

Akira was next to go and she, too, hugged Haise and the rest of the Quix team.

With just the Qs and Arima, Haise quickly set to work with cleaning up after the guests.

In the living room, the Qs fidgeted under Arima’s impassive stare. All except Sailor who was already dozing on the couch, content and full of hot chocolate.

“Shirazu is at fault, as expected,” Urie accused. “He was supposed to take care of any mistletoe that ended up in the Chateau.”

Shirazu groaned and hung his head, not even bothering with excuses. Tooru patted him on the shoulder in sympathy.

“We did so well though,” Shirazu grumbled. “I’m sorry, guys. The mission failed because of me…”

Instead of scolding them, Arima just produced four little Christmas cards.

“It’s fine,” he told them. He then handed each a card and tucked the last one with Saiko’s name in the Christmas tree. “Juuzou is hard to predict, at times.The team did well.”

Their eyes grew round with the praise, the members still a little starstruck with Arima.

“Thank you!” They each happily returned to their rooms with their bounty and their earnings from a successful mission: Save Haise from Christmas.

When it was just Haise and Arima left, minus the oblivious Saiko napping, Arima went to rejoin Haise in the kitchen.

At the doorway, he stopped for a moment just to enjoy the sight of his protege packing away leftover food. His eyes lingered on the sway of Haise’s body, a slow, seductive thing that Arima was sure the younger man was unaware of.

Haise seemed unaware of his presence as he hummed a tune while piling the dishes up for a wash. But when Arima came up behind him, wrapping his arms around a trim waist, Haise didn’t even flinch.

Instead, Haise leaned back into the warmth of Arima’s arms, eyes slipping closed to enjoy the moment.

“Did you really pay my team to take out all the mistletoe?” Haise teased the older man.

Arima refused to acknowledge or deny the statement. Instead, he settled his chin on Haise’s shoulder and gave a thoughtful hum.

“Leave the dishes,” Arima told him instead.

“Hmm?” Haise murmured, but regardless, he reached forward and shut the water. When he leaned back into Arima’s embrace, the older man tipped his face to the side and easily captured Haise’s lips with his own.

Arima didn’t need mistletoe, just Haise’s acceptance as their lips pressed together

It was a kiss, a true kiss, full of warmth and a different kind of love than the one Juuzou had pressed to Haise’s cheek.

When they separated, that endearing flush was back on Haise’s cheeks, a lovely pink splash of color.

Arima smirked as he leaned close, murmuring into the shell of Haise’s ear. “Show me my Christmas present?”

Neither noticed Saiko staring wide-eyed from her place on the couch, peeking at them from beneath the blanket as they made their way to Haise’s room.

#tgsecretsanta2017 #tokyo ghoul fandom #fanfic #arima/haise #rating:pg13

5 notes · View notes

decideroffate · 7 years ago

Text

Embers, New Scenes, Chap 07

This is less ‘new scene’ and more ‘new half of a chapter.’ I suppose the scene with Sumia and Cordelia is new. It’s mostly to show why Chrom isn’t interested in Cordelia. If you can’t have a simple conversation with someone, why notice them in a romantic light? Like, basic knowledge right there. I swear the Unrequited Tragic Maiden has just become the female version of the Nice Guy.

Chrom’s twentieth year began as most days did, with breakfast with his sisters. However, there was little added affection from both Emmeryn and Lissa. After eating, Emmeryn excused herself, as it was every year for both of her siblings, Emmeryn made her siblings birthdays her busiest days so her afternoon and evening were clear to celebrate with her people.

Almost as soon as the three had finished, and the servants came to collect the dishes, Lissa grabbed a hold of Chrom’s arm, and all but dragged him to the garrison. While the large celebrations were the norm for the Royals, the Shepherds always took it upon themselves to celebrate their comrades birthday. For Chrom himself, it was no different.

Sully had gotten him the same thing she did every year, polish for his sword. While he still had two unopened jars, Chrom would rather know he had spares than sending Frederick to fetch a new jar. In thanks, Chrom gave her a playful punch, to which Sully returned with a tooth-bearing grin.

Sumia was the next to approach him. She was fidgety, face pink, and constantly blinking. It occurred to Chrom that she had no problem speaking to him when it was just the two of them on the way back to Ylisse. But that was likely the answer, it was just the two of them then, here they have an audience scrutinizing them. “C-C-Captain,” she stammered. “I-I-I just… W-Well…”

Chrom nearly jumped back when Sumia suddenly healed up a leather bag, she nearly shoved it into his face. He heard her say something, but whatever it was, was too fast, too hushed. But Chrom felt certain she was wishing him a happy birthday.

Things had gone a bit more smoothly after that. Stahl and Anali teamed up to make a concoction for muscle pains. Kellam and Donnel likewise teamed up to make a berry tart. Virion presented him with a silver bow from Valm, which had gotten Chrom a little excited, as he had been meaning to give archery a try. The next few hours were spent just talking amongst the Shepherds until Frederick informed him, and to a lesser extent everyone else, that they needed to get themselves ready for the evening's events.

Chrom studied himself in a full-length mirror as he tightened the belts. The suit he wore was made just for this sort of occasion. He wore a blue coat that trailed down a few inches above the knee with gold lining around the flaps, collar, and sleeve cuffs. The cape he wore was somewhat identical to the one he usually wore, just not as beaten up, and was connected to the sash around his shoulders.

Chrom pursed his lips, to him, the ball always seemed a bit superfluous. In fact, he was quite kicking and screaming about it when he was younger. As he got older, he made it painfully obvious that he did not enjoy it any more than he did as a child. But, Emmeryn would always place a hand on her shoulder, give him a smile that told him she thought the same, and gently say, “The people do love their prince.”

It was likely the reason why Chrom and Lissa’s birthday balls where held outside in Ylisstol, open to the people. This was not the case with Emmeryn, who was born in December when it was too cold to celebrate outside like this. This did not stop her from opening the palace to the people. It was in these three days where Frederick and Phila worked the hardest. Especially with the concerns of today. The people needed something joyous to forget their troubles and boost their morel.

A nice distraction is what they all need.

As the party grew larger Chrom held small conversations with an array of people. A few nobles who traveled here just for the occasion, Gregory, his wife, and Ricken were the only ones who weren’t there, as Ricken’s birthday was just days off from Chrom’s. They were simply in their home celebrating the boys home as a family.

Chrom chatted here and there with others, the first, the most eventful chat was when he came across a border guard by the name of Eaton. Eaton and his wife declared themselves in House Ylisse’s debt after Emmeryn sold a piece of her regalia to help pay for the Eaton’s home when they were expecting. Their daughter, five-years-old now, spent the entire conversation looking up at Chrom with wide eyes while she tried to hide behind her mother’s skirts.

Chrom squatted down so the child could properly look him in the eye. Their conversation consisted of short answers from the girl, but by the time her mother deiced they shouldn’t take up Chrom’s time much longer, she was no longer holding her mother’s skirts in her hands to hide her face.

Amongst the crowd of thousands, Chrom could spy several familiar faces. Sumia found herself a corner where she could speak with her friend Cordelia. Suposively, Cordelia was a gifted Pegasus Knight, but Chrom had yet to see anything impressive from her for himself. Every time he tried to have a conversation with her, Cordelia ended up fumbling over herself far worse than Sumia could ever hope to. And yet, if Chrom remembered correctly, Cordelia was supposed to be performing a solo act on the harp this evening.

“Oh, Captain!” Sumia called, hailing him over.

He could see Cordelia whisper something to Sumia, who said something in return. None of which Chrom heard. Before Chrom could great either of them Cordelia hiked up her skirt and tore off in the opposite direction. “What’s gotten into her?” Chrom asked.

“I don’t know,” Sumia responded, just as confused as he was. “She’s rarely like that with anyone.”

“She usually is with me.”

It wasn’t that Chrom disliked Cordelia, he barely knew her. But there comes a point where one has to give up even being casual friends with someone if both parties weren’t willing to put in the effort. While it sounded cruel, why should Chrom put in an effort to strike up a friendship if Cordelia wasn’t? It was simply a sign she wasn’t interested.

At his side, Sumia cleared her throat. It was a little odd to see her without her large wing hair ornament. When he thought about it, Chrom had a difficult time remember a time when she wasn’t wearing it. Maybe when she first started out as a trainee, but they hadn’t come into contact much. Actually, they didn’t really start speaking with each other until recently. And even then, Sumia was just barely starting to get comfortable around him. It wasn’t quite the case with virtually everyone else in the Shepherds. As though to prove his point, Sumia warmed up to Anali almost instantly.

The performers changed their song, something slower and softer compared to the upbeat festive piece they finished just moments ago. Chrom glanced over at Sumia, who had just started to fiddle with the light pink sleeve of her dress. Her eyes remained downward, actively refusing to look up.

Was she hoping someone would…?

“So, would you…” Chrom’s voice trailed off, “like to-”

“Yes!” Sumia said quickly and likely louder than she intended. Realizing what she did, Sumia covered her mouth with her fist, her face reddening.

“Here,” Chrom held out his arm, “I’ll take the lead.”

