#and before you accuse me of being an overly offended man

[admrlthundrbolt]

Stayin' Alive (Ladybug x Chubby Reader

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This wasn't supposed to happen. Agents weren't meant to fall for their competition. Yet there you were, so sweet and soft. Guess that was his luck though. What was a ladybug to do when you get assigned to work together.

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Hi guys, I'm back at it again. It's been a while since my last Bulket Train story. But Ladybug wouldn't get out of my head. So here is a story about him being enamored with the reader. I really think his would be the type to fall head over heels for someone. Hope you enjoy.

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He stared down at the paper in disbelief. Heart racing, he looked at Maria with wide eyes. “You can't do this to me.”

She gave him a blank expression. “Do what to you? It's a simple job.” She glanced back at the debrief to see if there was something she missed.

Shaking his head, he rubbed a hand across his face. “No, you can't assign me with her.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why not, you have a past I don't know about? Or are you a sexist and hid it all these years.”

He threw his hands up at the accusation. Only to stop when he noticed the smirk on her face. “Ha ha.” His voice hollow as he calmed down. “No, I just don't want to cause a problem for her.” As the words left his mouth he could feel heat flood his face. It was one thing for his bad luck to effect him. But if there was a chance it could get you hurt, or God forbid killed. He would never forgive himself.

Ah, she had been expecting this. It was no secret the feelings he had for you. Being both of your handler, she had seen many interactions between the two of you. His fumbling seemed to skyrocket anytime he saw you. So why not kill two birds with one stone. Have her most trusted agents on the same mission. While also giving him an opportunity to spend some close quality time with you. Call her a genius or a hopeless romantic. It didn't matter as long as the outcome was the job being finished.

Frustration coursed through him, he shook his head again. “What if my luck gets her killed?” He looked at her emploringly.

Her face softened at his obvious stress. “She an accomplished hitman. I'm sure a little bit of bad luck can't take her out.” Giving him a pat on the back she smiled. “Besides, she accepted already. She seemed excited about it too.”

His eyes widen at the thought of you looking forward to working with him. OK, maybe it wasn't so bad.

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Bouncing in place you glanced around. You were glad that you had told Ladybug to meet you at a time earlier than necessary. It wouldn't do to be late for the art gala. The target was an overly paranoid man that rarely left his thoroughly secure house. That is except for when his favorite artist had a showing. Maria had assured you that it was a bit tricky to get the pair of tickets. Though nothing she couldn't handle. You giggled a bit at the smug expression she had at the time.

A hand landing on your shoulder jolted you out of the memory. Twisting the appendage behind the offenders back, you gasped. Quickly releasing his hand, you fussed over the fellow hitman. “Oh sweetie, I didn't hurt you to badly did I?” You felt horrid for any pain you may have caused him. But you did take the moment he spent making sure a finger wasn't more crooked than usual to check him out. He cleaned up well, not to say you didn't enjoy his routine style. The laid back yet practical outfits he tended to wear suited him. The suit he was draped in now, it was a sight for sore eyes. Taking his arm with your own, you guided him towards the venue.

Going along with you, he only had a moment of a calm heart before his pulse began racing again. You were the picture of perfection. Not a hair out of place and curves shining through your evening wear. As you smiled back at him, he tried his hardest to commit the image to memory.

Stopping as you reach the entrace to the building. You turned and noticed that he was a bit rumpled from the jog. Reaching up you smoothed out his shirt collar.

His mind was reeling. It was one thing to agree to pose as a couple. But he hadn't thought of possibility that it would involve acting like a couple. As you smiled up at him, he suddenly remembered why he was late. Pulling a crumpled flower from his pocket, he held ot towards you. “I couldn't decide between a bouquet or a corsage. But while i was in the flower shop a guy came in and started yelling at the owner. Something about them having sex with his wife. Anyways this is the only thing I could grab as I ran out.” He stared at the flower until he was done rambling. When he glanced at you he was relieved to see that your grin had only grew.

Taking the flower carefully, you admired it. The thing was barely staying on it's stem and was missing quite a few petals. Honestly it was so beat up that you weren't exactly sure what type of flower it was. All the same, you brought it to your nose and enjoyed the light fragrance. Placing it on an ear, you beamed at him. “Thank you, let's head in yeah.”

Nodding, he knew that it would be a herculean effort to keep his pulse under control for the night.

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The check in process was relatively easy. It also gave you another moment to straighten up his outfit. During which you may have appreciated the muscle he had under the crisp dress shirt. Though you didn't let yourself linger on the delicious distraction to long. It was time to get down to business. With a quick nod you both headed in different direction to locate the target.

It was a lavish setting. Trays of champagne and amuse bouche carried by attractive yet professional waitstaff. Many paintings, sculptures, and tapestries cover the event center. You strided to the section that held the works of the artist your target was obsessed with. Placing a hand against your hair you tapped the device in your ear. “I'm in position. No sign of Waterson yet.” Brushing a bit of hair behind your ear, you waited for a reply.

Wiping his hands on his shirt he tapped the ear piece. “Same here. Hey have you tried these cracker things. They are great.” His voice was muffled by the mouthful of hors d'oeuvres. He had wanted to settle his nerves. What better way than with treats. His pulse leapt at your laugh. Well that was easier said than done with you around. A thousand snacks couldn't clam down his hammering heart near you.

“I'll be sure to give them a try. Do you see the target?” Your tone was airy yet professional. It was a relief to work with someone that wasn't such a stick in the mud.

He relaxed a bit as you didn't reprimand him for slacking on the job. Searching the room, he didn't spot the target anywhere. But as his gaze wandered your way he cursed. “Carver is here.” Frowning he stared down the two-bit assassin. Though it deepened significantly as he headed in your direction. What was a creep like that doing heading over to you.

You smiled amicably as he made his way over to you. It was a good thing Ladybug had spotted him. It gave you time to prepare for the unneeded disturbance. As he swaggered closer you had to hold back a sneer. He had made it his mission to bed every female assassin he came across. Luckily for you he was nowhere near your type. No, that honor belonged to a certain luckless handsome clutz.

Without waiting a beat he already had you half pinned between himself and a sculpture. “Fancy meeting you here. It must be fate.” His cologne was overwhelming bad. Not to mention the lack of personal space he gave you.

Placing a hand on his chest, you forced him back a few inches. The satisfaction you received from the shock look he gave you at the action. Well it was well worth the effort. “You may believe that. While I know it must be that fact we've been assigned to the same target. Waterson didn't seem the type to make that many enemies."

He took a moment to gather himself. “Yeah, maybe he was. But I heard that he crossed the wrong people recently. So you know what that gets you.” Turning towards the crowd, he slipped an arm around your shoulder. Why not make the most of the evening while he was stuck search for the geezer.

It was killing him, watching that sleeze ball put his hands on you. Your body language switching as you look between the crowd and Carver gave him hope. Though your next words made his spirits soar.

“I would love to stay and chat. But I need to meet up with my partner.” Stepping away, you were shocked when a hand landed on your hip.

His smile was stretched tightly across his face. “Now come on sweetheart, don't be like that. Besides what sort of idiot would leave you all by yourself.” He dug his fingers a bit more into the plush flesh.

The fire that blazed through your veins was maddening. Placing your hand on top of his own, you smiled sweetly. Shifting two fingers around his pinky you jerked. Your giggle covered the sickening pop. Leaning towards him, you felt a jolt of exhilaration at the pain that had come over his features. “Since a simple no isn't enough for you. It seems you need a reminder that we are in the same line of work.” Another pop followed by a yelp from him was veiled once again by your laughter. A serious expression slid onto your face. “With that out of the way. I will be joining Ladybug for the rest of the evening as our target has just stepped through the door. You're welcome to try to claim the contract from us. But after your pitiful display of masculinity, I think it would be best if you didn't bother.”

As you strutted his way he could only admire your raw power. It was as if the more he experienced your being the greater his infatuation grew. He would be worried that thoughts of you would consume his very existence. If he wasn't already enamored with the notion of worshiping you. He had to stifle a gasp as you wrap an arm around his own.

“Now that our target has finally arrived. Why don't you focus a little of your luck his way.” Sliding a hand up his chest, you ran your fingertips along his stubble covered jaw. Guiding his face down, you place a slow deliberate kiss to his cheek. “Then you can take me on a proper date.”

His cheeks burned as he nodded resolutely. If he could harness his odd powers in your favor, he would. If only to get a moment longer with you pressed against him.

[mandareeboo]

Drabble Prompt Monday! Alador approves of Amity's new hair, and Odalia does not. Alador wants to turn his hair purple to match his abominations.

"ALADOR!" Odalia bellowed for the third time, and he finally decided to make an appearance, twisting some earwax out of his eardrum.

"Good morning, dear," he said, massaging his eyes. Alador slept very little these days, prepping his Abomitons for the most powerful man in the Isles. Never let it be said that the Blights didn't care about quality. "Would you be willing to have the abominations spike my coffee? I've got such a headach-"

"Alador," Odalia growled, pointing at the main couch, upon which sat the kids. "Look at what your spawn have done now."

Alador rubbed his face and made the effort to squint at the trio. Edric and Emira sat on each side of Amity, meeting his gaze with their typical cool distance. Amity had one hand each, and was squeezing hard, if the white in her fingers were anything to go by. Fairly normal, in his opinion. About half the breakfasts he came out to were like this. The others included either the twins or Amity chucking cereal at the other.

Problem being, of course, that Alador hadn't the foggiest what Odalia was upset about this time. Odalia didn't open report cards without him. The abominations had been shopping yesterday, and there hadn't been any catalogues of snack foods snuck in. Their faces didn't bare any signs of fighting.

Baffled, he said; "I'm looking."

Odalia sighed and pointed harder, as if that would make him understand. "Your daughter's hair, Alador. Look what they've done to her beautiful hair."

Alador did look- he just still didn't see the problem. It wasn't her usual style, but the short bob was neatly cut and kept tucked around her ears. She had arguably less brown peeking out now. And the purple was gentle and soft- unlike when Edric had gone blood red in a fit of rebellion, some years ago.

"Purple," he prompted. "It looks nice, darling."

Amity's features brightened considerably, and Alador thought, alright, fine, this is doable. He wasn't ever a man overly concerned with appearances anyway, unlike his wife. And if something so simple kept her happy, which kept her studying and growing stronger, than he saw nothing wrong with it. Better hair than hexxing guards in the marketplace.

"She already looks so much like you," Odalia extrapolated, and Alador felt that perhaps he should be offended by that. "Without her lovely green hair- why, she's barely recognizable as a Blight at all!"

"What would you have me do, Odalia?" he asked at length. "The potion has set. We can't undo it. Would you like me to shave it all off?"

Odalia blanched harder than Amity did. The finger was in his face now, centimeters from his nose. "You're being purposefully obtuse," she accused; and, yeah, maybe a little.

"I could go purple," he proposed.

"Nonsense," Odalia snapped. She might prefer the green on their children, but Alador knew that she had quite the soft spot for his brown.

Alador shrugged. "It could be good for marketing. Purple symbolizes Abominations and royalty. And I think I'd look quite dashing with it."

"I am surrounded by nonsense!" Odalia cried, throwing her arms up. She stormed away with a yell. "Fine, fine, let the name be tarnished beyond repair. What do I care? I'm only keeping this blasted family afloat!"

He watched her as she huffed and huffed and stomped out of the room, waiting until she was out of earshot to turn to the children of his own accord. "Who did this?" he asked, gently.

"Who knows?" Amity said, staring at her knees, lips firmly pressed together.

Edric whistled. "Knowing Mittens, she probably just fell on some scissors or something."

"Just the wind." Emira went for a lax shrug, but her eyes flickered around wildly.

Alador didn't have to be a genius to guess. But if they wanted to think they were master secret-keepers, he would let them. It'd make it easier to call them out on breaking rules down the road. "Alright," he hummed. "Well, if this mysterious wind happens to come back, tell them they did a good job on the edges, but next time they can borrow my trimmer. Oh, and maybe keep the potions locked up tight- I wouldn't put it past mom to try and sneak something into them."

"Thanks, dad," Edric said, eyebrows raised. "The wind has heard." Emira slapped his shoulder. The boy winced under the glare of two angry girls. "I mean it will! It will hear. We'll tell it."

"Good job, son," Alador said, meaning it, before shuffling off into the kitchen. "If you need me, I'll be getting Odalia enough wine to kill a horse."

[recurring-polynya]

For Stuff For Renji's Birthday Prompts: 1) time travel turn back the clock nonsense, bc I'm an enabler and Karakura teens plus shithead Renruki teens has *Byakuya voice* strong comedic potential OR 2) Hisana lives but due to wacky circumstances, nobody notices Rukia's existence at the Academy... until they've graduated and Renruki have joined Squad 11. Dealer's choice! (Honestly whichever you pick, I might try writing the one you don't. I am not a writer these 2 just live in my head rent free)

Why would you make me choose between these, whyyyyyyyyyy?

To be honest, I almost did them both, but this was the second one I did, and I figured that I should probably do some other people’s prompts, and then I ran out of time. I might do you some time travel shenanigans later. (This should in no way stop you from writing these, I would flip my chips if you wrote something, let alone something based on my horrible ideas)

In any case, I couldn’t resist the second options and I have spun it out into a delightful bit of Byakuya-torture. Please enjoy!!!

Special thanks to @kaicko for helping me come up with the clerical error, because you all know me, I can’t just say “a clerical error.” 😂

Read on ao3 or ff.net

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“How is the tea?” Aizen Sousuke asked smoothly.

The tea was excellent, but Byakuya wasn’t in the mood for Aizen’s needy attempts to ingratiate himself. “Adequate,” he replied dryly. “You said you had something to discuss with me.”

“Ah, diligent as always, Byakuya,” Aizen sighed, “always eager to get back to work. I’ll get to the point: I happened to speak with your wife recently at a fundraising event. She’s very interested in the people of the deep Rukon, and said she travels to South Rukongai frequently.”

Byakuya narrowed his eyes. “What is your point?”

“Well, I thought it was a bit of a strange occupation for a woman of your wife’s noble standing, but then Gin reminded me that she was actually from there herself, that there had been a bit of a to-do when you two married. I don’t tend to follow gossip myself--”

“I repeat, what is your point?” Byakuya gritted your teeth.

Aizen made a pissy little throat clearing noise and fiddled with a folder on his desk. “The fact is, Byakuya, your wife reminds me a great deal of a young woman who served in my squad a few years ago, whom I recalled also hailing from the Rukon. I wondered if there might be a.... connection.”

Byakuya’s shoulders stiffened. Impossible. He had put watches on all immigrants to the Seireitei. He would have reviewed anyone who came from the South 78th.

“Inuzuri Rukia,” Aizen read from his file, and Byakuya’s blood ran cold. “Shin’ou class of 2066. Unseated. Petite, like your wife. Dark hair. Very striking eyes. Unfortunately, an unremarkable shinigami. Potential for a good kidou user, but didn’t take direction well. More interested in sword combat, although she had little aptitude for it. Ah, here it is. Hometown: District 48, South Rukongai.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Byakuya said flatly. “Inuzuri is the 78th district of South Rukongai. Why would she carry a surname from a different district?”

Aizen made an exaggerated frown. “Very strange! A clerical error perhaps? Hold on a moment.” He stuck his head out of his office door and said something to the shinigami on reception duty. “Fortunately, there’s an easy way to clear this up. It’ll just be a minute.”

Byakuya gripped his teacup, unsure of how to feel. A clerical error. Class of 2066… she would have enrolled in 2060, in the middle of Hisana’s worst turn, when she had been bedridden for nearly four years. Their attention would have lapsed. It made sense.

“She does not sound like your usual recruit,” Byakuya accused. Aizen was constantly finding ways to skim the highest performers from the Academy, all the gifted children.

Aizen looked sheepish. “Ah, well, you see, there was a young man of some talent that I was eager to recruit who was… attached to her. I thought she might have some potential if properly guided, but it never panned out.”

Aizen’s good deed was suddenly beginning to make sense. The girl had transferred out and taken Aizen’s prize with her. He wanted Byakuya to go fetch her away in hopes that the talented one would come home. Byakuya actually felt much better now that he’d identified Aizen’s ulterior motive, and further, that it had more to do with his own petty recruiting schemes than Byakuya’s family (specifically, Byakuya’s wife).

There was a knock at the office door, and upon being bid entry, a young woman walked in. Although indeed petite and dark-haired, she looked nothing like Hisana, and Byakuya remarked as much.

“Oh, no, this is my Seventh Seat!” Aizen chuckled. “Miss Hinamori, you were friends with Inuzuri Rukia, isn’t that correct?”

The young woman’s eyes had gone wide when she recognized Byakuya. “Er, yes, sir,” she said, her eyes darting between the two captains. “We shared a room while she served here.”

“Do you happen to remember what district she was from?” Aizen asked in an overly friendly manner.

“Oh, sure, it was South 78,” Hinamori replied. “Inuzuri, of course.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know all the outermost ones,” Aizen said in his goofy voice again. “Her paperwork says 48.”

Hinamori’s brow furrowed for a moment and then her face brightened. “She and Abarai had very heavy accents when they first came to the Academy, and used a lot of deep Rukongai language quirks. I don’t remember all of it, but they both used to use ‘shichi’ instead of ‘nana’ for seven, especially when referring to their district. They weren’t very fond of their home district. I wonder if the registrar misheard.”

“Well, there you go!” Aizen said, slapping his hands on his desk. “A very logical explanation!”

Hinamori beamed.

Byakuya found Aizen’s need to be liked by his subordinates very unprofessional and off-putting, but he tried to push it aside. He was trying not to be too eager, but this was probably the best lead he’d had on Hisana’s sister in all the years they had been searching. “Where is she now?” he grumbled.

Aizen turned his doe eyes on his fawning subordinate once more. “I don’t suppose you still keep in touch? She couldn’t have lasted very long there, they must have transferred again?”

Hinamori made a face like she didn’t want to say the answer. “I’m afraid that Kira and I had a bit of a falling out with Abarai and Inuzuri when they left. I haven’t talked to them in a few years, although we still have some mutual friends. As far as I know, though, they’re both still at Squad Eleven. I heard they were doing fairly well there, actually.”

The room seemed to retreat around Byakuya. All he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears and the reverberations of the most horrible words he could possibly think of: Squad Eleven.

---

Byakuya knew it was poor etiquette to visit another captain’s squad when the man was out, but he absolutely could not stomach the idea of discussing the matter of his wife’s sister with the Kenpachi, so he waited until Zaraki and his miniature lieutenant were sent out to go trample half of East Rukongai before visiting.

He also knew that he probably should have said something to Hisana, but he couldn’t bring himself to get his wife’s hopes up, only to dash them, should this turn out to be nothing, like so many leads before it. So, the secret sat in his stomach, heavy and acidic, jostling with the guilt of his breach of etiquette.

“Is there someone here,” he gingerly asked one of the gentlemen on gate duty, “who takes care of administrative matters for the squad?”

The man swiveled his head, which appeared to grow directly from his torso with no need for an intervening neck, to his fellow guardsman. “What?”

The other fellow had been busy trying to remove wax from his ear with a pinky. “WHAT?” he shouted back.

“Paperwork!” Byakuya said a little louder. “Is there an office of some sort? A person who knows what’s going on?”

He supposed he could have asked for the girl, Inuzuri, directly, but he didn’t feel… ready.

“I think he wants Ayasegawa,” the neckless guard hazarded.

“WHAT?”

“I’ll be right back.”

