#These shows are so infuriating. How do you watch them and not grow to despise the police?

[nosferatufaggot]

Those true crime copaganda shows where we literally hear the porkers aggressively yelling at these people and pointing guns at them and screaming instructions and then it cuts to the cops sitting in a room alone retelling the events and how it made them feel in the moment with a complete level head and every time I'm like "You are literally interviewing a domestic terrorist."

[ptergwen]

smoke and mirrors

⇢ richkid!tom x richkid!reader ⇠

w/c: 4.1k

warnings: swearing, drinking, light angst, and implied smut

summary: because of your mother’s insistence on a pristine family image and tom’s messy one, you deny your true feelings for him

a/n: ok ok ok the pics of tom in monaco really made me think and i had to get everything out of my system so here we are! thank you and enjoy x

-

your living room is engulfed by a hushed chatter that comes from far too many guests. half the people, you hardly know. it’s overcrowded, superficial, and the last place you want to be. it’s one of your mother’s get-togethers, as she likes to call them. these things are always far from the casual affairs they sound like.

weeks go into planning, caterers and decorators making themselves at home in yours. the family’s image is everything to your mom, so being a good hostess is her top priority. ironically, she’s more concerned with throwing her gatherings than raising you. so much for family, huh?

the only reason you agreed to make an appearance tonight is that tom might do the same. he’s a really good friend, someone you’ve been able to count on through all the mess that is your lives. you met in high school, when he moved from london to the states. his dad was offered a job promotion he couldn’t pass up. plus, tom and his brothers would be receiving a stellar private education here in america.

it was a win for everyone, especially you. the freckle faced boy who got lost on his way to english class became your closest confidant. tom’s company is such a sweet escape. he’s not interested in opera or the stock market like most people you meet are. he sneaks you out to go on walks at dawn and does shots with you until you can’t stand straight.

as you two continue to grow together, revelations about yourselves have come to light. what you want beyond your inheritances, who you want beyond friendship. you figured out the second part on a faithful night recently. tom showed up to your place with a bottle of tequila. after you drank it down through lots of lime chasers and giggles, he kissed you. you didn’t kiss back.

your heart said to go for it, but your mind pulled you back in. you were so shocked and overcome with new feelings, you froze up. that, and you’d infuriate your mother. although she cares about tom a great deal, she loathes his public figure. he’s always getting papped in places and with people he shouldn’t be. the two of you together would just destroy her.

you still want to please your mom at the end of the day, no matter how deep under your skin she gets.

tom immediately apologized and tried play it off as him being drunk. you grew up with him, became part of each other’s families, which means you know him well enough to know he was lying. he meant every second his lips were on yours.

what you need to do now is something you’ve meant to for a while. the only problem is that you’re stuck at your mother’s party, and tom hasn’t shown up yet.

“y/n, darling,” your mom calls for your attention. she’s dragged you into a conversation with some bloggers, but you haven’t spoken a word. “why don’t you tell us about your trip to spain last summer?” she plasters on her award winning grin and squeezes your shoulder. it’s time to play along.

“oh, it was beautiful,” you halfheartedly reply, more to the bloggers than her. they nod in clear interest. one jots down notes. “we went for a few weeks and visited a bunch of different cities. i’d love to go back sometime.” the typical press formatted answer earns your mom’s approval. you’re off the hook. your eyes start to wander around the room, hoping to set on tom.

“we?” the woman taking notes asks. must everyone pry? “my friend and i,” you shortly reply. you’re standing up on your tiptoes to see over the crowd. you’d think six inch heels would do the trick. “i’m actually looking for him right now, so if you’ll excuse me,” you offer a polite smile and silently pray they won’t ask who. unfortunately, your wishes don’t come true.

the other blogger, a short and stubborn man, speaks up. “just a friend you say? come on, tell us. who’s the lucky fella?” he inquires. your mother raises a firm eyebrow, signaling for you not to.

tom has a reputation for his reckless behavior. it’s your mom’s worst nightmare when the media associates your names under most circumstances. you’re representing her, so she does whatever she can to control how you’re seen. you’re constantly in the papers, being a young socialite and all. it sucks.

“he’d like to stay out of the tabloids, sorry,” you cover for tom, on your mom’s behalf. “i should really go. it was nice meeting you.” the bloggers don’t bother to hide their disappointment as you shake their hands. your mother rubs your back in approval. “thank you for doing that. we’ll talk later,” she speaks lowly. “bye, mom!” you practically make a run for it. 

weaving through the sea of people, you end up by the main entrance. it’s hard not to get lost even though it’s your house. the place is packed with girls just a couple years older than you, wearing pearls around their necks. men’s strong colognes flow through the air. you’re in a form fitting red slip dress and louboutins yourself.

smoke and mirrors is what they call it. you show the pretty parts to distract from your ugly ones.

harrison suddenly comes waltzing in with a lady on either of his arms. you’d expect nothing less. he’s tom’s best friend besides you, considering the failed kiss attempt didn’t change that. their parents worked at the london branch of the same company. they each came to the states and met you. you happily introduced them to your world, helping to make it theirs as well.

“haz!” you meet him at the front door. he’s smirking while he leads the women inside. “fancy seeing you here, isn’t it?” he jokes. “very funny. i died laughing,” you deadpan, curiously eyeing harrison’s plus two. they merely giggle. “listen, have you seen tom anywhere? if he’s coming.” you’re fighting back a frown. “why wouldn’t he be?” harrison questions in a more serious tone this time.

“long story. you have guests to entertain, so i won’t get into it now,” you decide and manage a small smile instead. he perks up. “right. i’ll let you know if i see him?” nodding, you give him a wave goodbye. “enjoy yourself.” “you too, love. cheers!” the girls lean into him, harrison wiggling his eyebrows at you. he’s ridiculous.

hours pass by without word of tom. it isn’t like him to miss an event, especially if you’re in attendance. you despise these exhausting nights, and he’s supposed to be your rock during them. he should have his arm draped around your shoulders, whispering silly remarks to you while you hide out somewhere. you miss him more than you thought possible.

you’re just about to give up when you spot nikki ushering her husband inside. behind them follows tom, clad in a grey checkered suit with his locks perfectly tousled. he’s here. you waited the whole night, and he finally came.

tom kisses his mom on the cheek before strutting over to the drink table, not without a few reporters hassling him. they’re probably looking for another holland scandal to break. he declines their requests for comments on this and opinions on that, instead pulling up a chair next to harrison. the two exchange hugs and fix themselves glasses of champagne, you watching their encounter.

harrison fills tom in on the drama he’s missed tonight while they sip their drinks. tom keeps forcing smiles that don’t reach his eyes. he’s fiddling with his fingers, leg bouncing up and down steadily. those are the telltale signs he needs saving. however awkward it may be, you’re going to have to break your silence. it was bound to happen eventually.

“mate, i’m telling you. she fit her entire first right up her-“ “boys,” you cut into harrison’s story, greeting him and tom. his face tints deep pink upon your arrival. “don’t let me stop you. finish your charming anecdote,” you encourage him and subtly glance over at tom. he’s biting back a grin as he sets his elbows on the table.

“not with a lady present. let’s just… pretend you didn’t hear that,” harrison chuckles nervously and hops to his feet. “i’m gonna leave you two to chat.” humming, you move to take his chair. tom sucks in a breath. “what happened to the girls you brought?” you wonder. “they left. said they got bored,” harrison admits, tom stifling laughter. he elbows his friend for that.

“oh, fuck off. i’ll see you later,” he mopes, flicking your arm for good measure. tom salutes him and grabs his nearly empty champagne. “so long, bruv.”

it’s just you and tom now, seated side by side, silently so. he has no intentions of speaking first. he’s too embarrassed, and you don’t blame him. this is on you. you clear your throat before starting the conversation.

“can i top you off?” you tap the bottom of his glass with a tiny smile. tom shakes his head. “i’m alright, thanks.” he finishes the last sip and sets it down, turning to face you. your smile has vanished. “wasn’t sure you were gonna make it. i’m glad you did,” you change the subject. as if he’s considering the sincerity behind your words, tom furrows his eyebrows.

“mum wanted us to. she dragged me and dad straight off the golf course,” he explains and clasps his hands in his lap. his fingers interlock with each other. you fight off the urge to replace them with yours. “we would’ve been here sooner, but the paps are camped outside.” the hint of a smile forms on his lips, at last. “guess it’s not often you get the town’s finest under one roof.”

“you think i’m one of the town’s finest?” you tease, resting your chin in your palm. something flashes behind tom’s eyes. he looks right into yours, scooting closer. “absolutely. you’re the most eligible bachelorette in this whole building.” you allow a toothy grin to spread across your face. “tommy, stop it. you’re too nice to me.”

the nickname is music to his ears. tom looks you up and down, licking his lips simultaneously. “no, seriously. you look gorgeous,” he muses, you pushing at his chest. he exhales a breathy laugh, and you giggle yourself. “red’s definitely your color.” “reverse card. you wear it way better than i do,” you insist. your fingers tug at the collar of his suit. “too bad you didn’t match me.”

you’re relieved you two can talk like you usually do, light flirting and good vibes. it might not be so hard to put the kiss behind you. well, you can’t go on pretending it didn’t happen. you have to at least discuss the fiasco. tom should know why you didn’t reciprocate, then you can take it from there. whether he still has feelings for you, assuming he ever did, will depend on how that turns out.

“not to ruin the fun, but we still have to talk,” you murmur, tom’s body stiffening across from yours. he’s not sure he’s ready to discuss that. “can it wait? we’re at a party,” tom reminds you, running a hand through his styled locks. “yeah, my mother’s. don’t tell me you’re having a good time,” you playfully chastise him. he simply shrugs. “hardly. you’re the best part.”

you ignore the butterflies roaming about your body.

“you won’t mind a quick convo, then. it is with me,” you attempt to persuade him and place a hand on his knee. tom coughs a bit too loudly, the contact surprising him. “you know what? i think i’ll take you up on that drink first,” he decides with a mustered up smile. “coming right up.” you pat his leg before taking his glass. he chews on his lower lip while you poor the bubbling liquid. that was certainly… odd.

you slide tom his champagne back with an exaggerated wink. tom scoffs at this. “mm, thanks. care to join me?” he brings the alcohol to his lips, eyes never leaving yours. your mother specifically said no drinking tonight, since the press would be here. screw your mother, though. “please. could you hand me a glass?” you eagerly grab the champagne bottle. tom searches for an empty cup next to him.

you two are unspoken drinking buddies at this point.

“here you are, darling,” tom drawls, holding out the glass for you. every time he calls you that, you completely melt. “thanks, tommy,” you purr in response. you’re finally pouring your own drink when someone taps you on the shoulder, and hard. you look behind you to find your mother standing with her hands on her hips, less than thrilled. speak of the devil.

“hello, mother. can i help you?” you make sure to ask rudely. she responds with a smile that’s obviously fake. if tom weren’t here, you’d be getting scolded. “yes, my darling. those bloggers from earlier were hoping you’d finish your interview.” your mom shakes your shoulder in a motherly way. you squint up at her. “didn’t they leave hours ago-“ “they’re back,” she sharply informs you.

she’s lying, and you have a hunch as to why.

frowning, you hold tom’s hand in both of yours. “sorry, this won’t take long. why don’t you go find tuwaine?” you suggest instead. “he’s around here somewhere.” tom gives you an understanding nod and laces your fingers together, even if it’s only for a moment. “must be chatting up some producers or whatnot. i’ll see if i can help.” he’s such an incredible friend to everyone. he deserves the same from you.

“thomas, so lovely to see you,” your mom interrupts. tom stands up, kissing both her cheeks out of courtesy. “you, too. what a wonderful party. thank you for having us.” despite what the rest of the world believes, his manners are impeccable. “of course. give nikki my best, will you?” your mom puts her hands on his shoulders. he grins at her. “definitely. take care, mrs. y/l/n.” “always a pleasure,” she states, nudging you to come along with her.

you shoot tom one last apologetic look as your mother pulls you along and towards the crowd.

tom is no idiot. he’s well aware how she really feels about him.

when a swarm of guests is surrounding you, your mom lets go. you scowl, crossing your arms over your chest. “why would you do that? i haven’t seen tom in days.” she sighs without a care. “isn’t it time you branch out? expand your social circle?” her manicured fingers ruffle your hair. you push away her touch. “i’m social enough. we were in the middle of something really important.”

you begin to walk away, but your mother takes your arm. “whatever you’re about to do, it’s a mistake. he’ll make a fool of you,” she practically spits. yanking your arm from her grasp, you laugh bitterly. “of me, or of the family name? look around, mom.” you gesture to the spot beside her where your dad should be. “as far as i’m concerned, i have no family except tom. i’m gonna go check on him.”

you’re gone before your mom can stop you. she simply stands there, utterly mortified by what you said.

you run around the house to find tom, stumbling in your heels and not giving a fuck. you’d truly meant the part about him being your family. all the holland’s, honestly. they’re the most genuine and caring souls, and you don’t want to lose the one you’re closest to because of your mother’s delusions. 

tom is in a circle with harrison and tuwaine, the three of them chuckling amongst themselves. you’d hate to bug him, but this can’t wait anymore.

“uh, tom?” you mumble his name, appearing behind him. he steps away with another quiet laugh. “hey, y/n/n. that was quick, hm?” your face gives away your distress. his whole demeanor shifting, tom reaches for your hands. “what is it, love? is something the matter?” “just… come with me,” you croak out.

you manage to smile at harrison and tuwaine, dropping one of tom’s hands so you can lead him upstairs. they each return the smile and share curious looks.

following behind you, tom keeps your hand tight in his own. he’d thought you were going to grill him about the kiss that barely happened. it seems like this is a much more pressing matter. his outburst of emotions can be discussed another time. now, it’s time to deal with yours.

you drag tom into the first room on the second floor, which is your dad’s study. he’s away on business this weekend, so he luckily couldn’t make the party. tom sits down in the office chair. you sit up on the desk, in front of him. your lip quivers the second his worried features come into view.

“y/n/n, what’s going on? why are we in here?” tom wonders, his tone soft. your heart clenches. “i- i wanted us to have some privacy when i told you this,” you sniffle out and blink back the tears forming. you’re sort of shaken from the conversation with your mother, and mostly because you have no idea how tom will react to your confession.

his hands come to stay on your thighs, right below your dress. they feel warm against your bare skin.

“tell me what? i’m listening, yeah?” tom gazes up at you with so much love. “lay it all out for me.” god, he’s fucking amazing. if only you knew where to start. “do you, um…” you trail off, letting your tears subside and words settle. “do you remember when your family made your big debut in town?”

a grin replaces tom’s frown, painting his beautiful face. “how could i forget? you made it quite memorable.” he traces circles on your thigh and elicits a giggle from you. “i spilled a whole thing of soda on your white fucking button down,” you recount with a lighthearted sigh. “right before your dad was supposed to introduce you to everyone, too.”

tom presses his tongue into his cheek to hold back another grin. “took ages to get it out. dad went mad when i didn’t show.” he cocks his head to the side, you leaning back on your hands. “you held me hostage in the laundry room so you could do that bloody stain stick.” your mouth drops open in mock offense. “i had to clean up my mess! i wasn’t gonna let the world meet you covered in pepsi.”

that was one of your earliest memories together. the holland’s threw a party and invited everyone who was willing to attend. they had been hoping to properly introduce themselves to the town, and this was their way of doing so. although yours and tom’s friendship was fairly new, you spent all night together because you had experience with such events.

tom’s dad was making a speech to thank the guests for coming. you and him listened from the snack table, until his name was called. he rushed to go up there while you were pouring yourself a drink. he’d bumped into you, and the bottle ended up all over him. you snuck tom right off to his laundry room.

you’d felt terrible as he stood there shirtless and blushing, you aggressively swiping his button down with a stain stick.

“why do you bring that up?” tom questions and continues circling your skin. you purse your lips. “i dunno. it was the last party i actually enjoyed,” you admit, putting your hand over his that rests on your thigh. “like to reminisce when i’m suffering through one of my mother’s.” his eyes shift to where your hands are laced. “i see,” he affirms. “so, is that… all you wanted to talk about?” “not even close,” you laugh out.

a burst of courage coursing through your body, you say it. “when you kissed me the other night-“ “i won’t do it again,” tom cuts in, trying to avoid the rejection he thinks you’ll give him. “it was a mistake, and i’m so sorry. our friendship is more important than my feelings.” you seem excited to hear that, though it’s not for the reason tom expects. “you do have feelings for me?”

he’d forgotten about his i was drunk excuse.

“um, yeah. i do,” he admits, cheeks rosy and lip caught in his teeth. “but, i’ll learn to put them aside, if that’s what’s best.” “no, no. it isn’t,” you dismiss him and put your free hand on his chest. “i love you, tom. that’s what i was really trying to tell you.” your words bring an instant grin to his face. he chuckles in disbelief, standing from the chair.

“fuck, thank god. that’s all i’ve ever wanted to hear.” he’s between your legs now, his hands moving up to your hips. you’re beaming at him as your arms snake around his neck. a burning question comes to tom’s mind. “hang on. why didn’t you kiss me back, then?” he almost whispers, thumb brushing over your hipbone. “this is gonna sound weird, but… my mom,” you reluctantly let out.

“you’re gonna have to elaborate,” tom prompts you and raises an eyebrow. you can’t hold back your eye roll. “she’s never been a fan of the person you are in the media.” his lips form a line. “i gathered.” your fingers tangle in his curls at the nape of his neck reassuringly. “i was subconsciously scared i would be letting her down in some way, if we were together.”

tom allows your hands to work their way up to his scalp. he exhales contentedly as you play with his ever so soft hair. “i understand, she’s intimidating. what’s changed that brilliant mind of yours about coming clean?” your nose scrunches up when he pokes one of your temples. “oh, yeah. i yelled at her earlier ‘cuz she stole me away from you.” his face lights up. “sexy.” “shut up,” you groan. “someone had to tell her off.”

“good thing it got to be you,” tom agrees with a squeeze at your hip. “‘m proud of you, y/n/n. it’s not easy, standing up to mummy dearest.” you tug on his hair. “like you’d know. nikki is a saint.” “that’s what she’ll have you believe,” he says under his breath, you gasping. his lips turn up in a smirk. “on that note… i love you, too.”

“would’ve been embarrassing if you didn’t say it back,” you acknowledge with a cheesy smile. tom dips his head down to rest his forehead against yours. “yeah, yeah. save the attitude for your mum.” your legs easily wrap around his waist, tom’s breath hot as it hits your face. “let’s give that kiss another go,” you mewl. he doesn’t hesitate to reply. “with pleasure.”

tom’s lips land on yours, you kissing back right away. he smiles into it as your lips gently move together. “about fucking time,” he grumbles, your hands situating in his chocolate curls once again. he’s savoring every second you touch him, kiss him, love him. the taste of your mouth is one he’s craved for longer than you could imagine.

it doesn’t take long for things to heat up, you messing with tom’s hair and tom rubbing your hips. you lay back on the desk as his tongue enters your mouth. holding you by your waist, tom hovers over you. his tongue tangles with yours in a deep kiss. between that and his fingers beginning to massage your thigh, you’re done for. you’re ready to take this a step further by the time he’s kissing down your neck.

“tommy?” you grab onto his shoulders, your head back. his lips detach from your skin with a grin. “yeah, love? ‘s everything okay?” he coos, pressing a final kiss to your collarbone. “more than.” you tilt his chin up to peck his lips. “you wouldn’t happen to have a condom, would you? just thinking ahead.” he laughs breathlessly, reaching into his suit pocket.

“conveniently enough, i do. not sure your dad would like me fucking you on his desk, though.” tom sets his hand on your leg that’s still hooked around his waist. “my room’s always available. carry me?” you make grabby hands and bat your lashes. he hoists you up by your waist, not lifting you just yet. “that would break the news of us, no? your mum’s gonna go apeshit.” he keeps his arms around you, chuckling.

“let her. besides, i know a couple of bloggers that would love to announce our status update.” you peck tom’s lips, grinning as you do. you’re suddenly in the air and being picked up by tom. the surprise of it makes you squeal, clutching onto his broad shoulders instinctively. he gives you the look of adoration that’s reserved for you only.

“we’ll go pop a few bottles with everyone, then we’re celebrating on our own.”

[tetsuwhore]

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 | 𝐤𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐨, 𝐤𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦𝐚

Description: the boys dating a kinky S/o who everyone else thinks is innocent

Warning: explicit smut - dirty talk, risky sex, bondage, one use of the word ‘daddy’

Length: 1.2k words

Kuroo is so amused by the entire thing. you had managed to charm the whole student body into believing that you were the goddamn descendent of virgin mary

little did they know that he had Nekoma’s angel in his bed, moaning his name as he pounds into you and praises you for being his pretty little slut

it’s like his dirty little secret to relish in

don’t worry, Kuroo doesn’t kiss and tell. he knows you’d rather keep this aspect of yourself private, and he respects your wishes. even his teammates will be none the wiser to what goes on in your bedroom

still, he’s such a little shit. he’ll paint your skin with hickies and bruises, cleverly placing them so that they’re just barely out of visible regions that your clothing doesn’t usually cover 

then at school, while no one else is looking, he’ll send a pointed gaze at your thighs or chest and flash you smug smile. he’s the only one who knows about the splotches of red and purple beneath the fabric of your uniform, and he gets such a kick out of that knowledge

“oh, what a pity nobody else gets to see my artwork”

“Tetsurou, i will hit you”

“honestly, i’m pretty into that, and so are you”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“T-Tetsu, someone is- fuck! Someone is going to h-hear us,” you hiss.

Tilting his head up, Kuroo looks back at you from his position between your thighs. He’s wearing a lazy smirk, but your eyes remain fixated on the slickness coating his cheeks and skin. 

Ignoring your complaint, he goes back to work. Gripping your thighs tighter into the sides of his head, Kuroo pushes himself forward, tongue pressed up against your heated core. It’s dizzying - the way he’s lapping the wet little muscle up and down, swiping your clit over and over in repeated motions. 

The feeling is absolutely delicious, and for a moment, you forget that you’re currently pushed up against the wall of the gym storage closet. For a moment, you allow your sharp whimpers to sound through the room, ignoring your rational mind telling you that you could get caught at any minute.

For a moment, you’re so, so tempted to simply toss out all inhibitions and let him have his way. 

Mustering up your very last ounce of restraint, you start, “I-I’m serious! What if s-someone, uh, finds us and-”

“Why don’t we let them? Let ‘em know how pretty you sound when you’re moaning my name like a little whore,” he taunts, “Who would’ve guessed Nekoma’s little angel could make such lewd noises, hmm?”

You can only whine in response, a bright crimson flaring across your face as he continues. 

“So, want to stop then? Want me to leave you here all high and dry?” he asks, the smug expression still on his face. Kuroo already knows your answer. He already knows you’re only growing slicker at the thought of potentially getting caught. 

And he already knows that you’d let him do whatever he wanted so long as he granted you that sweet high. 

He flashes you a wicked grin when you silently shake your head, hands already weakly grasping for his dark locks in an effort to pull him back against your core.

“That’s what I thought. Now be a good girl and let daddy make you cum on his tongue.”