He regretted saying it as soon as the words came out of his mouth. Could he have been any more obvious?

Sumia’s gulp was loud and audible as she laced one arm around Chrom’s. In a fluid movement, Chrom guided Sumia so that she stood in front of him. Together, they readjusted their arms so that her hand was in his. But as soon as Chrom placed his hand on her waist, Sumia leaped back and came dangerously close to falling over on her backside. She only caught herself thanks to a nearby table. “I-I’m sorry,” Sumia blurted out quickly, her face redder than it had been before. “W-We’re just… standing so close a-and…”

A chill ran up her spine, unable to finish. “Should I… leave you for a few minutes?” Chrom asked.

“No! No, I’ll leave!” Sumia turned on her heel and marched off before Chrom could argue with her.

Chrom continued chatting for the next hour or so. Duke Alder and his wife ended up taking up most of that hour. When he was finally given a moment to himself he was almost nauseous with hunger. The castle cooks were cooking nonstop all day for the occasion. Several tables worth of food, open to the people featuring various vegetables, fruits, meats, and sweets laid out on the table beside several kegs of drinks, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic..

Chrom filled his plate with pieces of bear meat, and bear meat alone. He could easily imagine Frederick’s reaction, were he not out and about keeping guard. His secret dislike of bear meat was one of the Shepherd’s worst-kept secrets.

Absently, Chrom turned in an attempt to find Frederick amongst the crowd. He realized a little too late that he was probably not in the heart of the city. So, instead, he spotted Lissa on the dance floor. Her hair hung loose, and without her lace veil, but she still wore her gold tiara. The skirts and sleeves of her buttercream yellow dress flailed out around her as Lissa dragged Anali around in circles while the song sped up. Anali, meanwhile, looked like she had a difficult time keeping up with Lissa’s high energy.

Chrom put his plate away for someone to collect momentarily when he heard, “Well, this is a first.”

Turning to the left Chrom found Emmeryn standing beside him. She had a small, playful smile on her face. Her clothes carried a subtle difference to what she usually wore. Her white dress was slightly longer, just barely touching the ground, and lacked the slit that made for easy movement. Unlike her usual dress, this was sleeveless and was held up by the her collar. However, one would have had a difficult time seeing the differences in her dress over her green and yellow Sage robes.

“What’s a first, sister?” asked Chrom.

“I believe this is the first year you haven’t tried to get out of your own party.”

Chrom’s back stiffened instantly. Perhaps it was as much a birthday tradition as any. No wonder Emmeryn even brought it up now that he thought about it. “I… just think the people need this,” he explained.

Emmeryn’s smile widened a prideful expression. There was a time Chrom held little love for there people. The backlash of their father’s reign had left them taking their anger out on Emmeryn when she became the Exalt. To this day, Emmeryn wasn’t fully sure if her brother understood why they were angry, or if it was simply because they were taking heir anger out on his big sister. But a day did come when Chrom became more understanding and compassionate to their plight and anger. Her little brother had grown up so much, the pride she felt made her heart fit to burst.

On the dance floor, their sister and Anali continued their little dance throughout three more numbers and another plate and a-half of bear meat. Lissa finally settled down a little, leading Anali giving her a few playful twirls, being the taller of the two. After the third song, Lissa spotted someone, Chrom assumed it was Maribelle, and the two parted ways with smiles.

Anali hurried to the beverages and readied herself a tankard of cider Her face was a bit flushed, and dabs of sweat were beading across her brow.

Regardless, Chrom could not find it within himself to look away. Her lips were painted a dark shade of pink, and there was a purple smoky look around her eyes. She was wearing her hair freely in gentle curls. There was a wiling blue flower weaved into one of the tendrils, it wasn’t too bad now but must have been far better when it was first put in. Her backless, lavender dress was held up by the collar. And her sleeves hung several inches above the ground. She wore a pair of black bands on her wrists that covered her Mark well enough.

Anali lowered the tankard from her mouth upon draining its contents. She turned her head to find Chrom and Emmeryn staring at her. “Please tell me you weren’t watching that last dance,” she asked.

“We could say we didn’t if you wish it,” Emmeryn said kindly. She gave Anali a warm smile. “But I must say, Anali, you look quite-”

“Beautiful,” Chrom finished before he could stop himself. Both he and Anali turned red instantly. The flustered prince slapped a hand over his mouth wondering what possessed him to said that out loud.

“Th-Thank you,” Anali sifted a lock of hair behind her ear, “and you look quite dashing yourself.”

Emmeryn placed a hand delicately over her mouth to keep herself from laughing. On the podium, the regular musicians began to file off to make room for a lone performer and her harp. Oh, she should not meddle in their affairs, and just let things work themselves out. But sadly, Emmeryn found that she could not help but fan the flames. If only a little. “Chrom,” Emmeryn said with mocking disapproval. “You are not about to complement a lady and not ask her to dance, are you?”

“What?” Chrom’s face began to turn redder. By now, Anali’s hands were on either side of her face, hoping to cover her own deepening blush. “E-Emm…”

“Well?” Emmeryn encouraged.

After the failing with Sumia, Chrom wasn’t sure what to expect from Anali. But Emmeryn was not going to let this go, was she? Clearing his throat, Chrom folded one arm behind his back, while he offered the other to Anali. “May I have this dance?”

Anali, hands still cupping her face, stared at him with wide eyes. She wanted to run away and hide. But still, she nodded. “Only because it’s your birthday,” she said quickly.

As they walked off, Emmeryn laughed to herself. “Was that a good idea, Your Grace?” she heard at her side. Emmeryn turned her head slightly to see Phila at her side, her arms behind her back. “Miss Anali has proven herself to be a valuable ally, but she’s still Plegian. And one without background, in every sense. Won’t that-”

“Phila, I thank you for your diligence, but whatever happens between Chrom and Anali is ultimately their choice,” said Emmeryn. “We ought not think of Ylisse and Plegia in terms of ‘us’ and ‘them.’ We will never be able to get past anything with that mindset. And besides…”

Emmeryn gave Phila a playful list of the head. “I do not think you are in any position to criticize anything going on between my brother and his tactician. Are you?”

Without missing a beat, Phila’s face flushed. She turned her head, refusing to look Emmeryn in the eye. “I… I suppose you’re right, Your Grace.”

“That reminds me, Phila,” Emmeryn said, taking her vessel’s hand into her own. “Will your bed suffice tonight, or shall mine?”

“Is that an invitation, Emmeryn?” Phila asked in a hushed tone.

“It is. I miss you terribly at night.”

“I would be lying if I say the feeling wasn’t mutual…”

……

The musician on stage was a beauty. Tall, with milky skin, and delicate facial features. Her beautiful red hair was done up in a half updo. Her dress was shimmering silver, it looked as though she spared no expense. It lead Anali to believe she was a traveling performer of sorts. What really surprised her, was that the woman was playing the harp.

Chrom placed one hand on her waist, causing Anali to gulp. “I don’t think I’ve ever danced like this before,” she said quickly under her breath.

“Just follow my lead,” Chrom said, taking her hand into his free one. “Yes, we had a term on dance in that fancy-chancy school of mine.”

Anali burst out laughing, her nerves leaving her for a brief moment. Soon, the harpist began playing, it started out as a soft, playful melody. Leading her in the dance, Chrom was merciful enough to talk her through it. “Just keep your eyes on me,” he said loud enough for Anali to hear as they started out with a simple box step. “It’s usually the man who leads, so you don’t have to worry about too much. There are too many people around us to do anything grandiose without knocking heads. And… here we go.”

“Wha-?”

Unexpectedly, Chrom removed his hand from Anali’s waist to twirl her around once. Once she was facing Chrom again, he put his hand back on her waist and they started to travel around the dance floor. They still did the box step, but they were no longer just staying in one place.

Chrom twirled Anali around once again. She felt the blush on her face, there was a flutter in her chest. Anali could feel the muscles in Chrom’s arms and the warmth of his hands. Suddenly, Anali could not imagine anyone but Chrom finding her that day, nor did Anali want anyone else to find her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden pain in her toes. “Ow!”

“Sorry,” Chrom said quickly.

Miriel watched the dancers on the floor in front of her with a glass of red wine in her hand. She had put some effort into dressing herself up nicely for the occasion, but her wide-rimmed hat remained firmly on her head. Dancing never was and never will be a skill Miriel would ever need, but she did find it amusing to see the dancers stumble upon their partner. And Prince Chrom and Anali were a goldmine.

"Heya, Miriel!" Vaike greeted, taking a seat beside her. "So you've been watching me fight or what?"

"Indeed," Miriel adjusted her glasses. Sure enough, ever since their conversation in Regna Ferox, Miriel found the time to watch Vaike train, usually with a sparring partner. "I observed that your battle shouts enhanced the effectiveness of your blows. Often the foe would briefly let down his guard, granting you a momentary opening. I had not realized the impact of war cries could have on the psychology of an enemy."

"Yeah, yeah," Vaike said, tilting his head back in his chair. "But what about me? What about the Vaike?"