Eventually, the burly gentleman returned. With him was a strangely elegant person with a silky curtain of hair cut severely to chin length and piercing violet eyes. “It really is you,” the lovely man said with a level of disdain that Byakuya almost had to admire. Before he had a chance to get offended, the man dipped into a respectful bow. “Welcome to the Eleventh, Captain Kuchiki. Fifth Seat Ayasegawa at your service. What in Soul Society can I possibly do for you?”

“Apologies for visiting while your captain is abroad,” Byakuya replied, not meaning a word of it.

“Oh, he’ll be very sorry to have missed you,” Ayasegawa frowned. “But I’m sure you could make it up to him later.”

Byakuya’s eye twitched. “Perhaps. I have come to enquire about a young woman whom I am told transferred to your squad three years ago.”

“Does she have a name? That might make it a little easier.”

“Inuzuri Rukia.”

Both of Ayasegawa’s eyebrows shot up, and his mouth curved into a feline grin. “Ninth Seat Inuzuri, of course!”

Byakuya blinked. “Ninth Seat? Captain Aizen told me she was middling at best.”

Ayasegawa's face suddenly went stiff. “She was not well-served at the Fifth, but she has bloomed here most beautifully. Inuzuri is my personal protege, you know.” He stared at Byakuya under hooded eyes. “What is your interest in her? Captain?”

Byakuya took a deep breath through his nose. “My wife is also from Inuzuri. She is trying to locate someone she knew there. It is possible this Rukia is that someone.”

Ayasegawa frowned. “Well, I can introduce you, if you like. I should warn you, though, Rukia doesn’t have a lot of lost love for her hometown.”

“My understanding is that there isn’t much to love about it.”

“Mmm,” Ayasegawa agreed. “Well, come along, let’s go find her.” He concentrated for a moment, clearly trying to find her reiatsu. She must be a woman of some power, after all. “Ugh! She and Abarai are at it again! Every day!”

Byakuya swallowed stiffly.

“Well come on! She’s out at the training fields, clobbering our Tenth Seat, yet again.”

Oh. That kind of “going at it.”

Ayasegawa was shaking his head. “The two of them are literally an unstoppable force and an immovable object.”

“Abarai was also at the Fifth?,” Byakuya probed cautiously. “I was told they were close.”

“Of course they’re close!” Ayasegawa scoffed. “They’re partners!” He thought for a moment. “Abarai is from the 78th as well, you know. If Rukia turns out to not be your girl, perhaps one or the other of them knew the person you’re looking for. Abarai is one of those people who just… knows everyone. He’s the personable half of the pair.”

“‘Partners’?” Byakuya echoed. “What… kind of partners?”

Ayasegawa stared back at him like he was insane. “Partners.”

This path of inquiry clearly wasn’t going to get him anywhere, but wasn’t particularly relevant, either. “I did not think kidou-type zanpakutou were permitted in the Eleventh,” Byakuya sniffed. “Aizen’s records indicated Inuzuri wields an ice-and-snow type.”

Ayasegawa gave a little shrug. “Zanpakutou classifications are arbitrary. Obviously, if she had a bunch of showy blizzard attacks like Matsumoto’s little prodigy friend, it would be a no-go. Rukia can take the blade of her sword down to sub-zero temperatures. She has a weapon-shattering attack and she doesn’t feel pain when she’s fighting. It’s fundamentally no different than a zanpakutou so massive that only the wielder can lift it, or a whip sword that’s controlled with one’s reiatsu.”

This sounded like a quibble to Byakuya, but it’s not like he had come to the Eleventh looking for sound logic.

“She’s incredibly fast, probably the fastest person in the Eleventh, although no one’s really sure what Yachiru’s top speed is,” Ayasegawa continued on. He glanced at Byakuya slyly. “I hear you are very fast.”

“You have heard correctly.”

“That’s why Abarai can’t beat her. If he could land one really hard hit on her, she’d go down, but he’s not fast enough and she’s just too agile. He’s my partner’s protege, you see, so I have to take their little scraps very personally.”

How did this man talk so much?

“What did you say your wife’s relationship was to her again?”

“I did not.”

“Ah, right. Oops, look out!” Ayasegawa abruptly dove to one side as a giant mass of shihakushou and pink hair and what might be a sword came crashing through the split rail fence surrounding the training field.

Byakuya was not in the habit of ducking, so he merely plunged the force of his reiatsu down into the earth like a piton. It was almost, but not entirely sufficient. Byakuya gritted his teeth as he was driven back, dirt piling up behind his heels as he skidded backwards.

When they finally came to a halt, Byakuya looked down at the meaty youth lying at his feet. This must be the infamous Abarai, although he certainly didn’t look like one of Aizen’s usual simpering overachievers. The first thing Byakuya observed was the eye makeup. Most shinigami applied at least a little eyeliner, on grounds of tradition, but few bothered to blacken the entire eye socket, as in the skeletal facepaint of old. The second thing Byakuya noticed were the tattoos painted across his forehead and neck. They were black and spikey and horrible. The third thing was the hair, which was bright pink and spikey, and utterly at odds with the makeup and tattoos. The fourth thing was the big, sheepish grin, which honestly just tied the whole hideous tableau together.

Byakuya glared down at the lout, and in a moment of pettiness, flared his reiatsu to a level that should have sent blood spurting out of his ears.

“I’m afraid that’s not going to do much to someone who has a weekly sparring slot with the Kenpachi,” Ayasegawa commented dryly.

“Sorry ‘bout that!” the lummox cheerfully apologized as he sat up and brushed himself off. He had an Inuzuri accent so thick you could spread it on toast, an accent that Hisana tended to slip into only when she was extremely bent out of shape. Abarai snapped the sword hilt in his hand, and the tangled pile of steel on the ground neatly retracted into something that looked a little more like a weapon, if a weapon were designed by a creative and overly violent child.

“That’s a captain, you buffoon!” another voice rang out, and every muscle in Byakuya’s body locked. “Show your respects!”

The voice clearly affected Abarai as well, because he leapt to his feet, spun, and slammed into a bow. “My apologies, Captain…” his eyes glanced up and abruptly widened, “Kuchiki.”

“Greetings, Captain Kuchiki! Welcome to the Eleventh Division! I apologize very profusely for throwing Tenth Seat Abarai at you!” A second young person had come to join Abarai in his bow, and they both rose in unison, Abarai looking suddenly pale and nervous, his companion looking calm and confident.

So this was Inuzuri Rukia. She had Hisana’s voice. She had Hisana’s stature, and standing next to Abarai made her look positively childlike. She wore the same dreadful eyeblack, but the eyes that shone out of it were a variation on Hisana’s, harder and three shades more purple. The rest of the face was Hisana’s. Her hair was dark, shaved on the sides, arranged into porcupine spikes on top, although one lock hung down stubbornly between her eyes. Her ears glittered with silver piercings. At least she was free of awful tatt-- wait, no. Byakuya had missed them at first, because they were white. Abarai’s tattoos were spiky and sharp, but Inuzuri’s were graceful swirls, like ribbons wrapping lazily down her forearms. Even her reiatsu was like Hisana’s-- but instead of a cool, refreshing wintergreen, Inuzuri’s was the bone-deep cold of winter, a cold so harsh it burnt in the lungs.

There was no doubt.

This atrocious delinquent was his long-lost sister-in-law.

“Can we help you with something, sir?” Inuzuri prompted. “Abarai here’s a big fan of yours.”

“Shut up, Rukia,” Abarai managed through gritted molars.

“Inuzuri Rukia, you died as an infant thirty-six years ago and were sent to the 78th District of South Rukongai, is that correct?” Byakuya said stiffly.

Inuzuri and Abarai both bristled, a pair of mongrels raising their haunches. “That seems about right,” Inuzuri replied slowly. “My early years are a little hazy.”

“My wife, Hisana also died thirty-six years ago and was sent to Inuzuri with her infant sister,” Byakuya went on. “They were separated. My wife has been looking for her sister ever since. You… resemble her greatly.” Byakuya let the implication hang in the air. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

There was silence for a moment. Then there was the distinct noise of a laugh that, having been held in, had escaped through someone’s nose. “Sorry! Pardon me!” Ayasegawa wheezed, clapping one hand over his mouth and looking away. “Bit of. Dust. In my throat.”

“I told you! I told you, you looked like that picture of her in the Bulletin!” Abarai was hissing.

“I thought you were lying because you thought she was pretty!” Inuzuri hissed back.

“I thought she was pretty because she looks just like you!”

“Now is really not the time, Abarai!” She cleared her throat and tried to stand up a bit taller, a futile effort. “So, uh, so what? What does that mean, if I am her sister? Does that… does that make me noble?”

A higher pitched wheezing came out of Ayasegawa. The level of impudence was extraordinary.

“I would like you to come to my home to meet her, first,” Byakuya put off making any promises. “We can discuss what comes next. As a family.”

“I’m at work right now,” Inuzuri excused.

“Inuzuri, I need to know how this pans out, you can have the afternoon off,” Ayasegawa informed her.

Inuzuri’s confidence seemed to be draining out of her. She took a tiny step closer to Abarai and groped for his hand. “I’m bringing Renji,” she declared.

“Is he compulsory?” Byakuya asked. Inuzuri was absurd looking too, but at least she was small.

“He’s my family,” Inuzuri insisted.

Byakuya’s brows furrowed. This could prove problematic. “In any sort of legally binding sense?”

“We’re engaged!” Inuzuri announced.

“We are?” Abarai goggled.

“I told you I’d marry you if you could ever manage to beat me in a fight! What else would you call that?” Rukia hissed at him in a voice that was still, unfortunately, perfectly audible.

“I’ve been trying every day, and honestly, Rukia, it’s not looking good for me!”

“Can you just go with it for once, instead of arguing with me every time?”

“If you want to leave and never tell anyone you found her,” Ayasegawa put in, “I am very bribable.”

Byakuya was sorely tempted.

---

End note: To further explain the number mix-up, as I understand it “seven” in Japanese can either be said as “nana” or “shichi”. People usually say “nana” for two reasons-- 1) to avoid confusion with 4 (”shi”, although you can also say “yon”) and because “shi” is a homophone for death. Given how shitty the districts in the 70s are, I rather liked the idea that they residents use the “shichi” pronunciation as a bit of gallows humor. (And if you don’t have a rude nickname for the town you grew up in, well, congrats for not growing up somewhere shitty)

I don’t actually speak Japanese, tho, so forgive me if this is all nonsense. 😁

[riverscyberwife]

The First Time She Met Daryl Dixon

Part of the 'Call Me 'Darling'' Series

(Daryl Dixon x unnamed female character)

The first time she met Daryl Dixon was not pleasant.

“Fucking Shit!”

It wasn’t long after the fall. The time of indescribable horrors. The day the dead began to walk the earth.

“You useless shit” a feminine voice rang out in exasperation, met only by the greenery that surrounded. Tears pricked at frustrated eyes as small, dirty fists beat aimlessly at the soft earth beneath. The roots of a nearby tree grazed along knuckles, breaking the skin there. An unintentional hiss left trembling lips as sad eyes observed the fresh blood appearing.

She had found herself alone in a dense wood somewhere near farmland in Georgia, drifting aimlessly, no destination in mind. Attention on the songs of the wild birds. The music of the forest being the only company had in days.

In dazed wandering, clumsy feet had met a large tree root protruding rather rudely from the ground. It met her right foot violently, causing herself to stumble harshly while holding the appendage prisoner. The attached ankle twisted painfully as her warn body was thrown forward and forced to spin, landing unceremoniously on her obnoxiously generous behind.

An advantage only when the clumsy feet betrayed her. Something that happened more often than her ego would like to admit.

A glare that could almost kill, along with some less than lady-like language was aimed at the battered ankle. It lay life-less and throbbing next to the offending root, almost mocking with its silence.

A twig snapped far too near for comfort. A rustling of leaves alerting to a nearby presence. In such a vulnerable position, the woman mentally chastised herself for becoming too distracted to hear the oncoming intruder. Almost definitely one of those undead fucks stumbling across a yummy young lady laid out like a buffet.

Her head whipped around to peer behind with enough force to cause the joints of her neck to let out a crack. A sound that went unnoticed as a sharp gaze found a man staring at the crumpled heap she currently was. He seemed alive enough as he pointed an intimidatingly large weapon at her head.

Is that a crossbow? The thought shot through her mind before returning swiftly to the danger that was presented. It wasn’t something you’d ever expect to see in real life, let alone have pointed at you. Far more intimidating than a gun it seemed due to its unexpectedness.

The man holding the weapon was rugged. Short brown hair and clothes had seen better days. Gaze locked with the most vibrant blue eyes. An intense silent battle taking place between said eyes and her own.

“Ya kiss yer mother with tha’ mouth?” His voice was gruff. Deeper than expected. It held a soothing quality even in its accusing tone.

“Not if she was alive” A deadpan tone returned, eyes narrowed as the gaze turned cold. He only grunted in response. A shiver ran unexpectedly down her spine. Probably just caused by the very pointy stick he had ready to be catapulted through her skull.

“What are ya doin’ round here?” he questioned more aggressively this time. The hints of playfulness had disappeared. This man meant business and she didn’t doubt he would shoot her with the intimidating weapon if he felt the need to.

“I’m having a teddy bears picnic, can’t you tell?” An overly sweet voice quipped back unwisely. Suspicious eyes only narrowed in return as the grip seemed to tighten on the bow.

“Okay” A tired sigh left dry lips. “I was just wandering, looking for her next meal and place to sleep. I fell over this damn tree”. Trying not to feel embarrassed by the statement, her gaze wandered the muscular upper arms visible due to the missing sleeves that seemed to have been forcefully ripped away.

“I take it by your defensiveness that your camp is near here” she queried. “Don’t worry, I won’t go near it.”

“Better not. Now get outta here before it ain’t a choice.”

Eyes rolled at his threat. “Not very welcoming are you?” The question was met only by silence.

“Fine, I’m going.” She stated as weak arms pushed herself to her feet, forcing the rapidly bruising ankle to take the weight. Attempting to ignore the pain in refusal to look weak in front of this rude man. The backpack that slid from aching shoulders during the fall was slung back into place and the dagger that had saved her life numerous times secured in a determined grip.

“Nice to meet you” her defeated voice rang sarcastically before turning and limping away as fast as able.

“Asshole”

---------------

Many months passed without a thought about the rugged man. Surviving alone could be very distracting after all. Jumping from abandoned house to worse smelling abandoned house with the hopes of a safe nights rest. Never knowing where the next meal would come from or even if there would be a next meal.

The weight dropped off at a concerning rate. Concerning only because there was a good chance of being eaten by the dead because her trousers fell down. What a way to go. She died as she lived. Falling over.

Eyes raked over the forest floor in search of life. Trusted dagger held securely in her dominant hand, poised ready to strike should dinner appear suddenly. An unexpected commotion seemed to begin somewhere to the left. Ears guiding rushing feet towards the sound in hopes of a large animal to catch. The grumbling of her stomach agreeing with the silent statement.

Upon the arrival at the scene, crouched down behind a shrub, her small body was easily hidden by the undergrowth. In immediate sight was the back of a man. Keen eyes would not have recognised him so immediately if not for the missing sleeves on the dirty brown shirt. He was facing off with four of the dead. A knife raised high in his right hand seemed to be his only weapon. A glance to the side revealed the crossbow a few feet away. Far less intimidating when not pointed at ones head.

Logic said he couldn’t reload the damn thing in time to shoot the fuckers one by one. She however had not been spotted by the dead and was only about 3 feet from the weapon.

Daryl began to panic as what felt like a never ending amount of walkers came at him. He couldn’t kill them all at once and his knife wasn’t doing much good. He’d resorted to desperately shoving them backwards.

The walker directly in front of him was big, standing at least 6 foot tall and charging with a purpose. It managed to knock him to the ground, the snapping jaws aiming to rip Daryl’s face cleanly away. It was prevented only by an increasingly weakening forearm to its neck.

Thick black blood oozed from the tear in its jugular, dripping grotesquely onto its struggling prays jaw and throat. Should Daryl open his mouth he’d be treated to a very unfortunate final meal.

‘This is it’ thought Daryl as he frantically felt around for the fallen blade. ‘I’m gonna fuckin’ die.’

Daryl’s rapidly beating heart seemed to stop dead as a bolt from HIS crossbow shot through the top of the walkers head to protrude from the now permanently dead man’s mouth. The sharp tip pointed directly between sky coloured eyes.

With a confused sigh, his head leant back to peer behind at the crossbow which lay exactly where he had left it. The unsightly corpse was shoved unceremoniously off of the hunter as he realised suddenly that there were no walkers after him.

It took a few seconds to come to his senses as he observed the 3 other walkers already dead on the ground nearby. Steely eyes flickered up to the small woman standing a few feet away, casually wiping a bloody knife on a large leaf. Confusion only grew as he stared at the calm woman who acted like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. A look of boredom on her face.

Smug eyes flickered to the side where the rugged man still sat stunned on the ground. An involuntary smirk forced its way onto her face. It was so difficult to keep the bored look when the handsome mans jaw was practically on the floor.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” This seemed to snap him out of his daze. His mouth clamped shut audibly as an irritated expression took over.

“Daryl” was all he said as he made his way slowly to unsteady feet.

“Well Daryl” she chimed nonchalantly “You’re welcome” before turning and once again walking away from the shocked man.

---------------

Most nights she dreamt of the undead. Snapping jaws, inches from her face. Dirty, broken nails on rotted flesh, grabbing at her skin. Thick black blood filling her mouth and claiming her lungs.

Sometimes she would dream of family. The life lived before. Laughing faces and sweet smiles. Little girls with pigtails and pink dresses. School days sat on the grass in the sun. Underage drinking in the park. Splashing in the cold sea. Golden sand between painted toes. Faces not seen in years.

And sometimes she would dream of the most beautifully pure blue eyes. Those eyes were the most haunting.

Stayed local to the area, familiar terrain was an advantage. It was only a matter of time until she stumbled across it. The prison. The opposing grey buildings would have been of little interest had it not been for the suspicious lack of dead ones.

Upon closer inspection there appeared to be crops growing in the grounds. A variety of luscious plants living in neat rows. Every so often a mop of brown hair would appear within the greenery. A slender teenage boy who tended the food.

Witnessing silently from the branch of a nearby tree, never daring to make a noise or risk being seen. People were after all, dangerous.

Many others appeared within sight in the hours observed. Some seemed to be on lookout. Some pierced the skulls of dead ones through the fence. Many simply socialised and basked in the sun. Although not terribly interesting, it was the most entertainment had in weeks. Quite like a trip to the zoo, watching them in their natural habitat. There seemed to be little of concern and just as the tired woman considered slipping away to find her own refuge for the night came the startlingly loud rumble of engine.

--------------

Far louder than that of a car, approaching the fence that opened in entrance to the structure was a motor bike. Another thing unexpected at the end of the world. The more shocking factor however being the slim figure and mop of brown hair that sat astride. The fear-provoking weapon strapped to a wing adorned back. Her rugged man.

Any idiot with half a brain would know not to approach the prison alone unless they desired an arrow through the head. But there was something about this man. The incessant need to see him again. To hear the drawl of his voice. To see that pretty face up close even in the snarl that was sure to be aimed at her. Luckily, Mr Dixon, hunter and gatherer extraordinaire didn’t seem to spend that much time in the prison. The outdoors suited him far better.

Daryl treaded stealthily through the thicket, bow aimed low and eyes alert. His ears strained in search of a living creature. He swore his heart leapt from his chest at the sudden noise slightly behind and above him. Startled feet spun so fast he stumbled.