Kageyama did not see this coming. when he first got into a relationship with you, he expected you to be just as inexperienced as he was

even in his third year, his demeanour is still simply too intense for him to appear as approachable to girls. therefore, the first time he has sex will likely be with you

now Kageyama isn’t necessarily vanilla - he just lacks experience

the first couple of times, you - being the more experienced one - will have to guide him, showing him how you like being touched, as well as helping him explore what feels good for him

Kageyama’s nature makes him someone who prefers remaining in a position of control - and once you get him comfortable enough, you can coax him into bringing that side of himself to the bedroom too

he’ll be slightly relieved that you’re so unsuspecting when it comes to your... wilder side. Kageyama is a rather private person, so he’s more than happy to have whatever happens in his bedroom remain in his bedroom

though, it does make for some interesting conversation when he’s in the changing room before practice and the others catch a glimpse of the angry, red lines adorning the pale skin of his back

and, of course, no one suspects you of anything. instead, they tease Kageyama, calling him a neanderthal for going so rough on you

“Jesus Christ, you’re an animal, Kageyama.”

“(Y/n), that poor girl.”

and all he can do is flush red and grit his teeth, silently bearing all the teasing while trying not to picture your pretty voice sobbing for him to go “harder, rougher, deeper”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Kageyama had been in a shitty mood since he got back, slamming the door shut before finding you and practically dragging you to the bedroom. It had been another day spent dealing with Tsukishima’s and Hinata’s infuriating comments, this time concerning the purple hickies splotched across the expanse of his neck. 

You weren’t even entirely sure how you had managed to pull it off - getting Kageyama to let his guard down while he was so riled up. But you had done it, positioning him to rest his back against the headboard of the bed and restraining him before he could stop you. The soft, silk cloth was light enough that he didn’t even notice when you silently looped it around his wrists in a tight knot. 

The way his blue eyes darken - harsh and stormy as he locks them on yours in a hard glare - is enough to tell you that he was going to absolutely destroy you for this later. It’s nothing short of terrifying. And yet, the thought sends a rush of heat straight to your core. 

“Untie me. Now.”

Chuckling at the succinctness of his speech, your voice is mockingly saccharine as you coo, “Aw, but my Tobio looks so pretty like this. Completely and utterly helpless.” You tighten your grip on his broad shoulders as you position your dripping cunt directly above his hardened length, sinking down ever so slightly before pulling away. Again.

He despises this. There’s nothing he hates more than being in a position where he wasn’t in control. He knows you know this. And he knows you’re getting such a kick out of watching him grow more and more frustrated as you dangle the promise of pleasure in his face, only to yank it away every time he comes close to tasting it. 

Slyly, you taunt, “Is this getting you all hot and bothered? Don’t worry, baby, if you ask nicely enough, maybe-” 

You’re interrupted by the sharp sound of ripping fabric echoing through the room. 

You aren’t even granted a second to react before you’re flipped on to your back. Kageyama wastes no time, immediately pounding into your heat at a dizzying pace that has you keening for him. 

“You seem to have forgotten your place. Guess I’ll just have to fuck it into you so you don’t repeat that mistake again.”

[momsopposed2theoccult]

It’s come to my attention that a good majority of people on this website have a really poor understanding of the conflict between Toph and Katara in “The Chase.” As somebody who loves both characters and their friendship, this irritates me. Without further ado, let’s unpack that in what is in theory supposed to be a meta but turned out more like a rant. 

“Katara was hostile towards Toph because the fact that she’s a gender non-conforming girl made Katara uncomfortable because Katara is obsessed with gender roles.”

Alright, so right off the bat this is just... completely idiotic and clearly fuelled by an agenda (and likely also a lot of projection). First of all, how is Katara of “I don’t want to heal, I want to fight!” fame “obsessed with gender roles?” There’s an entire episode in Book One dedicated to Katara refusing to conform to societal norms for women in the Northern Water Tribe! Katara routinely calls Sokka out on his misogynistic bullshit! (Mind you I adore Sokka but he could be a little twerp at times and Katara was 100% right to challenge him on it) Katara is the feminist icon of ATLA! The fact that people act like Katara is some sort of conservative tradwife who loves gender roles instead of the outspoken feminist and political activist she is makes me incredibly angry.

Second of all, Katara was extremely kind and welcoming towards Toph at first. She gently encouraged her to join in with the group as they all set up camp together as opposed to setting up her own private camp. It’s only when Toph refuses to comply with her that Katara begins to get irritated. Mind you, Toph has her reasons for this, something I’ll get to in a minute, but from Katara’s perspective (key word here is perspective) she’s just being an annoying little stubborn, selfish, lazy, anti-social, entitled brat. Of course we the audience find out later that this isn’t the case at all (or at least in theory we should find out later but apparently some people on here skipped that part), but for all her many talents Katara is not a mind reader and has no way of knowing what’s going on inside Toph’s head, nor does she know her well enough yet to fully grasp the context behind why Toph acts the way she does. Katara is somebody who greatly values community and believes in teamwork, so Toph turning down her warm welcome in favour of “carrying her own weight” likely felt like a slap in the face. Not to mention that she’s already emotionally exhausted from having to constantly mother Aang and Sokka. If I were Katara, I likely would have reacted the same way. 

Oh and I agree that the “the stars look beautiful tonight, too bad you can’t see them, Toph” comment was out of line, but it doesn’t make her a horrible person. It makes her a 14 year old, and 14 year olds can be nasty, especially sleep deprived 14 year olds. Katara is otherwise a very kind and compassionate person. Other characters have said worse than that. Hell, Toph herself has said worse than that. That being said, it was a deeply hurtful comment and I do like to imagine that she apologized for it off-screen. 

“Toph is a lazy, entitled, and classist spoiled rich brat who just didn’t want to do chores and expected other people to wait on her.” 

This is another one that makes me roll my eyes and ask if they even watched the show. First of all, the presumption that Toph is a lazy or entitled person is just... laughable. I feel like people forget that Toph isn’t actually an earthbending prodigy in the way that Azula is a firebending prodigy (I could say more about Azula and how her belief that she was the unshakeable prodigal daughter ultimately caused her downfall and how by the end of the series Zuko is arguably a better firebender than her but this isn’t a meta about Azula and Zuko, now is it?). Nah. Toph was a sheltered kid who discovered she had the ability to earthbend, was told that she could never become great at it because she was blind, and in response said FUCK THAT and decided to work her ass off until she was not only great but the very greatest all thanks to her crazy, stupid, off-the-charts nerve, drive, grit, ambition, and desire to prove people wrong about her. Does that sound like a lazy person to you? Believe me when I say that you do not achieve that kind of skill level by sitting around on your ass and expecting to have things handed to you. And entitled? Don’t make me laugh. Toph hates having things handed to her, that’s one of her defining characteristics. 

As for the implication that she’s classist and enjoys basking in her family’s wealth and being waited on...... are you stupid? Did you even watch the show? Toph absolutely despises everything about her parents’ lifestyle. Growing up like that was traumatizing and restrictive for her. We’re talking about a girl who likes to play around in the mud for fuck’s sake. Toph does not care how much money you have. She never wanted any to begin with. She even says it herself; “I guess I shouldn’t be complaining. They gave me everything I could have wanted. But they never gave me what I actually needed - their love.” Not to mention that she easily could have continued to freeload off her parents wealth but instead chose to sneak out of the house and make her own money doing what she did best; disproving people’s assumptions about her earthbending. Oh and I’ve seen someone point this out before but WWE is generally considered a “low brow” activity that “proper” people frown upon and shouldn’t associate themselves with. Toph fucking loved it. I don’t know how seriously people take the comics, as they often miss the mark when it comes to characterization (Toph’s, however, was generally pretty accurate), but there’s a part in The Rift where Sokka asks her when she’s going to start charging people to learn metalbending and she gets all serious and flat out tells him that she will never do such a thing, because money doesn’t matter to her. Sharing her one true passion with the world is what matters to her. Oh and the part where she basically tells a bunch of rich and sleazy businessmen to fuck off and “stop thinking about money and start thinking about people’s lives” is just... *chef’s kiss* Sorry my thoughts here are so incoherent but this take is so piss poor and makes me so angry that I don’t even know where to start. As for “Toph enjoys being waited on” I just- *sigh* Toph has such a visceral and defensive reaction to any implication that she is unable to take care of herself. Like I said earlier, that’s one of her defining characteristics as well as the reason for her behaviour in “The Chase.” Where are people getting these takes?

You wanna know why Toph acted the way she did in The Chase? Well, first let’s recap her life up to this point. Toph was born the blind daughter of one of the wealthiest families in the Earth Kingdom. From day one her parents treated her like glass due to her disability. She was not allowed to leave her house unsupervised, and even then she was only permitted to walk around the gardens of her home. Every day of her life she was pitied, gaslit, babied, ignored, emotionally neglected, and made to feel ashamed of herself. She was not allowed to make any decisions for herself. She was not allowed to do anything for herself. She was not allowed to talk to other children. She had no friends. Other people didn’t even know she existed on account that her parents kept her locked up in her own home and didn’t tell anybody about her because they were so ashamed to have a blind daughter. Flash forward to “The Chase.” Toph begins to set up her own camp separate from the rest of the Gaang. Considering that she flat out was not socialized as a child and hadn’t even interacted with anybody her own age prior to a few days ago, this is understandable. So then Katara comes up to her and asks her why she isn’t setting up camp with the others as if she’s somehow incapable of taking care of herself (again, this is just what happened from her perspective) like she’s her mom or something and it just angers her because she thought she joined this group to get away from all that and she doesn’t understand how friends work because she’s never had one, all she knows is that apparently this girl thinks she isn’t capable of taking care of herself, and that infuriates her because it’s the exact same bullshit she thought she was running away from.

There’s a lot more I could say about this but I’m sick of typing so yeah in conclusion both of these takes are piss poor and I’m sick of having to read them. Stan Toph, Katara, and their friendship. 

[maatryoshkaa]

merry christmas, kiss my a** | lee minho [teaser]

✒︎ in which both you and minho get dumped by your partners on christmas eve, run into each other on christmas day, and begin to find yourselves grudgingly confronting all the reasons that made you enemies in the first place.

ryu says: i can explain the title—i wrote out the plot while listening to “merry christmas, kiss my ass” by all time low 🤡

genre: enemies to lovers, college!au, holiday!au, fluff, drama, romcom, all that good stuff--and a pinch of angst if you move your bang to read it again. 

tags/warnings: fratboy!minho is your typical playboy asshole, perfect student!reader is all business and no-nonsense, mild profanity, mentions of drugs/marijuana/alcohol and addiction, unsafe frat parties (never let go of your drinks, guys), slightly (?) suggestive, but more chaotic than anything, some unhealthy relationships, reader and minho have bad blood, a long history paved with misunderstandings, and lots of unpacking to do.

length of excerpt: 1.6k

With the remnants of a ruthless migraine still wrenching your skull, you pried your eyes open. A weak groan left your dry lips, muffled by a mouthful of fabric. As you came to—brain feeling like jelly sloshing around in your head—you realised you were lying nearly face-down on a queen-sized bed, white comforters tangled around your very sore body. Bright sunlight was filtering in from a window somewhere, and you vaguely registered a green velvet couch sitting in the corner. Frowning, you tried to roll onto your side—and came face-to-face with the yellow eyes of a ginger cat.

You didn’t own a cat. Or a green couch, for that matter. Blinking in confused unison with the feline, you looked around the room—just as the bathroom door swung open, and a very naked Minho stepped out from the wisps of steam.

You screamed, scrambling back on the bed, and grabbed for the first solid object your hands could find—a rusted candelabra on the nightstand. Brandishing it at Minho in horror, you stammered, “Did I—did you—did we—”

Minho looked just as bewildered as you, one hand shooting up as if in surrender. With a yowl, the ginger cat leapt onto the green couch, but neither of you spared it a glance. Minho’s other hand, you realised, was gripping the towel wrapped around his waist as if his life depended on it. Okay, so he wasn’t naked—thank heavens—but that did nothing to stop the sour panic steadily rising in your throat. His gesture sent a vague memory rippling through your muddled mind. That’s right. Last night—the Christmas party at Changbin’s fraternity. You had bumped into Minho, just your rotten luck—the boy you’d despised since high school, and under the mistletoe, to boot. Your mind flashed back to how you’d furiously chugged the drink a frat boy had handed you to fill in the awkwardness, and had desperately tried to eject yourself from the conversation.

Then police sirens had sounded throughout the frat house, students scrambling like cockroaches and hurriedly hiding their marijuana—and that was the last thing you remembered before you had blacked out entirely.

You turned back towards Minho, one hand clamped over your eyes and the other around the candelabra. Two more cats had slinked out from under the bed—a tabby, and another ginger—and were joining the first one in watching the commotion. You put two and two together, voice growing shrill. “Did you—drug my drink, Lee Minho?”

He sputtered, and you could almost imagine his eyes bugging out. “Did I—” he raked a hand through his wet hair, composing himself. “I thought you took something—you were out cold the second you finished your drink.”

Fragments of the night before were slowly returning to you, and with increasing dread you recalled the solo cup you had taken without looking twice, the frat boy who had winked at you with a greasy smile.

“I think you got roofied, princess,” came Minho’s voice, surprisingly gentle.

“Don’t call me princess,” you snapped back automatically, but grudgingly lowered the candelabra. Cautious, you peered through your fingers, and immediately regretted it when you were met with Minho’s shit-eating smirk agaain.

“Not gonna lie, it took me by surprise. Since when did you become a party girl, showing up to Changbin’s parties?” He reached back into the bathroom, ruffling his damp hair with a smaller towel. “Here I was, thinking you’ve changed.”

“Yeah, well, you clearly haven’t,” you shot back coldly, counting off your fingers with a biting laugh. “Treating people like your personal toys or stepping stones. Messing around with multiple girls a night. Drinking like there’s no tomorrow.” 

If your words stung Minho, he certainly didn’t show it—only raising his eyebrows in that way that had infuriated you for as long as you’d known. The typical Lee Minho look of nonchalant contempt, spiked with a shot of amusement to give the impression that he didn’t give a single damn. You hadn’t run into him since—well, since that incident back in high school, and the memories his mere expressions could still rouse made your skin crawl.

Minho watched you curiously—sheets still wrapped around you like makeshift battle armour, your hand wielding the candelabra he’d thrifted from a garage sale, Rapunzel-style—and he had to fight the genuine smile tugging at his sneer. His chest felt...funny, fluttery, even, and not in the gut-wrenching, hangover way he had grown so used to. He almost wished it was, because this new feeling made it seem as though the ground had suddenly been ripped out from under his feet, and that terrified him.

The party. Some snitch had called the cops on them, and that had promptly shut the party down. The flood of panicked students evacuating had shoved Minho flush against the wall, and you flush against his chest. When he hadn’t felt you shoving him away immediately, Minho had almost felt his heart swell with a strange, terrifying shred of hope—until, upon closer look, he had noticed that your entire body had gone limp, glass empty and eyes fluttering shut. 

Panicking, Minho had carried you out of the house, clawing out of the sea of elbows and overheated limbs until he had reached the main road. Mind racing, he had fished his phone from his pocket and called the only mutual acquaintance the two of you had—your boyfriend.

But when Minho had explained what had happened—hey, uh, your girlfriend’s out cold at Changbin’s party, so you might want to come pick her up—Taehyun had scoffed, a harsh bark of laughter that had made Minho’s ears hurt. 

“Yeah? The hell’s it to me? That bitch’s your problem now.”

Before Minho could choke out a surprised reply, Taehyun had hung up. 

Trouble in paradise? He had thought to himself amusedly, before remembering his own situation. Then, the fact that he had no idea where you lived, and he couldn’t very well leave you, unconscious, out on the street. In the end, he had brought you to his last resort—his apartment. 

Carefully stepping over the trail of shattered ornaments his ex-girlfriend had left behind during their fight, Minho had lowered you onto the couch—then, with a second thought and a deep sigh, he’d lifted you onto the bed, tucking the white comforter over your slack body. Sipping a hangover concoction, he’d stood over your sleeping figure contemplatively, a mix of bemusement and worry churning in his gut, before deciding he was probably being mildly creepy and collapsing for the night on the velvet couch. 

“Look,” Minho began, shaking his head as though clearing his thoughts and turning his attention back on you, “I know what you’re probably thinking, but I—we—didn’t—do anything. You were out cold last night.”

Hands shaking, you peeled back the covers—and the smallest sigh of relief left your tightened chest when you saw that you were still wearing the same jeans and top as last night—albeit creased, stained, and reeking of marijuana and booze, but completely intact. The next moment, though, a wave of anxiety washed over you and you clutched the sheets closer, fingers trembling. Someone had still slipped something into your drink at that party. And if the party hadn’t come to a screeching halt—no, you realised, with an inward groan of frustration, if your sworn enemy hadn’t been there, there was no telling how much worse things could have gone. 

The thought made you shudder, panicked tears pricking at your sore eyes. Damn it ll. Here you were, sitting in Lee Minho’s bed, of all people—about to cry in front of him while he watched. Your humiliation—a belated Christmas present for him, no doubt. 

But when you glanced at his face, you were startled at the expression on his face. It was unfamiliar—not exactly condescending, or vicious, or even mildly smug. His lips—rosy from the hot shower—were pressed together slightly, eyebrows almost knitting together in a frown. 

Maybe he was holding back laughter?

Minho’s eyes had caught the way your lips had begun to tremble as you curled in on yourself, and had instinctively moved forward before freezing. What could he do? Give you a hug? He was sure he would end up with a candlestick in his eye if he tried. Comfort you? The words seemed to dissolve to sand on his tongue. He cursed himself silently. Words and actions came so easily with all the other girls—endless sweet talk and flirting, until he had them wrapped around his finger. With you—even after all these years—he was left frozen, mind blank, and only that damned feeling in his chest.

“She’s not yours,” came Changbin’s voice from the previous night, ringing in his ears.

“I know,” he had replied. But why did acknowledging it feel like ripping a Band-Aid off of a nearly-healed wound? Like he had reopened the scar, along with all its pain once again? 

Maybe it was because after all these years, Minho still clung onto the hope that you would hear him out, just once.

Gesturing helplessly, he found himself offering the only sort of comfort he seemed to know how to. “Do you want—uh...some wine? The fridge’s empty, and maybe it’ll calm your nerves a bit.” He tilted his head when you didn’t reply, trying to get a glimpse of your face. “Do we need wine?”

Forgetting momentarily that he was nearly naked, you lifted a withering, exasperated gaze at him, getting an eyeful of his bare chest before yelping and burying your face in the covers again. “No. You know what—I need wine—you need to put some damn pants on.”

You could hear his devilish grin return to his voice then, even through the covers. “But life is so freeing without them.”

“Pants. On. Now.”

to be continued

[mystic-shadows42]

Troubled

A/N: A lot of back and forth in the beginning. Sorry for my crappy writing.

Pairing: Hvitserk x reader

Summary: Being involved with Hvitserk has consequences that you weren’t quite prepared for. Hvitserk isn’t one to commit to anything serious unless it involves fighting.

Warnings: Language, some sexual content, and some violence

You cursed yourself at how stupid you had been that night with Hvitserk. It was unbeknownst to you that he had been the man-whore of Kattegat. 

You were only visiting on behalf of your brothers who were set to arrive a couple of days after you.

Hvitserk was the first to greet you to Kattegat. He seemed sincere when showing you around. He was nice and gifted you with presents when your brothers were late to arrive.

You were naive. 

Your brothers had always protected you from the outside world especially from men. This was the only time where you weren’t accompanied by them.

You were mad that you allowed yourself to succumb to him. You let Hvitserk take you to his room. He was gentle with you and whispered sweet words in your ear.

At that moment you were in bliss whenever he would thrust into you and hold onto your hips. His rough calloused hands were the only ones to ever touch your soft skin. All that has never been touched before besides your own hands.

You remember tracing your fingers over his scars when he intertwined his hands with yours and lifted them above your head. It was a night you wouldn’t ever forget.

A tear came out of your eye as you remembered that day.

When morning came, Hvitserk wasn’t in bed with you. It panged you but you looked for him nonetheless. You walked around until you were stopped by one of the Lothbrok brothers.

They had directed you in the direction where they knew he was. The strange thing was that the brothers gathered around and watched you knock on the door.

Hvitserk answered while looking down trying to adjust his trousers. When he looked up and saw you there, he was surprised. You were about to speak when you stopped yourself short upon seeing a woman come out and kiss his cheek.

She didn’t pay you any attention as she walked past. You looked at the floor at a loss of words. Who was she? What was she doing with Hvitserk? Could he have really been with another woman while you were sleeping?

The heaviness in your chest hurt at the thought that he’d used you. 

You looked up at Hvitserk confused. You shook your head not knowing what to say or to make of the situation. Hvitserk didn’t show any type of emotion.

Another woman emerged from the room who was barely clothed with the fine linen-wrapped over herself. 

You tried your best not to show how hurt you were feeling. As you looked at the woman, you noticed that she wore the same jewelry that Hvitserk had gifted to you.

Hvitserk looked like he was going to say something but stopped himself short. The woman looked at your face and took in the situation. “Didn’t you know honey? Hvitserk gets around.”

You felt humiliated and stupid for falling for it all. It didn’t help that you allowed a tear to escape from your eye and that his brothers were laughing hysterically from behind.

Hvitserk didn’t say anything. All he did was clench his jaw and look away. You walked away immediately and harshly wiped your tears away.

On your way back to pack your belongings, you noticed quite a few women were all wearing that same jewelry. It disgusted you. He was marking all the women he’d ever slept with. 

The jewelry he gave away was never a sign of him being chivalrous.

Needless to say, you left that very day and gave away everything Hvitserk had gifted to you.

****

Reflecting back on those days while you threw up only made you bitter. You hardened your heart since the day you left Kattegat.

Now here you were hunched over, thinking back on the days that led to this one. This can no longer be hidden or doubted.

All the sick days and the soreness of your body weren’t just a coincidence anymore, it was a fact. The proof was nestling in your stomach.

You shuddered when you placed your hand on your stomach. It was time to accept the truth for what you suspected weeks ago.

You immediately dropped your hand from your stomach once you saw your brother’s boats arriving back.

You kicked dirt over your mess and decided to settle inside. It pained you to keep such a secret from your brothers. You were a close family.

Halfdan would likely be ecstatic while Harald might be disappointed. He had hoped to marry you off someday to someone with power to ensure your future and to secure more troops. 

You started to become antsy and paced the room. The noise of the crowd grew closer.

When the doors opened you took a deep breath and turned to face your brothers.

Only the eyes you were looking at did not belong to your brothers. They belonged to the one person whom you despised. Hvitserk Lothbrok.

He slowed his walk before stopping completely once he recognized you. He visibly swallowed before he spoke.

“What are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

A look of confusion crossed his face.

“Ahhhh I see you’ve met my sister.” Your brother Harald spoke up while he walked up to you and placed a kiss on your forehead.

“Sister?” Hvitserk said it almost as if that bothered him. “Seems as if your ‘sister’ never stuck around to tell me that.”

His words only infuriated you. He had no right to be irritated with you.

“You didn’t give me much choice.”

Harald stopped and watched the way you and Hvitserk exchanged looks. He was good at reading people.

“Both of you sit.”