"I observed the details of your moves, but not from the perspective of the foe," the Mage explained with her finger erect. "Perhaps an analogy would be helpful here… So if we were to assume that you are a planet, and the enemy is the sun-"

"Hey, wait, I wanna be the sun!"

"But the sun does not travel around planets. Rather, planets spin around the sun. Or so it was postulated in my mother's book. It has yet to be proven…"

"You sure it's not your head spinnin'?" Vaike asked, running a hand through his hair. "I don't see this ground going anyplace."

"Alas, we cannot sense this motion," sighed Miriel. "Making the theory intuitively difficult."

"All right, sure," Vaike sat upright again. "The ground's spinnin'. Just like when I was swinging my weapon, yeah?"

"Yes," nodded Miriel. "That generates the centripetal force we discussed the other day. I'm glad we had this conversation. It has helped clarify my thoughts on the subject. Would you mind terribly if we continued our discussions? For research purposes?"

"You mean chat as friends?" Vaike asked for clarification. "Well, sure. As we have… so much in common?"

It was not that Vaike minded talking to Miriel, especially if she was curious about his battle techniques. But, it would have been better if he could understand half the stuff this woman said.

Frederick would not allow himself the pleasure of dressing casually. With Plegian bandits and Risen as a constant threat, one could not let their guard down during an event such as this. He relaxed a little when Sumia approached him with a smile and a drink. "I'll be happy to get you a plate if you want anything," she said, handing him the glass.

"No need, Milady," Frederick smiled at her. "You've given me all I need. I wouldn't want to take you away from enjoying your evening."

"Oh, you're not taking me away from anything," Sumia reassured him. "I've told you before, that I want to help any way I can. Besides, you were looking a bit lonely on your own. Come on, I can be your second set of eyes!"

Frederick could not help but smile as he drained the glass of its contents. If there was something he had to admire about Sumia, it was her sheer sincerity. When she said she wanted to help, Frederick believed it. It was because she genuinely wanted to help, not out of obligation, or because she was ordered to.

A part of Frederick envied the man who married her.

……

Anali repaired the favor several times, as did Chrom. Though, he suspected that he caused Anali a bit more pain than she did him. Chrom did out class her in the weight and muscle department. But he could not remember he last time dancing was simply fun. Though there were issues on both ends Anali made for a decent dance partner.

He was still smiling as he removed his clothes in exchange for a nightshirt. It was surly early in the morning before the party died down, and Chrom decided to turn in for the night. He could still feel Anali’s hand on his upper arm as they danced.

A slight chuckle escaped his lips before he brushed his blue bangs out of his eyes. Anali sure was something else, one hell of a tactician, a skilled magic-user, and all around someone who was so easy for him to talk to. And to think Chrom met her in one of the most unorthodox of ways.

He turned in that night thoroughly believing that his twentieth year was off to an excellent start.

#embers #new scenes #writing

3 notes · View notes

kaldwinwrites · 7 years ago

Text

From Riches to Ruin | The Nostra Continuum

[a/n: This is long, very long. I got hit with a sudden burst of inspiration to write out Valkaer’s full backstory last night, so I wrote this in the space of about four hours.]

Words: 5466

Summary: The backstory of Valkaer Ravensong, the lilac-skinned elf, the shadow’s blade, the Hand of Oraca. Where her story begins.

There are many names by which the Lilac-Skinned elf has come to be known. Few alive on Nostra any more still know her true name. The name she has adopted, the name she has kept the longest, is Valkaer Ravensong.

Valkaer was born to a clan of wood elves a few miles inside the forest of Shoor’síl in southwestern Sorthros. Her life was typical; she was raised by a group of four adults, along with six other children. She learned to climb trees at a young age, and learned to take the falls that inevitably came with climbing.

When Valkaer was four years old, her peaceful life was interrupted by a band of Drow, who had previously lived in the pitch black heart of Shoor’síl, but had run out of food in recent weeks, and began expanding their territory.

The Drow attacked in the night, deathly afraid of the sunlight that pierced the light canopy this far from the heart. They killed most of the clan in their attack, save for Valkaer, a four year old boy named Syllin, and a woman named Sariel, who was Valkaer’s closest guardian.

Sariel tripped over an exposed root, sending a loud crack through the air before she fell and rolled several feet. Valkaer and Syllin rushed to try to help her up, but as she put weight on her foot, pain shot through her entire body. She knew her ankle was broken, and that she would only slow the kids down. She urged them to leave her.

Valkaer refused to leave her side, but Syllin dragged her, kicking and screaming away from Sariel.

Valkaer and Syllin ran for four days, surviving on what few berries they knew to be safe. Finally, after four and a half days of running, they made it to the edge of Shoor’síl. Valkaer made it another half day before she passed out.

When Valkaer awoke, she was surrounded by stone walls, lying in a bed as the light from the setting sun shone through the window above her head. Unsure of her surroundings, Valkaer curled up, hoping this, and the events of the last few days, had been some kind of nightmare.

Minutes went by in silence, then the door opened. Standing in the doorway was a human woman with a plate of food. She made her way to the bed and knelt beside it, keeping back from Valkaer so as not to scare her.

“You poor thing,” her voice was incredibly gentle, “You’ve been through so much.” She set the plate of food on the bedside table. “You should eat, you must be famished. When you’re ready, I’ll be outside.” And with that, she was gone, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Valkaer peeked out from under the covers, at the door, then at the food. She could smell it the moment the door opened, and her mouth was watering. Bacon, roast tomatoes and toast slathered with something golden that she didn’t recognise.

Valkaer took no time to tear into the food. It had been nearly a week since she had eaten anything other than berries. Whatever was on the toast she found delicious, salty, fatty, melted into the toast itself. The bread itself was new to valkaer, more light and fluffy than the bread she was used to.

Once she was finished with the food she set the plate on the bedside table and pulled her knees to her chest and stared out of the window. She sat there for a few minutes before finally deciding that she could trust the human food lady. She hopped off the bed and moved to the door and looked through the crack.

The Human woman was sitting in a chair next to a fire reading something that Valkaer couldn’t quite make out. She opened the door a little and winced as the hinges groaned.

The woman looked up from her book with a small smile, “Did you enjoy your breakfast?” she asked, “I wasn’t sure what Elves even eat, so I thought I’d go with the basics.”

Valkaer looked down at the floor, “The bread here is fluffy,” she said quietly. She lifted her head and looked around. The room she was standing in was big, a fireplace with a roaring fire sat against the far wall, there was a door to her left, and another door on the wall to her right. Past that door was an archway into another room. Finally, on the wall to her far left was an ornate looking door with some glass panes.

Portraits hung on the walls, all of Humans. There were three of the woman in the chair, one of a middle-aged man with a bushy black beard that was peppered with grey hairs, and various portraits of a boy in various stages of aging. Above the fireplace hung a large portrait of all three together. The boy in the family portrait looked slightly older than Valkaer.

The woman traced her line of sight to the family portrait and smiled, “I remember that day like it was yesterday,” she said, setting the book down on the armrest. “Remah put up such a fuss, we had to take so many breaks. Only it is so hard to get portraits of children. They want to play and run and jump.”

She took a moment, staring at the portrait fondly, before she turned to Valkaer. “Listen to me, blabbering on about a portrait. Are you okay? In any pain?”

Valkaer shook her head, “No, ma’am.”

The woman shook her head in kind, “I’ll have none of that ‘ma’am’ lark. My name is Leanna,” she said with a kind smile.

Valkaer, slightly warming up to the situation, managed a weak smile back, “My name’s Emmie,” she said.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Emmie,” Leanna said, “I only wish it were under better circumstances.”

Suddenly, the door on the far left wall flew open, and a large man walked in. The same man from the portrait with the bushy beard.

Valkaer jumped and ran back to the room and hid behind the door.

“Marius! You scared the poor girl half to death!” Leanna said, and Valkaer heard the sound of footsteps outside, “Tread carefully, she’s terrified of everything right now. You need to treat her with care.”

A few moments went by, and there was a gentle knock on the door. “Emmie, it’s me, it’s Leanna. Can I come in?” Leanna asked through the door.

Valkaer stepped away from the door, opened it and looked past Leanna to Marius in the background, she looked up at Leanna and nodded.

Leanna stepped inside the room and pushed the door almost closed, leaving it slightly ajar again. She moved to the bed and took a seat, smiling when she saw the empty plate. “I’m sorry about that. He didn’t mean to scare you.” She said, her voice more gentle than ever, “He’s a touch loud, but he’s no threat, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

She looked out the window at the clouds passing overhead and smiled fondly, “He found you, three days ago, passed out on the road just outside the forest. You were covered in little cuts and grazes. You must have run through a patch of brambles.” She looked over to Valkaer who was looking at her arms for the scratches, “Don’t worry, love, I took care of them for you. You nearly faded from us twice, but I managed to keep you alive.”

Valkaer moved over and climbed up on the bed, sitting with space between her and Leanna, “Where’s Syllin?”

Leanna shook her head, “You were the only one Marius found,” she looked down at her hands, wringing the fabric of her dress in her lap, “I’m so sorry, dear. No child should have to go through that.”

Valkaer took a moment and hopped off the bed, went out the door and moved to the front door of the house.