“I like your hair. Suits you”

The feminine voice presented no unease due to the deadly weapon pointed directly at the source. A raised eyebrow prompted Daryl to lower the thing before accidentally shooting.

“Bloody ‘ell woman, where’d ya come from?”

“Bit of a personal question. Don’t you think? You don’t even know my name yet” the voice quipped with a smile. Feet landing gracefully on the ground in front of the alarmed man as she dropped from the low branch.

Daryl grumbled, dropping his eyes which only caused her grin to widen.

“What’s yer name then?”

“Can’t tell you that. Stranger danger.”

“Think yer the only danger ‘round ‘ere.”

“You think too highly of me, Darling.” Lips smirked as light fingers gently raised Daryl’s chin to meet devious eyes.

His shining orbs widened comically at the gesture. “Darlin’?!”

The outraged tone of the statement served to strengthen the ever present accent.

“Oh I do like that.” Smirk turned to a full grin. “Call me Darling.

----------

They couldn’t seem to keep away from each other. Well she couldn’t keep away from him anyway. He’d always go in search of food and the menace would always appear seemingly by magic. She intrigued the man and she knew it. The way his eyes followed her form was like he wanted to figure her out. Solve her like a walking puzzle.

She craved his voice. It soothed something inside her. Somehow made the state of the world forgettable. Hours were spent together without notice. He didn’t speak much but he always listened intently and usually had a smart remark to counter her regular jabs. Teasing Daryl Dixon was always her favourite part of the day.

He never asked where she was going, was staying or why she was always alone. He didn’t seem to want to burst the secret little bubble they’d made for themselves. Something both were happy to keep intact as curious eyes secretly watched the prison.

It was getting progressively more difficult to live alone in the wild. When Daryl went back to his cosy home with his friends at the end of the day her tasks were to go in search of food and a place to rest her head. She would never confess her struggles. He would want to help and her pride wouldn’t allow it.

At her lowest she found herself slumped in a corner of a dingy old house, curling in on herself. The small fire haphazardly made almost burnt out, the strength to go in search of more kindling evaded the weak woman.

Just as she hadn’t seen the face of her favourite person, her body hadn’t seen water in days. Food even longer. If this was how she was to go out then so be it. She’d survived this long alone and that’s all that mattered.

Her vision swam as black spots appeared. There was no control left of her body as it slumped sideways, striking her head against the wooden floorboards as unconsciousness consumed entirely.

---------------

Daryl panicked when she wasn’t at the usual spot. She was always there when he went to hunt. He had no idea how she knew when to find him but she did. He often questioned if she was real. This mysterious girl that no one else had ever seen could so easily be part of his imagination.

He remembered how Rick had seen Lori for so long after her death. He’d spent so much time alone out in the woods that it wouldn’t surprise him if his mind had made up the annoying woman that he couldn’t stay away from. No, she had to be real. Even Daryl’s mind couldn’t tease him like she did.

He began by wandering in the direction he had last seen her go as they parted, knowing there was a nearby town that could offer some food and protection. As gravel crunched beneath old boots in place of the usual dirt and neglected buildings began to rise on either side of the man, it became clear that the area was empty. Motionless walker bodies lay scattered around, each seemingly had received a knife through the head.

The smell was overpowering as the hunter contemplated why they hadn’t been burned. Perhaps she was only passing through. Perhaps she simply didn’t have the strength.

Tracks were clearly visible all through the town. Mostly bloody, they led into every single building. Daryl sighed. He was sure by the small stature of the print that they were hers. The woman that so desperately clung to his mind had clearly been here. Yet he had a feeling she was still here. She wouldn’t just leave him, would she?

Daryl could almost hear Merle’s voice echoing in his head, calling him a whipped little bitch. He scowled at the thought but just couldn’t stop. What if something had happened to her?

----------

Sharp eyes scanning the area, he could clearly visualise the woman clearing the place, killing walkers and scavenging for the food. His eyes drifted to the last house to the left. The windows were boarded and the door was shut. A trap lay set in front of the building. It was clearly the most secure place. His feet carried him almost involuntarily towards it. Towards her.

White light pierces blackness. Heart beat rising. Blood rushes ears. Footsteps sound a million miles away.

Gentle knuckles brush cheeks. Rough fingers press pulse point. Fluttering eyelashes attempt in vain to open.

The earth tilts sickeningly as her body is forced into sitting position. The sound of ringing slowly transitions to the calling of her name. The familiar voice causing an upturn of lips. Her rugged saviour.

Cold liquid is raised to parched mouth. Gulped down greedily without thought. Hands fly to grab the bottle. The best water ever tasted. An appreciative groan as eyelids are forced to rise. Blurred vision soon clears to reveal shaggy brown hair that begs to be touched.

His name leaves her lips in struggled whisper. His eyes are hard with judgment and underlying concern.

“Why the hell didn’ ya tell me?” some form of food is held to her chin.

She doesn’t take not what as her eyes shift away in shame and her arm weekly brushes it away.

“I don’t want your food”

“Well ya clearly need it. Ya look like hell.” His teeth grind in annoyance at the usually stubborn girl. Her head shakes in response, causing the black spots to momentarily return.

“I don’t need saving, Prince Charming.” He guffaws at the name.

“I aint no prince, nor ‘nything charmin’.”

She needed him gone. She couldn’t bear the look of pity in his eyes. The worry on his features. She wasn’t anyone’s problem.

“You shouldn’t be here. Just go back to your damn prison. The irritation clear in her voice. Almost missing the way his vibrant eyes widened.

Shit. She realised her mistake a split second too late.

“How the fuck do you ya know ‘bout tha’?” She’d never heard him sound so angry and even a little scared. Knowing full well that if they found she knew about their home that they wouldn’t just leave her alone. She was dangerous to them.

Nervous eyes flicker everywhere but at the face that stared her down.

“I’ve been watching. Had to know if you were dangerous.”

“An ya didn’ tell me”

“Would you have let me go?” It was Daryl’s turn to look away in shame.

“Nah. Would have to tell ‘em ‘bout ya” He sighed defeated.

“Exactly.” Their eyes clashed in a battle of wills, silently debating what would happen next. After a beat, his eyes shined in a way that determined a decision had been made.

“Yer comin’ with me” He stated assertively.

“No” she countered plainly, offering little room for argument.

“Wasn’ askin’.” Before further refusal could leave her, strong arms surrounded her. He rose to his feet, cradling the surprised woman to his chest. Her bag hanging from his right hand where it curled around her knees.

Her malnourished body was slow to react. Sluggishly moving to press at his firm chest in protest. He easily made his way out of the house and to the far end of the street where the bike sat undisturbed.

The fresh air aided in clearing her senses. The situation she was in becoming evident to her irritated mind.

Gently set down on the leather seat, she was released from the sure grip.

“Fine.” A resigned smile as the cogs of her mind began to spin. “I’ve got another bag though. Brown satchel. Must still be in the lounge.”

He nodded. “Alright, I’ll be right back. Don’ move.” Turning and jogging back into the house.

The moment his right foot made it over the threshold, the loud roar of the bike engine caused his heart to sink.

“Son of a bitch!” Fast feet threw him back out the door and half way down the street but it was too late. His mysterious girl was gone and so was his bike. A lone bag lay in the spot it had previously been in. His own bag containing the water and food he had offered her.

The walk back to the prison was long, made worse by Daryl’s rising anger. Refusing to interact with anyone upon his return, he had his way into the empty cell where he refused to sleep but went to for privacy. Throwing himself down onto the lumpy mattress, he glared at the underneath of the top bunk. His mind swirling with images of her devious smirk.

---------------

Two days later he was woken at the ass crack of dawn by Glenn frantically calling his name. As the sun had appeared over the horizon so had his bike, propped up on its stand just outside the gate. Next to it lay a cardboard box full of baby formula as an apology.

Daryl of course went looking for her, but she no longer appeared. Weeks were spent without a trace of her until another box of formula appeared outside the gates in the dead of night. Sat atop this one was a small stuffed elephant, the perfect size for little ass kicker. Soft and clean as if straight from a baby shop.

Next to it a small piece of paper. In loopy handwriting it read ‘Stop looking for me, darling. It makes me miss you more.’

He thinks he can let her go. Thinks he can carry on living. Barely thinking of her during the busy days but she appears in his dreams. Reliving the sweetest moments between them behind closed eyelids.

“Come back with me.” His sombre voice breaks the silence.

They had somehow ended up leaning against a railing on the edge of a rooftop. Forearms against cold metal, they basked in the glow of a setting sun. Features basked in orange light, he watched her shyly.

They both knew that they should retreat to safety before darkness fell but neither could bring themselves to leave the others company. Peace consumed them as they absorbed the view laid before them like a renaissance painting.

Her head tilted as her eyes searched his face contemplatively.

“Ya always leave me.” His dejected words caused an ache in her chest.

“Why won’ ya stay with me” He asks earnestly.

“I can’t” Eyes cast downward at the sudden urge to shed a tear.

“Why? They’re good people. Rick an’ Carol an’ lil ass-kicker...” His fists clench as the unfamiliar emotions stir within him. His stare fixed on the setting sun.

“Exactly. You’re a family. I don’t belong there. I can’t. I can’t lose anyone else.” Her eyes squeeze shut as pain consumes her.

“So I don’ mean nothin’ to ya?” His voice strains.

“You shouldn’t” Her voice is a soft whisper.

His head turns to question her answer but she’s already gone.

“Darlin’?”

He’s woken suddenly by the sound of Judith’s cries. Greeted only by the sight of the bunk above him. He decides he’s going to find her. He has to.

But he doesn’t. Because soon enough the sounds of gunfire and screams is all that’s heard as the prison falls.

A/N - Here it is, the first thing I've ever written recreationally. It was so much for difficult than i expected. I feel like i'm handing over a steaming pile of rubbish but here you go! I hope you enjoy.

@pandorahurtsx @winchestershiresauce @sunflxwerbullet @holliss @haruhey @lilythemadqueen @dixonextracts @daryloverdixon

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 27: Intrulogical (TW)

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 27 - Your eyes match your soulmate’s hair color. If they dye their hair, your eyes change colors.

TRIGGER WARNINGS!!!!! Attempted rape (by unnamed OC), drugging, implied underage drinking (though none is actually seen), emetophobia/vomiting, Halloween, alcohol, characters being tipsy/drunk, parties. Happy/satisfying ending.

Word count: 4.7k

Logan lived his life based on routine. In a world of constant change, it felt comforting to always know what his next step was. His mornings always started the same; wake up at seven o’clock sharp, sneak to the dorm bathroom in an attempt to not wake his essentially nocturnal roommate, and brush his teeth. Wet the toothbrush, pea sized amount of toothpaste, wet the brush again, and start on the left side of his mouth. Brush for exactly two minutes, wash face, and then attempt to calm down the bedhead. He’d sneak back into the room, change silently, and then make his way to the shared kitchen to make cereal for breakfast. The only variable in his routine was which fruit he’d eat along with his Cheerios. Then he’d triple check that all of his homework was packed properly, and head off to his morning class.

Except today.

For someone who rarely got distracted from his normal routine, he was surprisingly still as he glared, shocked, into his reflection. Water still dripped off his face and all over the counter, but he couldn’t tear his attention from it. Because his normally dark brown eyes were now neon green.

“Are you kidding me?!” He yelled before he could stop himself, storming back into their room and dropping back onto his bed.

“What’s’it?” Virgil mumbled, lifting his exhausted face from where they’d been smooshed into the pillows. Logan spun his face up towards the top bunk, jaw clenched, and gestured towards his eyes.

“I have a presentation today!” Logan continued, looking away from Virgil’s failed attempt to cover a smile, “And I look ridiculous! No one will take me seriously!”

“Just in time for Halloween, I guess. They just look like contacts.”

“Hallow-” Logan sprung to his desk to look at his calendar accusingly, groaning when he realized it was in fact the thirty first. “Ugh, I have a paper due tomorrow!”

“Don’t tell me you’re backing out of the party now, Lo. I already promised people I’d go, and I’m not going alone.”

“I won’t back out of the party,” Logan grumbled, crossing his arms. Virgil gave a satisfied hum, flopping back into his comforter. When he spoke again, his voice was muffled.

“Out of all people, I’m surprised you forgot.”

“So sue me, if a frivolous game of promiscuous dress up comes after passing my classes in the list of importance.” 

The emo snorted. “What’s your costume gonna be?���

“I am not wearing a costume!” Logan’s voice was almost offended.

“You already look like a traffic light. Might as well complete the look.” 

Logan grumbled angrily, marching back toward the bathroom to finish getting ready. “I’m not wearing a costume. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Aw, c’mon, Lo. For me?”

That stopped Logan in his tracks. He spun around and took a careful breath, glaring down his overly pleased roommate. “Fine. Just for you.” 

Virgil gave another satisfied hum, before squinting his eyes at Logan scrutinizingly. “I wonder if your eyes glow in the dark. Can you imagine if the prof turns the lights off for a presentation and-”

“UUUGGHHH!” Logan yowled as he slammed the bathroom door shut, shaking his head at Virgil’s snickers. 

------------------------

They were meeting up at the party at the end of classes (right about when Virgil tended to wake up), so Logan headed there directly after his final class, just as the evening sun was fading behind the horizon. It was already packed with people already picking the snack and drinks table bare, a lopsided sign that said ‘21+ only’ forgotten near an empty beer box. If Logan were to assume correctly, the sign was only there to assuage the conscience of whoever was hosting tonight, and not actually to stop the underage drinking. Even if he was above legal drinking age, he still didn’t experience many of the positives of drinking, so he grabbed a can of iced tea and stood next to a wall to wait for Virgil.

It hadn’t been a full five minutes before a man sidled up to him, sipping from a half empty beer bottle and watching Logan with a careful eye. He didn’t spare so much as a glance in return, barely acknowledging the newcomer’s presence.

“What’s a wallflower like you doing at a rager like this?” He drawled with an almost audible impish smile.

“If this is considered a rager, I’d hate to see what a calm party looks like.”

“Aw, we just haven’t gotten started yet! We’re fueling up for when the moon comes out. And you haven’t answered my question, flower.”

“I’m simply waiting for a friend.”

“Oh, and does this friend have a name?” He purred. 

Frustrated, Logan turned to the man, and promptly froze. Looking down at him with pitch black eyes was a person in a costume he couldn’t recognize; a black and white striped suit that looked like he’d raked it through dust, and a mold green tie. The stubble on his face could have been his own five o’clock shadow or makeup, but it only functioned to make him look far hotter than what was fair. What was most shocking though, and Logan was baffled that he’d missed it in the initial approach, was the mop of electric-shock-straight neon green hair on his head. 

“He- I don’t-”

“Didn’t take you for the type to get flustered,” The man snorted, taking another sip. “What do you have? Aw, iced tea? And not even spiked? A crime.”

How did he not see Logan’s eyes? The hair was the exact same color; Logan would know. He’d spend the whole day watching his reflection, hoping that his soulmate would have some mercy and dye their hair back to its original color. Neon green was not exactly the most subtle color, and he had not missed the snickers or silent glances from his classmates and professors all day. So the question remained, why wasn’t this guy saying anything?

“I don’t drink. I tend to just become lethargic when I do.” He answered instead, gripping his can a little tighter. It took far too much effort to keep his voice from straining. 

“Fair enough. I’m not pressuring you to drink, no worries. At least we’ll have one sober mind at this party tonight.” The taller man winked at him, flashing him that stupidly stunning smile again. 

But then it occurred to Logan as he kept searching the man’s dark eyes desperately. His eyes were too dark, almost pitch black, while Logan’s hair was several shades lighter. So... there was no way they were soulmates. Just as quickly as the hope had exploded in his stomach, it dissipated, leaving him feeling more exhausted than usual. Stupid feelings.

“Logan, there you are!” An unusually loud voice called through his stupor and he spun around to see Virgil’s fanged smile. In the back of his mind, he remembered watching Virgil putting together his elaborate vampire costume over the last few weeks, but he’d never seen the full thing put together until now. “Ah, and Remus found you. Scram, Beetlejuice.”

Remus, apparently, didn’t seem at all offended by the jab. Instead, he seemed to smile wider. “Nice to see you too, emo. Is that any way to treat the host of the party?”

To Logan’s surprise, Virgil smiled too. “Oh, shut up. You’re going to give Logan a heart attack.”

“I’m sure he’s fine, Dracula. Why don’t you go get a drink, and I’ll keep him company?”

“Nuh uh. No way. Not leaving him with you any longer than I have already.” With that, Virgil hooked his arm through Logan’s and led him back to the drink table. 

“Remember, Virgil, drinks are only for the big kids!”

“I’m older than you are!” He flipped the bird over Logan’s shoulder to the host, earning a barked laugh in response. “He never lets me forget I’m a whole three inches shorter than him.”

“You know the host of the party?”

Virgil hummed in response, pouring himself a cup of punch that reeked of alcohol. “How else would I get invited? We were in English together in third year, and I haven’t been able to shake him since. He’s like a leech.”

“You seem friendly with him.”

The elder froze, solo cup barely touching his lips as he looked over Logan slowly. “Everything okay? You’re not usually this… quiet.” They could both tell it wasn’t the word he’d wanted to use.

For a brief moment, Logan considered telling Virgil about his brief flair of hope, about how for a single second he’d felt nothing but relief and desire and elation, and how it had been ripped away from him just as quickly. But then he realized that, no, Virgil didn’t need that to bring down the mood of the first party he’d attended in a year, since his anxiety had flared. If it still bothered him after the party, he’d bring it up. That was unlikely, though. Logan was especially gifted in the art of repression.

“I’m just a tad out of my element. Nothing to worry about,” he responded with a smile. Virgil didn’t fall for it, if the way he watched Logan as he sipped his drink was anything to go off of, but he did them both the favor of not pushing it. For now. 

“I thought I told you to wear a costume,” Virgil gasped as he drained the cup, immediately refilling it from the same bowl.  

“I did.” Logan gestured towards the single piece of paper taped to his white shirt. It took Virgil a moment to squint through the darkening light to make-out the black sharpie, reading allowed.

“‘Error 404, Costume Not Found.’ That does not count, Logan!” He laughed nonetheless, just as a deep bass filled the house. Apparently, the party had begun. He didn’t have a good argument for Virgil’s accusation, since he technically thought it very much did count, but arguing with the other was a waste of time. The two men were equally matched in the stubbornness department.  

The lights disappeared for a good few seconds before the house was illuminated in strobe lights, and the music’s volume exploded. Virgil laughed giddily; apparently his plan to get buzzed before the party could give him anxiety was intentional.

“They do, ya know.” 

Logan looked at him in confusion, and shouted over the roaring music. “What?”

“Your eyes! They do glow in the dark!”

“Shut up!” 

“You look like a glowstick!” He began to giggle wildly, leaning on Logan for support. 

“No more drinks for a good half hour, Virge,” Logan chided gently, replacing his solo cup with a water bottle from the table. Virgil whined but plucked out his vampire fangs so he could drink from the small spout easier. 

“Let’s dance,” Virgil said, grabbing Logan’s arm and leading him into the crowd.

---------------------------

Logan guessed it was well past midnight when Virgil tugged on his arm for the third time, leaning close to his ear and shouting that he had to go to the bathroom.

“Again?!” Logan called back at the vampire’s back. There was no malice in his words, not when he knew Virgil had been anxious to go to this party and he tended to drink more water when he was anxious. It was just all coming back for revenge now. 

To Logan’s delight, the excitement of the party had started to push out the event from earlier. His mood was no longer dampened by the let down of what he thought was meeting his soulmate, and he could finally enjoy the one event he allowed himself to go to this semester. School was important, but he allowed this for Virgil. He hadn’t expected himself to have a good time as well. 