Hvitserk shook his head. You knew he didn’t want anything to do with you especially when he finds out about the baby.

“I don’t want-“

“I said, sit down,” Harald said sternly making Hvitserk shut his mouth and sit down. “My dearest sister, is Hvitserk the father?” You had tried your hardest to keep the news from your brothers but nothing gets past Harald. “Don’t be so surprised. I’ve known from the start of your sickness. I’ve just been waiting for the bastard to reveal himself. Now that it’s come to my understanding that it may be Hvitserk.”

“Yes, it’s Hvitserk’s.”

Hvitserk stood up from his seat once he caught on. “No. I’m not-I can’t be. You have the wrong guy.” He was looking for any kind of excuse to get out of it.

“Are you suggesting my sister’s a whore then?”

Hvitserk gritted his teeth, not liking the position he was in. “I’m saying that perhaps your sister made a mistake.”

“I’ve been with no one else. Just because you go bed-hopping doesn’t mean I do the same.” You snapped as you stood up too.

“Well, you certainly did with me,” Hvitserk responded smugly.

All you saw was red. You pulled the sword from his side and held it up to his throat. Ivar walked in at that moment and stopped shortly assessing the situation.

Hvitserk was completely taken off guard, not expecting you to do that.

“I could kill you if I want to. You’ve been nothing but trouble since I met you. All you’ve done is degrade me.”

Harald rested his hand on your shoulder to calm you down. “Easy sister. I still have an alliance with these boys.”

You started to lower the sword in your hands. As you did, you pressed the tip of the blade in Hvitserk’s skin dragging it down his chest a bit before leaving him be.

He hissed at the contact but did nothing to stop you.

“Now return his weapon.” Your brother stated.

You threw the blade down and slid it across the room. Only Harald’s chuckle was heard echoing out the room. “Please excuse my sister. She has a worse temper than both me and my brother but I think the little one nestling in her belly is the one fueling the fire, don’t you think?”

Ivar shared a look with Hvitserk knowing what was finally going on. He didn’t look happy one bit.

“You’re with child?” Halfdan asked as he caught the last bit of what his brother Harald had said.

You only nodded, still feeling bitter towards Hvitserk. Halfdan engulfed you in a hug and lifted you from the ground much to Harald’s displeasure.

“Easy brother.”

“I can’t help it. I’m going to be an uncle! Now, who’s the lad?” His face turned serious once he asked his question.

“The one who has a new scar on his chest as a reminder of this day.”

Harald turned his head and looked unimpressed that it was Hvitserk.

“Let’s hope the baby has more of our traits.”

Harald was growing tired of all the distractions going on in the room. “Everyone sit.”

Sometimes your brother being your king annoyed you but you listened and obeyed.

“Now that we know that my sister is expecting, let’s get down to discussion. My sister and Hvitserk are going to be bound by their child. Why not make it official and have them marry. It’s an alliance forever forged under the eyes of the gods.”

Harald was making his case to Ivar more so than Hvitserk. You weren’t happy one bit but you weren’t about to interrupt until you were alone. Hvitserk on the other hand opposed it immediately.

“No, that’s not going to happen.”

Ivar tried to get him to sit back down but Hvitserk stormed off. Ivar looked angry and excused himself as he went after his brother.

When the doors closed you turned to face your brother. “How can you make a suggestion like that when you haven’t even discussed it with me? I’m already having a baby with that bastard of a man, now you want me to marry him?!”

“Sister, I’m looking after your best interest at heart. We secure two things out of this. You uphold your image having the father of your child by your side and we have an alliance with the Lothbrok’s.”

“I don’t care how people see me without the father of my child by my side. I don’t need him. Make an alliance regardless, just leave me out of it.”

“With you in it, it secures our alliance.”

“So you’re just using me?”

“Just think about it. You can make his life hell for all I care. Maybe he’ll die in battle but Ivar will still be bound to that alliance. Just as long as you don’t kill him yourself. This is for your safety as well as our people. Now you have more to think about with the baby on the way.”

“That’s a lot of self-restraint on my part,” you said bitterly.

Ivar and Hvitserk came back into the room and sat down in their seats. Hvitserk looked displeased and didn’t dare look anyone in the eye as he dragged his hand down his face. The wound you marked on his chest was bandaged and peaking a bit from under his shirt.

“We agree to your terms of an alliance by marriage.” Ivar smiled and nodded his head towards you. You briefly smiled back. You so badly wanted to scream and storm out of the room but you were taught better than to act like that.

“May I be excused brother?”

“Of course.”

You quickly left the room but not before you heard Ivar say something to Hvitserk about comforting his soon-to-be bride. You walked quickly feeling as if there wasn’t enough air for you to breathe.

You took long strides trying your best to be as far from everyone as possible. Knowing that Hvitserk was right behind only made you walk faster. You heard your name being called but you ignored it.

With each step, you could feel your heart beating faster and your throat constricting.

You would’ve kept on walking aimlessly but Hvitserk’s hand on your arm is what stopped you from falling into a ditch that you didn’t see.

He pulled you back and gave you an incredulous look.

You held up your hand to keep him from saying anything to you. You’ve heard enough for one day. You took a step away from him but Hvitserk wasn’t having any of that today either. He took two steps forward not wanting there to be any space between you both.

“Were you ever going to tell me about the baby?”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed at him. “Now you’re claiming the baby? Just earlier you were adamant it was another’s.”

Hvitserk placed his hands on his hips looking elsewhere. He looked frustrated as he took a deep breath then turned to look at you.

“I wasn’t expecting this to happen. I came here with my brother to regroup with Harald. Then I’m told that I’m going to be a father and I have to marry. I know you despise this as much as I do.”

At least both of your feelings on the matter were the same. “Do you really have no children with anyone else?”

“You’re the first.”

You were surprised to hear that. Hvitserk bedded a lot of women yet you were the one to have his child. You were secretly scared of all of it but put on a brave face.

If only your brothers and everyone else knew just how scared you really were. They wouldn’t think you were so confident.

Though you knew better than to show any kind of weakness. Your mother taught you that. People preyed upon weakness, especially men. They’ll take and take until there’s nothing left to give.

So you always smiled when you’re hurting inside, you take insults and bite your tongue, and take any opportunity that’ll benefit you in the long run, even if you don’t like it.

“I’ll only marry you to protect my baby and my people. You won’t be needed for anything more than that.”

He knitted his brows as he looked at you. “Do you expect me to leave?” Your silence was all he needed for an answer. He chuckled lowly to himself. “I hate to disappoint but I’m not going anywhere. Not while you carry my heir.”

“Don’t you understand that I’m trying to make things easier for you?”

“Easier for me or for you? By cutting me out? Look I don’t want to have a baby right now, I’m young, I want to do other things than take care of a kid, but I’ll do whatever it takes to be there for them cause I know what it’s like to have an absent father. I don’t want that for our kid. I don’t want them to resent me the way I did mine. I know I may not be the best father but at least I’ll be there for everything. That’s more than what I can say for some of the other men out there who’d definitely take this opportunity and leave.”

You were taken off guard by what he had to say in a short amount of time. The look he was giving you was one of irritation. You already made up your mind about him without getting to know him further.

It was a case of misjudgment on your part. Hvitserk was a pig, but he wouldn’t stand to be called an absent father.

At least there was one good quality to him.

Tagged: @belovedcherry​ @lordsexmachine​ @lol-haha-joke​ @mariaenchanted​ @ethereallysimple​ @bababasti​ @ir-abelas-telanadas​ @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​ @solinarimoon​

[elise-jupiterstyle]

WIP sneak peek: the night’s harboring shade

“Where is he?”

The words escape Beth before she can think better of it. A blush erupts across her chest when Mick pops a brow and fixes her with a knowing look.

And, okay—this isn’t exactly how she’d planned on broaching the subject. She’d intended on keeping her line of questioning as apathetic as possible, avoid showing her hand too early—which, much to her chagrin, she’s managed to do in a matter of seconds—but as soon as she’d caught sight of Mick’s silhouette in the doorway instead of Rio’s, the question had burst forth from her lips before she could stop herself.

This is the third week in a row he’s missed their drop.

“Expectin’ someone else?” Mick asks, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he saunters over to her. The swish of his leather jacket is the only sound in the room besides the constant, dull hum of the heating system in the corner as it fights off the mid-winter chill.

Although her chances are slim to none that Mick will buy into her charade now, Beth feigns nonchalance, shrugging her shoulders and pursing her lips as he comes to stand at the opposite end of the work table.

“I had just been under the impression that he would be at the drops he scheduled, is all. It’s a little unprofessional,” she replies as she glides her hand over the immaculate surface of the work table, pretending to brush off debris that isn’t there just for something to do with her hands. When she glances up at Mick again, he’s got an elbow propped up on the work table as he leans against it, fixing her with the same knowing look, and she feels herself tense as a flicker of irritation ignites in her chest. She clears her throat, throwing back her shoulders and twisting her neck slightly to dispel some of the tension.

Beth still has yet to grow accustomed to Mick’s perpetual state of indifference. He’s calculated with his reactions, never giving her more than an inch, never revealing more than he needs to, and she despises the way it unnerves her. It’s not that Rio is any less onerous, has ever  made it easier for her to get information out of him, but unlike Mick, he can’t seem to help himself when an opportunity presents itself for him to get a rise out of her, for him to go toe-to-toe with her even when he knows he’ll inevitably gets his way. Mick, on the other hand, has an infuriating knack for making her overshare—feeling like she needs to overcompensate for all that he doesn’t contribute to every one of their brief interactions.

“He’s busy,” Mick responds, his voice gruff and tinged with mild amusement. Beth narrows her eyes slightly, tampering down the irritation that flares in her gut at his vague response, knowing that it’ll only give him more satisfaction if she shows it.

The worst part is that she knows he’s reading her like an open book right now, can tell how desperately she wants to ask him what he knows, even though the odds of him actually giving anything up are as slim as her finding them out for herself. She also knows that if there’s any trait of his worth noting that Rio lacks, it’s patience. He’ll wait her out until she inevitably breaks—will let her interrogate him about the unanswered calls, the unacknowledged texts, the radio silence that she has zero explanation for—and he’ll undoubtably report back to Rio about it like he did all those months ago when he was posted up at her house, ensuring that she didn’t try to flee before her borrowed time was up.

Point is, she knows that she won’t have to elaborate on what she means when she asks about him, but she’s almost certain that Mick will play dumb, drag it out, refuse to give her an inch until she’s laying it all out for him, giving him a transparent abridgment of not what she’s asking, but why.

The true killer is that she’s not even entirely sure what the why is, never mind how she would go about justifying it to herself or Mick—he would know immediately, if he doesn’t already, that this has nothing to do with their business relationship.

It’s not that she’s worried, exactly—her patience for being ignored by the men in her life expired long ago—and it’s not like she’s hurt, either. It’s not like she thought that night had changed anything or mended what was broken between them.

(Didn’t it, though?)

The room is dead silent, neither of them exchanging any words as Beth deliberates over whether it’s worth it to pry while Mick, she’s sure, waits patiently on her to make the next move.

It must be at least a full minute before she expels a heavy, conceded breath. She rolls her shoulders back, straightens up, and plasters on a cheery smile, slipping into her customer service persona with a practiced ease.

“Alright then,” she chirps as though it’s no issue at all, ignoring Mick’s bemused snort even as she watches him shake his head to himself out of the corner of her eye. He finally shifts his attention from her to the dark blue duffel on the other end of the work table, watching patiently as she grabs one of the thick straps and lugs it across the tattered wooden surface.

“It’s all there. Take as much time as you need,” she says, her voice sugary enough to bore through tooth enamel. Mick grunts, unaffected, his gloved hands tugging the bag closer to him and drawing the zipper without another word.

He makes quick work of counting the stacks of red-banded cash—always does, really, which is one thing she can say she appreciates about doing the drops with him. 

Despite herself, her mind drifts back to Rio, wondering what could’ve kept him away for nearly three weeks without so much as a text message when, not too long ago, he obliged to practically every impromptu meeting that she called, no matter the time or reason. The thought branches off in several directions until she’s spiraling, working through the possible reasons for his sudden withdrawal from her, and it feels as though someone is dragging a sharpened blade along the seams of her heart, increasing the pressure with each possibility her mind conjures up.

Then: what if he regrets it?

The blade in her chest twitches before it’s tearing through the seams, her chest lurching as her heart splits wide open.

Is that why he’s been avoiding their meetings, she wonders, refusing to so much as hear her voice over the phone? Did the consequences of letting her in again finally rear their ugly heads, infusing him with the very feelings she feared they would? After everything—the sentiments they shared, the walls they bashed down, the desire they surrendered to—has he come to view that night as a mistake?

The mere thought of it hollows her out until she can feel nothing more than her bleeding, battered heart as it echoes throughout the chasm of her chest.

The metallic bite of a zipper yanks Beth from her thoughts just in time for her to catch Mick heaving the duffel off of the table, his work for the night finished. She watches silently as he backs away from the work table, the straps of the bag clutched in one hand while the other raises to his forehead, offering her a two-fingered salute.

“See you next week,” He informs her, curt as ever, before making for the door.

He doesn’t give her a chance to respond, but she hasn’t a clue what she would say if he were to, anyway. There’s no way to pry further about Rio’s whereabouts without inadvertently admitting that his absence concerns her—without insinuating that, god forbid, she misses him—unless— —

Unless she figures them out for herself.

Beth’s gaze follows Mick’s retreating form to the back of the shop, focusing absently on the taut line of his leather jacket as her thoughts work themselves into a frenzy. She watches him peel through the door (with more stealth than anyone of his build should be capable of, she might add), the blinds clacking softly against it as it closes, and just like that, she’s alone.

The silence lends her some clarity with which to sort through her thoughts until one stands out above all the others, echoing against the walls of her skull as if Mick were still in the room with her.

Art class. You know, pencils and chalk and whatnot?

And yeah, Beth thinks, eyes trained on the door as the clattering blinds begin to settle, the stillness of the night just beyond it encompassing her along with a new sense of determination.

Art class.

[aoeability]

My (highly overthought) Idea For My First D&D Character (and how an obsession over an old video game inspired me to make them): Part 1

Several months ago, @martuline had introduced me to D&D, and I became obsessed with it. I got myself the player handbook, watched a ton of videos related to the subject, and as a result, started getting a ton of ideas for characters, even though I haven't even joined a campaign yet. I had tons of interesting ideas for characters, all coming from some sort of question I asked myself about pop culture, (has this idea been done yet?), or a cool concept (i.e. a warlock more directly inspired by H. P. Lovecraft's works), but only one of them actually became my first completed character. It took me quite a while to make him, but I'm really proud. Now, by standards of first-ever characters, this one is quite complex, dare I say it, a bit overthought. So strap in - It'll be quite a ride.

Before I get on with my idea, I have some stuff to share. You see, there is this video game series I remember playing a lot, which, despite being released before I was even born, I feel very nostalgic for - Heroes of Might and Magic.

Never heard, huh? Well, who can blame ya - it's an European game. And it's not really that popular outside of Eastern Europe.

Anyways, titles in the HOMM cycle are widely considered to be among the best in my favorite video game genre - turn-based strategy. They have neat music, engaging gameplay, and many, many factions of fantasy creatures to command and build strategies on. No wonder the series became one of my all-time favorites, inspiring me even today.

Now, for those who have played the games, you'll hate me for this, but my favorite installment of the series is not the 3rd one. I agree that H3 is the best installment, but I distinctly remember growing up with the 4th game.

Big shocker, considering it's the most divisive entry in the franchise. I, for one, consider the playable and highly customizable heroes as one of the game's best aspects. In addition, I like how the game deviates from conventional fantasy, in which the rest of the series is rooted, as well as from the series itself.

Now, you might be asking - what does this niche series have to do with the subject of matter? Well, hold your damn horses, I'm gonna get there.

So, one thing to note is how the factions are built. Instead of representing groups of related fantasy creatures, like in Heroes 3, the factions in Heroes 4 embody concepts: Life, Order, Death, Chaos, Nature, and Might, all together forming a wheel which shows the relationships between them.

Now, I have a question for you:

DOES. THIS. SEEM. FAMILIAR???

To be fair, I actually didn't notice the glaring similarities between Heroes 4 factions and the Magic: The Gathering Color Pie until I actually began playing the latter. MTG predates H4 by about 9 years, so, I assume it was an inspiration - and a pretty damn good one at that. I think the Magic Color Pie could act as an interesting alignment chart. The colors, however, don't represent morality, but philosophy and values. No color on the wheel is inherently good or evil, not even Black or White - they all just have conflicting worldviews. Now, how does the Heroes of Might and Magic handle a system like this...?

It misses the entire goddamn point.

As much as I like Heroes of Might and Magic as a whole, and especially the 4th game, I have to admit that the series is deeply rooted in black-and-white morality. Not even going into the irony of all the previous games encouraging combination of creatures and heroes of various, even opposing factions, The entire idea of portraying some factions as "good" and "evil" in this balanced faction lineup is infuriating to say the least. At the very least, I am kinda willing to forgive the Death faction being the bad guys, as, being a faction of the undead and demons, it is sorta understandable. But I'm never gonna forgive the creators for making the Chaos faction evil, especially when we consider the implications of that faction being a parallel to the Red magic from MTG. Some positive aspects of the color in its source game include its emphasis on individuality, passion, and freedom, and it really stings that the creators threw it all out of the window. Even when I was a kid playing the game, I didn't see them as the bad guys. All this leaves a bad taste in my mouth...

...and thus, my idea sparks.

I thought that D&D could be my way of "redeeming" the Chaos faction from its supposed "villainy", and showing it from a more positive angle. I started reading into the in-game lore to find out about the faction, and most of what I stated about Red magic applies to Chaos faction as well - they value freedom, independence, as well as might making right, and despise conformity, self-righteousness, and structure of any kind - all of which are hallmarks of the Chaotic alignments. I eventually settled for Chaotic Good as an alignment for the character.

Then, I had to pick a class. I looked at what the game had to offer - there were two hero classes associated with the Chaos faction - Sorcerer and Thief. After some careful consideration, I picked Sorcerer, as I wanted to utilize the faction's most prominent mechanic - powerful damaging spells.

After coming up with this outline to build on, though, I began thinking that I need some more ideas to make the character in question interesting. So, I began looking for inspiration elsewhere...

End of Part 1

[sassyhobbits]

Tinder Au pt 2

yall ask, i deliver. Enjoy!