“Where are you going?” asked Marius from beside the fire.

“To find Syllin,” Valkaer said, “and Sariel.”

Leanna moved after her, “Emmie please, if you go back there you’ll be in serious danger. Marius tell her!”

Marius motioned to Leanna to stay inside the house, and followed Valkaer out, keeping a few paces behind her as she marched back towards Shoor’síl. “Other way,” he said as she turned right at an intersecting path. “You want to go back to find your friend? That’s admirable.”

Valkaer huffed and moved faster, although it was in vain, as Marius, a man in his thirties was well able to keep pace with a four year old.

“I went there,” said Marius, “After I brought you back here, I went to your village.” He stopped walking.

Valkaer noticed the lack of heavy footfalls behind her and stopped walking. She turned around.

“There was nothing left,” Marius said, his head hung low, “I’m so sorry.”

Valkaer turned back to look in the direction of her home. The treetops were visible from here, peeking over the small hill near the house. She looked at the forest dance in the breeze, tears welling in her eyes.

A few minutes went by before she turned back, tears streaming down her face, trying so hard not to sob.

Marius walked up to her and dropped to his knees next to her, “You poor thing, I’m so so sorry you had to go through this.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

Valkaer pressed her face into his shoulder and cried into the fabric of his shirt, small muffled sobs.

Marius carried her back inside the house and set her down on the bed in their spare room.

She spent a few hours crying into her pillow, before she passed out. That night she slept a deep and dreamless sleep. She awoke to the sound of the door knocking gently. A few moments later, a small boy walked into the room.

“I’m Remah,” he said, “Dad says you’re my new brother. Your skin is pink.”

Valkaer looked at her hands and then looked to Remah, “Yours is brown,” she said, “I’m Emmie. What’s a brother?”

“I’ll explain later, Mum’s got breakfast cooking, she said to ask if you’d help me set the table.”

Valkaer cocked her head, “set the table?” she asked.

Remah nodded “Yeah, y’know, put out plates and knives and forks and stuff.”

Valkaer was visibly confused, but followed Remah out of her room regardless. The table in the main room had a small stack of plates. Remah took them and moved around the table. “Knives go on the right, forks go on the left, ‘cept Mum’s plate, she’s left-handed.”

Valkaer followed Remah around the table setting the knives and forks in place, switching their place for Leanna’s plate. When they got to the last plate, Remah pointed and said “That’s yours!” Valkaer nodded and placed her knife on the left of the plate and the fork on the right.

“Another southpaw in the family?” Marius said from behind Valkaer, causing her to jump, “Leanna’ll like that.” He smiled wide.

“You’re going to take me in? Just like that?” Valkaer asked.

“Of course,” Marius said, as if there was any other possibility, “We’re not about to let a small boy go without food or shelter.”

“I’m a girl!” Valkaer responded harshly.

Marius moved to his seat as Leanna came in from the kitchen with a metal pan in hand that was still sizzling. She set it down on a mat in the middle of the table and moved to her seat. “Breakfast is served, everyone tuck in, there’s plenty to go ‘round.”

Valkaer took her seat and took some bacon and mushrooms and tomatoes. There was a strange fluffy yellow mound that she didn’t recognize, so she took some of that too. She also took two slices of toast. “There’s no yellow on this?” she asked.

“No yellow?” Leanna asked, confused at her wording.

“Yeah, the yellow stuff that was on top of the bread last time.”

“You mean butter?” Marius said, sliding the butter over to Valkaer.

She looked at the golden slab of butter with a knife sticking out of it and said the word again, stressing the syllables “But-ter…” She took the knife and cut a small piece off and plopped it on the toast. Not long after it had formed a puddle in the middle of the slice. She pushed it around with the knife until it coated the slice, then bit into it and smiled.

The breakfast was delicious, Leanna was a skilled cook. And the strange pile of yellow, Valkaer discovered, was Scrambled eggs. She helped Remah gather the dishes and bring them to the kitchen to soak before they were to be washed.

Not long after breakfast, Marius left the house. Valkaer later found out that he worked as a merchant in the local town of Ruundan, and that he had found Valkaer when he was on his way to hunt deer for skins and meat in the forest.

Valkaer adjusted remarkably quickly to life with the humans, though she never did take their surname, Lunabrace, opting to keep her own surname to remember her clan. She would remain ‘Emmie Feyrite’ Emmie being short for Emtranthine, something Leanna asked her about a month after she came to live with them.

Valkaer’s life was stable for years. Life with the Lunabraces was peaceful, she woke up at dawn, helped Remah set the table, had her lessons with Leanna, played with Remah in the garden, set the table for dinner, read with Leanna before bed. It became a daily routine.

When she was seven, and Remah was ten, Marius took Remah to learn how to shoot. He gave Remah a small bow that he had used as a child. Valkaer wanted to learn too, so Remah and her had to share the bow for a few weeks, until she got capable with the bow, and Marius came home from work one day with a bow for Valkaer.

Years went by in relative peace. Leanna began to get weak one year, but she appeared to push through it, until one night, when Valkaer was fourteen years old, she woke up before Remah or even Marius and went to the kitchen, expecting to find Leanna setting up the stove and the food, but the kitchen was empty.

She moved to her parents’ room and knocked before pushing the door open slightly. “Mum,” she whispered, “It’s nearly dawn, dad and Remah will be up soon.” There was no response. She shook Leanna’s shoulder lightly to wake her, but got nothing.

“Dad! Dad wake up, I think something’s wrong!” she shouted, waking Marius.

He lit a candle he had on the bedside table and looked over at Leanna’s still body in the bed next to him. She had passed in her sleep.

The funeral for Leanna was larger than Valkaer thought it would be. In the ten years she lived with them, the Lunabraces had almost no visitors. But at the cathedral in Ruundan, there were hundreds of people. Humans and Elves and Halflings, all grieving the loss of the young Leanna Lunabrace.

Valkaer took on the duties of Leanna after she died, waking up and cooking, though she was never as good as Leanna had been, Remah and Marius made her feel like she was.

When she was seventeen, Remah and Marius went out to hunt one day in late Oldrea, but didn’t return when they should have. Hours went by with no sign of them. Fearing for their safety, Valkaer grabbed her bow and quiver and headed out for Shoor’síl.

On the way there, she found Remah, limping along the main road to Ruundan, four deep gashes along his left cheek, his hand clutching his stomach with blood pooling around it. She moved under one shoulder, carrying his weight to a nearby tree, and set him down to tend to his wounds.

“A bunch of fuckin’ drow got the drop on us..” he said, and coughed up a small amount of blood, “Managed to kill most of ‘em, but..” his words caught in his throat, “Emmie, father’s dead.”

Valkaer finished patching up Remah and helped him home. That night the two grieved for their father, drinking to his memory, and taking solace in the fact that he was with their mother again.

The next morning, Remah went to Ruundan to warn the guard about the drow in Shoor’síl pushing closer to the border of the forest. When he returned, he was accompanied by a horse carrying two hefty saddlebags.

“What’s all this?” Valkaer asked, motioning to the horse.

“Father’s will.” Remah said dryly. “Apparently, he was rich.”

“I could have told you that, Rem.. Have you seen our house?” she said, “Half of the houses in Ruundan are smaller than ours.”

“No, Em. Not like that.” Remah said, untying the saddlebags which fell to the ground and kicked up a large amount of dust. “Eighty Thousand Gold Pieces.”

Valkaer’s heart skipped a beat at the number. They had been living on five gold a week the entire time Valkaer had been living there. And that was considered wealthy. Eighty thousand was unheard of.

Nine months passed with little to no remarkable events, until one morning when Valkaer awoke to a foul stench. She moved into the main room and found the corpse of a dog on the dining table, an ornate black dagger driven into its neck. On the dagger was a note written in a strange language, most of it was symbols and a mishmash of other languages. What was in Elvish and Common read like the ramblings of a madman.

“Remah!” she called out, but got no reply. She ran to his room and pushed open the door. Inside she found his room turned upside down. His bed was broken, the dresser was splintered where some weight had fallen against it, the left wall was streaked with blood.

Whoever had come into the room, Remah was waiting for them, and he put up a fight. But now neither Remah, nor the invader were in the house. There was no blood outside Remah’s room, and no trail that Valkaer could follow, not that she even knew how to track. The most notable thing was that the gold was untouched.

Valkaer made her way to Ruundan to report her brother missing. When the guard heard about the blood in his room, they ruled him dead.

Within a day of reporting him missing, there was a knock on the door. It was a banker. He was there to reclaim the gold from Marius’ will, stating that because Remah had never left the gold to anyone, and because Valkaer was never made a legal member of the family, that the gold was now the property of the town of Ruundan, as was the house.

Valkaer could do nothing, she was homeless. Eighteen years old, she had lost two families, two homes, and her safety. She fled to Ruundan, lived on the streets, in back alleys. Over the next three years, she learned how to steal, how to survive. She became adept at pickpocketing, eventually saving enough to buy a set of thieves’ tools from a shady Gnome with fiery red hair.