It wasn’t even a minute after Virgil had left that there was a loud shout and Logan was jostled harshly to the side, the front of his shirt immediately soaking red from the cup of punch spilled on him. His own drink clattered to the floor.

“Shit, babe, I’m so sorry!” A man Logan didn’t recognize started to pat at his chest with a handful of tissues, an action that for some reason caused the smaller man to cringe.

“No worries. It was bound to happen eventually. Perhaps a white shirt wasn’t my smartest idea,” He responded sharply, taking the tissues from the other and dabbing himself off to the best of his abilities. Slightly relieved that he now had a valid reason, he ripped off his poor attempt at a costume and crumpled up the soaking wet paper in the hand not trying in vain to dry himself. Despite Logan obviously being uninterested, the taller man stayed where he was, watching Logan’s actions with fierce intensity. His lip curled as his eyes trailed down the now nearly see-through shirt.

“If you wanted, I could get that shirt off of you. Fool around, give it some time to dry?”

“I’m so flattered,” Logan deadpanned, “But no thanks.”

“Aw, too bad,” The man cooed, shrugging. His demeanor did a full one-eighty, his predatory gaze replaced with innocence, “Was worth a try. Let me at least get you a new drink, since I ruined your other one.”

“That’s not necessary-”

“I insist.” He laid a hand on Logan’s shoulder, causing a tingling cold to spread through his whole body. The smaller man barely contained a shudder as the man gave him another wolf like grin before disappearing into the crowd towards the drinks table.

Logan was hoping he’d forgotten, and just wouldn’t come back, but the man reappeared in moments, popping open a pink lemonade and handing it to him.

“Saw your other drink was non-alcoholic, so I got the only other one left.”

“Uhm…” Logan looked critically at the can, his alarm bells flaring. But… he’d seen the man open it, right? So it’s not as if he could have done something to it. Perhaps this guy really did have the right intentions, just an iffy way of showing them. “Thank you.” 

He took a sip as the man smiled with too much teeth. “So, are you here alone?”

“No,” Logan responded a little less coolly, “I’m here with a friend. He just went to the bathroom.” Another sip.

“Oh, that’s fun! Are you guys in the same year?”

“Yes. We are both fourth years.” The man was acting kinder, and Logan was starting to consider that perhaps their initial meeting had been a misunderstanding on his part. Maybe he had just wanted to help out, but Logan, being cynical as always, had assumed the worst. Wasn’t that just like him, though? Always so quick to conclusions, ruining good things before they have a chance to happen. Trying to chase away his annoyance with himself and the bitter taste it had left on his tongue, he took a longer swig of the can.

“Hey, me too! I’m an English major, what about you?”

“Business with an astronomy minor.”

“That sounds difficult. How many semester hours are you clocking at right now?”

“I… uhm…” And for the life of him, he couldn’t remember. It was a high number, he knew for sure. He shook his head. “Fifteen, sixteen? Maybe seventeen?”

The man whistled. “Damn, impressive. Remind me of your name, again?”

Had he told him in the first place? “Logan.”

“And what brings a studious man such as yourself to a party like this?”

“My- My friend.” Logan couldn’t help shake his head again, hoping the fog in his mind would scatter. That’s what he got, staying out this late when his sleep schedule was usually so precise. “He doesn’t like… parties. So he asked…” He blinked hard a couple times, finding himself swaying on his feet. “He asked me…”

“Hey, are you okay?” The man placed his hand on his arm in an ironclad grip, holding him steady, “Logan, can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I… Dizzy,” He murmured, reaching up blearily and grabbing onto him. 

“Are you dehydrated? Maybe you should drink some more.”

What were the symptoms of dehydration again? Dizziness, check. Fatigue, check. Confusion, check. Thirst? Yeah, he could drink something, but he’d been drinking all night, so why…

The can dropped from his hand, the second one tonight, and he tried weakly to pull away. Instead of letting him go, the man pulled him closer, wrapping an arm bruisingly tight around his waist. 

“You… you drugged-”

“You don’t look so good, Logan. Let’s get you upstairs so you can lie down, yeah?”

“No, I don’t…” He was unable to escape, barely able to keep his feet under him, as the man started dragging him to the stairs. Where the hell is Virgil? Logan could feel tears pricking his eyes as his breathing hitched, and for the first time in years, he felt real panic. This couldn’t be happening. This isn’t-

“Let him the fuck go!”

A voice distinctly not Virgil’s shouted over the music, and Logan didn’t even dare hope it’s directed at the man still clutching him. His luck would never be that good. But through his blurry vision, a pin striped blob with a mess of green hair breaks through the crowd, marching distinctly up to them. 

“He came here with me.” Logan could just make out the stronger man’s words through his dizzied state. “He just had a bit too much to drink. I’m going to let him lay down.”

“Like hell you are. Give him to me.” 

“How dare you-”

“Logan. Doesn’t. Drink. And I know who he came here with.” Remus snarled, edging towards the duo threateningly, “Now let go of him before I break your fucking jaw.”

With almost as much physical relief as emotional, the man finally released his painful hold on Logan and shoved his way through the crowd, the distant shouts of inconvenienced partygoers near the door the only signal that he’d completely left. 

For all his effort, Logan couldn’t hold himself up and collapsed. At first the feeling of strong arms picking him up bridal style caused him to panic and he lashed out, feebly hitting the chest of whoever was holding him. Realizing they were now walking up the stairs, the same place the other man had been pulling him, caused his breath to hitch in his throat.

“Woah there, Lo. You’re okay. It’s just me, it’s Remus, okay? Take a deep breath, just relax. I won’t hurt you.”

For some reason that Logan couldn’t fathom, the words calmed him down. Somewhere, Logan acknowledged that even though Virgil had known Remus for a while, Logan had only talked to him for a total of five minutes, and he probably shouldn’t trust an essential stranger when he’s like this. He’s just too tired to fight though, no matter how his adrenaline is pumping. 

“V’rg’l,” Logan whimpered, clutching Remus' shirt with all the strength of a wet leaf, “W’nt h’m.”

“I’ll get Virgil as soon as you’re safe, okay? Don’t worry,” Remus’ soothing voice rumbled through Logan from where he was pressed to the taller’s chest, making his eyelids flutter. His arms felt like over boiled pasta and his stomach was doing flips, but Remus’ voice broke through the fog he was in and settled him in a way he hadn’t felt before. Maybe it was the drugs.

“We’re at the top of the stairs now, okay? I’ll take you to my room, since it’s the only one with a lock. So we know there won’t be any horny college kids in there, making a mess of my sheets. Gotta unlock it without dropping you, hold on, and… A HAH! Got it. You want the light on or off?”

Logan couldn’t compute the question, much less make a choice. He made a sound that was slightly reminiscent of a stalled car engine, letting his head loll towards the lump that he assumed was a bed.

“Let’s compromise.” With all the care in the world, Logan was placed onto the sheets and gently rolled onto his side, a heavy comforter pulled up to his shoulders. Remus shifted away and a dim light flashed through his eyelids, enough to notice but definitely not enough to hurt his throbbing head. A table lamp, probably.

“No falling asleep on me, okay? You need to stay awake. I don’t know what that fucker gave you. I’m texting Virgil now, he’ll be here soon. Just keep your eyes open.”

Logan opened his eyes despite his overwhelming urge to sleep, and was immediately assaulted by a swirl of colors as the world tilted. An explosion of nausea tilted him forward and he pushed himself up on his elbows.

“‘m g’nna-” He didn’t have to finish his sentence before there was a plastic garbage can under his cheek and he heaved, throwing up the remnants of dinner and all he drank that evening. He didn’t even have the energy to be embarrassed as he flopped back down onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut again.

“Oh, Logan,” Remus whispered. 

There was a pounding on the door and Logan didn’t even have the energy to flinch from the violent sound. Remus stood quickly and unlocked it, barely opening it before someone barreled into the room, the newcomer gasping for breath.

“What the fuck happened?!” Virgil screamed, dropping on his knees next to the bed, hand reaching up to lay on Logan’s cheek.

“He got roofied by some motherfucker I haven’t seen before. I caught him in the stairwell before anything happened.” Remus was still standing by the open door. The music was flowing in louder now, and Virgil’s raged shouting wasn’t helping his headache at all.

“I’m going to fucking kill whoever did this. I’ll fucking kill him!”

“Virgil, you’re real hot when you’re pissed, but calm the hell down. Yelling won’t help Logan.”

“You’re… shit, you’re right. Okay. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“Watch him. Keep him on his side, bin’s to your left if he has to hurl again. I’m cutting this shit show.”

Logan finally cracked his eyes open as the door shut, Virgil leaning backwards to lock it. When he turned back and saw his friend’s eyes open, he almost wept.

“I’m so sorry Lo, I shouldn’t have asked you to come.”

“‘s okay.”

“No, no it’s not. I got distracted talking to someone, but I should have come back sooner. You could’ve… You could’ve been…”

“Not y’r fa’lt,” Logan mumbled, reaching over blindly to try and find Virgil’s hand. The other must have sensed his intentions and gripped onto the flailing limb, interlocking their fingers. 

“You better not be blaming yourself.”

Technically, he was. He should have been more careful, shouldn’t have taken a drink from a stranger, should have noticed something was off the moment his mind started to fade. Never in his life would he say that this kind of situation was the victim’s fault but… he couldn’t help it when it came to himself. He’d always been self critical that way. Bringing this up to Virgil would be a death wish, though, and an argument he certainly did not have the energy for right now. 

The music cut off downstairs and Logan sighed in relief, nearly smiling at Remus’ shout for everyone to get out of his house. For someone he’d met once, he was protective, that was for sure. 

Virgil didn’t force him to talk. They both just enjoyed the silence for a while, the only sound being the occasional shout from downstairs and Virgil’s sniffles. Logan couldn’t exactly blame him; he’d cry too if he had the brainpower. He didn’t though, which was the problem, so he allowed his hand to be held and allowed himself to get lost in the feeling of a thumb brushing over his knuckles.

There was a quiet knock on the door and Virgil reached over to unlock it, allowing Remus to walk back in. “Sorry that took so long. Wanted to double check that anyone using someone else as a crutch was black out drunk, not drugged. Here, sit him up.”

Virgil shifted so he was behind Logan and pulled him up against him, holding him steady as Remus lifted a glass of water to his lips. “You have to be thirsty. Do your best to keep this down, Lo.” Suddenly realizing how thirsty he actually was, Logan downed half the glass before Remus pulled it away. “Not so much, you’ll get sick.” There was a clink as the glass was placed on the bed side table. “We need to take him to the hospital. I don’t know how much whatever the fucker gave him.”

“I’m too drunk to drive,” Virgil said, gently lowering Logan back onto his side.

“I didn’t drink that much, but I’m not safe either. You got a friend who can take us?”

“Yeah,” The shorter mumbled as he shakily typed in his phone password, “I’m going to call Patton, just a second.” He moved to the furthest corner of the small room and the conversation faded into the background. At least Virgil was talking… that meant Patton picked up, right? 

“Shitty way to end a pretty spectacular holiday,” Remus stated as he sat back on his spot, letting a hand rest on Logan’s leg.

“‘m s’rry.” 

“Ah, shit, that’s not what I meant. I’m mad for you, not at you. Ya know,” As he spoke, he reached up and did something to his eyes, almost picking at them, “Halloween’s the only valid holiday in my book. Christmas is too overrated, Easter is senseless, Thanksgiving? No thanks, I don’t glorify genocide. But Halloween? I get to dress slutty or spooky or fucking ridiculous, and no one can give me two shits about it. I get to throw ragers and stab gourds into faces and buy discount candy until I’m fifty percent chocolate. I mean, I dyed my hair green for it, paid extra for the glow in the dark shit, and all I got were compliments.”

His hands had returned to his lap and he was fiddling with something. Logan tried to make out what it was, but it just looked like black plastic. Tiny, flexible pieces of black plastic. That Remus had pulled from his eyes.

They were colored contacts.

“I guess I do kind of blame Roman for getting me into Beetlejuice, but it is one of his least favorite musicals, so it’s also a bit of a ‘fuck you’ to him-”

“R’mus,” He breathed, and even that faint call was enough to snap Remus back to him. The taller man turned to him immediately, and Logan forgot how to breathe. 

Because his eyes were brown, and in the dim light of the single lamp, they absolutely shone. 

His eyes were the same brown as Logan’s hair, and Logan’s eyes became that offensive green around the same time as Remus dyed his for the costume, and that’s all the confirmation Logan needed to push himself up onto the hands and lunge forward to kiss him. The effort is strenuous and the lurch almost makes him heave again, but oh Lord, he just found his soulmate and it’s actually him and-

“Woah, woah woah woah. Hold on there, cowboy.” Remus gently pushes him back down before their lips can meet, “You are very drugged right now. I am not kissing you drugged. Sober, hell yes. But not like this.”

“Y’re my-”

“Soulmate. I know. I kind of figured when I saw your eyes. But I figured… I might as well get you to like me before I dropped that kind of bombshell. Although… I was hoping that would be accomplished by basic flirting, but then the party started getting out of hand, so I was always busy with-”

“Patton’s on his way,” Virgil spoke up, joining the two on the bed. “You okay, Lo?”

“He figured it out,” Remus said softly, letting a hand card through Logan’s hair. 

“I was wondering how long that would take.”

Logan gave a weak smile, his own fear and adrenaline starting wear off slightly. He was safe here, and he felt like he wasn’t going to be let out of sight for a while. 

“Drink some more water, wallflower,” Remus whispered, helping him sit up, “We’ll take care of you.” 

[aelin-queen-of-terrasen]

𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

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The next morning found all the townhouse residents asleep, Celaena decided to take her leave of her brother—how she marveled at the word—through a note, citing prior obligations that needed to be attended though he was welcome to visit her in the evening if his duties could spare him, which she left with the efficient butler, who assured her the message would be delivered. The ride back home was unexpectedly short considering the roads were teeming with entourages of families returning from their country estates for the London Season or ladies running off to modistes to have their wardrobes updated with the latest fashions before the invitations started rolling ko in.

Her relief at returning was great, though she purposefully hid from her parents—or her elder sister, Eleanor—attending diligently to her correspondence. It was a miracle the stack of letters thinned at all, considering how preoccupied her mind was. Two hours after the torment of trying to focus on her letters, Celaena gave it up in favour of returning Countess Lieven's visit from last week. There was a considerable difference in age, personality and social ranks between them but both enjoyed each other's conversation, and the russian ambassadress was excellent company. Celaena did not expect to find the woman alone—the countess' drawing rooms rarely ever were—but she did look forward to sensible conversation about politics and such and was thoroughly displeased to find that esteemed lady attempting to look interested in Lady Jersey's—another lady patroness of the Almack's and a social leader whose favourite pastime was gossip—rants about the latest love affairs of Lady Caroline Lamb, and Mrs Burnwell among other ladies, who though a sensible lady did not look much pleased with Celaena, though she could not tell if it was because of her rank or her public insult to the lady's beloved niece—Lady Perrington—at the dinner party the other day. Despite the former's thrice professed hatred for the topic, Lady Jersey lament about Caroline Lamb extensively and with all the knowledge of one well-informed of her activities. The other ladies listened keenly and with interest, and by the end of their visit, Celaena felt she knew Caroline's social life better than her own and the countess looked ready to pull her hair out.

"I cannot stand her hypocrisy," said Her Ladyship once they were alone, "condemning Caroline—as obnoxious as she is—for her 'love affairs' when her own mother-in-law is so infamous a mistress to the Prince of Wales. If she thinks it is different just because the Royal House of Hanover is involved—oh, I cannot countenance her. It is a pity she should be such a public figure that I cannot avoid her, or I should happily see the back of that one. Come, my dear," said she, noticing her friend smile behind her teacup, "you came looking for an enjoyable half hour and were instead subjected to gossip and derision. You cannot have anything to say in Lady Jersey's defence?" this said with a tone that indicated she did not know how anyone could have anything to say in Lady Jersey's defence.

"I cannot defend her, but I can understand why she thinks the situations are different—it's not because the prince regent is involved, but rather Caroline's utter lack of discretion. I could easily forgive her affairs if they caused harm to no one but herself, but alas, as it is, her husband's standing in society is affected by her behaviour." This was said in reference to Lady Heathcote's ball in July, 1813 where, after being publicly insulted by her—former?—lover, Lord Byron, she had slashed at her wrists with a broken wineglass and only her mother-in-law Lady Melbourne's prompt thinking and quick intervention had kept her from serious harm. When it became clear she had no suicidal tendencies, the whole affair attached such a ridiculous air to all the parties involved, it could not have been in anyone's favour.

"You would condone her actions if she were only being discreet?" asked Countess Lieven, surprised.

"Perhaps not condone, no," said she, "but I would not object to them. Really, she and her husband are both adults in a marriage that is less a marriage and more a business contract based on terms and conditions. If both decide between themselves that the other can look for love—or rather, a lover—outside their household, and if they can manage it discreetly, what is the harm in it? Viscount Melbourne admits himself he does not care for his wife, nor she for him. If they must remain in a marriage neither wants, I do not see the harm in looking for satisfaction outside with both spouses' consent."

"But you would not act in the same way in her place," accused she.

"If my marriage was more like hers?" she wondered aloud. "I would hope to reach an understanding with my husband we can both be happy with." Seeing her friend look unconvinced, she said, "Really, I strongly believe that if something makes you happy, you must ask yourself if it harms someone? If it does not, I would not hold myself back out of respect for society's ridiculous edicts; not at the expense of my happiness."

"Adultery would be a disrespect to one's marital vows."

"Oh, certainly," agreed she, "but are they not already disrespecting their marital vows by vowing to love each other? I would rather a husband and wife live by an arrangement that keeps both happy than be miserable trying to respect marriage vows they never truly meant."

Countess Lieven who herself was faithful to her husband—a rarity among the upper ten thousands, whose own marriage was arranged and who lived—if not happily, than in a content state of harmony with her husband, could have nothing more to say on this subject, so she steered the conversation away from it. "I suppose you are thinking of the Whitethorns when you mention that example? I admit I was surprised to hear from Mrs Burnwell earlier Mr Whitethorn appreciated your company so—oh, do not be offended, dear—it is only that I have never seen him appreciate anyone's company at all, though I say he has fine taste if he does indeed show you preference."

Celaena had been thinking of him in relation to the subject, but denied it. "I do not think their troubles can be solved simply by taking lovers." Celaena put her teacup down and leaned forward, more to stop drinking the overly sweet concoction than to show interest in the subject. "I had the impression those two do not get on because she is not suited to the duties his rank and station entails and he is not equipped with enough knowledge or patience to know how to guide her in it. They are bound by constraints of society in a marriage that makes both miserable."

Countess Lieven looked at her speculatively before the subject was dropped.

A perverse curiosity drove her to mention meeting Mr Galathynius and Lord Fenrys, which had the happy effect of inducing the countess to volunteer information about that family.

"The House of Galathynius," said she, "has been suffering from a lack of inactivity. Lord Rhoe lost a child some years ago and has not been the same since. His father abdicated his title after a severe bout of influenza in their county, but he soon recovered. The damage was done; Rhoe, the poor man was not prepared for the title and his estates and position suffered for it; now his sons take care of the properties while he pursues politics. The grandfather constantly battles them for power but he does not have half the influence as Viscount Layton—that is the elder brother, hardly social at all, so solemn and reserved but he is a responsible man. Far better than the rakes and dandies of town spending their days in the club, neck deep in debts of honor."

"Viscount Layton? I have not heard much of him at all, aside from his fondness for the written word."