part 1

~~~

When Rowan’s Tinder match had ended up being his new coworker, he had expected a few tense days of awkwardness that they would eventually work through. He then hoped for them to become friends, or at least build a kind of casual, professional relationship. Eventually, the entire thing would have been a funny memory they would be able to laugh at in the future.

He hadn’t expected that she would end up driving him up the fucking wall.

Aelin was loud and opinionated. In the short month and a half she had been at the gym, she had practically taken over, moving through the facility like wildfire. All of the members adored her, as did the staff. Even Lorcan, who only really liked the nutritionist, Elide, managed to tolerate Aelin.

Maybe what pissed him off the most was the fact that she barely paid him a second glance. Aelin talked to everyone, knew all their names and facts about them, but almost never spoke to him. When he had called off the date and put some professional distance between them, Rowan didn’t expect her to take it as she had. He had liked her enough when they chatted, he didn’t want to cut off ties completely.

Maybe he was extra pissed off because of how people flocked to her, of how she soaked up the attention. She was a beautiful girl, afterall. She smiled and flirted here and there, but none of that attention went towards Rowan.

Maybe… maybe he was just pissed because he had missed out on the opportunity to be the one she smiled at like that.

Regardless of why, it didn’t change the fact that he was pissed. Extra pissed this morning, actually. He had reached out towards a usual client of his, wondering when he wanted to train again, only to find out that he had started training with Aelin.

Rowan had been clenching his jaw all morning, nearly on the verge of breaking a tooth, when he spotted her at the front desk, handing a coffee to Lysandra. He strode towards her, slamming his clipboard down on the marble, and bit out, “Quit stealing my fucking clients, Galathynius!”

Aelin barely reacted to his fury, only raising a brow and taking a sip from her coffee. “Good morning to you too, Rowan.”

He narrowed her eyes. “I’m serious. This is the second client this week. Why?”

“To begin with, I’m not stealing them. They’re coming willingly to me.” Aelin leaned her weight against the desk. “If you’re wondering why they’re coming to me… one, my ass looks great in leggings. Two, I do this thing called smiling. People tend to like it when you smile instead of scowling like you love to do.”

Rowan scowled. “Why do you even work here? Don’t you make money from your stupid Instagram?”

Apparently, Aelin had a solid following on Instagram. His coworker, Fenrys, had shown him a few days after she had started. Fenrys had become instantly enamoured with Aelin and her Instagram. It was full of pictures of Aelin showing off her body that she had worked so hard for, fitness tips, pictures of her and her friends, tasteful selfies. Rowan had spent more time than he cared to admit scrolling through it once he got home that evening. Gods, she was a beautiful girl.

Aelin rolled her eyes. “Do you know how to make money through Instagram? Running ads. And the only people who want me to run their ads are the fake-detox teas that are just diuretics. So, besides the money I get here and there from sponsoring some leggings, I do need an actual job to pay my rent. But don’t worry. Remelle hates me, so she’ll pay yours.”

Rowan’s scowl only deepened at the mention of the client he had been training for the past few months. Remelle only trained with him because she was attracted to him. The only reason he hadn’t told her to fuck off was beacuse her frequent sessions did help pay for his groceries. And she did absolutely despise Aelin because of the attention she received from the other males in the gym and her popularity online, so she wouldn’t be going to her for training.

Rowan heard footsteps approach from behind, felt someone slap his shoulder in greeting.

“You look like you woke up with a stick up your ass this morning, Whitethorn,” Fenrys said as a form of hello.

“He doesn’t look like that everyday?” Aelin asked, raising a brow. Lysandra at least tried to hide her laugh behind her hand. She handed Fenrys a coffee from the drink carrier she had brought.

“You working tomorrow?” Fenrys asked her, completely oblivious to the argument he just interrupted.

“Nope.”

“You wanna hit legs with me?”

“Only if you buy lunch after.”

“Deal.”

Rowan ground his teeth again at the exchange. He, unfortunately, worked tomorrow and would get the pleasure of watching them dick around together while he had to work. Not to mention, Remelle was his client tomorrow, so he would also get to listen to her make passive aggressive comments about Aelin the entire session.

“Well, if all you fine people would excuse me, I have a client,” Aelin announced, pushing away from the desk. As she brushed past him, she placed a hand on Rowan’s shoulder. “Do try and stay busy. I know you don’t have a full schedule today.”

Rowan glared at her. Brat.

Her brows flickered up. And proud.

With that, she dropped her hand and strode away.

The place her hand had been burned like a brand.

…

The next day, Rowan was struggling to focus on his session. Remelle was being her normal… charming self as he walked her through a few new exercises. Unfortunately for him, Aelin was working out only a few feet away and she was… distracting, to say the least.

When she was working, Aelin wore the standard quarter-zip and plain leggings. But, when she came to workout on her days off, she sported a much more varied wardrobe. Today, she wore a matching legging and sports bra set in a deep green. It was flattering, and fit her in all the right places. Her golden hair was swept out of her face in a high ponytail that swung around animatedly as she moved. She tossed her head back in a laugh at something Fenrys had said.

Rowan watched as she adjusted the weight on the bar, positioning herself below it, and doing a set of lunges. Her form was perfect, of course, face pinched in concentration. It was an impressive amount of weight to be fair.  

She finished her set, reracking the weights and wiping her brows with a towel. Rowan’s eyes ran up and down her body, her golden-tan skin, toned stomach, strong legs and shaped ass. It was no wonder why she had so many followers, why so many people looked to her for advice.

“Rowan!”

Rowan blinked, realizing he had been lost in his own thoughts. Or, lost in Aelin, rather. He hadn’t noticed that Remelle had been trying to get his attention.

“Sorry, what?”

Remelle huffed out a breath, blowing a strand of her pale blonde-hair out of her eyes. “Am I doing this right?”

Rowan refrained from rolling his eyes as Remelle did the move wrong, no doubt intentionally. It was a game she liked to play, doing an exercise wrong to get Rowan to touch her to get it right. He was quickly growing tired of it.

“Move your feet a bit closer together.”

Remelle huffed again, clearly upset that her plan didn’t work. She finished the exercise before straightening and planting her hands on her hips. “So, you busy later tonight?”

Rowan lowered his brows. “Why?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to get dinner together.”

Rowan hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. It was always awkward trying to turn down a client, something that Lysandra had often griped about. When you worked customer service, it made rejection that much harder. What the fuck was he supposed to say that wouldn’t piss her off enough to complain to Lorcan?

Remelle raised a brow at his prolonged silence.

Rowan’s savior came dressed in Lululemon.

“Hey,” Aelin greeted breathily, placing her hand on his back. “Are we still getting dinner tonight?”

He had to struggle to keep his confusion to himself. They had made no such plans, and Aelin was touching him so casually after barely looking his way for a month. Rowan glanced down at her questioning, but the look on her face only seemed to say, Go along with it, buzzard.

“Yeah, of course.”

Remelle pressed her lips into a tight line. “Oh. I didn’t know that you two were together.”

“Yeah,” Aelin nodded, cocking her head to the side and holding out a hand. “I don’t think we’ve met before. Rebecca, isn’t it?”

Aelin knew damn well who Remelle was, even if they hadn’t been formally introduced. It made her purposeful butchering of her name even more entertaining. Rowan struggled to hold back the bark of laughter he wanted to release.

“Remelle,” she ground out, shaking Aelin’s hand once and dropping it so fast one would think it burned her. Remelle picked up her phone and glanced at the time. “Well, it looks like our session is up. I’ll see you next week.”

With that, Remelle swept away down the hall, leaving them alone. Once she was far enough away, Aelin took a step back.

“You owe me, Rowan Whitethorn.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“No, but you looked so lost and uncomfortable that I took pity.” Aelin gave a tiny shrug. “Besides, at least she didn’t cancel on you next week. She probably thinks she can get you to leave me. Hell, maybe she’ll book more sessions now. So… you’re welcome.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Maybe I am,” Aelin said, walking back towards where Fenrys stood to finish her workout. “And yet… you still owe me. Be ready.”

She didn’t even give him a chance to say something snappy back before she turned her back and strode away.

God gods was she infuriating. And yet Rowan knew he would keep coming back for more.  

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 15 Part 2

of the wwx emperor au that’s now more like the terrible horrible time the Lan Sect is having ugh

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1

The wait goes on forever. Nearly two hours pass before the commotion announces the Emperor’s approach.

Gone is every trace of the boy who had carried a child on his hip. Wei WuXian’s robe is liquid black, gold dragons climbing over his shoulders and twisting down the arms. Above this unforgiving color, his cheeks appear hollow, each line of his face sharp enough to cut.  

Nie HuaiSang is walking by his side, light of step next to Wei WuXian’s heavy stride, flowing green robes next to Wei WuXian’s stark lines. The Emperor is leading him, Nie HuaiSang’s hand lightly resting on the Emperor’s embroidered sleeve, and WangJi thinks that the Royal Companion has never more looked an equal partner in power, as if his rightful place is by the Emperor’s side.

It is a bitter, pointless realization, one that WangJi does not have time to analyze.

Behind the Emperor, there is a flash of red robes and dark hair. WangJi recognizes Wen Qing, the granddaughter of the Head Healer. Behind her, two servants follow. One of them carries a tray. Inexplicably, the tray holds a tea pot, and three cups.

The Emperor leads Nie HuaiSang to the dais. He sits down, his eyes passing over the kneeling forms before giving them the permission to rise. Nie HuaiSang settles by his feet. Wen Qing and the two servants remain at the bottom of the dais.

“High Councilor,” the Emperor says, without looking at Jiang FengMian, “the rumors in the palace halls are running rampant. I hope you have a more coherent narrative to present.”

“Your Majesty,” Jiang FengMian says, “the HeJian Fan Sect Leader has been poisoned.”

“I am aware,” the Emperor says, “as I come from his bedside. The correct antidote has been provided by the Head Healer, and will see him back to full health in a matter of days.”

“Ah, this is very good news. Excellent news,” Jiang FengMian says, “Ah-- yes. The Young Master of the Lan Sect has been accused of giving the Fan Sect Leader the poison.”

“Who has accused him?”

Two men step out from the sea of people. They both kneel, and the Emperor impatiently gestures that they should rise.

One of them wears the uniform of TingShan He Sect, the other, a uniform of the LanLing Jin. WangJi vaguely remembers seeing the youth wearing the Jin Sect uniform, but the other is unfamiliar.

The man in the TingShan He colors steps forward, “Your Majesty, I was seated at the HeJian Fan Sect table. The Fan Sect Leader did not consume any food or drink prior to joining the Lan Sect Leader. I remember it clearly, because Fan XiaoHu had complained that her father does not eat enough, and that she must always place food in front of him. I--“ he shifts, appearing nervous, “It is not my intention to make an accusation, but to stand as a witness to the fact that no poison could have been consumed at the Fan Sect table.”

“I will accuse him,” the youth in the Jin Sect uniform arrogantly steps forward, “I saw, with my own eyes, Lan XiChen pour tea for the Fan Sect Leader. Less than an hour later, the Fan Sect Leader was bleeding from his nose and mouth.”

“Did Young Master Lan only pour tea for the Fan Sect Leader?” Wen Qing asks.

The Jin disciple seems offended that she had chosen to speak to him, but after one look at the Emperor’s face, he swallows whatever complaints he may have offered.

“He did not. He poured for both Sect Leaders, and himself. But he could have easily slipped the poison in Fan Sect Leader’s cup.”

“He could have,” Jiang FengMian says, “but you did not see it.”

“No, I--“ the Jin disciple is beginning to turn red, “I saw him pour the tea.”

“You saw some tea being poured?” a small Nie Sect disciple pipes up scornfully from the other side of the hall, “How is that a crime?”

Nie MingJue shoots a murderous look in kid’s direction. The boy scrunches up his face, and decides to study the floor instead.

The Jin Sect disciple’s face is very red now, “If both Lan QiRen and Lan XiChen drank the tea, and only the Fan Sect Leader was poisoned, then Lan XiChen must have put the poison into the cup.”

“But you did not see him put the poison into the cup,” Jiang FengMian says kindly.

“No, I--“

He looks at if he wants repeat the fact that he had seen Lan XiChen pour the tea, but then thinks better of it, and shuts his mouth with a click.

Throughout all this, XiChen is still kneeling, perfectly still, head bowed. There is no fear or tension in his posture. WangJi cannot see his brother’s face, but he can picture the forced calm, the acceptance of whatever may come. It is infuriating.  

WangJi will not accept this. Anyone who thinks that they can lay a hand on his brother, for a crime he did not commit, will lose that hand by WangJi’s blade.

“Jin ZiXun is half-correct,” the Emperor says coldly, “the poison was in the cup. Wen Qing?”

The girl picks up the cup, “The poison in question is the venom extracted from the black ring snake. It is known as the poor man’s poison; it can be easily obtained in any region of the Empire. It is extremely bitter to taste. In heavily spiced foods, the taste can be hidden, but it would have definitely been noticeable in the mild tea that was served this morning. The common practice is to mix the poison with beeswax, which neutralizes the bitter taste. You can see, by the shine on the porcelain, that the inside of the cup is still coated. The application of this beeswax is time-consuming and takes an infinite amount of care; any direct contact with skin could have introduced the venom to the bloodstream. In other words,” she places the cup back on to the tray, “the inside of the cup had to have been coated ahead of time. As Young Master Lan had been so closely watched,” she nods to Jin ZiXun, “it would have been impossible for him to apply this poison to the cup without being seen.”

“So, he did not put the poison in at the picnic,” Jin ZiXun says, “he could have done it ahead of time.”

“Are you stupid?” the little Nie Sect disciple explodes again, “The cups were placed on the tables by the Imperial servants. Does Young Master Lan look like a servant to you?”

WangJi expects the Nie Sect Leader to scold the boy again, but no such thing occurs. Nie MingJue is staring at Jin ZiXun, the scorn on his face mirroring that of his disciple.  

“General,” Jin GuangShan smiles, “will you allow your disciple to display such poor manners in front of the Emperor?”

A clamor from the back of the hall saves Nie MingJue from having to answer the accusation.

“Move!” a furious voice snaps from the middle of the crowd.

They part to show Jiang WangYin striding forward, two of the Emperor’s guards behind him. For the first time, the Emperor’s face shows something other than cool indifference. He leans forward slightly, his lips parted in anticipation.

“We found them,” Jiang WanYin says without preamble, “The two servants who had set the tables and set out the cups are both dead. Their throats were slit, and their bodies stuffed in the stairway of the old north-west watchtower. Gr-- the Head Healer estimates that they could not have been dead for long. Four hours at most. Their rooms are being searched as we speak.”

The Emperor leans back, his face growing cold again.

“Where was Young Master Lan at that time?” Jin GuangShan says, “I seem to remember him being absent when the Fan Sect Leader fell ill.”

“He was with me,” Nie MingJue says coldly.

“The Jin Sect seems determined that the Lan Sect is at fault,” a soft voice comes from the back.

WangJi recognizes the voice immediately. He does not have to turn around and look to be sure.

“Such a curious thing to keep insisting,” Jiang YanLi says gently, “in the face of all the evidence to the contrary. Perhaps I should mention that the Second Young Master was with me, before someone thinks to accuse him as well.”

“Lady Jiang,” Jin GunagShan says, “I am only trying to be helpful.”

Nie HuaiSang snorts, and Jin GuangShan whips his head around as if someone had pinched him.

“You--“ he bursts out.

No other words come. He has belatedly realized who, exactly, he is speaking to, and in what tone of voice.

Nie HuaiSang, casually leaning against the Emperor’s seat, now slowly and deliberately closes his fan. He is staring at Jin GuangShan with a singular focus, as if challenging him to continue.

Jin GuangShan’s mouth opens and closes. His face begins to turn purple.

“A-Sang,” the Emperor says, “Do you have something to add?”

“The Lan Sect is clearly the victim here,” Nie HuaiSang says, tapping his fan against the Emperor’s leg, “the cup was placed at the Lan Sect table. The Fan Sect Leader ended up at the table by chance. The poison was not intended for him, it was intended for the person whose seat he was occupying.”

It seems to take everyone a few moments to make the connection.

“But this--” Jiang FengMian says, looking lost, “Why would someone try to poison Lan WangJi?”

A hush falls over the hall.

WangJi has no interest in the details of the attempted poisoning.

Why would anyone be so quick to accuse XiChen of committing a crime, after seeing him do nothing more dangerous than pour a cup of tea? Those who despised them had never seemed to need a logical reason.

For the first time since leaving the South Lakes courtyard, he feels no fear at all, but a deep, bone-crushing relief. He is so stupidly grateful that someone had tried to kill him. Unless they mean to accuse XiChen of trying to poison his own brother, they must recognize that he is innocent in this matter.

As if hearing his thoughts, Wei WuXian stands up, “Please rise, Young Master Lan. You are no longer under suspicion.”

WangJi does not know how long his brother has knelt on the hard floors, but he knows that XiChen would not want the others to see him stumble. He steps forward to offer assistance, but the Nie Sect Leader is already by his brother’s side, lifting him up.  

“High Councilor,” Wei WuXian says, “You will investigate this throughly. Please inform all our guests that the competition will be postponed. No one is to leave the Immortal Mountain City until the persons responsible for this incident are discovered and brought to justice.”

Only after the Emperor has departed the hall, does WangJi realize that the entire time, Wei WuXian had had not looked at him at all.

[diaco1968]

Kinktoberday25

Lap dance_ Kaminari x f!Reader

Warnings! Just suggestive themes, no other warning.

Notes: helps setting the mood with the song it's based on:

Something lately drives me crazy

Has to do with how you make me

Struggle to get your attention

Calling you brings apprehension

His eyes were glued on you all night. The loud beat of the music vibrating through his whole body didn't help the growing distaste that ate away at his very nerves as he watched you chat up every single male that crossed your path.

'Chat up' was putting it lightly. You flirted and fluttered your lashes and had sneaky little brushes of your fingers against their shoulders or chests while you giggled. And all night what had you given him? A simple glance and a passive 'Hey' only after he had approached you himself. You didn't even bother uttering his name. It was really infuriating as that was not the treatment he was used to receive from you in private.

Back to the crowd where you ignore me

Bedroom eyes to those before me

How am I supposed to handle?

Lit the fuse and missed the candle

When he had heard your terms, he didn't mind them. You were a private person with the very personal aspects of your life, he respected that. You needed time to trust him enough to get anywhere near going public with him? It was okay for him. No rush. But you had been hanging out for a long while now, and things had recently escalated between you to the next level when you two were alone, while in public there always have been only playful teasing and flirting which didn't seem to cross any lines with you as long as it was just casual. He was beginning to wonder if you had regretted getting intimate with him the last couple of times and were showing him your response this way. But this? You completely ignoring him for all the others? It wasn't fair. While he respected your boundaries, he had some of his own.

Texts from you and sex from you

Are things that are not so uncommon

Flirt with you you're all about it

Tell me why I feel unwanted?

"Hey 'sup?"

He had interrupted your quite touchy conversation with some boy, who had his arm around your waist and leaning in way too close to hear your voice over the booming music, and Denki could feel the tension he had created as the both of you turned to look at him questioningly. Your cold gaze was what caught him off guard mostly of course. You nod at him courtly and smiled.

"Nothing much. Enjoying the party."

"Oh yeah? I see."

In the right mind, he would never have dreamed of this, but the agitation and the confusion clouding his mind along with the pang of jealousy as it seemed it was ok for everyone else to touch his girl and have fun at the party except Denki himself had him scheming his revenge on you. Two could play at this game.

He raised his cup towards you with a charming smile as he stepped back and excused himself. An unfamiliar smile that effectively caught your attention.

Damn, if you wanna let me go

Baby please just let me know

You're not gonna get away

With leading me on

It was not hard to find a companion for him. It was a party and if you looked properly there were girls around that were looking for some fun time. And he was certainly, in all modesty, a good catch. For the first time since the beginning of the night he ripped his eyes off of you and looked around. After confirming the minor details of his revenge and finding his prey he made his way to the bar, towards the trio of girls that had winked at him and ushered him over.

"Well, hello there, ladies."

Leaning sideways on the counter next to the tipsy giggling girls, he offered them a smile. And they didn't waste a second before surrounding him. And much to his pleasure and satisfaction when he turned to speak to one of them, in the corner of his eye he could see you were not all that interested in your conversating with the boy anymore, glancing over at him quite often.

Damn, if you didn't want me back

Why'd you have to act like that?

It's confusing to the core

'Cause I know you want it

All night you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, so when it was gone, you knew. The smile was so unfamiliar and unnerving that when he left you and the boy alone you couldn't help but glance at him from time to time and oh boy did you not like what you saw.

True, you've been poking at him all night for a reaction with your behaviour but this was not the reaction you were hoping for. The way he flirted with the girls at the bar, buying them drinks and drinking with them, the posture and his body language. He didn't touch any of them but they were quite handsy with him. And not too long after they started dancing with the music on the spot.

"Whoops, easy there, sugar."

When one of them tumbled into him and you heard his voice complimenting her as he wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her, that was your last straw. You stomped away from the boy that called after you once in surprise and walked to Denki, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him away from the bar and the girls that whined playfully.

Pull me off to darkened corners

Where all other eyes avoid us

Tell me how I mesmerize you

I love you and despise you

"Whoa there, you are holding my hand in public. Everyone can see us, is that okay with you?"

"Shut up!"

He let you drag him off, stumbling in between thr crowd after you a bit and smirking to himself as he seemed to have successfully struck a nerve.

You turned a dark corner and stomped over to the private booths, pulling him in and pulling the dark heavy curtains shut.

"Ooh getting aggressive, are we?"

"You have no idea."

You turned around on your heels, placing your hands on his chest and pushed him down on the couch.

"You liked them dancing for you, huh?"

Aim, pull the trigger

Feel the pain getting bigger

Go insane from the bitter feeling

Trippin' super psycho love

He plopped down on the couch, looking up at you taken aback. His arms crossed over his chest defensively at your accusation and he rolled his eyes.

"Well... yeah! It's not like my girlfriend dances with me anyway. Hell she barely looked at me before I found new friends."

"Oh you're going to love this then."

He had no idea what you were on about when you reached down and grabbed his arms, unhooking them from eachother and setting them down on the couch by his legs, giving you a wary look. Hell you barely knew what you were doing yourself. Maybe you shouldn't have drank so much.

Good thing was the sound of the music was still loud enough in the booth.

You stood between his legs, swinging one leg over one of his and bent down resting your hands on his shoulders, almost sitting on his thigh but not quite.

"Um... what are you... doing though?"

"Just shush and don't touch."

"Don't shush me-....?!"

Say that you want me every day

That you want me every way

That you need me

Got me trippin' super psycho love

Whatever he was going to say, he couldn't finish as his jaw fell open when you swayed your hips from side to side straightening yourself slowly back up to give him a good view of your swaying hips raising a finger to close his mouth seductively brushing your nose against his.

He leaned back in the couch to give you more space, a stupid looking grin on his face and his wide eyes sparkling like it was Christmas when you let your hands roam down your chest and body, his own hands turning into fists on the couch.

You turned around with another light swing of your leg, rolling your shoulders and swaying your hips and ass with the rhythm of the music right in front of his face, bending your knees on either side of his legs and griding yourself down onto his crotch that earned you a deep groan and a low whispered "fuck..." breathed right into your neck as you leaned back onto him to shoot him a sexy smirk.

You saw his hands move from the corner of your eyes and before he could grab you, you stood back up deciding you hadn't had enough fun with him yet, dancing back away from him.

"I said, don't touch."

"Not fair!"

"Denki."

"... okay..."

"Good boy."

He perked up as you moved back closer this time putting your knees on the couch on each side of his legs, straddling his lap and grinding down on him, arms wrapping around his shoulders and neck as you leaned forward to swaying your boobs in his face, enjoying the strangled breathless noise that left his parted lips, urging you to pull down the collar of your shirt and show him even more.

"Fuck! Can I touch? Please?"

He whined fingers twitching by his sides on the couch, digging into it when you licked your lips and started riding his lap fluidly moving your hips and grinding into him with the music.

"Do you want to?"

"Hell yea!"

"Alright then, you can touch."

You had barely finished your sentence before his hands were on your legs, moving up your thighs and squeezing your ass and pulling you closer so your chest was rubbing onto his as you kept dancing.

"Shit, you're so fucking hot babe!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah! You're the sexiest ever."

His hands moved up your hips and up to the back of your neck, you could feel the growing bulge in his pants when he pulled you closer, no space between your bodies and you were practically grinding yourself onto him as you danced. His lips met with your throat and he left heavy open mouthed kisses on it as he growled lightly from the sensation.

"Fuck! I really love this but I can't take anymore."

"What- Denki! Mph!"

He gripped the back of your neck crashing his lips onto yours hungrily, his other hand grabbing your hip firmly as he flipped you over on the couch, crawling over you, caging you in, this time he was the one humping you.

And you were glad the music was so loud that no one could hear you.

I know you want me too

I think you want me too

Please say you want me too

Because you are going to

Kinktober 2020 list

[dweetwise]

i can’t remember the last time i wrote a proper date, this was a joy to work on and i hope you enjoy <3

ship: felix x ace warnings: none word count: 3740

[previous] [next]

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire (part 5)

Felix despises meeting clients.

They're entitled, they're whiny, and in this particular case, they're obnoxious and unwilling to compromise.

It takes half an hour of their appointment to even get to its point, the client and his associates preferring to engage in pointless small talk, as if this small talk was worth Felix’s 18-hour flight. Still, he puts on his business face and laughs his polite fake laugh to humor them, since the project is important to Lauren.

When Felix finally gets to presenting his studio’s offer to the group, there's an influx of stupid questions that he hadn't prepared for. He improvises the best he can and ignores the rude comments about Lauren's design style, trying not to let the annoyance show on his face.

The hours tick by and his clients don’t seem to be in any sort of hurry, content to keep bullshitting and dragging out the appointment. Felix’s pulse is racing and he almost feels like he’s about to be sick, nerves mixing with dread as he realizes he’s going to be late for his date with Ace.

When he's finally allowed to leave, five excruciating hours and way too many fake laughs and handshakes later, Felix is almost ready to kill someone.

Instead, he calls Ace as soon as the office building’s doors close behind him.

“Hello?” Ace's voice sounds annoyed, and Felix doesn't blame him in the slightest.

“I'm sorry, my meeting ran late,” Felix apologizes hurriedly, checking his watch to notice it’s already six o’clock. “Do you still want to meet?”

“Oh! Yeah, sure!” Ace's voice perks up, his words difficult to make out through some strange background noise. “Don't worry about it, I kinda lost track of time too.”

“I can come straight from the office, I'll just get a cab,” Felix says, looking around the street for signs of a taxi.

“Uh, alright!” Ace’s voice sounds surprised. “There's this Italian place just a few blocks from the hotel. I can be there in twenty, I'll text you the address.”

“Sounds good,” Felix sighs, already feeling calmer now that he knows he didn't mess up his chance with the man.

Somehow, despite the taxi getting stuck in traffic for minutes on end, Felix arrives at the restaurant before Ace does. He hovers near the entrance awkwardly, not sure whether he should go inside to wait.

He decides to stay outside on the sidewalk, hoping the fresh air will soothe some of his overwhelming nerves. Standing there in his work clothes, clutching his briefcase and repeatedly glancing at his watch, Felix feels utterly ridiculous and is already starting to regret the entire thing.

Ace is either ten minutes late or is standing him up. Is it revenge for Felix neglecting to contact him earlier? Was Felix imagining the connection between them? Felix really shouldn’t have come; he's completely drained after the meeting and would much rather curl up in his hotel bed—

And then he spots Ace making his way over, and as soon as their eyes meet the doubts fizzle out and disappear.

“Hey, handsome!” Ace greets with a radiant smile, and Felix is instantly ready to forgive him. “How was work?”

“It was fine,” Felix lies, not wanting to sour the other's permanent good mood.

“I'm glad!" Ace says. “Hope you're hungry, because I'm starving,” he smiles, reaching for the restaurant door and holding it open for Felix.

Almost as soon as they step inside, Felix’s anxiety decides to flare up. The place looks more casual than he'd pictured, and he feels way too overdressed, his stiff suit and tie surely standing out among the crowd.

“Sorry I didn't have time to get changed,” Ace apologizes, coming up beside him. “I was planning to wear something nicer for you.”

Felix realizes Ace is in the same clothes as earlier today, apart from a blazer he's slung casually over his shoulder. It's reassuring to know Felix isn't the only one worrying about his outfit, even if Ace's patterned button-up seems much more fitting for the occasion.

“It's fine, I also would have preferred not to wear my work clothes,” Felix says, discreetly starting to tug off his tie to attempt to make the look more casual.

“Well, I do love a man in a suit,” Ace says and shoots him a wink, and Felix decides he definitely needs to remove some layers if he's going to survive the dinner without sweating buckets from the flirty attention.

While Felix is shrugging out of his suit jacket, a waiter comes to greet them and Ace effortlessly takes over, making small talk while they're shown to a table and given their menus.

"You got any wine recommendations?” Ace asks the waiter.

“Our house wine is a light chardonnay that goes well with most of our dishes.”

“Perfect,” Ace says, before turning to Felix. “You wanna share a bottle?”

“Yes, please,” Felix says, relieved at the chance to get some alcohol in his system. Maybe it’ll finally make him stop fretting so he can focus on their date.

As the waiter leaves to get their drinks, Felix follows Ace’s example and familiarizes himself with the menu. They make some small talk about the dishes, most of them unfamiliar to Felix, prompting Ace to make a few gentle suggestions. Following the advice, Felix settles on chicken risotto while Ace goes with some sort of seafood pasta that sounds way too adventurous for Felix’s taste.

The waiter returns to pour their drinks and take their orders, and Felix tries not to cringe in embarrassment as he butchers his dish’s pronunciation after Ace fluently orders his own.

“So, um…” Felix starts once the waiter leaves with their orders. “What do you do? For a living?”

The question feels clunky on his tongue, but isn't that what people ask on first dates? Felix takes a bigger gulp of wine than is appropriate to wash down his embarrassment.

“Straight to business, huh?” Ace says, his voice teasing, before taking a sip of his own wine. “You could say I'm a professional poker player.”

The surprise must be clear on Felix's face, because Ace chuckles.

“Not the most conventional gig, I know,” Ace offers good-naturedly.

“That sounds… interesting,” Felix says, realizing that somehow, the job makes sense. He should have guessed the strange man would have an unconventional occupation. “What is it like?”

“Unpredictable, risky and infuriating,” Ace huffs, before grinning. “But I love it.”

Felix nods in acknowledgement and stays silent, wordlessly encouraging Ace to go on.

“It’s just…” Ace eagerly continues. “The feeling of winning a high-stakes game? The anticipation and nerves when you don’t really have a good hand but have to keep going anyway, and finally manage the card you need at the very last round? Nothing else even comes close!”

Felix happily listens to Ace talk, enraptured by his ever-growing smile and eyes shining with pure, childlike excitement. He always enjoyed hearing people share their passions in life, and it sounds like cards are to Ace like architecture is to Felix.

“So I might be known to take a few more risks than most players,” Ace adds with an impish smile. “But it mostly works out—I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve been told I’m quite lucky,” he says, shooting Felix a wink.

Felix chuckles against the rim of his wine glass, enjoying the attention even if it makes his cheeks feel warm. He can’t deny Ace took a gamble by approaching him, though he wouldn’t necessarily attribute the success of that gamble to luck.

Speaking of gambling...

“Is your name a coincidence, or…?” Felix asks.

“Oh, funny story, that!” Ace chuckles. “I actually had it changed because of a bet.”