She learned how to pick locks and quickly became able to pick almost every lock in Ruundan. Her habits were to wait until someone reasonably wealthy left their house empty, then she would pick the lock, steal things that they would never notice missing, the keepsakes that have no real sentimental value, but will fetch a nice price, then she would leave and lock the door behind her.

After selling the keepsakes to the Gnome, who she befriended over drinks in a shady bar on the outskirts of town and learned was named Astora, she would opt not to use the gold to buy food, instead choosing to steal food from the homes she would invade.

She survived like this for three years, until one night, she was caught by the town guard while trying to break into the house of a high up in the town. She was tossed in jail, her tools, gold and daggers taken from her.

She spent the first night in the cell trying not to cry, as the hours went on and she realised that she was trapped in there with no escape, tears started to well up. That’s when she heard a voice from a dark cell across from her.

“Not gonna cry on me are ya, rookie?” The voice was the most captivating thing Valkaer had ever heard. “I can’t stand the sound of crying, so try not to make a girl upset. Stay strong, yeah?”

Valkaer sniffled and moved to the bars and looked over. The adjacent cell was pitch black, she couldn’t see in, even with her eyes.

“What’s your name, kid?” the voice asked.

Valkaer sniffled, “Emmie,” she said weakly.

“Oh that will never do, that’s the name of a softie.. You’ll never survive in the slammer with a name like Emmie.” The voice responded, “What’s your favourite animal, kid?”

“R-ravens,” Valkaer said, “Can you stop calling me ‘kid’ please?”

“You like music, kid?”

Valkaer nodded.

“How about… Ravensong?” the voice offered, “Now that’s a jail name if ever I’ve heard one.” The voice paused for a moment, “Not really a first name though is it… Hmm, what do you strike me as..”

She took a moment, Valkaer could feel the person’s eyes scanning her up and down. Minutes went by before the voice offered a name. “Valkaer.” She said,

“You strike me as a Valkaer.” A pair of jet black hands and forearms slipped out of the darkness, through the bars. The fingers ended in sharp blood red claws. “Valkaer Ravensong. Got a nice ring to it, don’t it, kid?”

“I said stop calling me kid! I’m twenty one, I’m not a child!” Valkaer barked, her voice slipping down to its more masculine tone. Valkaer cleared her throat and spoke again, back in the feminine register, “I’m not a child.”

“You’re twenty one? Well, I’m twenty two, so I’m just gonna go right ahead and continue callin’ you kid, ‘kay, kid?” the voice taunted. Valkaer could feel the smirk from the darkness.

Three days went by without Valkaer talking to the voice on the other side of the hall. All the while, the person in the cell was still shrouded in pitch black. Finally the voice spoke up, “Come on, don’t be like this. I’m bored, kid. You gotta entertain me.”

A moment of silence went by, “Please, Valkaer.” She said, the taunting tone gone entirely just like that. In that moment, her voice went from captivating, to vulnerable, and Valkaer realised that the person in that cell was probably just as scared as she was.

“What got you thrown in here?” the voice asked. “Will you at least tell me that? Just… anything to break the silence.” The voice pleaded.

“I was caught trying to break into some high up’s house.” Valkaer answered. “What about you?”

“I was caught planting evidence,” the voice responded.

“Excuse me? Why were you planting evidence?”

“Cause that’s my job. I break into some snooty bastard’s house when they’re out, plant evidence that implicates them with a cult, and leave without a trace. A few weeks later, maybe somethin’ happens, maybe they have a little ‘accident’, you catch my drift? The guard go to investigate and find the cult shit I planted, and suddenly, the killer or killers, if there are any, are being publicly thanked for cleaning the streets of cultists.”

“You kill people?”

“No, I just plant evidence. I’m a thief. I leave the killing to the assassins.”

“But you’re okay with killing people?!”

“What about you, why were you breaking into that high up’s house?”

“That was different! I don’t kill people!”

“No, you just steal from them. All of the hard work they did to get their things and you just break into their house and steal it from under them!”

Valkaer turned her back on the other cell. “I steal so I can eat.”

“And I plant evidence so I can sleep at night.” The voice responded after a minute of silence. “You know the injustice these bastards cause in the world, I can see it in your eyes. I can’t sleep knowing even one of them are walking free when others are suffering because of them.”

“So you kill them?!”

“So.. I found an avenue where I can help to rid the world of them.” There was a pause. “It’s not elegant, but it works. Don’t you have anyone you’d like to get back at? Someone who hurt you, who put you in a position where you have to steal to survive?”

Valkaer thought for a moment. She found herself thinking back to the banker who took her money from her, who took her home with that smile on his face, like he got some kind of joy out of stripping her of everything but the clothes on her back.

“You may not agree with what I do. But Ruundan used to be a hell of a lot worse before we came along.”

Every night in the jail was spent much the same. A breakfast in the morning, cold, overcooked eggs and toast hard as stone, and dinner in the evening, some kind of slop with… animal? Parts? Valkaer didn’t know what she was eating, but it was food.

Between the guard’s shifts, Valkaer and the voice from across the hall would talk. After two months, the voice offered a name, Netherspite.

“Netherspite? Not much of a first name is it? More of a surname.” Valkaer taunted. Netherspite’s sarcasm was rubbing off on her.

“You buy me dinner you’ll get my first name, how’s that, Val?” Netherspite taunted back.

“Careful, Netherspite, I might just take you up on that offer.”

Six months in, in the middle of a rousing conversation about the various cracks in the wall of Netherspite’s cell, there was an unexpected slam of a door from down the hall, and a guard called down, “I thought I told you two to shut the hell up!” Heavy footfalls and the sound of a sword being drawn, “If I catch you two talking once more, I’ll start taking fingers!”

Valkaer stepped back from the bars, “Won’t happen again.” She said.

The guard sheathed his sword, “No meals for the next two days. Either of you.” And with that, he was headed back for the door he barged in through.

Once he was gone, Netherspite was the first to speak, “Well, he seemed like a cunt. I’m bored of this place, I’m gonna go.”

Valkaer looked over, confused, just in time to see the familiar black forearm snake its way through the bars holding a ring of keys and insert one into the keyhole on the cell door. The door opened, and all at once, the darkness inside the cell dissipated revealing, at last, the full form of Netherspite.

She was a tiefling, jet black skin, with large, emerald eyes, the colour covered the entirety of her eyes. Her horns curled around her ears and poked back up like ram’s horns, her hair was short and messy, blood red with green tufts here and there, and her tail was long and slender, and fully prehensile, dexterous enough to perhaps steal a set of keys from a guard’s belt while he was distracted.

Netherspite stepped out of her cell and gave a small two-finger salute to Valkaer, “Try not to die in here, kid.” And she turned to leave, took a few steps and stopped.

She waited a few seconds, knowing that every second of delay was a risk, and turned back, “You get me caught, I’m never speaking to you again, you hear me?” She moved back to Valkaer’s cell and opened it, grabbed her hand and led her through the halls of the jail, until they reached a window to the outside.

“You’re tall, look through there and tell me what’s outside.” Netherspite said, and it was only now that Valkaer noticed how short she was. Netherspite stood at a paltry 5’1”, more than a foot shorter than Valkaer’s impressive 6’2”

Valkaer peeked out through the window. Below them was a river, the jail was build right up to the river’s edge. “A river, there’s about forty feet from here to the other side.”

“Alrighty, hope you can swim.”

And before she knew what was happening, Valkaer was falling, all she saw was the jail above her, Netherspite vaulting over the window and following her down, then the water hit her and knocked the wind out of her lungs.

Valkaer nearly blacked out, she felt a tug, and then water breaking over her head as she gasped for air, trying desperately to suck back in the air that was pulled from her lungs.

“Come on, get on your feet, Val! They’ll have noticed we’re gone by now! We gotta leave Ruundan.” Netherspite said, running again.

Valkaer pushed herself to her feet and followed after her.

Part way through the town, Netherspite stopped dead in her tracks. Valkaer ran a few paces ahead before turning, jogging on the spot, “Netherspite, come on, we have to go!”

Natherspite shooed Val casually with her hand, “Gimme a second, I smell something…” She looked around and grinned when she spotted a patch of flowers. She knelt before them and plucked one and slid it into place on top of her right ear.

“Much better,” she said, and ran up to Valkaer, took her hand and sprinted on, leading her out of town.

The two traveled for two days before settling down on a farm, taking shelter in a barn.

They lay down in a pile of hay under a skylight. Staring up at the stars, Valkaer was the first to speak.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, “For coming back for me. You didn’t have to, but you did.”

Netherspite scoffed, “Of course I had to come back for you, who else was I gonna throw at the guard if they caught me?” she taunted.

“Netherspite I’m serious.”

“Oriala…”

“What?”

“My name… It’s Oriala”

“A name almost as beautiful as its owner,”

“And I thought I was a charmer!” Oriala joked, “I mean GODS Valkaer, that’s cheesy.”

The two laughed together under the stars, before Valkaer turned to look at Oriala. “Why did you hide yourself?”

“I…” Oriala turned away. “Isn’t it obvious? Look at me.”

“I am looking”

“Yeah. And you see a tiefling. The world hates us.”