"So you would not, for Galathynius is a name that does not appear in the tabloids often. The younger son does not have the trademark grave countenance of his forefathers—he inherited the ashryver charm from his mother and the elder is so antisocial, he hides himself in the country. For two boys who lost their sister and mother at an early age and were brought up by an uninterested father, they grew up to be fine indeed."

"The Countess of Narrowcreek, yes. Mrs Burnwell told me she was a fine lady."

"Lady Helen was, not pretty but so well-mannered and polite! She died of fever an year after her daughter, though some say it was the heartbreak that killed her."

"They are a big family, are they not? You said something about the ashryvers? I met one of them."

"Yes, the cousins," said she, "fine young men, all either determined bachelors or trapped in poor marriages. The ashryvers don't have their Galathynius cousins' impeccable reputations but the natural ashryver charm easily accounts for that." The Countess smiled knowingly and she shifted in her seat at the silent implication that she was interested in one of them—god forbid—and not wanting to further this idea, Celaena was obliged to put an end to this line of inquiry and introduced a generally neutral topic of conversation. Though Celaena was far too aware of the speculative look on the countess' face everytime she looked at her, the visit ended pleasantly on both sides, with one party anxious and the other intrigued with the subjects of conversation introduced.

That afternoon, Celaena was admitted into Lysandra's modest apartments by a housemaid who bade her to wait in the drawing room. Impatient to her own detriment, she thought nothing of barging into her friends' room and was wholly unprepared for the sight she was met with.

"Oh, no," said she, stupidly, "I-I came to talk, I didn't know—Captain Ashryver, I-I-oh."

Celaena flushed, prompting the colonel to fish for his clothes while he clutched the bedsheet in an attempt to cover his lower-half. The poor man looked ready to fling himself off the nearest cliff, which soothed her mortification somewhat. Like all englishwomen of respectable birth, Celaena had a suppressed but prurient curiosity that was only encouraged by the books available in her father's well-stocked library. Her odd fascination with the ladies of the demi-monde had been one of the initial reasons she extended an acquaintanceship with the courtesan who was now her dearest friend, though she soon learned to love the lady for her own merits. However, all education in that area did not prepare her for exposure to such a sight. She colored, gaped, stammered an incoherent excuse about needing air and fled the room. Her distress increased when Captain Ashryver stepped out of the room first, properly dressed to the boot.

He bowed formally, which seemed absurd given what had passed before.

"Captain Ashryver."

He flushed. "Miss Sardothein. It is—it is actually Colonel Ashryver now."

Celaena murmured vague congratulations, studiously avoiding his eyes. "I thought you were still with the army, sir, in Brussels—I am surprised to find you here. Do you know yet how long you will stay with us?"

"Six months," said he, looking away.

"Aedion," called she, startling him with her address of his given name, "I hope you know you are as dear to me as a brother. If there is anything you wish to talk about, I would happily listen to you."

Hesitation warred with trust in his eyes, and he looked cautiously towards the bedroom.

"I will not betray your confidence to anyone," she assured him firmly.

Aedion looked at his hands, blonde strands of hair falling in front of his eyes. "I was offered a posting here in London and—and I am not sure if I can accept it."

"It must be hard," she observed, "to give up a career you spent half your life pursuing."

"It is, and yet, it is not the only reason. I didn't choose to go to the army—I—when my grandfather found out about my inclinations," this word was spat out with enough venom that she knew what he thought about the man, "he sent me there and I accepted it as my lot, as if I were a second son. I don't know if father knows why I insisted on joining the army but, gods, I did belong there, with my men—there were some others from aristocratic families like mine who hoped any unusual proclivities would be beaten out of us there. It was just part of a job—killing people was not a good thing or a bad thing—it just was. But I was at Hougomont, Celaena," this being one of the chateaus in the village of Waterloo, "and by God, I never saw so much death as I saw there, so many friends dead, their wives widowed, their—their children orphans. I did not—if I have to see a war half so drastic as that again, I do not think I will survive it."

Celaena reached for his hand, frowning. "Then why hesitate?"

"I did not go there by choice; he—my grandfather, that is—forced me into it and he will not be pleased if I am against him. If he decides to cut off my allowance, on a colonel's payroll alone, I will not have nearly enough to pay off Lysandra's debts."

"I can help with that—"

"No." His voice was soft, but firm.

"Aedion, don't be foolish. You haven't much choice. You said yourself you could not survive another war and I could—"

"I said no."

"Pride goeth before a fall, colonel."

"Pride!" exclaimed he, looking resentful at the implication. "It is hardly that. You know what Arobynn did the last time you tried to pay off those debts—and whatever you can spare from your allowance, you need to save for your own future. Lysandra is not the only one bound to a monster by law."

She did know, but because she felt like being difficult, Celaena scoffed. "Say what you mean, sir. You do not wish to have help from a woman. If it had been a male friend offering instead, you would have jumped to accept—"

He threw his hands up. "You are putting words in my mouth."

"I am saying what you are too proud to admit out loud."

Aedion did not take the bait, replying calmly that he would not save one of his ladies from the Hamel's fire only to throw the other in it. Celaena could find nothing snappish to say to that, but having gotten over her own embarassment, she was determined to be difficult. "This is all well and good," said she, "but I hope the next time you will lock your door."

"The maid knew to leave you here," argued he. "If you had followed the instructions—"

"Instructions!" cried she. "This is not an army camp, colonel, and I am not a fellow soldier under your authority."

"I say, a good thing you are not. You have not the discipline for a soldier's life."

"If all your men are as disagreeable as you, I am happy to have missed the chance." Clamping down on the very inappropriate desire to stomp her foot on the ground, she turned her face away. "At least I am well-mannered enough to not lay blame on others for my own faults."

"Fine manners you have indeed, walking into someone's bedroom unannounced."

"The door was open," argued she, weakly.

"The latch broke last night," he flushed and she decided she did not wish to know how. Celaena felt a pair of accusing eyes fixed on her. "But the incident was a fitting punishment for you—I hope you will think twice before doing that again."

To no one's surprise, they retreated into a calm silence while their tempers cooled off. Both were impulsive and hot-headed, too similar to never fight and too prideful to give in, and they had surprised everyone—including themselves—by striking up a lasting friendship that had suffered through time and distance. Propriety dictated an unmarried woman could not write to a bachelor, so she had her father address it for her; society said they would be ruined if they were found together without a chaperone, so they started meeting in each other's homes, where they could not be found at all; decorum demanded they speak not a word of love untill the gentleman offered marriage—and that the lady should not at all say anything but a polite yes, so they talked of everything but marriage. Their showdowns with each other were frequent something to watch—and friend was not at all an ideal title to assign to an eligible gentleman; it raised many an eyebrow at balls and dinner parties where the Colonel was so attentive to her, and all felt certain a marriage proposal was not far away. Speaking materially, it would be a splendid match—with his rank as the penniless second son of an earl—and her, an accomplished society woman with an inheritance big enough for all to overcome the worst of their prejudices about trade. It would have been a splendid match; if he wasn't taken and if she was more amicable to the idea of marriage, that is. Celaena thought guiltily of all he had done for her, fending off suitors determinedly like a dutiful elder brother all the while pretending to be one, and she wondered shortly what he would say if he knew who she was. Did he know her brothers, or Lord Fenrys perhaps? He would be sceptical at first, she knew, and then he would be pleased she was close to being free of Arobynn's shadow. Celaena looked up to do something—to tell him perhaps or to apologise? But there, he had his eyes fixed on her already—his eyes, thought she, were turquoise blue ringed with gold. Oh.

Celaena rose from her seat, saying unsteadily, "Forgive me, but I just remembered I have an appointment at my modiste."

"I can drop you—"

"No, no," she was already out of her seat, donning her cloak, "I came in my carriage. Pray, tell Lysandra I will return tomorrow."

The carriage ride back home was so short, she hardly felt it. Celaena had not much time to ruminate on her present realisation, but she felt stupid at her distress a few minutes ago. Her new family—a reality which had seemed like such a surety this morning—was now shrouded in doubts. Aedion had not recognised her as his cousin for years, and if he who was practically her mirror image by all accounts, did not, no one else could be expected to believe her claim by one look at her face. But what other proof had she? It was with near trepidation that she entered her house, and was happily recieved by her brother who had been waiting in her parlor for a half hour.

"I thought," said he, "I should personally come to you with an invitation to a dinner party tonight at my home—our home, rather. I should like to reintroduce you to relations who are already in town—they have all been waiting so long, Aelin, if you like? You are acquainted with most of them already, and I know father wishes to apologise."

"He does? I hope he is feeling better after that—that attack." Celaena thought ashamedly how little consideration she had given him except to worry the others might follow his lead, believing her to be a fortune huntress.

"He is," assured James, "He refused to believe me when I told him—and then to see you, looking so much like mama, he was overset. But he is fine now, and very remorseful, dearest. I hope you will not hold that first impression against him for long—we had all quite lost hope, and it seems fragile still, like I would look away from you for a moment and you would disappear into the mist, he was being cautious."

"I will try my best," she promised in an attempt to appease.

Celaena knew she was blessed with a handful of attractive features that compensated for the majority of average ones; and, by early adolescence, she had discovered that with the help of cosmetics, these average features could easily match the extraordinary assets. Vanity she had always acknowledged freely to be her chief sin after pride, and she felt her nerves ease at the familiar ritual of having herself pushed into a pretty dress, her hair tugged and pulled before an event. By the time she was dressed in a fine evening gown of soft pink muslin, golden curls pinned atop her head with diamond pins gifted by her brother—a family heirloom, apparently—she was almost beaming on her brother's arm. In the carriage, she distracted herself by asking him questions about his involvement in the House of Lords, their father's health and had the immense pleasure of hearing him talk about meating Madame d'arbley who wrote Cecilia, which had been her favourite novel since she first read it. The talk soon turned to the night's guests and she inquired after their identity.

"You already know Fenrys and the younger Mr Whitethorn; Fenrys' parents will be there, as will our father and Rowan's parents, his elder brother is out of town and his younger sister, Mrs Parkinson and her husband could not attend, and the little Whitethorn boys will come too; though their mother holds the traditional belief that children should eat in the nursery until they are fifteen, so I do not know if they will be present at dinner."

"Rowan—that is Mr Whitethorn's given name, yes? I met his children before," said she, "in the park yesterday. They were sweet, well-mannered boys."

Her brother allowed it to be so, regaling her with anecdotes of their youth and Celaena felt she had never spent a half hour half as entertained before.

"Really, Rhoe," said Lady Meave, rising from her seat, "you are being absurd. I would think thirteen years of grief would make you accept it, but you are starting to grow more deranged with time."

The family members had all arrived a half hour ago when Rhoe explained the purpose of the meeting. James believed that the family would be informed of the situation before meeting Aelin so the element of surprise would not bring out ill-mannered reactions and accusations like this one and Rhoe had agreed to do it himself as the head of the household, though whether he did out of obligation or out of a desire to redeem himself in Aelin's eyes, Fenrys could not tell. Their cousins had more or less recieved the news with good grace, curious but tentatively delighted. The Whitethorns were curious, though Lady Mora expressed her delight at the news repeatedly and tearfully. Lord Jared was more reserved in his congratulations—a reserved disposition was a Whitethorn trait—as was his son, Rowan, who seemed more curious than anything else. His wife made incoherent noises about how nice it must be to be surrounded by all of one's relations, which made her husband stiffen. It was public knowledge Mr Whitethorn's relationship with his mother-in-law was contentious. She was a widow who lived in her father the earl's home, infamous for her very public affairs with Lord Shuttleton and the Marquess of Mowry, and did not have much regard for propriety or morals. The Earl had recently sent her back to live with her relations in Scarborough, prompting Mrs Whitethorn to insist her mother be invited to stay indefinitely in her home instead, an idea which Mr Whitethorn did not approve of. This served to increase the tension between the mismatched couple, and that Mrs Whitethorn seemed wholly unaware of it only served to aggravate her husband more. Fenrys was saved from replying when Lady Meave having finally processed the news, loudly and fervently denied it.

Rhoe did not look at all perturbed. He said, "We thought Aelin died, because we found a girl's dead body—which was unrecognizable—and an anklet near it. I am now ashamed I did not once consider it might not be her, for if I had, perhaps she would have been with us—but I do intend to make up for the lost years, cousin. I believe the anklet we procured was either circumstancial evidence or a delibrate cover-up. I have hired private investigators to look into the matters, though we have not much hope, but as it stands, I believe—no, I know—Aelin is alive and will be joining us all for dinner. Oh no," he added quickly, holding up a hand to forestall their aunt's objections, "This is not a discussion where Your Ladyship can pitch in her own two cents. If you are not prepared to acknowledge Aelin, you may see yourself out."

"You are putting a lot of faith in a fortune-hunter."

"Really, my lady," interrupted Fenrys, bemusedly, "I have met the lady on three occassions before; I can assure you she looked like an ashryver—"

"That proves nothing!" cried she, acerbically. "How do we know she is not one of your father's by-blows, hoping to extract a fortune? You are the one who put this whole idea in James' head—so perhaps, perhaps you are in cahoots with her."

"Sister!" exclaimed Mora, wide-eyed at the acid spewing from her mouth.

Poor woman—bless her gentle heart—looked scandalized her sister would even think those accusations, let alone voice them out loud. Rowan patted his mother's arm, looking pained while his father turned all sorts of blue and red. Lord Jared was offended on the behalf of his dearest friend—Fenrys' father, the Earl of Bedford. To Fenrys, the idea that his noble, stuck-up, proper and prudish father would have a mistress—let alone a bastard child—was laughable.

"Hold your tongue there, Meave," chided Lord Jared disapprovingly. "This childish petulance does not become you."

"You believe him?" Seeing none of them deny the accusation, she said, "If you are determined to fool yourself, please do. I will have no part in the downfall of this family." And so saying, she turned on her heel and left.

"If anyone else has grievances with this new discovery," said Rhoe, "they may join Meave in her self-inflicted banishment from my homes."

"Oh, Rhoe," said Lady Mora, defending her sister. "I hope you will forgive her. The news was very much surprising, and I think she was much surprised. I am sure she was only being cautious to save you from one she thought was a fortune hunter. We are all very happy little Aelin is back." Fenrys thought he would not assign so pure a motive to his other aunt's outburst but Mora was a compassionate soul, incapable to think meanly of others so he let the statement go unchallenged. Before the silence could turn awkward, he heard Colonel Ashryver say dryly, "Well, at least when Aelin comes, we can assure her there is no lack of entertainment here."

"If I recall, she was rather fond of drama as a child," agreed he.

"No, no, that was Fenrys," said a voice in the doorway. "Aelin just liked to follow him in whatever he did." James looked affectionately at his sister, escorting her inside.

Aelin smiled at Fenrys who kissed her cheek. "Welcome home, Aelin."

"It's Lady Aelin now, sir."

Two different voices called 'Miss Sardothein?!' though no one paid them much attention as Lord Rhoe stepped forward tentatively in front of his daughter.

"Aelin," he said.

Fenrys tried instead to look at Rowan and Aedion, both of whom were gaping inelegantly but failed, eyes repeatedly snapping back to Aelin who was watching the old man warily. She returned his bow with a curtsy, then rose on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Father."

Lord Rhoe said tearfully, "Oh, Aelin."

"It is all forgiven," said she quietly, in response, "I was surprised too."

He was almost disappointed when Aedion interrupted the father-daughter reunion. "You," said he accusingly, turning to the lady of the hour, "You knew the truth this morning?"

"Yes."

"You didn't tell me."

"With all the commotion of the morning—which by the by was your fault—I did not realize," said Aelin. "And when I did, I was too surprised to do anything more than flee."

"Wait," said James, suspiciously. "This morning? I thought you were to attend your business affairs this morning, Aelin."

Aedion's face flushed, matching Aelin's in it's hue. "Yes, well," she said, "I had, uh, some calls to return."

"You called on Aedion?" asked Fenrys, surprised.

It was terribly improper for a gentlewoman to call alone on a bachelor, but with her formerly a tradesman's daughter, Aelin did not bother to stick with the more ridiculous edicts of society; she would not have accepted their dinner invitation if she had. Besides as far as he was concerned, Aelin could grow two heads, murder someone or dye her hair lavender and he would still consider her perfect. Fenrys did not know about the others but he had missed the little spitfire terribly; pranks were not nearly enough fun without her trying to stifle her giggles by his side.

"I did not call on him; rather, on a friend he too was calling on," she defended herself. Her face was red.

James narrowed his eyes, looking between them. "You are courting each other!"

"Heavens no!" said Aedion. "Believe me, you have nothing to fear on that account." At the look of mock-offense on her face, he smirked. "You are not half as pretty as you think you are, Cel—Aelin."

"Did I permit you to address me so informally?" she asked primly. "Considering I look almost the same as you do, my appearance is not something you should be disparaging, colonel."

Rhoe huffed in amusement, "Yes, well, come along, children, there are others waiting to be introduced."

And so they did, though Fenrys could tell James was not yet convinced there was nothing between the two. Lady Mora was every bit as pleased as she had claimed, greeting her cousins' daughter with pure delight. Lord Jared was more formal, though not at all unkind. Mrs Whitethorn had a distracted air towards her, though she did smile pleasantly and Fenrys could detect no animosity in her. It was Mr Whitethorn—Rowan—whose reaction surprised him the most. He looked—pained, almost—which did not quite make sense, though perhaps that was just his discomfort with strangers shining through. The civilities were only just exchanged when the butler announced dinner was ready and the whole party proceeded inside in an informal order, Rhoe ditching the normal propriety edicts in favour of leading his daughter into dinner. He seated her at the opposite end of the long, mahogany table as himself, in the seat reserved for the mistress of the house.

Aelin's answering smile was a lot more genuine than before.

Dinner passed almost pleasantly, the seven course meal enough to sustain the conversation for some time and if the silence ever stretched, it did not stay long. With fine conversationalists like Fenrys and James at the same table, and with Aelin's lively manners the atmosphere was merry enough to overcome even the infamous Whitethorn reserve, Lord Jared expounding passionately on the fine horses in his stables on such occassions when provoked. Mr Whitethorn talked animatedly of books—but only with Aelin and only when she delibrately directed her statements to him—and even Mrs Whitethorn ventured a few shy remarks here and there. They were in the best of spirits when in the middle of the dinner by the end when the men stood up to retire to the study for port—a traditional seperation of sexes following dinner—when the door opened. The poor butler hastily entered the room behind the new addition, struggling to keep up with the man's but determined to follow the protocol, announcing to the room between pants, Viscount Preston, Lord Edward Galathynius of Graceview.

Celaena's fork clattered on the floor; her eyes were fixed on the dark-haired man, curls just barely pushed away from his face. A light pink tinted his cheeks and the tip of his nose—a result of the biting wind outside—and dust clung to the lapels of his overcoat, white cravat almost coming apart. Edward's eyes so identical to her own were entirely cold; he bowed formally to the dinner guests and she had the impression he had stormed inside unaware of them. He did not see me, she thought, embarassed as he was at having the attention directed at him. Edward's eyes went over the crowd in a quick movement and he murmured polite greetings—until they caught on her and her heart thumped wildly inside her chest. Edward's noble mein was intimidating and his features arranged neutrally and she worried the boy whose memory she had clung to for years was but an illusion until he whispered her name 'Aelin' with a quite awe and muted wonder; for the first time, it felt like hers. Then he choked on a sob; Aelin was running at him and he had his arm around her, a movement so natural like he had been doing it all his life.

Aelin buried her face in her brother's neck, trying to commit his scent to memory.