“I—excuse me?” Felix says.

“I was on this insane blackjack win streak in Vegas,” Ace says. “Got to play at the high rollers’ table; big bets, even bigger wins. It got to a point where people were crowding around the table, the other players dropping out just to make wagers on when I’d finally lose.”

Felix leans closer, listening raptly as Ace tells his story. He’s never been one for gambling, but he can almost see the scene play out in front of him; others looking on in awe and horror as risky bets were made, Ace reveling in the attention in the middle of it all.

“So, eventually, I bet everything on a single round,” Ace grins. “Crowd gasps and cheers, guy next to me says I’m a complete dumbass for pushing my luck.”

Felix can’t help but agree with the nameless player, but he bites his tongue.

“And wouldn’t you know it, I get a hard ten and the dealer gets a twenty,” Ace says. “Crowd’s cringing, guy’s laughing, saying there’s no way I’m getting a blackjack. So, I announce that if I get an ace, I’m legally changing my name to that.”

“And?” Felix asks, sounding more eager than he means to when Ace pauses for dramatic effect.

“Dealer hits me with an ace, jaws drop to the floor, I make a dent in the casino’s profit that night,” Ace smirks victoriously. “Got my name changed within the hour—good thing paperwork’s easy in Vegas.”

“That’s… wow,” Felix chuckles, taking a sip of his wine while he lets the incredulous tale sink in.

“Told you I’m lucky,” Ace says. “The money might not have lasted long, but I got a kick-ass name and good story out of it! Actually, there was this other time…” Ace suddenly trails off and glances to his right.

When Felix follows suit, having been completely immersed in looking at Ace, he notices the waiter approaching with their food.

Felix gives a polite nod as his order is placed in front of him. The appearance of the dish isn’t the most appetizing, even if the chef has clearly tried to pretty up the chicken and rice with some garnish. However, the smell is absolutely delicious, making Felix eager for a taste.

“Thank you,” Ace smiles up at the waiter as he receives his own serving.

The waiter is off with a polite “enjoy your meals” and Felix’s stomach rumbles in return.

“Well, bon appetit!” Ace offers, thankfully not seeming to have heard the sound.

“How do you say it in Italian?” Felix asks, wanting to acknowledge Ace’s roots.

When Ace looks up in surprise at the question before smiling brightly, Felix gives himself a mental pat on the back for accidentally being smooth.

“Buon appetito,” Ace says, looking at him warmly.

“Buon… apetito?” Felix tries his best to repeat the sentence.

“That’s it,” Ace encourages, happy with his attempt. “Now dig in, before it gets cold!”

Felix doesn’t need to be told twice. He scoops a small bit of the mushy rice and some chicken onto his fork, careful to avoid a piece of mushroom sitting on top as a garnish.

As suspected, the food tastes just as good as it smells. The rice is creamy and the chicken is tender, a strong flavor of cheese and herbs accompanying the taste.

“What’s the verdict?” Ace asks playfully, having apparently paused his eating to watch Felix slowly chew through his food.

“It’s very good,” Felix praises, going to scoop a bigger piece onto his utensils. “And yours?”

“Really nice!” Ace says, returning to his meal. “It’s been a while since I had this dish. Can’t really go wrong with it.”

Felix nods in acknowledgement and takes another bite of his food, this time accompanying it with a sip of wine. Ace seems happy to follow suit, and there’s a beat of comfortable silence as they enjoy their meals.

“So…” Ace speaks up, turning his attention back to Felix. “I realize I kinda went off earlier, only talking about myself.”

“I don’t mind,” Felix reassures. “It was a good story.”

“One of my favorites,” Ace grins. “But what about you? What do you do?”

“Me?”

“I mean, I only heard you bitch about your clients last night,” Ace says, and Felix is embarrassed to realize that he's right.

How on earth Ace not only dealt with his awkwardness, but also listened to him whine about his work and still decided to approach him is beyond Felix’s understanding.

“Which sounds totally justified, by the way,” Ace reassures with a grin when Felix internally panics instead of replying. “I just never caught what it actually is that you do. I've been guessing between law and marketing.”

“Sorry," Felix says, giving an apologetic smile for talking Ace's ear off the other night. “I'm actually an architect.”

“Oh, neat!” Ace exclaims. “I should've known you weren't just a pretty face,” he offers with a wink over the rim of his wine glass.

“It's not nearly as complicated as you seem to think,” Felix says, fidgeting from the praise.

“Modest, too,” Ace grins.

Felix doesn’t know how to reply to the compliment, so he opts to take a big bite of his food instead.

“Anyway, I promised to take your mind off work, huh?” Ace says. “What do you do for fun?”

Felix falters. He always dreads the hobby question, since his job pretty much is his entire life. Obsessively checking work emails or drinking until he passes out surely don't count as hobbies.

“I usually read architecture magazines or go jogging,” Felix lies.

Ace doesn’t reply, only quirks a skeptical eyebrow through a mouthful of pasta.

“Ehm… what?” Felix asks, suddenly self-conscious.

“This isn't a job interview,” Ace snorts in amusement. “I asked what you do for fun.”

“Ähm, sorry,” Felix apologizes, looking at the tablecloth in embarrassment.

“I'll start!” Ace decides. “I like to laze around and watch shitty 3PM telenovelas.”

“Telenovelas?”

“Oh. Latin American soaps,” Ace explains with a smile. “They're tacky and predictable but remind me of home.”

Felix returns a small smile, finding the thought of Ace watching cheesy afternoon TV oddly endearing.

“I guess I enjoy quiz programs,” Felix says. “And… maybe get a little frustrated when the participants get the obvious ones wrong,” he confesses.

“I bet you’d do great in one of those,” Ace says. “You’re so smart.”

“I’d probably swallow my own tongue from the nerves,” Felix mumbles, poking at his food.

“Oh, right,” Ace hums in thought, followed by another smile. “God, it’s so funny that a gorgeous guy like you is so shy,” he chuckles.

“It’s embarrassing, I know—” Felix starts.

“It’s endearing,” Ace corrects, and Felix swears his heart skips a beat.

“Do you have any other hobbies?” Felix asks, feeling like he needs to contribute to the conversation.

“Do lame card tricks count?” Ace grins. “If not, I sometimes play guitar—badly, I might add.”

“Both of those sound like a lot of fun,” Felix says. “I’ve never played an instrument.”

“It’s fun if you don’t take it seriously! You should try it, if you ever get the time,” Ace encourages.

They finish the rest of their meals while chatting pleasantly. Felix finds it easy to open up, Ace’s warm smile and relaxed demeanor putting him at ease. At the same time, he’s eager to learn more about Ace, every small detail he hears only serving to make him even more fond of the man.

When Felix eventually finishes his dish, save for the mushrooms and some questionable greens he doesn’t recognize, Ace has the audacity to look at his plate with a knowing smirk.

“What?” Felix says, although suspecting he already knows the answer.

“Nothing!” Ace says. “I’m just happy I got a picky eater to… almost finish his plate.”

“For the record, I liked the food,” Felix argues, bantering along. “It’s much better than the idiot sandwiches I had for lunch.”

“Uh… idiot sandwiches?” Ace asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“Oh, eh…” Felix falters, feeling stupid for resorting to an inside joke the other obviously wouldn’t understand. “That’s what my business partner calls the stale snacks that are served in meetings. Like sandwiches and quiche and the like.”

“I… see?” Ace says, obviously still confused.

“You know… like in the joke?”  Felix explains, but Ace looks even more lost, cocking his head in curiosity. “With the bread,” Felix says, placing his hands on the side of his head in a poor imitation of the video Lauren showed him once.

“I've gotta confess, I'm not great with tech,” Ace finally admits in defeat.

“Well, at least you know how to use a smartphone,” Felix says, recalling Ace effortlessly texting and exchanging their numbers.

“Okay, I'm not that old,” Ace jokes and kicks him playfully under the table.

While they’re sharing a chuckle, the waiter comes by to collect their plates.

“Did you enjoy your meals?” he asks.

“Absolutely!” Ace says.

“It was very good,” Felix agrees.

“I’m glad,” the waiter says with a smile.

And as he leaves with their plates without further blabbering, Felix makes a mental note to tip him well for making the evening such a pleasant experience.

“So,” Felix says, eager to return to the conversation with his date. “How old are you?”

It’s only when Ace quirks an amused eyebrow that Felix realizes his mistake.

“Sorry, you don't have to say,” Felix says, nervously wringing his hands under the table for being so rude.

“Naw, I don't mind,” Ace says with a smile. “I'm forty-eight.”

“Oh,” Felix says, not sure how to respond to the predictable answer. “I’m thirty-seven. You, um. You look very good,” he settles on, feeling his neck heating up from the awkward compliment.

“Not so bad for an old coot, huh?” Ace jokes, but something about it doesn’t sit right with Felix.

“What do you mean?” Felix asks.

“I mean…” Ace says, his smile finally faltering. “'You look good' doesn't really have the same ring to it when it's always followed by 'for your age',” Ace admits, staring into his wine glass thoughtfully.

The earnest confession takes Felix off guard; so far, he hasn't seen Ace display any signs of insecurity.

“But hey, that's life!” Ace immediately perks back up, offering a smile that doesn’t seem entirely genuine.

“I didn’t mean for your age,” Felix feels the need to clarify. “I think you’re, ehm. Very handsome,” he mumbles, and by now his face must be bright red.

But it’s worth it, because Ace’s smile softens into one that finally reaches his eyes.

“Thanks,” Ace says, before clearing his throat. “I mean, I don’t really let stuff like that bring me down, but… it’s still nice to hear, you know?”

“I do,” Felix says, deciding he should try to take a page from Ace’s book and be freer with his compliments, awkwardness be damned.

The waiter chooses that time to return to their table, not an entirely unwelcome distraction from the sudden feelings blooming in Felix’s chest.

“Would you like to order dessert? Coffee?” the waiter asks.

Ace only smirks and looks at Felix mischievously.

“I had something else in mind,” Ace says, his voice sounding deeper than before. “What about you, babe?”

Felix flushes both at the nickname and the reminder that for all intents and purposes, he is the dessert.

“I'm good as well, thank you,” he manages with a surprisingly steady voice, gulping down some more wine.

“We'll probably just finish up the wine and take the check,” Ace offers to the waiter with another pleasant smile.

“Of course,” the waiter says and is off with a polite nod.

“Wow, I didn't even realize the time,” Ace says, glancing at the clock over the bar counter.

Felix's gaze follows suit, and he sees that they've apparently been in the restaurant for over an hour.

“Time flies, huh?” Ace grins.

“Indeed,” Felix agrees.

He feels much more relaxed than when they arrived; the wine, good food and cozy atmosphere surely all have played a part in making him feel comfortable.

But not nearly as much as the company.

“Here you go, gorgeous,” Ace says, smiling as he refills both of their glasses with the remaining wine.

“Thank you,” Felix says, the cheesy compliment no longer making him fluster.

Instead, there’s a warm fluttering in his gut, fondness for his date mixing with anticipation of what’s to come.

It’s only when the waiter returns to drop their check on the table and Ace immediately reaches for it that Felix wipes the lovestruck smile off his face.

“You’re not paying,” Felix protests, reaching his hand over the table towards the bill.

“Oh, I think I am,” Ace says, lifting the small folder out of Felix’s reach. “I was the one who asked you out.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Felix argues. “It’s my treat.”

“Hmm, let me think about it,” Ace says, pretending to mull over the suggestion. “Nope!” he grins.

“Ace,” Felix says, exasperated but not able to stop the corner of his mouth from twitching up.

“Felix,” Ace counters with a shit-eating grin, and Felix snorts an ugly chuckle at the other’s ridiculousness.

After a few minutes of playful arguing, Ace begrudgingly agrees to split the bill.

But Felix adds the tip money before Ace has a chance to, much to the other’s annoyance.

“It’s not splitting if you pay twenty bucks on top of half,” Ace argues when they’re making to leave.

“You didn’t mention the tip, so it’s only fair,” Felix points out, smiling smugly as he rebuttons his suit jacket.

“Where’s this sudden sass coming from?” Ace exclaims in mock shock, a hand over his heart. “I’m starting to think the shyness is an elaborate act,” he teases.

And then he, once again, holds the door open for Felix as they exit the restaurant.

“You got me,” Felix says sarcastically. “I’m actually a stand-up comedian, not an architect.”

Ace laughs warmly at his joke, and something in Felix’s heart clenches.

He doesn’t know what comes over him. In one instant, Felix is watching Ace’s smile as he keeps playing off of the joke, and in the next, Ace is freezing mid-sentence, eyes momentarily widening in surprise as Felix has grabbed his hand with his own.

Felix already has an apology ready on his tongue for his embarrassing lapse in judgement, but Ace apparently has other ideas. His hand returns the hold on Felix’s as he resumes the conversation right where they left off, taking Felix’s clingy gesture in stride.

And Felix doesn’t remember when he’s last felt as happy as when they walk the few blocks to their hotel making stupid jokes and holding hands.

[cavalierious-whim]

The Keen, Cutting Edge (FE3H)

Sylvix | Canon-Compliant | Post-Canon | Explicit

The scruff's got to go because Felix's kink is a cleanly shaved face.

---

A/N: Comedy Smut. Have fun. Read here on AO3 for better formatting, and follow me here on Twitter!

---

The scruff has got to go.

Felix likes to think that he’s a man of compromise. Nearly everything aggravates the ever-loving shit out of him, but he puts up with it all with an only mildly acerbic complaint. And even with his complaints, he never does much about it in the end. The effort is a little too much and Felix is lazy about things that aren’t training. Even if war is long gone, and peace has long since settled across the horizon.

Still, there’s only so much that he can take and he’s hit his limit.

Felix is sharpening a blade when Sylvain walks into their parlor. It’s a cold morning, the fireplace ablaze. Felix sits at the edge of a settee, carefully oiling up the knife before scraping it along the sharpening block.

Sylvain’s eyes narrow slightly at the sight. “Felix, the sun is barely up and you’re already working.”

“This isn’t work,” says Felix. Finally, he looks up and his eyes sweep across Sylvain’s face. Across the utter eyesore that is his beard, thin and patchy in places because it’s still growing in. It’s not that Felix is against facial hair-- there was a time during the war where Sylvain forgot entirely about shaving and sported a beard for nearly a year-- but he’s never grown it easily.

Felix is impatient and the scruff is only irritating him.

Sylvain blinks and says, “So, if not work, then for what?”

“You,” says Felix simply. He pauses to brandish the knife, showing off an antique shaving blade.

“Oh, no,” says Sylvain, a hand immediately going to his chin. “Felix, don’t--”

“There are only two options,” cuts in Felix, moving to sharpen the blade once more. “Keep the beard, or keep me.”

Sylvain frowns. “Of all the ridiculous things, this is where you draw the line? My facial hair?”

“It’s itchy. It’s scratchy. It leaves behind rashes.”

“Leaves behind rashes--” Sylvain falls quiet when he realizes exactly what Felix is implying, face pinking the slightest bit. Then, he massages at his cheeks, thinking.

“So, it’s the beard or me in your bed.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” says Sylvain, even though they both know that Felix won’t leave him over something so trivial. They’ve been through too much and overcame everything to get to this point. Sylvain’s been couched for less, though.

Felix pauses and looks at Sylvain once more. Then, he motions to a chair set before the fireplace. “Sit.”

“Are you planning on giving me a shave?”

“An easy remedy.”

And that’s how Felix found Sylvain pressed into the chair before him, entirely vulnerable underneath his touch and the blade in his hand. Sylvain doesn’t trust anyone, but he’ll always let Felix close. Even if it’s with a weapon.

“Wait,” says Sylvain, and Felix stops. Sylvain reaches out and pulls at him, and Felix falls to straddle his lap. “You truly hate it so much?”

“I don’t,” says Felix honestly. Sylvain wears it well, even when it’s sparse and patchy. He just has preferences like seeing Sylvain’s handsome jawline and reducing beard burn as much as possible.

“And yet, you want to remove it?”

“I distinctly remember you complaining about the lack of shared intimacy as of late.”

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” says Sylvain. “I was thinking things like midnight walks and picnics with a nice wine.” He spreads his hands wide across Felix’s hips, trying to slot their legs together into a more favorable position. As much as Felix wants to fight it, he’s so easily goaded along.

“You’re distracting me.”

“That’s the intention,” says Sylvain.

Felix doesn’t like the knowing smirk that spreads across Sylvain’s face, so utterly attuned to him in every way. It’s from years of watching and years of practice, and it always irritates Felix who tries to keep a tight hold on himself. Sylvain’s infuriating on even his best of days, and not because Felix dislikes their dynamic, it’s because he craves it.

There isn’t a word to describe the feeling of someone else knowing you better than you know yourself, but Felix can’t deny that it’s one of the things that’s saved him. Sylvain, too.

“It won’t stop me,” warns Felix.

“No? Then you should get one last good look.”

Felix blinks back at him, blade held aloft between them. “A good look at the scruff that I want to remove from your face?”

“I think you’re more fond of it than you’d care to admit.” Sylvain is, as always, on the nose, but Felix refuses to give him the satisfaction of being right. With a deft twirl between his fingers, the straight blade finds itself nestled against the hollow of his throat, tipped at the perfect angle to shear the beard off.

Sylvain doesn’t even flinch, entirely at ease. “Go on, then,” he says.

Felix sighs, letting up and pulling his hand back. His fingers return, lathered up, smearing cold soap across the underside of Sylvain’s jawline. A few flicks of the blade and Sylvain’s skin is smooth, his throat bobbing as he swallows. Felix wipes the blade on a small towel sitting in his lap.

“Much better,” says Felix, smoothing his hand across the soft skin of his neck. “Preferable to that pitiful thing you call a beard.”

“Rude,” says Sylvain, but he falls quiet when Felix resumes his task. He sits in Sylvain’s lap, blade scraping across Sylvain’s face with practiced accuracy. Lather-up, shave, and then rinse. Wiping the blade on the small cloth, only to repeat everything over again. One half of the face followed closely by the other.

Sylvain doesn’t complain; he only watches Felix with a searing gaze. Felix does his best to ignore it and the heat that burns right through him. Sylvain’s fingers still hold him by the hipbone, thumbing first at Felix’s linen shirt, but then slipping underneath to circle across the smooth skin there, and sharp jut of his hips.

“Done?” asks Sylvain when Felix swipes a second towel across his face. Felix takes him by the chin, turning his face from side to side, surveying his work. “Pleased?”

More than so, Felix thinks, moving his hand to slide down Sylvain’s neck and across his collarbone. “It’ll do,” says Felix. And then Felix’s hand finds the open collar of Sylvain’s shirt, just barely slipping in, fingers scratching through his chest hair.

“No, that’s where I draw the line,” says Sylvain, but it’s with humor.

“I would never,” says Felix, quietly.

“Just my face, then,” says Sylvain.

“I do prefer to see it.” Felix sets the blade and towels aside. But he doesn’t move away from him now that his task is done.

Sylvain hesitates, head cocking to the side. “Prefer to see it,” repeats Sylvain. “I would have thought otherwise--”

“I can’t see your face when it’s all covered up.”

There’s a beat, a soft half-moment of silence that stretches between them before Sylvain smiles wide with a shit-eating grin. “Oh, so like my face, do you?”

Felix hates being teased, despises it, even when it comes from Sylvain. Probably most of all, when it comes from Sylvain. “You aren’t unhandsome,” says Felix, curtly. They both know exactly how he feels about Sylvain’s looks, but he can’t help but make a jab right back.

“You seem rather obsessed,” says Sylvain when Felix slides his hand back up his neck, petting the soft skin at the juncture of his jaw.

“I have my predilections,” says Felix, entirely unashamed. “I prefer it when you don’t look like an animal has made its home on your face.”

Sylvain frowns. “Felix, it wasn’t that bad--”

“Wrong,” cuts in Felix, “it was far worse.” He thumbs the line of Sylvain’s face before leaning closer, pressing his nose into his neck. “Nearly as bad as depriving me of this.”

“Of this?” Sylvain asks, his voice suddenly breathy. Felix pulls back again, regarding him through a narrowed gaze. “Oh right, of this,” says Sylvain, dropping the coy act. Felix doesn’t often voice his opinions so overtly, so Sylvain makes the correct choice in just indulging.

“A crime,” says Felix, “to hide such a sharp jaw.”

“Are you saying that I’m perfect?”

“No, you’re an idiot, but one that I quite like to look at.”

Sylvain smiles then, leaning back slightly in the chair, fingers grasping Felix’s hips tighter to pull him closer. Felix doesn’t fight it, pressing against Sylvain’s incredibly apparent need. It only stokes that slow-burning fire in Felix’s core.

“Rare, for you to be like this,” says Sylvain.

“If that’s a complaint, I can easily stop.” It won’t be easy, but Felix will absolutely have the last word if necessary.

“No,” says Sylvain with such absurd immediacy that Felix shares a rare, genuine smile.

“Then let me do as I want,” says Felix.

“Absolutely. Yes. Please.”

Felix pauses at that, regarding Sylvain’s already slightly wrecked expression. “Incredible,” he says, “how little it takes for you to become like this.”

Sylvain lets out a laugh that dissolves into a moan because Felix chooses the perfect moment to change the angle of their hips and grind against his lap. Felix leans forward again, pressing his nose against the skin of Sylvain’s neck. He smells like the sandalwood soap he hoards like a Wyvern, and Felix drinks it up, sinking deep into it.

It’s easy, to lose himself in Sylvain, he thinks. Not because Sylvain’s handsome or preferenced, but because of the way that he’s so easily undone with such a soft touch. Felix doesn’t have to do much to have his way with him; Sylvain’s eager to respond, always at the ready.

And not because he’s a rake, but because he’s so utterly, irrevocably tied to Felix. And it’d be a lie to say that it isn’t the same for Felix. He might wear his affection differently; it might show through a more subdued lens, but it’s there and it’s real.

Felix moves to kiss Sylvain properly, one hand cradling the back of his neck while the other slips back to the open collar of his shirt. Fingers press against Sylvain’s skin there, grounding himself. The kiss isn’t gentle, but it isn’t fire either. Sylvain responds eagerly, tipping his head back for better access, but keeps the touch frustratingly chaste.

When Felix pulls back, he grabs Sylvain’s chin, thumb sweeping across his lip in a possessive manner. Watching and waiting. Then, Felix dips back down, kissing Sylvain again, coaxing his mouth open and licking into him with wild abandon.

Sylvain’s hands move from his hips, smoothing over his ass, squeezing and pulling Felix forward, and this time, it’s his turn to let out a groan against Sylvain’s mouth.

“Insatiable,” bites Felix, as if he’s not the one who’s grinding against Sylvain’s lap, seeking out that delicious friction. Sylvain tries to slow Felix down, tries to hold him still above him and stay the pace, but Felix is far too impatient to give in.

Far too impatient for anything, really, other than the feeling of Sylvain tightly coiled underneath him, losing a little more of himself with every kiss. It’s a sight that Felix would happily die for, not that he’d ever admit it aloud.

Felix stops and pulls off Sylvain’s lap, shucking his pants off with little ceremony. Sylvain watches quietly with eyes bright and swallows thickly, cheeks already flushed with want. It’s moments like this that Felix feels a little bit of pride.

“Felix,” says Sylvain, when Felix settles over his lap again. “Felix, I didn’t get to--” A hiss cuts off his words as Felix’s hand drops between them, caressing over Sylvain’s tented pants. “Unfair,” whines Sylvain, bucking his hips slightly.

“Unfair?” asks Felix, as he pulls his hand away.

“No, shit, Felix, that isn’t what I meant--”

Felix is in a teasing mood, so he raises an eyebrow as he smooths a hand along Sylvain’s shirt. “Then what did you mean?”

“Let me get my pants off,” pleads Sylvain. And then, for good measure, he adds, “Please.”

Felix pretends to think about it before rejecting the idea. “Not yet,” he says rather cruelly, leaning forward again. “I prefer this at the moment.”

“Prefer this--”

Felix swallows his words with another kiss, tongue snaking out to lick across his lips before dipping into his mouth. Sylvain responds readily, lifting a hand to Felix’s head, fingers curling into his hair and pulling at it. Not hard enough to hurt, but just the perfect amount to tug at his hairline, and Felix returns the favor, nails biting into the back of Sylvain’s neck as he grips tighter.

He moves then, pressing his mouth against the side of Sylvain’s jaw, pressing featherlight kisses along the length of it, tongue dipping out and trailing behind. Savoring the taste of Sylvain’s soft skin and devouring the sounds that come as a result.

Sylvain’s an easy man to please when it comes down to things, and Felix absorbs his eager response like it’s his lifeblood.

Then, Felix’s hand is between them again, fingers curling around the delicious hardness that’s hidden by Sylvain’s trousers. Sylvain’s head falls back and he groans, trying to get as much friction as possible.

Felix’s lips find his neck this time, worrying the skin there as he laps at it, marking him up with a deep-seated sort of possessiveness. He knows that Sylvain isn’t going anywhere, he knows that there isn’t anyone else-- that there wasn’t really ever-- but old habits die hard, and Felix wants to claim him as his own.

“Another thing that a beard hides,” says Felix, pulling back to look at the pink marks blooming across Sylvain’s neck and collarbone.

“I can’t always be wearing high collars,” says Sylvain.

“Then don’t,” says Felix.

It’s a clear challenge, one that lights up Sylvain’s face with desperate hunger. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he says, one hand sliding down the rough linen of Felix’s shirt before finding the bare skin of his hip and backside. Then, his hand dips lower, between Felix’s cheeks, a finger ghosting his entrance.

If Felix weren’t so annoyed from the get-go, he’d burn red with embarrassment. Instead, he says, “Everyone already knows it, so why not make it apparent. The rake of a Margrave, bending a knee to the Duke.”

“To my husband,” says Sylvain instead.

“There hasn’t been a ceremony yet,” says Felix, testily. These things take time, Dimitri said about three years back, and still, little has come of it.

“The papers are signed,” says Sylvain, matter-of-factly. “Ceremony be damned.”

Ceremony be damned indeed, Felix thinks, when Sylvain’s hand dips against his backside again, this time having been slicked during his distraction.

“That better not be my blade oil.”

“I’ve heard rumor that it works well,” says Sylvain, cheekily.

Felix knows from years of shared experience that Sylvain’s correct. “On with it, then,” he says, pressing back against Sylvain’s hand.

“Impatient,” Sylvain chides.

“Efficient,” replies Felix, letting out a sigh when Sylvain finally slips a finger in with practiced ease. And then one finger becomes two, the sort of well-ordered and stinging pace that Felix craves. Sylvain knows him inside and out, has memorized everything that Felix wants and needs, and it isn’t long until a distraction is needed.

Felix unbuttons Sylvain’s pants and slips a hand in, palming at his hot length. They work in tandem, Sylvain’s fingers stretching and pulling slightly at his rim, trying to prep him with the speed that Felix wants.

“Felix--”

“Soon enough,” says Felix, pulling Sylvain’s cock out from his trousers properly, pressing it against his own, wrapping his hand around the both of them tightly. Sylvain bites out a curse, his fingers pausing, prompting Felix to let out an aggravated sigh. He presses back his hand, craving that burn and friction, and the pull of Sylvain’s touch.

Then, Sylvain’s hand bats away Felix’s. He makes a tight fist around the both of them, precome slicking the motion and making the slide of his fingers easier. His grip tightens around them both and Felix ruts into his fist, their cocks sliding against each other with a delightful rasp.

Felix eventually hits a point where he just can’t anymore, pulling away and surprising Sylvain. He slicks his hand with the oil, raises his hips, and reaches behind him, grasping at Sylvain’s cock to line him up where he wants him most.

And, because Felix is efficient in his lovemaking like he is with anything else, he sinks down onto Sylvain with little ceremony, muscles relaxing as he just goes and goes and goes. Sylvain holds Felix’s hips tight, white-knuckled and bruising, face red with heady lust.

This is what he loves most, Felix thinks as he settles, his ass against Sylvain’s thighs as he’s fully seated onto him. Sylvain looking so terribly debauched underneath him, responding to his touch almost instinctually. They know what the other wants before it happens, anticipating their needs and adjusting accordingly.

Felix already feels so full and satisfied, as he gently grinds against Sylvain. He reaches out, slipping his hand back into the collar of Sylvain’s shirt, nails scratching lightly against the skin there.

“Felix,” says Sylvain, “this is definitely not going to last long.”

“I wasn’t planning on dragging it out,” says Felix, raising his hips only a fraction before dropping them back down. It’s not a full and fluid motion, more like a frenzied rolling of the hips. He pulls Sylvain closer, an arm around his neck and chests flush against each other.

“Your shirt is still on,” breathes Sylvain, rucking the fabric up to nuzzle at Felix’s breastbone. He tugs at the linen impatiently.

Felix halts his movements and pulls back. “Is that a complaint?”

Sylvain halts as well, wide-eyed and slightly incredulous. “What? No--”

“It sounded like one,” says Felix, dragging his hips up slowly.

“Felix,” sighs Sylvain, “Please.”

Felix yanks at his collar slightly, his other hand curling around to grab at Sylvain’s neck. He holds on tightly, pulling at the fine baby hairs there, scratching along the bottom of Sylvain’s scalp.

Sylvain’s always been loud in bed, be it breathy sighs or loud moans. He’s quieter today, trying to hold on and keep from tipping over that edge too quickly. Felix understands; it’s been a while, a little bit too long. They’ve been too busy with work and post-war reconstruction to reliably have any time to themselves.

Felix told himself to be better about it, to be better to Sylvain, so this is the least that he can do. He sets a hurried pace, sliding along Sylvain with precise movements, circling his hips ever so slightly on the downstroke.

“Fuck,” breathes Sylvain, still gripping at his hips, helping to ease the motion. Lifting Felix before letting him fall. He’s taut underneath him, wound tight like a bowstring, doing his best.

Always doing his best for Felix, be it here in moments like this, or anywhere else. Felix presses their foreheads together as he moves, eyes slipping closed as he just thinks and feels and loves. He loves this man and everything that he is.

And right now, he’s perfect, filling him so utterly full, matching his movements with practiced grace. “Perfect,” says Felix, dropping those carefully erected walls in the haze of pleasure.

Sylvain shifts slightly underneath him, jerking his hips upwards, meeting Felix with frenzied thrusts. Felix wants to lean back and take him the best he can, rolling against him with a sinful grind, to savor this for as long as possible, but he doesn’t want to pull away from their shared closeness.

A hand from his hip moves to press against Felix’s lower back, holding him there, helping him slide along Sylvain’s cock. “Made for me,” says Felix aloud, prompting Sylvain to let loose a groan in response. “So perfect, so deep, so--”

“No,” says Sylvain, wincing from the pleasure. “I mean, yes, but no, I’m so close--”

“I haven’t got all day,” says Felix, remembering that he’s supposed to be teasing Sylvain, that this entire thing had started with lighthearted banter and that damned, hideously attractive beard. Felix’s hand finds his cock, jerking himself with long and languid strokes, palm curling around the crown when his motions come full circle.

Surprisingly, it’s Felix who falls first, tipping over into that well-sought fire as he chases his own pleasure. He moans as he clenches tight around Sylvain, hips stuttering against the jerky thrusting from below and he comes into his hand.

Sylvain thrusts once, twice, a third time, and topples over with him, watching as Felix heaves and twitches above him, overly sensitive and coming down from that high. Sylvain presses deep, holding Felix there, hands splayed wide across his waist with a warm touch.

The room is quiet, save for their heavy breaths. It’s unbearably hot near the fire, but Felix is suddenly too tired to do much other than sit there above Sylvain, holding him close. Unwilling to let go.

Eventually, he has to, clean-up inevitable.

“A bath, then,” is the first thing that Sylvain says. It’s nearly comical, the way that he regards Felix with a soft and warm smile, dazed by the afterglow of their lovemaking.

Felix hates that he loves it. “I thought it was a picnic that you wanted,” he says, remembering what Sylvain had complained about earlier.

“A bath and then a picnic,” says Sylvain. “Either way is a win.”

Felix considers this for a moment, fingers sweeping across Sylvain’s face once more. “I don’t hate the beard,” he says instead.

“You’ve said that.”

“I just prefer to see you instead.”

“It’s still me,” says Sylvain with a soft little sigh.

Felix hums at that before pulling off of him. The loss of Sylvain’s cock is immediate and distracting. “A bath then,” he says, wiping at himself with a towel.

“And then a picnic?” Sylvain’s cute at the worst of times, but it’s endearing.

“I suppose it’s inevitable,” says Felix.

Then, Sylvain smirks. “The beard is too, you know. Give it a few years.”

Felix is waiting for him by the door of the bedroom, resting against the frame. He lets out a sigh at the thought. “Better you than me, I suppose.”

“You’d look dashing with one,” says Sylvain, sidling up next to him. Then, he pinches at Felix’s ass. “Terribly handsome.”

“I’d look like my father,” says Felix, pushing Sylvain away. Then, there’s a pause. “That isn’t a good look.”

Sylvain laughs the entire way to their bath.

[zuffer-weird-girl]

Hey, Could you do a overhaul scenario Dedicated to the song "Kiss it all better" By he is we?

ANGST 😈 *maniacal laugh*

Tartarus was such a cold and cruel place... Of course it had to be that way, it imprisioned the worst and most dangerous villains of all Japan on there.

One of those prisoners had the once young leader of the Shie Hassaikai, his villain name was once Overhaul, the same of his own quirk... but his actual name was Chisaki. Chisaki Kai.

He sits in his cell

and he lays on his bed.

Sorrow and emptiness enveloping his entire body and mind as the events pass through his head, like a torturous flashback he was obligated to watch over and over again.

They didn't know why he did all of that... they just told and assumed he was a heartless and some type of bastard monster... but no. He had his reasons for all of he had done. The bullets... the experiments... all of them had purpose.

Not only to give Pops his gratitude, bring the Shie Hassakai back to their glory days... no. It had another reason... one that was permanent craved on his heart and soul to remind him of how useless he was on that night of years ago...

Shakily breathing out, the memories of a distant past started to overtake the recent events... but yet, he thought those were the most painful ones...