“I see a tiefling.” Valkaer said quietly, “But I also see the most beautiful person I’ve ever had the good fortune to gaze upon.”

“There are times when I’m thankful my skin is black… Like now… So you can’t see me blushing.”

“Look at me,” Valkaer said, she put a hand on Oriala’s shoulder.

Oriala turned to face her.

“Fuck what the world thinks of tieflings. You saved me when you could have left me. You came back. Always remember that.”

Oriala smiled, and for the first time, Valkaer could see the smile she had been imagining for the last six months. It was more beautiful than she had ever imagined. When Oriala smiled, it was a coy half-smile that revealed the smallest hint of one of her fangs poking out over her lower lip.

“I..” Valkaer swallowed hard, her heart was pounding in her chest, “I really want to kiss you…”

Oriala’s smile dropped and a few moments went by before she reached up, placed a hand on the back of Valkaer’s neck and pulled her in for a kiss.

“I thought you’d never ask, Val!” Oriala said when they parted, “Jeez, you kept me on my toes for a minute there, thought I was gonna have to be the one to say it.”

Valkaer smiled. Unlike Oriala, Valkaer’s skin was lilac, and it was very obvious when she was blushing. Which she was. Intensely.

“Oh wow you’re cute when you blush.” Oriala said with a chuckle, and pulled Valkaer in for another kiss.

The two spent that night, their first real night of freedom, their first night outside Ruundan, lying together under the stars, holding each other, feeling the warmth of each other, and occasionally, of course, kissing.

The next morning, they set off for the city of Irontide. It was a week’s journey northeast, and the main road to Irontide was a dangerous place for two lone travelers. Riddled with cutthroats, sellswords and highwaymen. The road would be dangerous, but Irontide, Oriala promised, was where Valkaer could find a new home.

#The Nostra Continuum

1 note · View note

the-coconut-asado · 7 years ago

Text

Tarts and Tinned Fish: A Lisbon Love Story

When you have small children, you have a ‘different kind of summer holiday’. This was the way a friend put it recently, with a barely concealed sigh. He had just come back from Tavira on the South East coast of Portugal, but hadn’t sampled the delights of pork skewer tavernas, the coastal train or the naturist beach (allegedly). He and his missus had spent the week doing ‘the funnel’: that movement you make with your hands as you follow your toddler around on bended knees preventing them from doing damage they seem hell bent on doing for themselves. And there you go: How was your holiday? Weeell it was a different kind of holiday etc etc.

When you hit mid youth (ahem) and your kids are booking their own holidays, doing different ‘funnel hands’ as a drunken homage to Beyoncé in Mediterranean nightclubs, you can go anywhere and have the kind of holiday you used to have before they were ‘different’.

So it was when we took had a long overdue mini-break in Lisbon earlier this year. Portugal is a top Brit holiday destination but in the past, and particularly in the package holiday south, has been in the ‘chicken-average’ category (‘as in yeah, it was fine, a bit like chicken’ as opposed to ‘no seriously, I AM off to Nandos’).

But Lisbon has been a media darling for many a year thanks to the endlessly picturesque and perpendicular old town, the sad romance of Fado and the Pasteis de Belen – a mouthful of flaky pastry encasing a sweet, dense crème patisserie.. You mention you are going to Lisbon and people start whispering ‘Pasteis de Belem’ like the sound of a train in the distance, getting louder and more insistent the closer you are to departure. They really, really want you to try one, and you really, really don’t need any encouragement.

The birthplace of the Pasteis is, obviously, Belem and while a hometown is no guarantee of excellence, it is in this case. The original, baked on the premises of what looks like a 1930’s dairy – all blue and white tiles and the echoing hum of happy customers – are served straight from a wood-fired oven, going from plate to stomach in one crispy, unctuous mouthful. Even more impressive, that quality control extends to the ones you can buy at the airport, without that just-from-the-oven edge of course.

Our first taster was on arrival at our Airbnb, where host had thoughtfully left a welcome platter of Pasteis and fruit. One bite, and like that virgin Vegas punter winning $100 on his first night, we were hooked. It’s the Hotel California of pastries.

Before you head out on your Pasteis pilgrimage, there is breakfast, and the Pao roll gives you so much more to look forward to than a breakfast burrito. Dense and chewy, like a bagel that has had a makeover and sees no need to retain its hole in the middle. Savouring of the Pao is not limited to breakfast either – I had a really top version in a local seafood restaurant, served as an appetizer with local goats cheese.

But here’s a lesser-known culinary fact about Lisbon: it’s celebration of tinned fish. And Lisbon isn’t the only place: Fiji enjoys daily supplies of Walu, Marlin, Tuna, Crabs, Lobster and more in its Fish Markets, but tinned fish curry and tuna rice are universally popular (and cheap) staples. Tuna rice in particular hits the spot after a heavy night at Trapps nightclub in Suva. That’s my experience and you’re welcome.

In Lisbon, the shrine to tinned fish and all you can do with it can be found in Sol e Pesca, a tiny restaurant on the edge of the Old Town.

If you don’t have time to choose from it’s extensive menu (and as we went there on training day, they had no time for me either) then you can buy any can you like. If you are short of inspiration on what to do with those cans, then you can buy their cookbook as well.

I bought a few cans of cod in chickpeas and almost lost them in security on the way back; olive oil in a sealed tin counts as liquid apparently, but they were very small tins and Lisbon airport security are happily not jobsworths. Glad they made it through as they were a delicious guilty pleasure piled on top of ryvita.

Further up the hill from Sol e Pesca, they also get tin-ventive at Marcellino, quirky little wine bar in the Alfama District.

Cute slate platters with silver skin onions and gherkins to accompany, essentially, sardines on toast - and as we started looking at menus following our positive tinned fish experiences, we started noticing this as more of a norm around the city.

Lisbon restaurants did many other toothsome things with fish and seafood, but the whole tinned thing gave me that same welcome surprise at finding a couple of spare tins of tuna at the back of the cupboard when you get the 2AM munchies.

Which is why my tinned fish recipe for this blog is not Portuguese, but my favourite store cupboard standby, tinned fish curry. The Pao and the Pasteis the Belem, however, are as authentically Portuguese as they come. Obrigado.

Sweet Potato Pao with Scrambled Egg and Black pudding

Having just said this is authentically Lisbon, the locals might raise their eyebrow at this breakfast twist, but trust me, it’s ambrosia. Makes 8 - 10 pao rolls.

Ingredients:

450g Plain flour

1 sachet easy bake yeast

1 tsp. salt

100 peeled, cooked and mashed sweet potato

How to make:

Dissolve the yeast in 100g tepid water and leave to foam (about 15 mins). Add the yeast to the flour along with the salt, mashed sweet potato and enough additional water to make a soft, yielding dough.

Dust with extra flour and knead for 10 minutes, then put in an oiled bowl, cover with clingfilm and leave for an hour to rise.

Knock the mixture back briefly, then divide into 8 – 10 flat rounds. Cover and leave to rise for another 30 mins.

Heat a griddle and cook the breads for 8-10 minutes until browned and cook through They will be quite delicate to handle when you pop them onto the griddle so handle carefully.

As the pao are cooking, heat a separate pan, add a little olive oil and when hot add slices of black pudding, and turn after a couple of minutes. Once crisp, transfer to a plate lined with kitchen towel.

Make the scrambled eggs when the breads and black pudding are cooked. I always use the Rick Stein method for scrambling eggs. For 4 people beat 8 eggs with a pinch of salt. In a frying pan, heat a generous (50g) knob of butter, and add the eggs when melted. Turn the heat down and gently scramble the eggs until they are almost cooked. Take off the heat, add a couple of tbsps. of double cream and mix through while the egg mixture continues to cook slightly. Transfer to plates while the mix is still loose and creamy.

Cut the Paos in half and slather with butter. Serve with the eggs and black pudding.

Pasteis de Belem.

Here’s the thing: you can make your own flaky pastry (can’t do better than Mary Berry), but honestly, if you get as hungry as I do while making these, just do yourselves a favour and use a sheet of ready-made puff pastry, with a little something extra added. The filling here, and method, is courtesy of George Mendes’ My Portugal. The ready-made pastry trick? Thank you Jamie Oliver. Makes 24-30.

Ingredients

1 450g sheet ready-made puff pastry

1 tbsps. cinnamon

For the filling:

200g caster sugar

1 cinnamon stick

330ml whole milk

75g plain flour

6 large egg yolks

How to make:

Lay your pastry flat on a work surface and roll out a little. Dust with the cinnamon and spread around evenly. Starting with the long side next to you, roll tightly into a sausage, cover in clingfilm and chill for 30 mins.

Heat the oven to 260C/ Gas 9

In the meantime, make a start on the filling: in a medium saucepan, combine the sugar, cinnamon stick and 165 ml water. Bring to the boil and boil for 1 minute. Let sit until you’re ready to use.

Take the pastry log out of the fridge, and cut into about 24-30 slices. Take each slice and flatten it into a larger circle with your thumb.

Place each slice into the cavity of a mini muffin tin, with the cut side of the spiral facing up. Use your thumb to press the centre of the spiral and continue to press to flatten the rest of the dough against the sides of each cavity, extending about 3mm above the pan. Pop back into the fridge for 10 minutes.