"Shh," said he, lovingly, caressing her cheek with one hand, "Please don't cry, dearest."

"You smell like horses," said Aelin, tearfully. "It's making my eyes water."

Edward threw his head back and laughed, a sound rare enough, she could feel her cousins' surprise from behind them. He sighed quietly, a small, contented noise that made her smile. "I missed you, Aelin, though I know I have no right to say that. Had I done something differently—"

"Ridiculous man," said Aelin, tenderly wiping the tears from his cheeks. "James told me you were not four and ten; what could you have done? I have long since learned not to regret what has passed and make the best of my lot. I had a good life, brother," she told him, squeezing his hands, "if not a perfect one. I—I was brought up with an education no lady recieves. It suits my disposition perfectly and you may call me selfish but I am happy I had that chance—though I wish we had more time together."

Edward smiled softly, "We have all the time in the world now."

"Perhaps not all the time," she teased with an imp-like grin, seeing the whole table's attention fixed on them, "After all, you are in dire need of a bath and if I am forced into your vicinity for another half hour, I shall faint from the horror of it." Edward too stiffened, and she realised the extent of his shyness. "Refresh yourselves, sir," ordered Aelin, in her best haughty tone, and had the desired effect of making him laugh, "and when you are ready, you may call for me. I will bring a dinner tray to you and we may talk all we like."

Edward bowed gallantly. "I am but your loyal servant, madam." He kissed her cheek and she detected in him a hesitation to leave.

"I will not go anywhere," assured Aelin, smilingly, "I promise I will not."

Edward formally took his leave of the dinner party and retired to his rooms. Aelin collected herself, joining the ladies with an enthusiasm she did not feel.

No one commented on the happy tears that flowed from her cheeks.

tags: @thesirenwashere // @courtofjurdan //@little-crow-corvere // @the-dark-swan // @queenofgreenbriar // @clockworkgraystairs // @julemmaes // @rowaelinforeverworld // @mymultiversee // @queen-of-glass // @strangely-constructed-soul // @mijaldraws // @http-itsrebecca // @aesthetics-11 // @lord-douglas-the-third // @flowersinvegas // @towhateverend17 // @aelinchocolatelover // @justabunchoffandoms // @cool-ish-nerd // @faerie-queen-fireheart // @sad-book-whore // @didsomeonesayviolin // @atozfantazyxx // @hizqueen4life // @the-gods-killer // @booknerdproblems // @annejulianneh111 // @firestarsandseneschals // @b00kworm // @mysweetvillain // @moondancer-204 // @thesurielships // @witchling-leonor // @ladywitchling // @amren-courtofdreams // @ifinallygavein // @jlinez // @faequeenaelin // @df3ndyr // @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato // @bitchy-knees // @superspiritfestival // @xx-fiona-xx // @stardelia // @maastrash // @miihlovesnoone // @totenhamboys20 // @sanakapoor

[rjhpandapaws]

A Cup of Something Better

Chapter 14: Lessons in Misreading the Room

Hank had been right, he had been worrying too much about his nurse’s exam. It was easer than he was expecting it to be, now he just had to wait a week for the results to be posted. He knew it would be a while before they were posted, but he was still checking his phone pretty regularly despite only having finished the exam the day before. “Alright, give me that.” Hank said and held his hand out across the table. His tone was stern but his expression was general, “We’re here to celebrate you finishing your nurses exam not to sit and worry about the results.” “Right.” He locked his phone and put it away, opting for his bag instead of his pocket. “ I know the results won’t be posted yet, but I keep thinking that I’m going to get a message that I failed.” “Connor.” Hank put his hand over his and squeezed it, “You didn’t fail, not with how much time you took to prepare. I know you’re worried because this one decides a lot for you, but you also said that it wasn’t as difficult as you had thought. That was because you were ready for it. There’s not a doubt in my mind that you passed, so just relax.” “Have you met me Hank?” Connor half joked and Hank rolled his eyes. “A tall order, I know.” Hank said dryly. “But seriously Connor, take some time to catch your breath. It will be fine I promise.”

Connor sighed and changed gears as best he could although his worry was still gnawing at him, “So how are the manuscripts coming?” Hank barked out a laugh, “Wow, I tell you to relax and you attack me.” He let go of Connor’s hand and he was tempted to chase it, “They’re going, and I’m a bit stuck on them both if I’m honest.” Connor laughed as well, “I was only trying to make conversation.” Hank rolled his eyes and took a drink from his latte. Connor reached for his own and found it empty so he stood up. “I’m going to get another coffee. Do you want one as well?” He asked. “Yes please.” Hank replied, “Mind ordering them to go? There’s more I wanted to do today to celebrate.” “Alright.” Connor agreed and did what he could to keep the suspicion out of his voice, “Meet you at the car then?” “Sure.” Hank responded and Connor made his way to the short line after he made sure he had his wallet. Hank had this day planned for when he had finished his semester finals, but since Connor had basically been an overly emotional pile of jello when they had ended, they moved it to after his nurse’s exam. Now that it had passed there was no more putting it off. He had no reason to be nervous, yet he was.

Hank wasn’t his professor anymore, the only thing he really had to worry about was Ezra, but she wasn’t any of his business. Yet he still found himself anxious. What if he was reading too much into this? What if Hank only saw him as a friend? He shook his head to clear away those thoughts. They were celebrating today, the very least he could do was try and enjoy it. He stepped up to the counter and immediately wished he had asked Hank>”  to get the coffee. North was working the counter and Josh was working the bar. They were both going to give him shit, they always did. Save for the new girl, all of his coworkers were under the impression that Hank was interested in him. They were only friends, and that seemed to be how it was going to stay. “Taking the date on the road?” North asked in way of a greeting, “To go refills I’m guessing.” Connor rolled his eyes, “Its not a date North, but yeah, We’re heading out.” “He held your hand for like a whole minute.” She pushed as he handed her the cash. “I was panicking over my exam. It didn’t mean anything.” He pushed back. “Did you want it to?” She asked and Connor hesitated. “That doesn’t matter.” Connor replied as he moved to the other counter. He could wish it to have meant something all he liked, but it wouldn’t change the fact that it hadn’t. Hank was just friendly like that. There was nothing more to it unfortunately.

Josh seemed to be better at reading the atmosphere than North had been because when he handed Connor the drinks he didn’t have much to say. “Tell Hank hello when you see him; and Connor, relax you did fine. I’m sure.” Connor gave a nod and lifted one of the cups in place of a wave as he left. He didn’t know what they were seeing from Hank that was making him think that he was interested in Connor. They were only friends, and Hank didn’t really seem interested in him as it was so he planned to leave it alone. He walked around the corner into the side lot where Hank had said he was parked. Hank smiled when he saw him but it quickly turned into a look of concern soon after. “You alright Con? You look like someone intentionally gave you decaf.” Hank said as Connor handed him his drink. “North was being her usual pleasant self.” Connor said flatly, “Also Josh says hello.” “Hello to Josh then.” Hank remarked as Connor made his way to the passenger’s side of the car, “Ready to head back to the house?” “Yeah, my dog has apparently missed me.” Connor joked as he got into the old beat up car. “Your dog?” Hank said with mock offense as he started the car, “You’ve only spent one weekend with him.”

“It was love at first sight Hank, I’m telling you.” He laughed and Hank joined him as he pulled out of the parking lot. “You let him onto the couch didn’t you?” Hank said with mock accusation to his voice. “How dare you suggest such a thing.” Connor replied placing a hand over his heart like he had been personally offended, “I obeyed all of the rules.” “Which is exactly why my massive fucking Saint Bernard has decided to become a four legged tripping hazard every time I set foot in my kitchen.” Hank pressed with a slight smile. “So I might have fed him a little.” Connor admitted and Hank quirked a brow, “At each meal.” Hank shook his head and chuckled, “Only you would give in.” “I’m weak okay?” Connor laughed. Connor found himself in a good mood again. It seemed easy for Hank, both to notice when he was caught in his own head as well as get him out of it. A crack of a joke or a simple conversation and Connor felt fine again. He knew why, it was because he liked Hank. He had fallen for the first man to show him kindness as he always did. He had plans to keep it to himself though. Hank had enough going on without having to pry one of his former students off of himself. Instead Connor would treasure the days like this and the times he would get to see Hank at the cafe.

“You’re pulling away from me again.” Hank said as he pulled himself into the driveway, “Is the exam really bothering you that much?” “Ah, no. I was just thinking.” Connor replied. It wasn’t quite a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth. Hank eyed him skeptically, but didn’t push it much to Connor’s relief. “I’m here if you want to share, but for now we should probably head inside before Sumo breaks the door down.” Connor laughed and opened his door, “That’s a good plan.” When they got closer to the door Connor could hear Sumo’s excited barking from inside. Connor found himself smiling as Hank opened the door. “Get back you big lug. He can’t pet you if he can’t get into the fucking house.” Hank gruffed and Connor heard the effort that went into moving Sumo away from the door. Connor barely set foot in the house when he was knocked back against the door by an overly excited Sumo, “Hey buddy, I told you I would be back soon.”  He said as he pet Sumo who’s head was nearly level with his own given that Sumo was standing on his hind legs. He licked a wet stripe up Connor’s face and he laughed, “Yes, I missed you too, I promise.”

“Sumo, get down.” Hank said firmly, and Sumo hesitated for a moment before he obeyed. Connor straightened his clothes out of habit and then stepped out of his shoes. Sumo didn’t let him get too far out of his sight and Connor pet him near constantly. “I have never seen him so excited to see someone again.” Hank said as they settled onto the couch, “Normally he sticks to me like glue, this feels almost like betrayal.” Sumo was sitting in front of the couch with his front paws and head in Connor’s lap. He smiled at Hank, “I suppose its because he knows who the softer touch is.” “That’s a word for it.” Hank laughed, “So are we going to try and catch up on House today?” “I don’t know how far we’re going to get since you said you have plans for later.” Connor replied as he reached out to pet Sumo. “We have plans for later, this is part of your surprise.” Hank said as the show started up. Connor knew better than to object and settled in as the show started up. Hank liked House for the mystery aspect and Connor liked it for the blatant medical fantasy. It was a show that they both genuinely enjoyed and enjoyed making fun of. Connor found himself laughing unexpectedly at some of Hank’s more sarcastic comments. It was more given the combination of wit and timing than finding them genuinely funny. It was a nice way to unwind as take his mind off of things. Hank was always a pleasant distraction.

A couple of hours in Hank brought two bottles of light beer over to the coffee table. Connor reached for his and took a drink and winced at the taste. He wasn’t much of a drinker usually but he always had one beer when he was with Hank. Once he got past the taste and the alcohol hit it was relaxing. It was just a matter of getting over the taste. “I forget that you don’t drink often. I could get you something different if you would like.” Hank offered as he sat down and Connor leaned forward so Hank could get comfortable before Connor leaned back against him again. “I can handle one beer Hank, I’m not that weak.” Connor said in protest despite the disgust lingering in his voice, “I just have to get used to the taste again.” Hank put his arm up over the back of the couch and hit play again, “Next time I’m out I’ll grab some wine coolers for you.” “Thanks.” Connor said as they show started up. They got another four episodes in before Hank’s phone began to ring playing a metal song Connor hadn’t heard before.  He jumped and wound up setting his beer bottle down with more force than he intended to as Hank swore under his breath and scrambled to shut off the music.

“Sorry about that.” Hank said once it was quiet, “I had that set in case I fell asleep. Its time to head out so we don’t miss our reservation. Do you mind feeding Sumo while I get ready.” “Of course.” Connor said as he stood up, “Come on Sumo, its dinner time.” He coaxed the Saint Bernard into the kitchen to get him his dinner. He put him through a couple of tricks before he set the dish on the floor so he could eat. With that done he picked up the living room, threw away the beer bottles, and folded the blankets they had been under. Hank came down the hall in one of his usual loud button downs and black jeans. His hair was tied back and he had his glasses on again. Connor was not ready for that sight and swallowed thickly. What a time to have a fucking crush he supposed. “You ready to head out Con?” Hank asked. Connor swallowed again and tried to figured out how to speak, “Uh, yeah, I’m ready.” He said after a long moment. “Alright, then let’s head on out.” Hank said gesturing toward the door. Connor nodded again and made his way toward the door, put his shoes back on and reached for his jacket. Hank did the same then opened the door for Connor and they headed for the car.

Hank played jazz as they drove back into the city. They made small talk on the way but Hank didn’t seem all that inclined to tell Connor where they were going. It didn’t matter how Connor phrased the question, Hank would just give him that half smile that melted his resolve a little more and tell him that it was a surprise then change the subject. To be frank, Connor’s curiosity was killing him slowly. Connor opened his mouth to ask him again, but Hank beat him to it, “If I told you then it wouldn’t be a surprise. That, and we’re almost there, just be patient.” “Hank.” He groaned and the man in mention only laughed. “You’ll like it, I promise.” He assured before he changed the subject again, “How has work been?” “Its been alright, not as busy as it is when classes are in session.” Connor responded, “We’re going to be training another new girl starting next week.” Hank nodded as he pulled into a parking garage, “Because Josh is going to start his student teaching right?” “Yup.” Connor replied as he looked around trying to get an idea of where they were, “I may have to cut back on my hours as well depending on how the nursing program treats me.” “I’m sure you’ll do fine.” Hank said as he pulled into a parking place, “We’re here.”

“Are you anymore inclined to tell me what are doing?” Connor asked again. “No, but I am willing to tell you that it’s my treat.” Hank replied, “I don’t want a repeat of the last time we got coffee.” “I ask for the bill one time and you never let it go.” Connor grumbled with mock annoyance, “I was trying to be a gentleman.” “It was greatly appreciated, but this time its my turn Connor.” Hank said as he opened his door. “Thank you Hank.” Connor said as he got out as well. They walked side by side to the bank of elevators and Connor tried to guess what they were going to do. Hank had mentioned reservations so he had to assume that dinner or something similar was involved. A nice place probably considering as reservations were needed. The thought made Connor a little nervous, it seemed like a lot to do just for finishing his exams. He didn’t want to read too far into this because Hank wasn’t interested in him, but he couldn’t help but think that this felt almost like a date. Hank hit the call button, “You have a good memory, think that you can remember that we’re on the lavender level?” “Uh yeah.” Connor replied as he was pulled from his thoughts, “The lavender level, got it.” “I knew I was in good hands.” Hank said with another pleasant smile.

The elevator to the far right opened and they made their way toward it. Connor still didn’t know all of what was happening, but Hank seemed pretty excited and it was contagious and Connor found himself smiling as well. When the elevator opened on the street level they stepped out and Hank took his hand to lead him down the busy sidewalk. Connor knew it was so they wouldn’t get separated, but he still smiled and curled his fingers around Hank’s hand. He could pretend for now. They stopped at a restaurant with a name that Connor couldn’t pronounce, but it looked fancy. He hesitated at the door and Hank pulled him inside and gave him a reassuring smile. Once they were inside Hank let go of his hand and made his way to the podium. Connor looked down at his hand and then toward Hank’s back. He needed to get ahold of himself, being this emotional was unbecoming; he was better than this. “Alright Con, let’s go.”  Hank’s voice broke through his thoughts. He gave a sharp nod and followed Hank and the waiter back into the restaurant. Even the atmosphere of this place seemed expensive and he felt nervous and out of place. Hank took his hand again and squeezed it. They were brought to a booth along the far wall. Hank took one side and Connor took the other. The waiter handed them their menus and excused himself.

“You look uncomfortable Connor.” Hank said once the waiter was gone. “I’ve never been somewhere this nice, its probably expensive Hank.” Connor said quietly. He felt like if he spoke too loudly everyone in the restaurant would hear him. Hank only chuckled, “Of course its a nice place. You only graduate so many times.” He said, “I wanted to celebrate. I should have checked, I’m sorry.” “Its alright Hank, I was just surprised.” Connor said and Hank rolled his eyes, “Well okay, that wasn’t the right word, I wasn’t expecting this. I thought it might be a movie or something.” “Go big or go home.” Hank laughed, “Sorry if its too much.” “Its fine, I just needed a moment to adjust.” Connor admitted, “I’m alright now.” The conversation fell away as they looked over their menus. When the waiter came back Connor ordered a drink that Silas said was good and would help him relax. It was alcoholic which caused Hank to raise an eyebrow and he ordered a Coke for himself. “I didn’t think you would order another drink after the beer this afternoon.” Hank said with a teasing smile. “You said go big or go home right?” Connor replied, “I’ll only be having the one anyway I’ve been wanting to try it.”

They ordered their food when the waiter came back with their drinks. Connor went for something cheap since his drink had been a little pricey. Hank had given him a look but didn’t say anything about it. They’d had that talk before, but old habits died hard. They talked more over dinner, plans for after he finished school, potential books, and so on. Connor felt his drink hit him about halfway through dinner and had he been a smarter man he probably would have stopped, but he was twenty-seven and didn’t have anything to lose. Dinner ended with him considerably less sober than he would have liked. He felt a bit like he was floating and when he stood his balance was practically shot. When he pitched forward Hank was quick to catch him. He pulled Connor to his chest and Connor found himself smiling. This was nice. Hank chuckled and Connor felt the sound rather than heard it, “You really are a light weight aren’t you? You’ll just spit your thoughts right out.” It took Connor a long moment to realize that he had in fact voiced his thoughts. “Sorry.” He said as he straightened up. He waited for the restaurant to stop spinning before he took a tentative step away from Hank. He kept an arm around Connor’s waist, not a tight hold but enough to keep him from losing his balance again.

The walk back to the car was an adventure. Connor knew where they were parked, but his internal compass was not in the best shape and he kept getting turned around. Hank didn’t seem to mind. They finally got back to the correct garage and into the elevator. “Do you remember where we parked or did your drink take that from you too?” Hank asked with a teasing lilt to his voice. “We’re on lavender.” Connor replied and stumbled over his words, “My drink didn’t take anything from me.” Hank moved his hand from the small of Connor’s back to take his hand as the other one hit the button for the lavender level. Even in his intoxicated state, or perhaps because of it, Connor was hyper aware of the point where they were connected like it was a grounding point. He looked over at Hank and took in his form. He was attractive. Greying blonde hair and comforting blue eyes. He was tall and broad and Connor liked that about him. Then there was his personality, the rough exterior with vibrant kindness just beneath. This was a first for Connor; liking someone rather than just the idea of being with them. It was hurt because he was certain that Hank didn’t feel the same. The hand holding and hugs aside Hank didn’t seem to be interested in having Connor as anything more than a friend. He was fine with that of course, dating a former student would probably be awkward.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a hand on his cheek. “Hey, come back to me Connor.” Hank’s voice was gentle but laced with concern. Connor came back to himself a little confused by the wetness on his cheeks, “Sorry.” “Lesson learned, too much alcohol puts you at the mercy of your thoughts.” Hank responded as he stepped out of the elevator. “Apparently.” Connor said with a wet laugh as he followed Hank into the parking garage. If he was chasing those touches again that was his own business. Hank took his hand again on the ride home and rubbed his thumb along the back of Connor’s hand. Connor’s heart cracked a little in his chest because he didn’t think that Hank knew what this was doing to him. It was intended to be comfort because he had been crying in the elevator. It was a painful act of kindness. He was slowly starting to understand Silas’s view on love. This shit fucking hurt. “What’s eating at you?” Hank asked as they pulled into the parking lot of Connor’s apartment complex, “You’ve looked miserable the entire ride back, tonight was supposed to be nice. If its something I did can you please tell me?” Connor flinched and tightened his grip on Hank’s hand, “Could we maybe talk about this inside because I don’t want to be alone right now.”