~~~~~~~

"Ouch!" He snapped his head from the book he was reading to see his lover hissing, clenching her wrist with her other hand as she muttered some curse words.

He sighed out loud and got up from his seat, marking the page where he had stopped to grab the first kit aid nearby as he got back to the kitchen isle where she was located.

"Third time only this week." He said in false annoyance as she pouted with puppy dog eyes at him, those beautiful (E/c)'s eyes he came to love. He rolled his eyes while muttering to her to hand him the sliced finger.

"You're so clusmy... 19 years already, and can't even cut something without cutting yourself along with it." he commented nonchantly as he ignored her wincing when he applied some disinfectant on the injury before wrapping it up with a band aid.

"Yet you love me for it!" He deadpanned at her before rolling his amber eyes again, closing the first kit aid before arching a eyebrow when his girlfriend fake coughed at him to catch his attention.

She extended her wrapped up finger with shyness yet playfulness on her eyes as she whispered the words for only him to hear, ones he had nostalgia of and still cringed a bit.

"Kiss it better?"

"... no. Grow up." He muttered and cringed a bit when she grabbed onto his sleeve and stared at him with kicked puppy eyes again. He groaned at that and picked her hand on his gloved one, lowering his mask with a 'I despise you sometimes', before lightly kissing the area where he had just wrapped up.

The smile she gaved to him was what gave him happines, a feeling that he was always deprived of when she wasn't around....

~~~~~~~~~~~

He blinked up at the ceiling at remembering that one scene... he always used to complain when you sliced your finger accidentaly on a paper or cutting something... now, oh what he would do to do that again... Kissing slightly your injury again...

Feel you again...

The love of his life was you. No doubts... he had this feeling that you were The one ever since he was a child... and he lost it...

~~~~~~~

"Chisaki-kun?" A girly and childish voice echoed in the air, interrupting his muttering and sniffling before he looked up in both annoyance and shock.

"What do you want?" He hissed while looking at the opposed direction of where the girl was taking a seat next to him.

"I heard you got into a fight again..." she muttered with her hands on her lap before taking the courage to look up at him again "Are you okay?"

He looked at her with dead eyes while arching an eyebrow, the bandage on his left cheek evident while she cringed a bit.

"Right, stupid question... does it still hurt?" You asked in innocence while he scoffed, waiting for Pops to get out of that room as he talked with the principal and teacher.

He jerked a bit away when you touched his cheek, glaring at you as a warning for not touching again.

"It does..." you said sadly with furrowed eyebrows as he muttered for you to leave him alone... yet you didn't, noticing how he tightened his jaw as his eyes were slowly turning to pink instead of white...

You poked your fingers together before snapping them when an idea popped into your head.

"Can I try something? It maybe will get better a bit..."

He doubted that, the pain was bearable... but the one on his chest wasn't...

Though, when he felt the pair of your lips touching his cheek, right on the injury wrapped up, he felt all the cold on the room being replaced by a warm feeling... a rather good type of warm.

He looked at you as if you had grew three head while covering the place where you had kissed it... he felt his face burning up at not only by your action but also by that smile you gave him.

"I kissed it to make it all better." You said before you let out a chuckle "it's not very efficient but it does help a bit sometimes... so? Did it help?"

He didn't even blinked as his expression of shock was still permanent on his face... he couldn't even answer you since Pops had gotten out right on the moment his lips had moved to speak again...

"We talk tommorow then, bye Chisaki!" You waved at him when he looked a bit back while walking alongsides Pops...

He touched the place again, still finding weird the warmth that it brought to him...

'Kiss it all better' huh?

~~~~~~~~

He took a sharp breath as he remembered taht inep memroy in specific... metal arms and hands coming to covers his face as the most painful moment of his life started to replay all over it again.

The motivitation to him to have started to give it a end to those heroes.... the one day where he became that cruel and cold monster that everyone told that he was...

~~~~~~~~

An night out... he never was once a fan of those, but he couldn't help but attend to your wishes once or twice... after all, you were special to him. Dearest to his called cold heart.

"Such a great place Kai!" You chirped happily as you both walked side by side towards his newest car "But you know you didn't had to spend all of that on me you know?"

That little pout on your lips was just so adorable... it showed him how innocent, pure and a bit of a brat that you were. His loved one.

"Nonsense." He scoffed as he adjusted his black mask on his face "If you kept insisting like that over at least 2 weeks to go out, then the least I could do was to afford a place where it has their dignity."

Your giggles echoed on the empty street as the lights of the streets iluminated your path to his car.

He took slowly your hand on his covered one, thumb brushing over your palm as he didn't mind it to look at your smile to prevent a blush to spot him.

Just in the moment he went to take his car keys, his ears caught some suspecting sounds on the near alleyway. Arching his eyebrow at it he brought you close to the car muttering for you to stay back as he took a couple of steps to catch a glimpse of what was that.

Your giggles made him deadpan when he noticed what was exactly making the sound... a stray cat on the dumpster.

"Never expected that you would get protective of me due to a cat Kai."

"Shut your mouth." He growled before you widened your eyes at him... he didn't got why exactly that until he heard a 'click' right on the back of his head.

"Hands on the air yakusa thug where I can see them." A young man with a cape said arrogantly as he rolled his eyes but still complied...

He wasn't on the mood to deal with that kind of bullshit.

"S-Sir what's going on?" You asked shakily as another gun was aimed right to you after by the same guy.

"Shut it. Both of you are from some yakusa am I right? You two are coming with me!"

"Says the motive and we might think about it." Chisaki rolled his eyes before giving the guy a cold glare "We didn't do anything for this incopentent."

"I SAID NOT TO MOVE!" He clicked the gun and Chisaki still took a couple of steps to stand in front of you.

"K-Kai..." you whined silently while gripping on his black tshirt... he could sense it and see it how scared you were, and that pained him to no ends. He couldn't get on a fight with a hero, and he still didn't know one hundred per cent the anatomy of the human kind, so he had to be careful with his choices to not prejudice neither the Shie Hassaikai neither his lover.

"Listen." He growled "Whatever you gave as a excuse to scout us, it won't work without a motive or a proof. So let us go."

"You yakusas are always the same. Arrogant little pieces of shits with your dirty sluts to make you company!" His amber eyes grew dark at the man's words as he shoved hsi sleeves up.

"Do not insult my girlfriend in front of me you disgusting fucking piece of-" you quickly got what the young hero was trying to do, anger Chisaki to the point of attacking him to shoot him with a fucked up excuse of "self-defence"

"KAI WAIT-!" you pulled on his right arm to get him out of the way before the young hero shooted with closed eyes and trembling hand on you instead of Chisaki.

Both mens widened their eyes as the young hero dropped both of his guns and stared in horror of what he had just done while Chisaki shouted out for your name as he grabbed your body before it could collide to the ground.

Your breath was becoming quicker and shorter as Kai stared at where the bullet hat pierced your skin.

The man ran and that infuriated Chisaki to no ends.

"COWARD!" He shouted after the hero "GET BACK HERE-!" he moved a bit but you winced in pain... the warmth of your body was slowly fading away as he felt himself start to panick.

"K-Kai..." tears rolled down your cheeks as he ripped his sleeves in a effort to stuck the blood before grabbing his phone.

"Is alright. I'm calling back up. Be strong a bit for me (Y/n). Please." He dialogued the numbers but the call didn't last since Kurono wasn't answering for some reason. "DAMMIT KURONO!"

"K-Kai..." you breathed out before coughing a bit of blood as rain drops started to fall from teh sky "I-I-Im... n-not ready to... to g-go..."

"Stop talking nonsense!" He shouted while holding tight on you "You're gonna be alright..." his hand carresed your hair in a effort to comfort both of you "You're with me, everthing is going to turn out just fine... is my fault this, I take responsibility-"

"I-Is not... your fault l-love..."

"It is!" He shouted in anger as he got a message from his childhood friend apologizing for not picking it up, sending himself a message to help him.

"... Kai... you couldn't k-know that he w-was..." you coughed as more blood spilled out as he scolded you to stop talking...

"Kai... I-I..." with the little strenght you had, you gripped on the collar of his shirt to catch his attention, serious golden eyes now filled with tears that were mixed with the rain drops "I... can I-I have one... one last t-thing..?"

"Is not going to be the last..." he whispered but still was ready to attend your wish anyway...

"... kiss.. it... all b-better...." you were fading out of consciousness constantly but he managed to catch that, ripping the mask out of his face as he grabbed your face in his hands and crashed his lips on yours... your tongue weakly interlocked with his before your head dropped in a faint smile at him as your eyes closed slowly.