Finish the filling: Heat 225 ml of the milk in a saucepan until it begins to bubble around the edges. In a large bowl, whisk the flour with the remaining 75ml milk, and continue whisking while adding the hot milk. Discard the cinnamon stick from the sugar syrup and whisk the syrup into the milk mixture. Return to the saucepan and cook over a very low heat, whisking constantly, until thickened.

Add the yolks to the mixture and whisk until well combined. Strain through a fine mesh sieve, then pour the warmed filling into the pastry shells until they are three quarters full.

Bake for about 20 minutes, until the shells are dark golden brown and crisp. the custard set and the tops are blackened. In spots. Cool for about 5 minutes then transfer to wire racks. Eat the same day – flaky pastry is never as flaky the next day when you make these yourself.

Tinned Fish Curry

I use tuna for this, but those jars of mackerel you can get in some supermarkets works just as well. Serves 2 hungry people or 4 normal appetities.

Ingredients:

1 tblspn olive oil

2 tins tuna (use albacore, and choose ones in olive oil)

2 medium onions, chopped coarsely

2 bird’s eye chillies, chopped

2 tsp cumin seeds

1 generous tblspn madras curry paste

2-3 tblspns double cream

juice of ½ a lemon

salt and freshly ground black pepper

Few sprigs of coriands to serve

How to make:

Heat the oilive oil in a large, deep frying pan and add the onions. You want the onions properly brown and caramelized before adding the chillies and then the cumin seeds. Stir for a minute then add the curry paste and stir again.

Drain the oil from the cans of tuna, then add to the frying pan, and stir to incorporate all the onions and spices. When a crust starts forming on the bottom of the pan, add the cream and lemon juice, stir for 30 seconds then take off the heat.

Serve ith brown rice for a more substantial dinner, or, as here, with some crispbread, for more of a midnight snack.