He watched the concern on Hank’s face deepen as he turned the car off, “Of course. Let’s go.” Connor felt guilty for asking this of him, but Hank had asked what was wrong and Connor wasn’t ready to say all that in a place that wasn’t his. Especially if Hank was going to get upset he wanted to be in a place he was comfortable. If he was going to be rejected he wanted it to be on his terms. Yet he still hesitated when he got out of the car. Hank had never been up to Connor’s apartment. He’d only ever dropped him off. It was easy to blame their schedules when classes had been in session, but the reality of it had been that Connor was nervous about having Hank in his space. He was keenly aware of the irony of this now, but he couldn’t lie to Hank, not after tonight. Not when it had felt so close to something that was entirely unreachable to Connor all because Hank had once been his professor. He hated it and needed to set the record straight. If only so Connor’s heart would stop reaching for something his mind understood that he couldn’t have, not yet if ever. It was after hours so he had to use his code to get into the building. He held the door open for Hank and they walked to the elevators together. Connor could almost pretend that he wasn’t about to mess up a really good thing just because alcohol was making him overly aware of his emotions.

Even though he only lived four floors up, the elevator ride felt like it took hours instead of a few minutes. The silence between them was tense and almost uncomfortable. He nearly reached out for Hank and felt a deep sharp pain when it looked like Hank almost did the same. He opened the door to his apartment and held the door open for Hank. He cleared his throat in an attempt to gather his words, “Um, make yourself at home.” Connor made his way to the kitchen to start on coffee, it was an old habit from growing up. Hank settled onto one of the bar stools, “Its a little late for coffee don’t you think Con?” “Don’t worry, its decaf.” He replied, “I wouldn’t do that to you. I mean, I know you will probably be up late anyway, but I don’t want something I did to be the reason why.” “Connor relax.” Hank said gently, “I don’t know what’s bothering you, but I promise I won’t be upset. But I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.” Connor smiled bitterly as he handed Hank the first mug of coffee, “Please don’t make promises that you can’t keep.” One look at Hank’s shocked expression had Connor sighing quietly, “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.” “Did I do something wrong tonight Connor?” Hank asked as he held his mug of coffee with both hands as though he was trying to absorb its warmth. “You’ve been acting odd since the restaurant and I don’t believe all of it can be blamed on the alcohol.”

Connor nearly dropped the coffee pot as he was pouring a mug for himself. So much for having a handle on his emotions, that or Hank was better at reading him than he had thought. He took the time to finish pouring his mug before he answered. “Yes and no.” He said vaguely as he leaned against the counter mimicking the way Hank was holding his mug, “I know its not much of an answer.” He received an answering scoff from Hank and he continued, “But I think its more of how I interpret the things you do than the things you actually do.” “I don’t understand.” Hank replied. Connor sighed out his frustration and gripped his mug tighter, “I find myself particularly attached to you and I find that I tend to project those feelings onto the actions you take. I know that you don’t feel the same and having alcohol tonight was a bad plan because it blurred the lines I drew and it hurt; because tonight almost felt like you loved me too.” He wasn’t looking at Hank because he didn’t have the strength to. Which is why he missed Hank get up until he saw his large shadow fall over the counter. “Who’s to say that I don’t Connor?” “Don’t” Connor said harshly as he slammed his mug down on the counter, “Don’t do this to me. Either you do or you don’t. Please don’t make me question myself anymore than I already am.”

Hank flinched away from him at his outburst before he set his own mug down much more gently. He placed his hands on Connor’s shoulders and turned him to face him. His blue eyes were intense and the most emotional Connor had ever seen them. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you question yourself.” He said gently, “I thought I was clear in my feelings; but to use your words, I find myself particularly attached to you as well.” Connor’s heart felt like it was going to burst from his chest as well as stop, “You aren’t just saying this to appease me because I’m a little drunk, right?” “As much as I believe that this should wait until you’re sober; I wouldn’t do that to you.” He replied, “I’m being honest Connor.” Connor was moving before he could think too much about it. He leaned up onto his toes and pressed his lips to Hank’s. After a small eternity, Hank returned it pressing closer to Connor. Hank tasted strongly of coffee and Connor lanced his fingers in Hank’s hair when he tried to pull away. Hank put enough space between them to speak even when Connor tried to chase the kiss. “As much as I would love to continue, this is something better for left for when you’re sober.” Hank said against his lips. “Will you stay the night?” Connor pressed. “Only if you promise to behave.” Hank replied.

“I cross my heart.” Connor said with a soft smile. Connor moved to pour out the coffee and heard they key taps of Hank’s keyboard as he did who knows what on his phone. Connor was on cloud nine and couldn’t find it in himself to ask. He set the mugs in the sink, they could be an issue for future Connor. Right now he was more concerned with finding out if Hank’s chest was as comfortable as it looked.

[bffsoobin]

Windflower

01|02|03|04|05|06

↳ after a heartbreak you find yourself in a small town looking for purpose. you find employment with Choi Soobin and his impressive ancestral home. when you start to fall in love again, there’s no way for you to predict what you find in the depths of the home and Soobin’s mind.

➤ hanahaki au, angst, slight fluff, dark themes

Word Count:6,881

Warnings: swearing, descriptions of sickness and feeling generally unwell, mentions of doctors/medical treatments, deception, descriptions of anxiety/panic, horror, pain, major character death, general dark themes! Please proceed with caution if you’re sensitive! (also I did not proof read)

A/N:excuse my language; but holy fuck. I cannot believe this is the end of Windflower. This is insane. Windflower is my passion project, and the desire to write it is half the reason I opened my account on here. While it hasn’t been the most popular writing on my blog, I have been really really proud of it. Thank you to everyone who has been reading and supporting this since the beginning! I love you all!

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

Soobin sat with his head dipped toward the dark wooden dining table. He was scrolling through what appeared to be a website for a plant nursery; as if he needed more within the home. You were sitting opposite of him, peeking over the top of your laptop where you were pretending to read an article on the ten best shows coming to Netflix this fall. Following the night of your drunken rage, the two of you had patched up your relationship as well as you possibly could. You’d traded apologies, talked it out over a store-bought cheesecake and moved on. 

At least, you assumed he had. He acted as if you hadn’t accused him of being some type of fraud and proclaimed that you could no longer trust him. Everything was eerily the same, despite Soobin’s increased caution around you in certain settings. Gone were the days of him laying a hand on your back as you cooked or resting his head on your shoulder while you both dozed off on the couch. 

You should have been grateful for his physical distance. Happy that he was giving you the room you had hinted at needing on that night a few weeks ago. Instead you were annoyed. Frustrated at the way you craved to feel his comforting touch even though you knew it would only bring you more pain in the end. For a while, you worried that his avoidance meant he had seen the evidence of your stupidity floating within the toilet bowl, but you knew Soobin well enough to know that he would have talked to you about it. Right? He would have brought it up; although slowly and with extreme caution, and asked you what he could do to help. He had proven himself to be mature and thoughtful, even after you’d tried to push him away. 

He finally stirred in his seat across the table. You could actually hear a few of his bones crack with the movement and you stifled a laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” He tried to sound intimidating, but his voice was so inherently soft around the edges that you couldn’t hold back the laugh. 

“You’re just an old man,” you were poking at him, you knew, but it felt good. You felt normal. Almost like you were back to the time when the two of you were truly just friends. He planted both of his large, vascular hands flat on the table and leaned his weight forward. 

“I’m an old man? You do know we’re the same age, Y/N. So if I’m so old...” he paused for dramatic affect as you stared up at him in amused awe. “Then you must be ancient.”

An offended gasp, obviously feigned, slipped between your lips; which you now noticed you’d chewed raw as you were thinking earlier. 

“How dare you? I am the epitome of youth! My hair is flowing, my skin is flawless,” you pointed to a blemish on your chin you knew for a fact you’d had for days. “My youthful beauty is unmatched, can’t you tell?” You weren’t sure where your sudden good mood had come from but you basked in it. Even as Soobin used his hands as leverage to lean closer to your face, you didn’t budge. You couldn’t. This close up, you could spot every single little freckle on his face. The dynamic shades of his irises became more and more distinct until he finally stopped advancing toward you. It was easily the closest the two of you had been in weeks. 

“Hm, you’re right. I can tell. There’s something about you...” he squinted his eyes as if he were scrutinizing your every feature. “You are beautiful, Y/N.” 

The sentence brought an unwanted visceral reaction through your body. It was too much like a confession, too close to the exact words you needed to hear from him. A shooting pain rippled through your heart. You shuddered out an exhale, shutting your eyes tight as if that would stave away the pain. In a blind panic, you pushed away from the solid table and made to put as much distance between yourself and Soobin as possible. Then your migraine hit, the feeling like someone had stuck a red hot iron rod behind both of your eyes. Fuck. On top of that pain, a cough worked its way up your throat, producing a petal into your mouth that was slimy and bitter.

You only made it two and a half steps before your knees gave out, sending you hurtling toward the floor in a free fall. Sticking your hands out just before the impact, you accepted the fact that you were about to get a concussion out of your own inability to properly distance yourself from an unrequited love. But the sensitive skin of your face never bounced off of the original hardwood flooring you had once drooled over. 

“Y/N?” Soobin was panicked, stooped down  next to you as he had managed to barely break your fall and turn you around to lay on your back. Your vision was still swimming, but you cracked open your eyes very slowly. 

‘What’s wrong? Do you need to go to a doctor?” 

“No,” you croaked out, “was just a migraine.” Soobin scoffed. 

“I’ve never seen anyone nearly pass out from just a migraine, Y/N. And in all the months I’ve known you, you’ve never-”

“I’m fine.” You asserted, sitting up as well as you could with his arms wrapped protectively around your shoulders. “They used to happen the last time I- uh, when I was in college. It’s okay, they’ll pass.” You were lying right through your teeth. The last time you had a migraine this badly, your then roommate had rushed you to the emergency room and discovered that you had hanahaki. There was no doubt that history was repeating itself. 

 “Okay.” He was frowning, obviously unconvinced as he pushed a hand against your lower back. “At least let me help you upstairs.” 

----

The migraine either dissipates or you simply become accustomed to it. The petal you had coughed into a tissue when you first reached your room had dried, sitting on your bedside table in its perfect little form to mock you. You were so disgusted that you couldn’t even bring yourself to throw it away. No longer sensitive to light, you shrugged out from underneath your sheets and stretched your limbs until they cracked. A dull thumping was still present at the base of your skull; a reminder of what you’d just suffered. A sickly feeling of anxiety passed through you like a breeze, making the hair on the back of your neck stand to attention. Soobin was clearly not convinced by your insistence that your sudden ailment was nothing of concern. And he was right. In all the time you’d been around him, you never once experienced a spell quite like that, so how was he supposed to not be suspicious?

Although, you had to hold onto hope that he truly didn’t know any better. It seemed as though he was blissfully ignorant to the truth behind your sickness, and you’d like to keep it that way. For as long as you possibly could, anyway. 

You hadn’t even noticed that you were pacing across the floor until you landed your weight onto a particularly squeaky board that sounded ridiculous in the otherwise quiet room. Freezing on the spot, you held your breath for some reason you truly couldn’t explain. Of course, there was no logical reason to do so, and the action only resulted in your lungs contracting violently. Your upper body shuddered as you opened your mouth instantly. Holding your breath for just a few seconds should have been a simple task, but to your weakened heart and lungs it felt like running a whole marathon uphill. 

Buckling over, you heaved in mouthfuls of oxygen until your heart rate dropped back down to a normal rate. Add shortness of breath to your growing list of signs that should send you running for the nearest clinic. If you weren’t so foolishly attached to the man who was probably worrying about you downstairs, you would have already been booking yourself an appointment. 

It just seemed totally inconceivable, even in your predicament, to leave Soobin behind within his ancestral house that surely felt horridly empty being lived in alone. You would sooner walk over lava barefoot than put him through that. It was stupid. So incredibly stupid, but you were literally willing to put your life on the line just to look after Soobin. He had really weaseled himself deep into your psyche. But you knew you were to blame for holding the door wide open. He had done so much for you, surely you could do him to kindness of sticking around as long as you possibly could.

So you trudged down the steps like you did every day, expecting to come face to face with an overly worried and doting young man standing in the kitchen or living room awaiting your arrival. But the lower level of the house was oddly silent when you descended the steps. The low hum of the washer and dryer running were the only indications that someone beside yourself was even there. Curiosity spiking, you made your way to the vacant living room to peer out of the windows. It was a bit hard to see him from this angle, but you spotted Soobin lounging on the back deck, skin browning in the sun and eyes closed in content. His arms were tucked behind his head, effectively lengthening his torso and giving you a full view of the sliver of skin that was peeking out between the top of his waistband and the bottom of the white cotton t-shirt  You noticed that he was once again wearing the outfit he was donning when you first arrived at the front gate weeks ago. Although the outfit was simple and generally unremarkable, you would never forget the way your heart lurched at the sight of his lithe body the first time. The warm pull of nostalgia nagged at the back of your mind, so you selfishly let yourself sink into its embrace and recall the trepidation you had once approached the grounds with. 

Soobin had charmed you so easily with his windswept hair and boyish charm that it was a shock you didn’t begin to grow flowers for him the first time you met. To be fair, the version of you who had rolled into town almost two months prior was much more cautious than the version you were now familiar with. Part of you missed that version of you; who was simply drifting through life, unattached to anyone and looking for a new spot to plant her roots. But you knew you weren’t built to live like that, as your attachment to Soobin had proven wholeheartedly. 

Suddenly, you felt a lurching in your chest that didn’t necessarily hurt you; but urged you to go outside and talk to Soobin. A subconscious pull that reminded you that your body craved his attention just as much as your mind did. The weather was beautiful today, a pleasant temperature that made your skin feel like it was glowing as soon as you were under the sun. As soon as you stepped onto the porch, Soobin whipped his head around in your direction. Cutely, he scrambled to sit up, hair frizzy from the static of the Adirondack chair he had been lounging on. 

“Are you feeling better?” A warm hand encased the left side of your face, Soobin’s sloped nose just inches away from yours as his speckled eyes studied every single pore and line on your face. 

“Uh- I’m-” his proximity was making your jittery, heart rate spiking as you tried to collect your thoughts. “I feel better. The migraine is gone.” You ignored the way the same dull ache from earlier was beginning to seep into the edges of your brain. 

“Oh, good!” A rush of his breath blew over your sensitive skin, sending your eyelids into a flutter. When he removed his hand, you felt oddly cold and empty despite the heat of the atmosphere. “Look, I don’t want you to do any work around the house until you’re feeling better. And I can call my doctor to get you in for a-”

“No!” The word jumped off of your tongue before you could reign it in; rudely cutting Soobin off as his eyes widened in shock. He shifted his weight as his eyebrows knit together in worry. You licked your lips- suddenly dry- and tried to collect the thoughts that were running laps in your mind. How could you possibly explain that going to the doctor would be a grave mistake and mark the end of your companionship. 

“You don’t want to go to the doctor? I promise he’s really nice, Y/N, and he can get you medicine for your migraines.” His perfect lips were pulled into a worried pout, a thin sheen of sweat glazing his skin only exemplifying his perfect complexion. 

“No, it’s just that...when I had them before they ran a bunch of tests,” you were hedging the truth and you knew it, but hopefully Soobin couldn’t tell the difference, “and there was nothing they could give me to help them. So a doctor would just be, ya know, a waste of time.” The skin on the back of your neck was heated in worry as you shot Soobin what you hoped was a convincing grin. 

“Okay.” He was still frowning but he seemed to believe you. “Just please let me know if you want to go. I don’t want you to be miserable. And you’re still not doing any yard work,” he grasped your bicep and led you over to the chair he had just been lying in. His grip was strong as he gave you no choice but to sit down and relax. The plastic was heated from the sunshine and the heat of his body as you settled in and looked up at him, blinking slowly. 

“I’m not gonna break, Soobin. I can handle watering the plants and doing some cleaning inside. You are not going to wait on me hand and foot.” You put some fire in your tone, hoping to edge away the anxiety you were feeling creep up the back of your throat. Having the exact person who sent your body on a fight against itself watching over you like a mother cat watches its kittens would surely put you six feet under. 

Soobin’s eyes steeled as he crossed his arms over his broad, defined chest. “No, Y/N. I am going to wait on you, because you’ve spent so much time waiting on me, and you deserve to have someone take care of you. Please let me take care of you, bub.” You were speechless at the strength of his voice coupled with the nickname he had only used in a teasing manner prior to this moment. The longer you stared at the toned muscle of his arms crossed over the widest part of his torso, the more your throat began to tickle with the insistence of soft, red petals that were looking for an escape. Panicked, you looked away quickly, coughing as softly as you can to hopefully pass the action off as simply swallowing down the wrong pipe. Just when you think the moment has passed, an unwavering push at the back of your throat had you involuntarily gagging. Soobin sprung into action, patting a large hand between your shoulder blades as if he were burping an infant. He was calling your name, pulling some strands of your hair away from your face in a bid to get your attention; but you ignored him. Your stomach rolled, the pressure in your lungs and heart only increasing at his touch that you tried to shrug off. 

Eventually the muscles of your esophagus stopped constricting and fresh oxygen could flow back into your crowded lungs. Hot tears slipped down your cheeks and you wiped at them in embarrassment, hiding your face from Soobin’s intensified gaze. You could only imagine what he was thinking right now; as you’d just went from insisting you had no need for a doctor to dry heaving over the side of his deck furniture. The thought had you shrinking into yourself even more. He was going to catch on eventually, wasn’t he? Fuck. You couldn’t avoid this much longer. The evidence of your disease was only mounting and Soobin was more observant than ever before. 

“Y/N.” The call of your name brought you, slowly, out of your own mind. “Look at me.” The words could not have been any clearer, yet you shook your head like a petulant child. He sighed. “Please, I’m worried about you. Please let me take care of you. I can’t,” he stopped and you could hear him swallow clearly. Was that a sniffle? Your heart clenched in response. “I can’t sit here and watch you hurt.” 

Still ashamed, you raised your head from your hands and stared out over the yard instead of facing him. You didn’t think your stuttering heart would survive seeing his expression in this supercharged moment. You’d sooner drop dead than see Soobin crying over you.

“Okay,” you acquiesced, mind already running in the direction of a backup plan, “I’m sorry, Soobin. You’re right. I do need you to look after me. Just please.” you swallowed, tasting the oddly earthy tang of flower petals on your tongue. “No doctors. You have to promise me.” Finally turning your body to face his, your earlier suspicions were confirmed. 

Your heart constricted painfully at the sight of him, eyes rimmed red and watery with unshed tears and a line of worry creasing the soft skin of his forehead harshly. “Fine.” He huffed, clearly displeased with your stipulation but willing to make the sacrifice. 

“Thank you,” the words were whispered, caught in a sudden gust of wind, but he heard them nonetheless and sent you a small nod. 

“Of course.”

----

Soft sunlight filtered through the flowy white curtains hanging over the windows of the library. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t spent much time in this little haven since you moved in. Soobin’s cousin had filled it with plush armchairs laden with soft fleece blankets and the most comfortable throw pillows you’d ever felt. The books were certainly outdated, but you found some classics that satisfied the itch for escape you had begun to cultivate. Currently, you were flipping through a vintage illustrated coffee table book- the front page tells you it was made in 1962- that gave diagrams and names of all types of flowers. You shouldn’t have been surprised to find this type of literature here, as Soobin himself had admitted to learning the meanings of flowers in his free time. 