"No! Don't! DON'T CLOSE YOUR EYES ON ME NOW (Y/N)! NOT NOW! DO NOT DARE TO-!" a disgusting sob caught on his throat made him lower down his voice pathetically as you rested your head on his chest.

"I'm... ready... no..w." he shook you a bit as he pleaded to god, to you, to anyone to not do this to him as he kneeled on the wet and dirty ground of the street...

Your hands and body were so cold now... his anger and sadness build up on him so much that with along with a loud thunder he clinged your body to his as his nails dig on your skin, screaming a bloody shout at the sky as the rain intensified.

When his throat was throbbing he had taken a pause to breath, your dead body still on his arms as a light of a car iluminated him from behind as he breathed in and out..

"Chisaki!" The voice of Pops echoed along with the rain that hitted the grounds... but Kai's attention wasn't on either of them... no.

The car's light iluminated the weapon that that hero used to kill his lover.

His gaze was murderous yet avoid of any life as he got up and carrying his girlfriend in bridal style... not caring for once on his life at how dirty he was with your blood and not even daring to explain to Pops whem the old man gasped at the sign of the dead body on his arms.

"Chisaki..." the elder muttered as Kai handed it to Kurono, which was driving the car, your dead body before making his way to crouch down on the ground, eyes not even blinking as he grabbed the gun and load it.

"... I will be back..." he muttered darkly before slowly walking on the path that hero had taken to run.

~~~~~~~

Years had passed since them and nobody ever discovered what had happened with that spefic hero... asides from him.

He tortured the son of a bitch. And when he was satisfied with the guy's suffering, he released him from the chains and gave him a chance to run for his life ... before shooting without any pity in the man's back. Overhauling the body without remorse or caring that if screwed up or not, since at that time he did not have that much of knowledge.

He felt his eyes grow heavier and heavier as the minutes grew by as one last memory helped him to ease his sadness... even for just a bit.

~~~~~~~~~

A choked and shocked gasp caught his attention when he was passing by the halls of his home... Taking a glimpse of the living room he saw you breathing in and out as some quiet sobs manifested.

He made his way and sitted besides you quietly with furrowed eyebrows but still monotonous eyes as you sniffled once or twice before noticing his presence.

"Nightmare?" He asked with an arched eyebrow as you nodded sadly. He sighed with a hand on his neck before he took the courage to mutter "Whatever it was, it's a irrational fear."

"Why is that?" You sniffled before you yelped at the flip on your forehead.

"Because if I'm with you, nothing neither no one is ever going to harm you idiot... understood?" You blushed at his words but soon nodded with a smile that left him feeling all warm again as he scoffed.

Just when he was about to lift up, he tensed when you grabbed his hand with puppy eyes looking up at him.

"Stay with me? Until I fall asleep again?" You asked shyly and sweetly... and he couldn't bring himself to even complain as he slowly took his seat on the couch again... allowing you to lay your head on his shoulder as he awkwardly wrapped one arm around you with a sigh.