0 notes

readbookywooks · 8 years ago

Text

27 The anthem booms in my ears, and then I hear Caesar Flickerman greeting the audience. Does he know how crucial it is to get every word right from now on? He must. He will want to help us. The crowd breaks into applause as the prep teams are presented. I imagine Flavius, Venia, and Octavia bouncing around and taking ridiculous, bobbing bows. It's a safe bet they're clueless. Then Effie's introduced. How long she's waited for this moment. I hope she's able to enjoy it because as misguided as Effie can be, she has a very keen instinct about certain things and must at least suspect we're in trouble. Portia and Cinna receive huge cheers, of course, they've been brilliant, had a dazzling debut. I now understand Cinna's choice of dress for me for tonight. I'll need to look as girlish and innocent as possible. Haymitch's appearance brings a round of stomping that goes on at least five minutes. Well, he's accomplished a first. Keeping not only one but two tributes alive. What if he hadn't warned me in time? Would I have acted differently? Flaunted the moment with the berries in the Capitol's face? No, I don't think so. But I could easily have been a lot less convincing than I need to be now. Right now. Because I can feel the plate lifting me up to the stage. Blinding lights. The deafening roar rattles the metal under my feet. Then there's Peeta just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms. He staggers back, almost losing his balance, and that's when I realize the slim, metal contraption in his hand is some kind of cane. He rights himself and we just cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He's kissing me and all the time I'm thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we're in? After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flickerman taps on his shoulder to continue the show, and Peeta just pushes him aside without even glancing at him. The audience goes berserk. Whether he knows or not, Peeta is, as usual, playing the crowd exactly right. Finally, Haymitch interrupts us and gives us a good-natured shove toward the victor's chair. Usually, this is a single, ornate chair from which the winning tribute watches a film of the highlights of the Games, but since there are two of us, the Gamemakers have provided a plush red velvet couch. A small one, my mother would call it a love seat, I think. I sit so close to Peeta that I'm practically on his lap, but one look from Haymitch tells me it isn't enough. Kicking off my sandals, I tuck my feet to the side and lean my head against Peeta's shoulder. His arm goes around me automatically, and I feel like I'm back in the cave, curled up against him, trying to keep warm. His shirt is made of the same yellow material as my dress, but Portia's put him in long black pants. No sandals, either, but a pair of sturdy black boots he keeps solidly planted on the stage. I wish Cinna had given me a similar outfit, I feel so vulnerable in this flimsy dress. But I guess that was the point. Caesar Flickerman makes a few more jokes, and then it's time for the show. This will last exactly three hours and is required viewing for all of Panem. As the lights dim and the seal appears on the screen, I realize I'm unprepared for this. I do not want to watch my twenty-two fellow tributes die. I saw enough of them die the first time. My heart starts pounding and I have a strong impulse to run. How have the other victors faced this alone? During the highlights, they periodically show the winner's reaction up on a box in the corner of the screen. I think back to earlier years. some are triumphant, pumping their fists in the air, beating their chests. Most just seem stunned. All I know is that the only thing keeping me on this love seat is Peeta - his arm around my shoulder, his other hand claimed by both of mine. Of course, the previous victors didn't have the Capitol looking for a way to destroy them. Condensing several weeks into three hours is quite a feat, especially when you consider how many cameras were going at once. Whoever puts together the highlights has to choose what sort of story to tell. This year, for the first time, they tell a love story. I know Peeta and I won, but a disproportionate amount of time is spent on us, right from the beginning. I'm glad though, because it supports the whole crazy-in-love thing that's my defense for defying the Capitol, plus it means we won't have as much time to linger over the deaths. The first half hour or so focuses on the pre-arena events, the reaping, the chariot ride through the Capitol, our training scores, and our interviews. There's this sort of upbeat soundtrack playing under it that makes it twice as awful because, of course, almost everyone on-screen is dead. Once we're in the arena, there's detailed coverage of the bloodbath and then the filmmakers basically alternate between shots of tributes dying and shots of us. Mostly Peeta really, there's no question he's carrying this romance thing on his shoulders. Now I see what the audience saw, how he misled the Careers about me, stayed awake the entire night under the tracker jacker tree, fought Cato to let me escape and even while he lay in that mud bank, whispered my name in his sleep. I seem heartless in comparison - dodging fireballs, dropping nests, and blowing up supplies - until I go hunting for Rue. They play her death in full, the spearing, my failed rescue attempt, my arrow through the boy from District 1's throat, Rue drawing her last breath in my arms. And the song. I get to sing every note of the song. Something inside me shuts down and I'm too numb to feel anything. It's like watching complete strangers in another Hunger Games. But I do notice they omit the part where I covered her in flowers. Right. Because even that smacks of rebellion. Things pick up for me once they've announced two tributes from the same district can live and I shout out Peeta's name and then clap my hands over my mouth. If I've seemed indifferent to him earlier, I make up for it now, by finding him, nursing him back to health, going to the feast for the medicine, and being very free with my kisses. Objectively, I can see the mutts and Cato's death are as gruesome as ever, but again, I feel it happens to people I have never met. And then comes the moment with the berries. I can hear the audience hushing one another, not wanting to miss anything. A wave of gratitude to the filmmakers sweeps over me when they end not with the announcement of our victory, but with me pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, screaming Peeta's name as they try to revive him. In terms of survival, it's my best moment all night. The anthem's playing yet again and we rise as President Snow himself takes the stage followed by a little girl carrying a cushion that holds the crown. There's just one crown, though, and you can hear the crowd's confusion - whose head will he place it on? - until President Snow gives it a twist and it separates into two halves. He places the first around Peeta's brow with a smile. He's still smiling when he settles the second on my head, but his eyes, just inches from mine, are as unforgiving as a snake's. That's when I know that even though both of us would have eaten the berries, I am to blame for having the idea. I'm the instigator. I'm the one to be punished. Much bowing and cheering follows. My arm is about to fall off from waving when Caesar Flickerman finally bids the audience good night, reminding them to tune in tomorrow for the final interviews. As if they have a choice. Peeta and I are whisked to the president's mansion for the Victory Banquet, where we have very little time to eat as Capitol officials and particularly generous sponsors elbow one another out of the way as they try to get their picture with us. Face after beaming face flashes by, becoming increasingly intoxicated as the evening wears on. Occasionally, I catch a glimpse of Haymitch, which is reassuring, or President Snow, which is terrifying, but I keep laughing and thanking people and smiling as my picture is taken. The one thing I never do is let go of Peeta's hand. The sun is just peeking over the horizon when we straggle back to the twelfth floor of the Training Center. I think now I'll finally get a word alone with Peeta, but Haymitch sends him off with Portia to get something fitted for the interview and personally escorts me to my door. "Why can't I talk to him?" I ask. "Plenty of time for talk when we get home," says Haymitch. "Go to bed, you're on air at two." Despite Haymitch's running interference, I'm determined to see Peeta privately. After I toss and turn for a few hours, I slip into the hall. My first thought is to check the roof, but it's empty. Even the city streets far below are deserted after the celebration last night. I go back to bed for a while and then decide to go directly to his room, but when I try to turn the knob, I find my own bedroom door has been locked from the outside. I suspect Haymitch initially, but then there's a more insidious fear that the Capitol may by monitoring and confining me. I've been unable to escape since the Hunger Games began, but this feels different, much more personal. This feels like I've been imprisoned for a crime and I'm awaiting sentencing. I quickly get back in bed and pretend to sleep until Effie Trinket comes to alert me to the start of another "big, big, big day!" I have about five minutes to eat a bowl of hot grain and stew before the prep team descends. All I have to say is, "The crowd loved you!" and it's unnecessary to speak for the next couple of hours. When Cinna comes in, he shoos them out and dresses me in a white, gauzy dress and pink shoes. Then he personally adjusts my makeup until I seem to radiate a soft, rosy glow. We make idle chitchat, but I'm afraid to ask him anything of real importance because after the incident with the door, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched constantly. The interview takes place right down the hall in the sitting room. A space has been cleared and the love seat has been moved in and surrounded by vases of red and pink roses. There are only a handful of cameras to record the event. No live audience at least. Caesar Flickerman gives me a warm hug when I. come in. "Congratulations, Katniss. How are you faring?" "Fine. Nervous about the interview," I say. "Don't be. We're going to have a fabulous time," he says, giving my cheek a reassuring pat. "I'm not good at talking about myself," I say. "Nothing you say will be wrong," he says. And I think, Oh, Caesar, if only that were true. But actually, President Snow may be arranging some sort of "accident" for me as we speak. Then Peeta's there looking handsome in red and white, pulling me off to the side. "I hardly get to see you. Haymitch seems bent on keeping us apart." Haymitch is actually bent on keeping us alive, but there are too many ears listening, so I just say, "Yes, he's gotten very responsible lately." "Well, there's just this and we go home. Then he can't watch us all the time," says Peeta. I feel a sort of shiver run through me and there's no time to analyze why, because they're ready for us. We sit somewhat formally on the love seat, but Caesar says, "Oh, go ahead and curl up next to him if you want. It looked very sweet." So I tuck my feet up and Peeta pulls me in close to him. Someone counts backward and just like that, we're being broadcast live to the entire country. Caesar Flickerman is wonderful, teasing, joking, getting choked up when the occasion presents itself. He and Peeta already have the rapport they established that night of the first interview, that easy banter, so I just smile a lot and try to speak as little as possible. I mean, I have to talk some, but as soon as I can I redirect the conversation back to Peeta. Eventually though, Caesar begins to pose questions that insist on fuller answers. "Well, Peeta, we know, from our days in the cave, that it was love at first sight for you from what, age five?" Caesar says. "From the moment I laid eyes on her," says Peeta. "But, Katniss, what a ride for you. I think the real excitement for the audience was watching you fall for him. When did you realize you were in love with him?" asks Caesar. "Oh, that's a hard one. " I give a faint, breathy laugh and look down at my hands. Help. "Well, I know when it hit me. The night when you shouted out his name from that tree," says Caesar. Thank you, Caesar! I think, and then go with his idea. "Yes, I guess that was it. I mean, until that point, I just tried not to think about what my feelings might be, honestly, because it was so confusing and it only made things worse if I actually cared about him. But then, in the tree, everything changed," I say. "Why do you think that was?" urges Caesar. "Maybe. because for the first time. there was a chance I could keep him," I say. Behind a cameraman, I see Haymitch give a sort of huff with relief and I know I've said the right thing. Caesar pulls out a handkerchief and has to take a moment because he's so moved. I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, "So now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?" I turn in to him. "Put you somewhere you can't get hurt." And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh. For Caesar, this is a natural place to segue into all the ways we did get hurt in the arena, from burns, to stings, to wounds. But it's not until we get around to the mutts that I forget I'm on camera. When Caesar asks Peeta how his "new leg" is working out. "New leg?" I say, and I can't help reaching out and pulling up the bottom of Peeta's pants. "Oh, no," I whisper, taking in the metal-and-plastic device that has replaced his flesh. "No one told you?" asks Caesar gently. I shake my head. "I haven't had the chance," says Peeta with a slight shrug. "It's my fault," I say. "Because I used that tourniquet." "Yes, it's your fault I'm alive," says Peeta. "He's right," says Caesar. "He'd have bled to death for sure without it." I guess this is true, but I can't help feeling upset about it to the extent that I'm afraid I might cry and then I remember everyone in the country is watching me so I just bury my face in Peeta's shirt. It takes them a couple of minutes to coax me back out because it's better in the shirt, where no one can see me, and when I do come out, Caesar backs off questioning me so I can recover. In fact, he pretty much leaves me alone until the berries come up. "Katniss, I know you've had a shock, but I've got to ask. The moment when you pulled out those berries. What was going on in your mind. hm?" he says. I take a long pause before I answer, trying to collect my thoughts. This is the crucial moment where I either challenged the Capitol or went so crazy at the idea of losing Peeta that I can't be held responsible for my actions. It seems to call for a big, dramatic speech, but all I get out is one almost inaudible sentence. "I don't know, I just. couldn't bear the thought of. being without him." "Peeta? Anything to add?" asks Caesar. "No. I think that goes for both of us," he says. Caesar signs off and it's over. Everyone's laughing and crying and hugging, but I'm still not sure until I reach Haymitch. "Okay?" I whisper. "Perfect," he answers. I go back to my room to collect a few things and find there's nothing to take but the mockingjay pin Madge gave me. Someone returned it to my room after the Games. They drive us through the streets in a car with blackened windows, and the train's waiting for us. We barely have time to say good-bye to Cinna and Portia, although we'll see them in a few months, when we tour the districts for a round of victory ceremonies. It's the Capitol's way of reminding people that the Hunger Games never really go away. We'll be given a lot of useless plaques, and everyone will have to pretend they love us. The train begins moving and we're plunged into night until we clear the tunnel and I take my first free breath since the reaping. Effie is accompanying us back and Haymitch, too, of course. We eat an enormous dinner and settle into silence in front of the television to watch a replay of the interview. With the Capitol growing farther away every second, I begin to think of home. Of Prim and my mother. Of Gale. I excuse myself to change out of my dress and into a plain shirt and pants. As I slowly, thoroughly wash the makeup from my face and put my hair in its braid, I begin transforming back into myself. Katniss Everdeen. A girl who lives in the Seam. Hunts in the woods. Trades in the Hob. I stare in the mirror as I try to remember who I am and who I am not. By the time I join the others, the pressure of Peeta's arm around my shoulders feels alien. When the train makes a brief stop for fuel, we're allowed to go outside for some fresh air. There's no longer any need to guard us. Peeta and I walk down along the track, hand in hand, and I can't find anything to say now that we're alone. He stops to gather a bunch of wildflowers for me. When he presents them, I work hard to look pleased. Because he can't know that the pink-and-white flowers are the tops of wild onions and only remind me of the hours I've spent gathering them with Gale. Gale. The idea of seeing Gale in a matter of hours makes my stomach churn. But why? I can't quite frame it in my mind. I only know that I feel like I've been lying to someone who trusts me. Or more accurately, to two people. I've been getting away with it up to this point because of the Games. But there will be no Games to hide behind back home. "What's wrong?" Peeta asks. "Nothing," I answer. We continue walking, past the end of the train, out where even I'm fairly sure there are no cameras hidden in the scrubby bushes along the track. Still no words come. Haymitch startles me when he lays a hand on my back. Even now, in the middle of nowhere, he keeps his voice down. "Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay." I watch him head back to the train, avoiding Peeta's eyes. "What's he mean?" Peeta asks me. "It's the Capitol. They didn't like our stunt with the berries," I blurt out. "What? What are you talking about?" he says. "It seemed too rebellious. So, Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn't make it worse," I say. "Coaching you? But not me," says Peeta. "He knew you were smart enough to get it right," I say. "I didn't know there was anything to get right," says Peeta. "So, what you're saying is, these last few days and then I guess. back in the arena. that was just some strategy you two worked out." "No. I mean, I couldn't even talk to him in the arena, could I?" I stammer. "But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn't you?" says Peeta. I bite my lip. "Katniss?" He drops my hand and I take a step, as if to catch my balance. "It was all for the Games," Peeta says. "How you acted." "Not all of it," I say, tightly holding onto my flowers. "Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what's going to be left when we get home?" he says. "I don't know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get," I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none's forthcoming. "Well, let me know when you work it out," he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable. I know my ears are healed because, even with the rumble of the engine, I can hear every step he takes back to the train. By the time I've climbed aboard, Peeta has disappiared into his room for the night. I don't see him the next morning, either. In fact, the next time he turns up, we're pulling into District 12. He gives me a nod, his face expressionless. I want to tell him that he's not being fair. That we were strangers. That I did what it took to stay alive, to keep us both alive in the arena. That I can't explain how things are with Gale because I don't know myself. That it's no good loving me because I'm never going to get married anyway and he'd just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn't matter because I'll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we've just been through? I also want to tell him how much I already miss him. But that wouldn't be fair on my part. So we just stand there silently, watching our grimy little station rise up around us. Through the window, I can see the platform's thick with cameras. Everyone will be eagerly watching our homecoming. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. "One more time? For the audience?" he says. His voice isn't angry. It's hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go. END

#HungerGames

0 notes