Your breath soon slowed down, indicating him that you fell soundly asleep again... giving him the chance to smile and to take off his mask to place a sweet and warm kiss on your lips without your knowledge...

~~~~~~~

One lonely tear rolled down from his eye as he repeated the words to himself as the exaustion took over his soul and body.

"Stay with me until I fall asleep..."

[mwolf0epsilon]

How about a Sammy and Wally teaming up for once to get out of a sticky situation only to never speak of it again as no one would believe they worked well together :3c

Summary: Just like how water and oil didn't mix, there was no way Sammy could ever be openly nice to Wally... Or could there?

---

[[MORE]]

     Water and Oil. That was the sort of relationship Sammy Lawrence and Wally Franks had between them.

Under normal circumstances they did not mix, avoided getting involved with each other, and overall preferred to maintain a general distance.

Like both liquids, they were polar opposites of sorts.

Sammy was somewhat anti-social with a rather finicky temper that could be set off easily, while Wally was highly sociable, very easy-going and carefree.

Where the music director was a workaholic by nature (to the point it became quite detrimental to his own health), the janitor was more on the lazy side (only ever becoming invested in certain very particular interests of his).

So really, the hostilities and recurring arguments weren't unexpected whenever they crossed paths.

No one expected anything less from them.

     Everyone knew that Wallace Franks was a friendly person. He was born and raised in Brooklyn and had quite a mind-boggling background that often contradicted itself or put in question what sort of upbringing his parents had subjected him and his sisters to.

Questions that were met with a smile, a shrug and an eagerness to follow a routine full of cut corners, cleaning up spills, ignoring Mr. Connor and trying to avoid stepping on both Sammy's and Mr. Drew's toes.

He didn't particularly dislike anyone (although Thomas's pretentious tone made his blood boil quite a bit), and felt a little off put when others found reason to pick fights with him (fights he could in theory win if he felt like getting into a scrap with any of these fancy white boys who never once so much as got a punch to the gut or a kick to the balls).

Avoidance was the best survival tactic, one he stuck to unless personally blighted by anyone that thought he wouldn't retaliate.

He was a friend you could count on, but also a natural trickster, so if he wanted to be a problem he certainly could be.

The two things keeping him in line were sheer laziness and a good disposition. Why make enemies when you could make new pals? And thinking too hard on things wasn't really worthwhile in his humble opinion… Just look at Sammy Lawrence!

     Sammy… Wally didn't hate him (like most people thought he should, considering the blond was such an antagonistic asshole towards him). If anything he pitied the guy quite a bit.

The music director was an aggressive bundle of nerves. A ticking time-bomb that was just ready to be triggered, and it often seemed like no one cared enough to keep an eye on his well being.

Wally wasn't a medical professional of course, but even he knew when someone should step back and let themselves play stupid for a while to combat the amounting stress. Sammy was in his early forties (only 5 years older than Wally) and in desperate need of partying and some no-strings-attached sex. You know, the usual stupid adult stuff that got you in trouble if you weren't legal or if you weren't a straight white male.

Either way, all opinions aside, Wally didn't find reason to hate Sammy. He could understand why someone would carry themselves so tightly guarded when the economy was in shambles and you were trying to make something out of yourself. Although the same consideration did not apply to the other...

Because Sammy sure seemed to find reasons to absolutely despise him.

  "He's an incompetent brat with no respect for others! He's a petty thief, inept at maintaining the pipes, sloppy with cleaning and absolutely infuriating in how he brags about skills and smarts he clearly lacks!" The Brooklynite winced as he hid behind Norman, who was glowering down at the blond nuisance currently screaming at him.

A leaky pipe in Sammy's office that he'd been trying to fix had gotten displaced and destroyed a nearly completed composition, setting back the band quite a bit. Naturally the head of the department (who'd gotten sprayed in the face as well) had lost his temper.

  "Bite your tongue Lawrence, before I rip it out of your mouth myself." The much larger man between them growled in warning. "It was an accident, no need to go spittin' out such poison."

  "You can't keep protecting that little… that speckled half-breed!"

  "Now yous is really askin' for me to put my foot up your tight little ass!" Norman bodily shoved the belligerent ink coated man, the indignant anger in his voice pointing to the projectionist beginning to lose his patience. Not that Wally could say for sure, he was still very much hiding behind him. "Apologize to the boy before I deck yous in that big beak o' yours!"

  "I'd rather die." Sammy hissed between his teeth.

  "Why I oughta teach yous a good lesson on havin' some manners, you obnoxious little--"

  "N-Norman that's enough…"

Both fell silent as he spoke up, the janitor moving back from the pair and looking down at his feet in defeat.

He had messed up and Sammy had every right to be angry, since he had ruined his work and consequently screwed over the rest of the department.

It wasn't fair if he got off completely scot free, even if he didn't want to face Mr. Drew soul crushing reprimands.

  "I made a mess of things… I didn't pay attention and messed up the stinkin' pipe…" Sammy actually looked confused that he was just taking it for once, rather than getting out of dodge. "Now Mr. Drew's gonna be real mad and it shouldn't be the music department to pay for it…"

  "Don't mean Mr. Lawrence gets to go havin' a dyin' duck fit! Hollerin' up a storm like that, you'd think yous went and deflowered his sister."

  "Polk!" Sammy really did not like the sound of that. If he went any redder with rage Wally feared he might literally explode like a bomb. "How dare you?!"

  "Don't feel too good when others go sayin' shit do it? Even if Wally here is takin' the fall, yous still gonna apologize to the kid." Norman stated.

  "I will do no such thing."

  "Good Lord in heaven, yous really are like water an' oil! You better start cleanin' up your act before I start usin' yous to grease up the projector belts!"

  "Why am I the oil in this analogy?!"

  "Must be because you're an unpleasant asshole."

The three turned to stare at none other than Thomas Connor who had a displeased look on his face and a toolbox in hand. Wally looked away, already knowing what was coming.

  "Franks, get moving back into that office. You're fixing that pipe while I sort the ink pressure." Thomas passed him the toolbox without any second thought. "Mr. Lawrence, I'd suggest you go collect your things to keep them well away from the ink."

  "I don't take orders from you, Engineering." Sammy huffed "I was already planning to do so before you decided to show your face around here."

  "Then why haven't you?" The older man raised an eyebrow.

Well it turns out Sammy's face could get redder. That probably wasn't normal, but it did seem to amuse Norman quite a bit.

He snorted and shook his head.

  "I needs to go downstairs t'get a new reel for the projector. I better not hear no more hollerin' when I get back." He gave Sammy a pointed look before looking at Thomas "And yous better get sortin' that pressure issue. If any more pipes burst in this little ol'department we might get another flood, and we still don't got no pump switch installed yet now do we?"

  "At the end of the month that's getting sorted. For now, we do our jobs." Thomas huffed and moved to go check the utility shaft where most of the pressure gauges for the music department were located.

     Wally watched quietly as both older men went their separate ways, leaving him alone with Sammy.

  "Well,what are you standing there for? Go fix your fuck-up." The blond snapped at him as he went to pick up an empty box from the closet and began to stomp his way back to his messy office.

The Brooklynite gulped and took the toolbox he'd been given, hoping this wouldn't take long.

The thought of being alone in a room with Sammy when he was in a terrible mood wasn't particularly appealing.

Especially when he was pissed at him.

It was just one measly little pipe.

How hard a fix could it be?

Stepping inside, the janitor winced. The floor was absolutely coated in ink and the spill was beginning to spread.

Sammy was dragging his desk away, leaving marks on the wood that were then hidden away by the growing puddle. The bin he'd used to put under the flow was full to the brim and spilling out in rivets.

  "Franks! Close the damn door and put that curtain under so it doesn't end up going into the actual band room!" The music director called out, startling him slightly.

  "Oh, uh right. Contain the issue an'... Junk." He grabbed the curtain, something Sammy had put up himself to cover his office window because he couldn't be bothered to mess with the rickety shutters, and stuffed it under the crack of the door once he closed it.

There was a loud click but he elected to ignore it since he had his keys. He could just unlock it later.

  "You need any help dragging that?" He asked as he began to look through the toolbox for a wrench.

  "Just do your job."

  "Right…"

     They fell into silence, where Wally tried to figure out where exactly along the pipe did he actually have to sort, and where Sammy muttered to himself as he tried to salvage his papers.

The leak wasn't too bad all things considered. There was little to no pressure, which meant there might be a block somewhere else but that was why Thomas was checking in the utility shaft.

He just needed to fix this, tighten that, twist this doodad and turn that knick-knack… He winced when he heard papers crumple and get tossed into a wastebasket.

  "Damn it, not one fucking sheet… I swear I had some notes somewhere… where did I put those…" The composer was going about trying to find his stuff, looking through a filing cabinet that looked just as disorganized as Wally's dresser. "Was it in E? Or… L? Do I even use the separators?"

It was amazing really, how easily Sammy seemed to lose track of things.

He often yelled at the janitor for misplacing his keys, yet here he was murmuring and rushing about all scatterbrained.

It was a little ironic.

  "What are you staring at, Franks?!"

  "Hm?" He hadn't even noticed he'd been looking. "Oh uh, was just gonna say this is almost done."

  "Good. I want you out as fast as possible, so get that done and clean this muck so I don't have to see you for the rest of the day."

  "Yeah yeah, this whole pipe stuff ain't too bad when the ink aint--" a loud groan interrupted him abruptly, and even Sammy seemed to pause to look up.

Both stood there, slightly alarmed by the sound.

  "What was that?" Sammy asked.

  "I…" Wally frowned and listened closely. It sounded almost like, like… "Oh crap."

Another much louder groan and then suddenly the Brooklynite was on the floor, ears ringing and mind blank from taking a sudden hit.

The pipe had completely burst now, due to a sudden change in pressure, leaving the two with a rapid cascade of ink.

  "What did you do now?!" He heard once his hearing returned, but he didn't respond. Instead he sat up and stared at the pool of ink all around him. Where he sat it was steadily rising to his knees, and it was already covering Sammy's feet completely.

The office was filling up like a tub, and quickly.

  "Oh boy…" he got up onto shaky feet and made for the door, wincing when he realized it had indeed locked.

He went for his keys but froze when he found them gone. "Shit, shit shit shit shit!!!"

  "What now?!"

  "I think we're in a bit of a pickle!"

  "Why am I not surprised?" Sammy rolled his eyes, moving over to try the door. "Where are your keys?"

  ".... Uh…"

  "Are you serious?" The blond groaned and began to try pulling the stuffed curtains from under the door to get rid of the flooding problem. The color draining from his face when he realized they wouldn't budge. "No…"

Wally bit his lip as he watched Sammy tug harder and then try the door handle with a little more urgency.

  "No, no no no! I'm not drowning in my own office!" The music director let go of the handle and instead began to bash his shoulder against the door to no avail.

It wouldn't budge. "FUCK!"

     Thinking quickly (and trying not to stare at the ink slowly raising up to halfway up his legs and nearing knee height), Wally began looking for his keys.

  "I just had them!" He'd checked before entering the office. They must have fallen out when the pipe exploded and threw him down, so they had to be somewhere in the pooling mess. "Come on…"

He was practically on his knees searching while Sammy continued to assault the door.

There was no one to hear the noise, and if they didn't find a way out soon… Well… Wally's aunty Tess once told him drowning was a painful and far too long a death.

  "This isn't the time to roll around like a pig in mud!" The blond shrieked at him, to which he couldn't help look back with a glare.

  "I'm lookin' for my keys! They're somewhere in here!"

  "Then move aside!" Sammy joined him and began to frantically palm the floor, trying to find the illusive circular keyring "If we survive I'm getting you a better ring!"

  "If we survive you won't have to! Cuzz I'll be outta here!" Drowning was definitely not on the job description. This was good enough a reason to quit right?

  "I'll believe it when I see it happen!"

No matter how much they desperately searched however, no keys could be found in a pool that now reached well above their waist.

Realizing just how dire their situation was becoming, both men looked at each other with dawning horror.

It was a matter of minutes… their lives were going to end in minutes.

Wally felt at a loss for what to do, while Sammy… Well the blond was already under enough pressure as it was, so naturally he broke.

  "No… I can't die like this!" Fat tears began to run down his face as despair started setting in.

  "Hey now, I know this ain't ideal but--"

  "Ideal? Ideal?!" Sammy grabbed at his own hair and began to tug while he hiccuped hysterically. "I'll tell you what's not ideal! Drowning in this chemical mishap, with some brat from Brooklyn while my 16 year old sister is none the wiser at home, probably thinking 'Geeh I wonder where Sammy is, he usually calls if he's staying at work', only to then find out on the local paper the next morning that she's absolutely alone with no one to care for her! That! That isn't ideal!"

  ".... Oh you actually have a sister? I thought Norman was just provokin' you…"

  "I WILL STRANGLE YOU WELL BEFORE YOU DROWN YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

  "OI DON'T YOU GO CALLING MY MA A BITCH, SHE'S AN ABSOLUTELY SWELL LADY!" He yelled back, ignoring how both of them were now up to their chests (well he was starting to float since Sammy was taller than him) in ink. "HOW WOULD YA LIKE IT IF I CALLED YOUR MA A BITCH?!"

The blond head of the department screeching and lunging for him was all the warning Wally got before the two ended up tumbling in, heads fully submerged and bodies flailing as they attempted to restore their mothers' honors (if anything they probably looked like little kids fighting in a puddle while their parents looked away in embarrassment).

They only came back up to gasp for air and push themselves away from one another.

  "Ok that was not my best idea!" Sammy coughed and looked around. "I can barely see the doorframe or the edge of the window… We're going to die in here and it's all Drew's and that infernal machine's fault!"

  "... I." Wally paused "Wait, I ain't included in that?"

  "No?"

  "But the pipe, and what you were tellin' Norman and the fighting just now…"

  "I was pissed because you aggravated an issue I already had! You also stole my sister's birthday cake that I spent money on, are a braggart of the worst kind, and a troublemaker, but fuck I'm not gonna blame you for this shitty situation!" Sammy threw his hands up in disbelief, yelping once he lost balance. He righted himself and looked back at Wally. "And the fighting was because you called my dead mother a bitch."

  "Oh… My condolences… also that cake was yours? Man good taste! Nice stuff really… I uhm… I donno what to say… I just thought you hated me."

  "... Well if we're going to die I might as well be honest." Sammy sighed "I don't hate you Wally. I just find you aggravating. You're an impossible optimistic guy in a world that eats brats like you for breakfast, lunch and dinner. If someone isn't hard on you, how are you meant to learn how to survive out there?"

  "... That how you were taught?"

  "..."

  "Then no worries Sammy. I'm from Brooklyn! We're made of durable stuffs! Like our uh… like… roaches!"

  "Durable like roaches… how reassuring…" Sammy held a hand up to reach for the ceiling. They were going to lose air in seconds. "It's the same as saying glass is strong unless it meets with a hammer…"

Wally stared at him before something clicked. The toolbox!

  "Glass, hammer, the window!"

"Hm?"

  "Sammy you're a genius!" The janitor took a deep breath and dove down to the floor. He blindly groped around for the toolbox and then for the hammer inside it.

He resurfaced to take another big gulp of air before showing his companion the hammer and diving back down.

All it took was a knock on the side of the glass for the whole thing to come down. Thank God for Joey Drew's not so safe work ethic and construction jobs!

-

     Thomas Connor was having a rotten day. He'd gone down to figure out what the pressure issues were all about in the utility shaft connected to the music department and the sewers, and had then rushed to get Joey to bring him down and show him the root of the problem.

He'd become irate when he realized the man had turned on the machine during maintenance, and it took a newly returned Norman and a mildly concerned Jack to talk him out of kicking his employer's ass.

  "With how irregular the pressure has been, turning on the machine was grossly negligent on your part! The more fragile pipes could have burst and then we'd be faced with catastrophic failure all around the studio!" He practically roared at the impassive grinning bastard. "Have you any idea how unstable the floors currently under construction are?! The building could collapse!"

  "But it didn't."

  "But it COULD have!"

  "And yet it didn't." Joey's grin widened. "So I don't see what the big deal is, Mr. Connor."

  "Sir I really think you should consider what he's trying to say. For uh, for everyone's safety…" Jack tried, only to be shrugged off with a wave.

  "Mr. Fain I see no reason to worry. No catastrophic failure has occurred, and no one has gotten hurt." Joey insisted. "It's as they say. No harm no foul."

  "No harm no foul?! What kind of business owner doesn't consider their workers's safety?!"

  "Mr. Connor…" Joey rolled his eyes but stopped once he heard what sounded like a loud bang, before the band room was suddenly inundated by a massive wave of ink and random junk. Among said junk, lay a coughing and very disoriented Wally Franks (still holding a hammer) and Sammy Lawrence.

The foursome that had been arguing were now coated in almost as much ink as the pair, and looking stunned.

Once the coughing subsided, Wally raised the hammer in triumph.

  "We're alive!" He dropped the hammer and flopped his arm back down weakly.

  "Huzzah…" Sammy rubbed at his face tiredly before looking over at their audience. Once his eyes locked with Joey's, he seemed to regain all strength. "DREW."

  "Shit." Joey turned around swiftly and began limping away at a considerable speed with aid from his cane, while Sammy scrambled onto his feet and began running after him.

  "WE NEARLY DROWNED! YOU AREN'T GETTING AWAY SO EASILY! COME BACK HERE!"

  "Someone cancel my appointments!"

  "DREWWWW!!!!"

    Norman clicked his tongue and shook his head while Jack helped Wally onto his feet and asked if he was ok.

  "Oh, I'm good!" The Brooklynite smiled "Nearly drowned with Sammy, but peachy!"

  "You nearly drowned?!" Thomas stared in disbelief.

  "Yeah… but it's good. I broke a window but other than that everything should uh, be repairable I think? Might need a lot o' bleach to clean up… but you know." Wally shrugged.

  "Should I ask what abouts happened in that office when yous was both alone in there?" Norman questioned "Besides nearly drownin' in Joey's hubris?"

  "Uh… oh, you're asking if Sammy gave me any trouble aren't ya?" Wally shook his head "Not really. He was even nice to me for a little bit!"

  "Nice?" Norman and Thomas both exchanged looks "To you?"

  "Oh Geeh, I should get him checked, he might have swallowed ink and become delusional…" Jack whispered to himself in concern.

  "Ye, nice! Sammy Lawrence was nice to me in a situation where we thought we were gonna die, so it had to have been genuine!" The janitor grinned. "But I'll bet by Monday he'll be back to being a grouch. Probably for the best… saying Sammy is nice is like saying water and oil mix."

Thomas stared at him before snorting.

  "They do mix."

  "What…?"

  "Water and oil mix. It just takes the right conditions." He shrugged "Thought you went to college."

  "Oh come on you're yanking my leg!" There was no way those two mixed, just as there was no way Sammy could be openly nice to Wally.

Could there?

The world might never know.

[caiminnent]

not designed for the cynical [kylux with side phasma/rey, rated T]

PROMPTS: communication suddenly cut off (@badthingshappenbingo​, 8/25) & bed sharing - pet - delivery (@kyluxxoxo​)

SUMMARY:

Whenever Snoke calls upon only Ren’s service, Hux sends word to all his relevant contacts that he’s available. The job offer he accepts turns out to be far more than he's bargained for.

(This is a low-key Inception AU that requires little to no knowledge of the movie.)

FANDOM: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy

TAGS: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Sharing a Bed, Mutual Pining, Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, except not really, Armitage Hux Has Feelings, Kylo Ren and Rey Are Related

NOTES: This was written mostly during commute and/or sleep-deprived within an inch of my life and edited under the same circumstances. As such, I don't have the faintest clue what this is, but I love it.

5K || ALSO ON AO3

Hux isn’t prone to worry.

He is prone to stress, and he’s got the blood pressure to prove it—but that’s a necessity of the life they lead. It’s got its uses. Worry, however, is for when you don’t have an alphabetised, colour-coded list of plans for every situation that may arise. Worry is for the under-prepared.

Worry is a waste of time.

Knowing this doesn’t stop the fist around his heart from squeezing tight every time he hits redial and finds Ren’s phone still switched off, however.

Then again, there’s no real reason to worry about it. It’s a perfectly Ren move to go off the radar for weeks on end and turn up three countries away from where he was supposed to be, shrugging off all reprimand like he can’t understand why they’re so angry about it. It’s just what he does—he disappears, then he shows up at your doorstep when you least expect it.

He will this time, too. He promised—he will be back by Hux’s birthday.

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

Contrary to the popular (re: Ren’s) belief, life doesn’t stop just because Ren is off doing what Ren does somewhere else.

Even with all the safe houses and personas they maintain all across the world, the unreasonable amounts of money Snoke throws at them to be at his beck and call is more than enough to keep them afloat. Ren would be fine with not taking another independent job ever again; but Hux knows better than to rely on Snoke alone. He’s been burned enough times by fickle employers; he’s not ready to bet on the wrong horse and have to build his reputation up from scratch yet again.

That’s part of why, whenever Snoke calls upon only Ren’s service, Hux sends word to all his relevant contacts that he’s available. It keeps him in the game, on the occasion he gets an offer worth considering—and if he doesn’t, he calls it getting a feel for the market and moves on.

Monday morning finds him curled on the sofa, going through the responses on his phone. Most offers he received are below his notice like he expected, some downright insulting—and then there’s the e-mail from Enric Pryde himself.

He sits up so fast he almost knocks over his empty cup.

Among the dreamshare community, the First Order is as revered as it is despised. They reach out to very few and pay three times what they should; but the cost of failure is equally severe, growing proportionately to the project’s worth. Which seems to be a lot, in this case. While he can’t tell from the sparse details in the e-mail whether this Project Starkiller is meant to be a moving city or some sort of weapon—perhaps both, knowing the First Order—he already estimates at least two layers, more likely three, and a special blend of stabiliser for the dreamer and the architect both, who cannot be the same person for this design.

Because they want him on board as the main architect and his dreams never hold steady after the first layer, special blend or no.

Whatever he was looking for as a quick job, this is not it. It’s far more involved and challenging than he could have imagined—and, he’s finding, everything he needed. He could do this for himself. He could work a job he enjoys, instead of running point to Ren or Phasma’s picks all the time to keep them from working with incompetent point men.

Ren and Phasma, who might be working with incompetent point men halfway across the world this very moment.

No. No, he’s not thinking that. His birthday is only three days away. Everything is fine.

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

He e-mails back to say he’s honoured and asks for one week to get his team together. Pryde gives him five days and a thinly-veiled warning that there are others who would jump at this opportunity.

Stomach at his feet, Hux throws his phone on the coffee table and gets up to make more tea.

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

As expected, research gives him little of substance about the First Order’s operations and nothing at all about the Starkiller, although he finds a low-quality close-up of Pryde to glare at as he sketches out some ideas. They will get binned once he gets his hands on the self-destructing dossiers or whatever ridiculous security protocols the First Order may work with; but it keeps him busy. Better than watching the hours tick by.

When the clock turns from 11:59 to midnight on what is now Thursday, he considers texting Rey to ask if she’s heard from Phasma recently—changes his mind before he even picks up the phone. Ren wouldn’t like it. Hux has been accused of being a control freak more times than he can count as it is; he doesn’t want to add clingy to the list of his unattractive qualities.

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

At two in the morning, the doorbell rings.

He is going to murder Ren.

The door had never felt so close or so far as he rushes to it, heart hammering in his chest. He’s going to let Ren in, he’s going to check him for injuries and he’s going to disembowel that infuriating, thoughtless, selfish piece of shite if he’s had Hux fret all this time for no reason—

“Hi,” Rey chirps, looking up at him with damp eyes and a brittle smile. She raises a bottle of whiskey—Phasma’s favourite. “Happy birthday?”

He opens the door wider.

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

Admittedly—not out loud; he would never hear the end of it, from her or her cousin—Rey scores high on the short list of people whose company he enjoys. The booze helps, too. They drink in front of the television Hux hasn’t switched off in days and talk about everything but the aching holes in their chests.

She falls asleep on the sofa. He puts a blanket over her and goes to bed.

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

In the morning—practically afternoon, if he’s being honest—he tells her about the Starkiller. The plan was to pitch it to Ren first, to see what he thinks before bringing in the others. As it is, Ren isn’t here and none of Hux’s messages has gone through since their interrupted conversation and Hux is going to bloody explode if he doesn’t tell someone.

“I’m not sure, Armie,” she says around a spoonful of breakfast cereal he certainly didn’t buy. “He will never agree to work for the First Order.”

“Why the hell not? He works for Snoke.” Rather happily, in fact. Ren never prepares more carefully for a job than one of Snoke’s plentiful errands, no matter how simple. “Why wouldn’t he work for Snoke’s own company?”

She considers him for a long moment, chewing slowly. “He hasn’t told you the story.”

The implication—accusation—stings deep. “What story?” he demands, pushing his tea away to lean closer. The words held the intonation of capital letters, which means missing information that could potentially blindside them down the line. His respect for Ren’s private business isn’t greater than his responsibilities.

“Not mine to tell,” she says sternly, pinching her lips in disappointment like he should be ashamed to have asked to begin with. “Ask him.”

He snorts. Ren is hardly the sharing type, especially where Hux is concerned. Everything he’s ever learned about Ren has come through other means—and vice versa, he imagines.

She frowns, a question rising behind her eyes. He tenses on instinct. “Anyway,” she continues, shaking her head—and he can breathe more easily again. “My point is, if we’re doing this, we’ll need another forger.”

We. He doesn’t suppress his smile, relief coating his insides. “I suspect we won’t need a forger for this one. A chemist, on the other hand…”

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

She doesn’t leave and he doesn’t ask her to. They polish off the whiskey and pretend not to check their phones every ten minutes while binge-watching Star Wars, including the newest releases even their resident space nerd couldn’t finish.

He visualises Ren’s horrified expression when Hux reveals how he and Rey bonded over their shared love for big guns and hot villains in Ren’s absence. Laughter gets stuck in his throat, forming a painful lump instead.

He bids her good night and slinks away into his bedroom to stare at the ceiling.

Barely ten minutes pass before the television switches off in the next room, soft footsteps echoing lightly in the corridor. He turns his back to the door and feigns sleep as it opens and closes—which is a coward’s way, but he’s never claimed to be a particularly brave man. If he were, he would have asked Ren to stop working for Snoke instead of stewing in his misery right now.

Compared to her cousin, Rey’s weight barely shifts the mattress as she climbs in, sliding under the covers without fanfare. He shuts his eyes tighter and allows himself to imagine, just for a moment, that Ren is back.

“I haven’t heard from Phasma in over a month.”

Over a month? Hells, no wonder she sought him out. “Ren and I talked two weeks ago,” he says—realises with a sinking feeling that it sounded like he was rubbing it in. “Closer to three, actually.”

“What did he say?”

“Not much that I could understand. The reception was horrible.” Bits and pieces through constant breaking: Hux, shit, in case, person and, inexplicably, home. “I didn’t get the impression they were in danger—just inconvenienced.” As is often the case with these missions. Snoke’s got a small army of trained private security under his command and he still sends Ren to the most out-of-the-way places.

That Snoke’s hired Phasma as well for this one is a little more concerning, but not overly so. Reckless as they both can be, Ren and Phasma are forces to be reckoned with on the field—Hux would be more inclined to feel sorry for their adversaries.

Rey sighs. “Hope you’re right, Armie.”

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

If Mitaka is surprised to see Rey strut about in Hux’s shortest joggers she still needed to fold at the ankles and an old shirt, he politely doesn’t mention it. He and Rey exchange banal pleasantries over coffee and day-old cake while Hux finishes typing up his notes, then they get to work.

Mitaka listens to the briefing with unwavering attention, his fingers stapled in front of him like a front-row student. Like everyone else in their extended team, Mitaka is an experienced, accomplished dreamer—and yet, Hux can’t help looking at him and seeing the fresh-faced cadet Phasma had dragged in ages ago, barely into his twenties and all the more naive for it.

They’ve gotten old—Hux most so.

Once Hux finishes, “If you both are building this time,” Mitaka starts, looking between the two. “Who will be taking point? The Captain?”

Next to him, Rey inhales sharply, her face mostly hidden behind the curtain of her hair. Shame crosses through Mitaka’s face at the realised misstep.

“She’s otherwise occupied,” Hux responds before Mitaka can break into apologies. No need to make this more painful or awkward than it needs to be. “I will be running point as usual, and Rey is here to help with the heavy-lifting.”

Mitaka nods, glancing at Rey with concern before turning to Hux fully. “Where do I sign?”

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

They sign a heavily-encrypted stack of documents digitally, sending them through the First Order’s own communication system. The next day, they receive a link to a private cloud service with a convoluted unlock sequence that can be accessed by one device at a time, read-only.

Hux alone works on three different devices.

On the bright side, the project they receive is well-worth the inconvenience. Their objective is to design and build a superweapon out of an extensively described ice planet in the dreamspace, which must be capable of hitting five targets simultaneously and obliterating all affected life forms on them without causing a single non-predetermined casualty. Controlled chaos, if you will. The First Order wants a catastrophe they can tame and leash.

Hux can make it happen.

Whether he can make it happen in eight weeks is a different question entirely.

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

Without Ren to drag him away from work, he’s free to divide his waking hours between his screens and the sitting room, which they repurposed into a workshop-slash-dream den. While Hux is a decent architect in a pinch, he could never build the way Rey does—the way she bends the dreamspace to her will and creates cities that feel alive around them. Between the two of them, they have the groundwork laid out within days, quickly moving on to revising the base design according to the specifications in the main file and the numbers Hux runs.

Instead of using pre-mixed batches, Mitaka mixes their Somnacin from scratch on the kitchen table, reworking the formula per the reactions. None he comes up with works to keep Hux’s dreams steady, although a couple seem to ground his control over the dreamspace. Most just turn the dreams into nightmares for everyone involved.

Many of the nightmares are about Ren. Every time they manage to wake up from one of those, he looks at Rey to apologise. She never meets his eyes.

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

Unlike the two of them, Mitaka has family to return to and so he does when it gets late, leaving them to eat take-away and talk around the elephant in the room. On the rare occasion they do talk. Even though Hux gets the most shit for his workaholic tendencies, they all are guilty of it in different degrees; most nights are spent hunched over desks or tablets until they come close to shooting each other over the smallest noise or mistake, then they retire for the night.

The bedroom is where the worst fears come out.

“They might need our help,” she murmurs, lowly enough that the words could get lost among the howling wind outside. “They might be injured or—or lost, waiting for rescue. And we would be here arguing about heat transfer.”

“They aren’t.”

“But how do you know?”

He sighs loudly, turning to face Rey. Her eyes are big and eerily bright in the darkness, shining. “Look, Ren and I have been through this before. We’ve got contingencies in place for any kind of emergency—strategies to scarper and regroup as needed, fake identities with paper trail, codes to slip into lines of communication that will find their way to the other’s ear—all of which tied to systems that would alert us both if ever used. So far?” He gestures vaguely to his phones on the nightstand. “Complete radio silence.”

“Well it might be because he’s—”

His stomach lurching, “Don’t,” he bites out. He’s had enough nights contemplating that possibility himself, reasoning himself out of that line of thinking with more effort each time; he can’t handle someone else saying it.

Especially not Rey, whose unfailing optimism has seen them through many a dark spot.

“They will be back soon,” he says with conviction he forces himself to feel. They always do. This is just taking longer than expected.

Rey’s silence rings in the room.

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

At the end of the third week, Enric Pryde reaches out to him. His voice is as cold and serpent-like as he looks.

They talk for two and a half minutes—more accurately, Pryde relays his demands for two minutes and rebuffs Hux’s protests for the next half, then hangs up unceremoniously on him.

Fuming, Hux tries to glare a hole into his phone for about as long before going to wake Rey up.

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

“What do you mean, they are relocating us?”

Latching his fingers tight to keep from scraping at his already raw palms, “I mean exactly what I said,” Hux grinds out. “They want to move us into some safe house where they will provide us with everything we’ll need for the rest of the project. We don’t have the option to refuse their generosity.”

“They want to monitor us,” Mitaka says on the other end of the line, ever fond of pointing out the obvious. “Can they do that?”

“Would you like to be the one to tell them they can’t?” Hux shakes his head. They are not small fish; but the First Order is big enough to swallow them whole and not suffer for it. He knows to pick his fights. “If you’d like to drop off the face of the earth, now is the time.”

Rey snorts—as much of an answer as Mitaka’s bitter laughter.

“Well,” Rey says, scraping her chair back. “I should pack some clean underwear. When are they coming to get us?”

“As we speak.”

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

Before they leave, they make sure to sketch out First Order insignias on every available place. Just in case.

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

The safe house is, for all intents and purposes, a veritable villa in the middle of nowhere.

“A little excessive,” Mitaka comments as they tour the place, noting the bolted down furniture and darkened windows, locked conspicuously on the outside. The cupboards and the fridge are well-stocked enough to keep them fed for several months.

There is no mobile coverage.

In fact, there is no wireless connection of any sort. The multitude of devices strewn about in the house are all connected to the First Order’s own network and communications system, which provides access to every archive they might need for the project and nothing else.

The dread coiled in Hux’s guts grows heavier.

So much for his alert systems.

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

Progress is much faster with so much information at their fingertips.

Hux is envious of the berths of the First Order databases. Effective as his own methods of gathering intelligence are, his network couldn’t hope to have the same reach as a well-funded PMC—which he could have been a part of, had he not gone freelance instead of corporate after leaving the military.

The idea is tempting, still. He’s ruined for the civilian workforce—has been since childhood, with a father like General Brendol Hux was—but he seeks the structure and order that comes with being part of an organisation. Under different circumstances, he may have considered applying to the First Order after this project.

As their prisoner in everything but name, he wants little more than to be as far away from them as possible.

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

Everything they’ll need doesn’t involve a private chef or buffet, but it involves private delivery people who pick up whatever they want, no matter what they want, in a timely fashion. Because they are spiteful opportunists, they order the most extravagant and unreasonable meals they can think of. The food always arrives hot.

Hux marks the potential restaurants for each food item and how long it took to arrive on a small map every time. Just in case.

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

Sleeping in the same bed while Mitaka is in the next room feels too awkward, so they don’t. They don’t sleep much in general, either—not with the question of how to power a machine of the Starkiller’s scale without it overheating hanging heavy over their heads. Dreamshare mechanics are a lot more forgiving than their real-world counterparts; if they can’t pull it off down there, they sure as hell won’t make it work topside.

They have to make it work topside, they now know. The First Order wouldn’t have poured so much money and resources into what is merely Pryde’s pet design project.

“They probably have people looking into it,” Rey says, spinning her pen around her fingers with smugness dripping from her expression. He’s not petty enough to dare her to replicate it in the real world, but the thought is there. “Some super high-tech R&D division working on preventing a weapon of mass-destruction from exploding instead of, like, climate change.”

Watching her fingers like the secrets of the universe lie between them, “I don’t think so,” Mitaka responds. “It’s too much of a commitment. I bet they just wait for someone else to figure it out, then steal the designs from them.”

Something flares at the back of Hux’s mind like static, a connection he doesn’t want to make forcing itself into his awareness.

He shakes his head hard to clear it. Even with the dilation, he doesn’t have the time to dwell on things he’s got no control over.

“If you two are quite done gossiping,” he cuts in, smoothing over the blueprints in front of him for effect. “We’ve got work to do.”

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

We’re going to take something someone else worked very hard for, was all Ren had said the night before his departure—the only time Hux dared ask about his new job, once it became apparent Ren wasn’t going to say a word about it on his own. It’s such a non-answer that Hux couldn’t tell if Ren wanted to leave him space for plausible deniability or simply didn’t want to tell him.

He still can’t. As a matter of fact, he can’t say for sure Snoke’s job and this project are connected, either; all he’s got is a hunch.

A hunch he desperately wants to see proven wrong.

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

Mitaka’s newest blend is the most successful yet. They go down as far as the third level with only minor tremors under their feet—a huge leap of progress, after weeks of the ground swallowing them up whole.

Knowing better than to push their luck, they call it an early night and celebrate by ordering a feast they’ll have to take their time with. With the dinner table and every other horizontal space that could reasonably hold food covered in their work, they sprawl about the sofa set that hasn’t seen nearly enough use over their involuntary stay.

Once their food arrives and Rey realises what he ordered, a soft look crosses over her face. He ignores it. There’s only one place that serves Ren’s favourite food; it makes for a good reference point on his map. It’s not sentimental if it’s also practical.

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

He knew, from a logical standpoint, that having access to communication systems meant people could communicate with them and vice versa. On account of the fact that Pryde and the delivery people are the only ones to use it, he didn’t particularly care.

When the name Blysma pops up on the main screen, he realises what a gross oversight that was.

Heart at his throat, he accepts the request with shaking hands, grateful that no one is awake to see him like this. “Hux speaking.”

“Hello, Hux.”

Oh.

Oh, the ever-loving—

“Don’t say my name,” Ren adds quickly, as if he sensed that Hux was about to curse his name six ways to Sunday. “Or any other names. They don’t actively monitor your communications, but we’re pretty sure some keywords are flagged. Best not to take any chances.”

“We,” he repeats dumbly. So many questions are buzzing in his head that he doesn’t know which should take priority. “You and—ah, our mutual terrifying friend?”

Phasma’s melodic laughter rings through the other end of the line. Hux’s heart soars.

“Yeah,” Ren says, a little breathy. “Yes, we’re both here. And fine. The job ran late. Where the fuck are you?”

About that… “I don’t actually know,” he admits, the truth of it settling dark and deep into his gut. Trying to map out their location left him with more questions than answers. “Near the ocean. Far north of the city, I think; but we shouldn’t have crossed any borders.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down,” Ren says.

Irritation rising in him, “We were hardly given a tour guide for the road,” he snaps. You should have been there to take notes, is on the tip of his tongue—he swallows the words. Ren is here now, in a way. They’ve found Hux and the others. The insignias must have pointed them in the right direction; but figuring out how to contact Hux through the First Order’s own systems? That’s all their doing.

Taking a long breath to calm himself down, “How did you contact us anyway?” he asks.

“By calling in more favours than your sorry life is worth,” Phasma says, amusement lingering in her tone. He has never been happier to hear her mocking drawl. “So you had better give us something concrete to work with before we decide to leave you to rot there.”

Racking his brain, he takes a deep breath to ground himself. He’s got to focus. However Ren and Phasma managed to get into the First Order’s systems, they are unlikely to remain unnoticed for long. He needs to make the most of it.

The answer is so simple, he wants to smack himself upside the head.

“At noon, we will place an order for three servings of Bivoli tempari from the Hosnian. Track whoever is delivering it. They should lead you to us.”

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

He doesn’t tell the others about it. For one, he’s not fully sure his stress-addled brain didn’t make up the whole interaction—for another, they have a check-in with Pryde scheduled at 3, during which they’re going to disappoint him again with their lack of progress regarding the overheating issue. They are on thin ice as it is; he can’t take a gamble on the quality of the others’ poker faces and risk attracting Pryde’s suspicion.

At exactly noon, he contacts the delivery people and relays the order. In his periphery, Mitaka and Rey share a look.

Once he takes his seat again, “I thought the Hosnian was eat-in only,” Rey says.

Hux shrugs. “They said everything you’ll need.”

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

He orders something different from the Hosnian at the same time for the next four days, just in case. Mitaka is too polite to protest, despite the cuisine clearly not agreeing with him.

Rey eyes him suspiciously every time but says nothing, waiting for him to come to her instead of forcing an explanation out of him. He appreciates it more than he can put into words. He can only hope she understands.

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

Dying in an explosion ten times in a row tends to throw a wrench in group morale.

Unwilling to kill themselves just to wake up in the safe house, they wordlessly agree to wait out the timer. The burnout has settled deep onto their bones; Pryde’s implicit threats after every check-in don’t help their mental state, either. If Ren and Phasma hadn’t made contact, Hux might have considered taking his chances with a desperate escape attempt instead of sticking around to see what punishment the First Order would dole out for their inevitable failure. It might prove the better end, at any rate.

“I am going back to my children after this,” Mitaka says with more conviction than Hux has been able to muster up about anything in months. “I don’t care what happens. I don’t care if they kill me for it—I won’t die without seeing my family again.”

“We are not dying,” Hux reassures him. With three real-world seconds to the scheduled kick, he explains everything—Ren and Phasma making contact, the bare-bones of the plan and Blysma’s carefully vague progress update texts, the precautions they’re taking to keep Mitaka’s family safe should something go wrong.

Mitaka cries silent, happy tears at the news. Rey gives Mitaka a warm smile and pulls him close.

“That’s it,” she tells Hux, rubbing at Mitaka’s arm in sympathy. “I’m not letting her take a job without me ever again.”

Raising a brow, “You would be announcing to everyone in the community that she’s the best leverage against you,” he points out, not unkindly. He understands the sentiment—truly, he does—but it’s woefully impractical. Not to mention the kind of commitment it would take.

Her eyes gleam, smile turning secretive in that way he’s learned not to trust. Reaching into her pocket with her free hand, “I was already going to do that,” she says airily, taking out a small, velvet box.

Ah. Fair enough, then.

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

Hux is above lying to his employers.

Rather, he likes to think he is. Dreamshare, sophisticated as it may be at its heart, is an underground science—as such, it attracts a certain crowd. In a community where lying through one’s teeth is a survival skill, Hux knows to look someone in the eye and spin a tale truer than the truth as well as the next crook; he just prefers to tell the truth as long as it will leave his head connected to his body.

As it happens, this is the last scheduled check-in before the deadline. Giving Pryde bad news now would be signing their death warrant.

When Hux reports their success, Pryde smiles. The sight haunts Hux’s nightmares for days.

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

Blysma’s communication request comes the night before the grand plan, unscheduled.

His mind racing with possibilities, he grabs the tablet sitting on his nightstand before the notification wakes the others, accepting the request with, “Hux speaking.” As far as he’s concerned, there’s nothing left to talk about. Phasma has already laid out all she could of the plan without tipping off the First Order; a recap now would do more harm than good.

If this is about a last-minute change—well. Adaptability is another survival skill in their line of work.

“I missed your birthday.”

Hux blinks at the screen in his hands. “I—yes.” By a couple of months, at this stage. Where did that come from? Surely Ren didn’t realise it only now? “If you contacted me to wish me a happy belated birthday…”

“Of course not. I—uh, I called to hear your voice.” Hux’s lungs tighten, all too aware of his heartbeat. “Since we never finished our conversation.”

Their conversation. The handful of words Hux has been turning over in his head for months, to no apparent meaning or answer.

He’s bloody desperate to ask and finally, finally find out; but they’ve waited this long. They can be patient a little longer. “This is neither the time nor the place,” Hux says, as gently as he’s able, biting down on the instinctive Ren at the end. Now would be the absolute worst time for a slip-up. “Whatever it was, you can tell me tomorrow. In person.”

“That’s just it,” Ren mutters. “The last time I tried to tell you, we kept getting cut-off until signal completely went away and I thought, it’s fine. I’ll be back in a few days, I’ll just tell him then. In person.” He laughs, a breathy, bitter sound. “But then…”

But then Ren couldn’t get back until a few weeks after—and when he did, Hux wasn’t there anymore.

He clears his throat to get out the lump lodged there. “Then you’ll just have to be there this time,” he says firmly—his point man voice. “Because I will be, and I won’t accept any excuses.”

After a long beat, “Yes, sir,” Ren says, a smile in his voice. “See you on the other side.”

“Sleep well.”