The pages were delicate, so you flipped them carefully, fingers tracing over the edges that felt like they might melt between the oil of your skin. As you turned onto a new page a brightly colored sticky note, not unlike the ones you used to mark up textbooks, drew your attention toward the flower it was attached to. You recognized the flower as jasmine immediately, familiar with the patch of it that weaved among its neighbors in the garden. Brushing the sticky note aside, you read the delicate cursive underneath it: eternal and unconditional love. Cute. The image of a younger Soobin thumbing through the book, tongue pushed out in concentration as he researched warmed your heart. 

A tremor of weakness passed through your arm, making your hand shake. A feeling of dread- which you desperately tried to push down- reminded you of just how much worse your condition had become. You had noticed it lately, the way you felt much more faint than normal, how much more often you had to take a moment to catch your breath, the way your whole body would shake when you cough up a mix of blood and petals into the sink. 

But for now, you chose to lose yourself in this book and the newfound hunt for Soobin’s sticky notes of interest. You had to skip a few pages before you found the next ones; two bundled together in the upper left corner of the page marked off forget-me-nots and begonias. Gently lifting the sticky notes revealed the meanings behind these flowers, also featured in the backyard, to be true love and deep compassion and communication or connection, respectively. Curiosity mounting, you continued to flip through the weighty book. At first, you began to think that maybe the three notes you’d already found were all that lived within the forgotten book. As you neared the end, your eyes caught on two more, this time on opposite ends of the page. One partially covered an illustration of a snapdragon, the other highlighting the small flowers of a buttercup. Your nails caught on the edge of the blue paper as you lifted it. Buttercups: neatness and innocence. The definition made sense, calling back to memory the way your former best friend had coughed up a handful of the pale yellow flowers when you were just children. She was easily the most pure and innocent person you’d ever met, and given the matching nature of the boy who’d also been secretly pining over her; you couldn’t think of a more perfect example of the type of flower representing the relationship. 

You wondered if Soobin had chosen and planted these flowers with the image of the relationships they’re indicative of in mind. The snapdragon’s description was totally covered by the sticky note; so you nearly had to pry the whole thing off before you could see the cursive. Deception. The word stared back at you. It seemed very out of place among the other markings that Soobin had made. You knew for a fact that a tall, thick patch of snapdragons were growing proudly in the garden, among all the other flowers with soft, beautiful meanings. Interesting. You would consider the fact that Soobin was only drawn to their aesthetics, but the way the drawing was marked with the same enthusiasm as the others was certainly curious. 

You decided that you were thinking way too far into this. For all you knew, the snapdragons were simply planted by someone in his family and he had gone looking for their meaning. Nearing the end of the book, you were simply skimming over the book. Your eyes were starting to get tired, fatigue dancing under your skin as you considered taking a nap right there. On the final, yellowed page of the flower identification book, you spotted something alarmingly familiar. A red flower whose petals fade into a pure white near the stem. The exact same petals that had been crawling up your throat and ruining the little bit of safety you’d found within Soobin’s home. 

Suddenly on high alert, you sat up straight, eyes watering as you finally focused enough to comprehend the definition. The red windflower. Death and forsaken love. Your throat went completely dry, heart dropping down to your stomach. The petals pushed against the soft flesh of the inside of your throat, scratching at the back of your tongue as a harsh reinforcement of what you were reading. Death? Surely you had joked with yourself that you felt as if you were dying, but was that not just because you hadn’t seen a doctor? 

A new gagging cough slipped past your lips, consuming your senses totally as you focused on not spewing a mix of blood, spit and flower petals onto the surely expensive leather chair. Finally, you collapsed back in the chair, chest heaving, book laid open on your lap. Fresh tears brimmed your eyes. You needed to leave. As much as you desired to stay around Soobin and bask in his company, you were becoming increasingly worried for your life. You had to find a way to get him out of the house long enough for you to pack up the essentials and flee the house. It would hurt. It would hurt so bad, but nothing could be worse than the message of doom that your body was giving you. Loving Soobin would literally put you in an early grave. 

“Hey, Y/N, you okay?” Soobin’s voice came cautiously from somewhere behind you and you jumped, clasping the book shut quickly. 

“I’m-” you tried, voice too wrecked from coughing to continue. You cleared your throat, ignoring the painful pinch that created and tried again. “I’m okay. But I was wondering if you’d do me a favor?” Thinking on your feet had your head spinning, and you hoped he couldn’t sense the waver in your voice as you spoke. 

He approached slowly, sitting himself on an armchair opposite of you. The knees of his jeans were stained brown with dirt, a sight not uncommon after his time in the garden. He pushed a hand through his mussed up hair. It was a nervous tick, you knew, and you felt awful for worrying him. Maybe it was better if you left after all. 

“Could you go out to Hank’s and get me a Smore’s sundae? I would drive myself but...” a vague gesture over your generally unwell body made the point clear. “I know it’s pretty far out of town but I’ve been craving one since the first time we went.” 

“Of course. I’m done outside, I can go. Are you sure you’ll be okay alone? I’ll be out for probably like 40 minutes to get all the way there and back.”

“Yes, Soobin. I can still handle myself alone. I’m not that sick.” The irony of the statement was not lost on you, but it seemed to have placated him enough for him to slip on his shoes and leave the house. As soon as he was gone, you threw yourself off of the chair. Your heart rate had been in a constant state of increase for weeks, but you just had to just push through it for now. 

In a flurry of packing that was all too familiar to the way you left your college apartment,  you began to gather your things. You felt a twinge of guilt for leaving behind some of your things for Soobin to contend with, but you had to push it aside in favor of working quickly. All of your personal items, chargers, enough clothing for two weeks, toiletries and any money you’d brought along with you were stuffed into your trusty tote bag. You took one last sweeping look around the room, anxiety licking at the back of your neck as you feared you were running out of time. Many of your dressers were still full and you had left the bed a mess but your most important items were tucked underneath your arm securely; and that was enough for you. 

As you descended the stairs, you tried to ignore the way you wobbled dangerously down them until you finally got to the bottom level of the house. A bittersweet feeling rose in your chest as you surveyed the kitchen where you’d cooked and baked so many times. The living room beckoned you with similar memories of taking naps in the sunshine and watching your favorite films. A stray tear you didn’t know was welling up made a hot streak down your face before dripping off of your skin. No matter how much it hurt, you had to keep moving. The floor creaked familiarly under your feet as you approached the front door. The handle was cold under your fingers as you twisted, but the satisfying creak and rush of fresh air that you were expecting never came. You tried again, but the door didn’t budge. Locked. Okay, that made sense. Neither of you really used the front door, so of course it was locked up. Leaning down to inspect the doorknob, you realized that the age of the home meant that you would need a skeleton key to slip into the door and crack it open. 

Slightly annoyed, you took a deep, steadying breath and headed for the backdoor. You would have to walk further to get to your car; but the back door should be unlocked, considering Soobin had just left out of it. With more fervor, you gripped the door knob and twisted, just to be met with the same resistance the front door gave. A flash of hot panic consumed you as you jiggled the handle again, just in case it would make any difference. Soobin must have locked it out of habit when he left, and you knew for a fact that he had the only key-as far as you knew- with him out at Hank’s. Blindly, you grabbed for your cellphone before realizing how useless that would truly be. No one knew you were here. You didn’t have any other friends in town, and it’s not like you could call the police to come help you without Soobin finding out. Sweaty palms made your phone nearly slip from your grip as your mind worked in overdrive. 

“Okay.” you whispered to yourself, “where would he keep spare keys?” Rifling through a mental list of all the nooks and crannies of the home, a sudden realization hit you. That room upstairs where you had hit your head! That would explain why the room seemed oddly clean, and it was feasible to believe that what you mistook for an AC unit was actually a safe of some kind. Back up the steps you went, heart thumping in a rhythm that was surely unhealthy for someone as young as yourself. 

When you finally got to the room, you found the mismatched furniture exactly where you left it. Soobin had clearly made no effort to move back the dresser or the table that you’d begun to slide out of the way; only making your mission so much easier. 

For the first time today, you had luck when you pulled at the handle of something. Up close, you seemed to be clearly looking at some kind of built in storage compartment, made of a light metal and easily accessed by a small pull lever. Your fingers slipped as you swung the door open, excitement rising at the prospect of being correct about the keeping place of the keys. 

As fast as the excitement and relief had risen, they were quelled and buried deep underneath a wash of confusion. Within the confines of the compartment, you were faced with... flowers. In the middle, acting as some sort of centerpiece, was a pressed snapdragon stem. An entire cluster of flowers, attached firmly to a greened stem was propped up on a small stand; shrink wrapped in protective plastic. Something about the sight was oddly familiar. The stem was cut so perfectly across, completely unlike the way a garden sheer or someone breaking off the plant would present. A memory surfaced to the top of your mind, recalling the first time you’d had your flowers removed. It was cut in the exact same manner; with the precision only a surgical tool could make. Although you’d tried to bury the whole process in a dusty corner of your mind, you did remember your doctor offering the option to take the removed flower home. It had appalled and confused you, but it was clear that that was the source of this exact flower. 

“What the fuck?” you whispered, catching sight of an almost unrecognizable sharpie scribbled on the corner. CS. Initials? Oh god. CS. Choi Soobin. Your hand recoiled as if you’d been burned, the feeling of bile raising toward your tongue. He had told you that he never grew flowers, so what the hell was this? Why would he keep this a secret? Hurt and panic joined hands and wreaked havoc on your nervous system. You could barely think straight. Was this his...trophy case? 

When you shifted on your feet, you spotted a small envelope resting behind the stand. A sick feeling of curiosity had you reaching for it. At this point, you had no idea what to expect as your fingers stick to the material thanks to the sweat permeating your body. It takes a few tries, but once you finally get the envelope slipped open, you can’t tell what you’re looking at. The lighting was too awkward, so you dumped the contents out onto the surface of the compartment. You weren’t sure what you were expecting to see; but it certainly wasn’t this. Dozens of flower petals, dried and shrink wrapped in the same fashion as the haunting centerpiece spilled out in front of you. The smooth metal surface sent them all skidding, so it took you a second to get the whole picture. The first one to catch your eye was a white, pointed petal that you could easily identify as jasmine with the same handwritten pair of letters on one corner. YJ. Another protected petal, this one the tell tale purple-blue of a forget me not bore the letters SA. In fact, you could match every single one of these petals to a flower you had been fawning over in the garden since your arrival. 

One that had scattered toward the back of the case seemed to compel you even though you couldn’t quite see it. You reached for it blindly, bringing a few, clearly much older flowers forward with it. Sifting through them only struck more and more fear into you. Every instinct you had was telling you to run, scream, pound on a window until you could bust out. Soobin was clearly not all he had claimed to be. But a dark, twisted side of yourself you didn’t know existed wanted to sift through all of the petals and match them up with the garden you’d cared for. Resting at the bottom of the pile in your hand, you finally came across the petal you’d initially reached for. 

It was about the size of a penny; red, fading into a simple white at the bottom. This was it. This was the exact petal that you’d spit out onto your bedside table after your first awful migraine. Now that you thought about it, you never did throw it out. You were too disgusted to even face the flora that haunted you. 

Your heart stopped. The sharpie on this flower was smudged, as if he had been in too much of a hurry to let it dry. Your initials were there, clear as day. He had collected your flower for his sick collection. He had collected...you. 

The little happy world you had built yourself came crashing down like a ton of bricks. If he had done this to you, then surely all of these other petals came from others who had come to work and live with him. You recalled an early discussion about family tradition as you thumbed over a group of much more withered looking flowers. 

This was the family tradition. 

Alarms blared in your mind. Get out, your mind urged faster than your feet could move. Tripping over yourself, you hoped that Soobin wasn’t home yet, as you had no idea how to get out of the home. Your feet pounded noisily on the hardwood but that was the very least of your worries. Skidding into the kitchen, your blood ran cold.

Soobin. 

“Hey,” his voice was smooth, unwavering as he leaned against the sink nursing a bottle of water. On the island there was a brown paper bag with Hank’s logo printed on the front. “There’s your ice cream.” 

You didn’t know what to do. Clearly, you had been caught red handed with a tote bag in hand and anxious sweat rolling down your face. 

“Oh, uh. Thanks.” The room sat creepily still as Soobin’s eyes, devoid of any clear emotion, roved over you. He quirked an eyebrow as he pushed himself off of the counter. You couldn’t move, even as he stalked closer. 

“What happened to you resting? You’re sick.” He had asked a question but it seemed clear we really wasn’t looking for an answer. 

“I just-” your words turned into a gasp as Soobin gripped your shoulder so hard that it hurt. Gone were the usually careful caresses of his fingers as he pushed you backwards. With your body already weak it only took one wrong step for you to be sent flying toward the floor. On instinct, you tried to grab onto Soobin’s solid body for support, but he stepped back and watched you fall, bouncing the back of your head off of the floor hard enough to go limp. Consciousness came and went as you struggled to do anything in the name of self defense. Your lungs and heart were too compromised to acquire and pump the nutrients your body needed. Soobin crouched over you, studying you with a passive look on his face. 

“Ya know,” he sighed, pulling the tote bag away from your body. “I really did like you. I hoped to have spent some more time with you, but you’re just,” he clicked his tongue, grabbing you firmly by the ankles and giving an experimental tug. You slid along the floor easily. “So. Nosy. Too nosy for your own good.” 

“Soobin, you’re not- this isn’t-” a dark chuckle passed between his lips. The ones you once dreamed of. 

“You don’t know me. This is exactly who I am, Y/N. This is who my whole family is.” He dropped your ankles harshly, secure in the fact that you were too weak to get up. A shroud of darkness filled your head as you grayed out from the panic. When you awoke again, it was to the sound of birds chirping. It hurt to open your eyes but you did it anyway, spotting Soobin just above you, wielding a shovel. 

He smiled down at you, deceivingly handsome, as he stuck the shovel into the pliant ground just to your side. Looking to your left, you spotted a freshly dug shallow grave and your blood ran cold at the recognition that he must have been digging this earlier in the day when you were reading. 

“Please, don’t do this.” you begged with the last of your energy. “Soobin, please. I- I love you.” Desperation had you spitting out your deepest secrets in a bid to catch his attention and change his behavior. 

“Awe,” he crooned, grabbing onto your wrists with a grip that would certainly bruise your delicate skin. “I know.” One sharp movement had you landing on your back in the dirt, several feet below ground level. The impact pushed all the air out of your compromised lungs and you didn’t even have the semblance to lift your head and scream to anyone listening. Soobin stood above you, blocking the sun from your view as he dropped something onto you. It took you a few moments, but you soon realized he had dropped a handful of red windflower petals and seeds onto your front. You shuddered. This is surely what had happened to all the other people who carried the flowers you’d found. This was how Soobin kept his beautiful garden. Sacrifice. 

Wordlessly, he piled shovel fulls of dirt on top of your body. With your eyes slipping shut, all you could do was feel the weight of being buried alive consume you. 

----

Soobin hated the winter. It was too long, too cold, too boring. He usually spent the whole time holed up in his home, dreaming of the day the weather warms. 

Finally, finally, after months of waiting the time had come. An early summer breeze pushed his hair out of his face. This season he had decided to go for a purple color that seemed to suit his complexion well. Sitting on his favorite deck chair, he gazed out at the beginnings of his blooming garden. All of the usuals had cropped up, but it was with great pride and delight that Soobin regarded the patch of red windflowers that had begun to grow. For their first season, they were going strong, covering almost the entire plot of land he had allowed them. For a while, he had been worried that the new plants wouldn’t perform well, since he’d never dealt with them before. But he was quite proud. 

As he sipped from a frosty glass of lemonade, he heard the distant crunch of his driveway gravel. It had been almost a year since the last time he heard it, but his heart jumped in excitement. Stretching his limbs, he began a lazy meander toward the front gate; already making out the slight static of the speaker as someone spoke into it, introducing themselves and asking if they were in the right place. Clearing his throat, he rounds to corner to the great iron gate surrounded by his guarding trees and glances back at his garden. Then he advanced, opening the gate as he came and beckoning his new guest inside the boundaries of his property.

“Hi! I’m Soobin. This house belonged to my great-great-uncle and his wife. Well, wives.”

tag list: @unlocktxt @magicisland9-34 @givethnofucketh @yeonjjuniverse​ 

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas]

sooga sitting between kohga legs while hes on his throne, with his cock on sooga mouth not letting him touch his master OR himself

You are SO big brained, salsa. I love your ideas, I love your art, you are a blessing to this fucking blog, send any fucking requests your ass wants.

The Yiga clan loved to gather information. Having said that, it also made them quite notorious for spreading MIS information. As in, you’d constantly catch the members spreading rumors with one another. Only true and honest facts were given to Kohga himself, but amongst each other, their imagination went wild. Not that Kohga didn’t hear every single one. He may seem lazy to some, but Kohga was ever listening, and this new rumor REALLY got under his skin. The rumor that Sooga and him were together, and that Sooga was top. He didn’t mind everyone shipping them in the slightest, but the idea of HIM being in charge? He was so insulted, so OFFENDED. He just had to prove them wrong. Kohga got himself comfy in his favorite seat, sighing in content.

“Alright, I need my appreciation time, and Sooga here, now.”

Kohga hated the idea of royalty, but damn did he enjoy being treated like a royal. Blademasters, foot soldiers, AND Sooga appeared before him, as if by magic. The foot soldiers brought him his usual treats; bananas, freshly shaved ice with all types of nice syrups, and even sauteed nuts. Lovely spread, honestly. Kohga looked through his options, and motioned towards the plate of nuts. He helped himself to a small handful, and as he nibbled his treats, he motioned to Sooga.

“So, have you heard the new rumors?”

“Please specify, my lord. The foot soldiers do enjoy muttering amongst themselves.”

Kohga wiped the crumbs off his stomach (with the soldiers looking enviously as he did so. Some of these guys were just absolute perverts), and shook his head.

“Nope. The rumor that YOU’RE the one fucking ME.”

The members next to them tried not to giggle, clearly finding it funny. But not Sooga. Sooga cleared his throat, making the soldiers silence themselves. He gave a light bow of his head.

“I apologize that such a rumor dishonors you, Master Kohga. I could trace where these lyng roots lie, and punish them accordingly.”

“No need, Sooga. I found them already.”

Sooga (as well as the other members) cocked their heads, clearly curious. Kohga helped himself to a bite of shaved ice, before wiping his mouth (where it would have been anyway) with the back of his hand. He sighed as he locked eyes with Sooga.

“Don’t play dumb, Sooga.”

“I...beg your pardon?”

“YOU started it!”

Kohga stood up, and pointed a finger in accusation at him. Sooga gave a shake of his head.

“Master Kohga, I would do no such thing! I would only speak honest truths in your ho-”

Kohga held his hand up, silencing him. He gestured for Sooga to get down, and he obeyed, getting on one knee, and putting his head down. The proper form of a Yiga apology. Kohga sat back down on his chair, trying to act upset. The rumor being spread around was the fact part, but he knew Sooga wouldn’t ever start something like that. He was too noble, too focused on the cause to busy himself with rumors. But this made things so much more fun.

“I CAN’T believe you, Sooga. I expected more from you. I don’t mind the idea of you saying we fuck, because we do, and I’m not ashamed to admit that. But the idea of you saying that YOU’RE in charge of me? That’s just insulting.”

Of course Sooga wouldn’t say anything in his own defense. One, Kohga was stubborn, and two, Sooga would never talk his way out of a punishment. Kohga opened his legs wide open, and snapped his fingers. He was fed a piece of a banana, and as he chewed, he pretended to be deep in thought. Sooga lightly cleared his throat.

“I beg for your forgiveness, but I will accept your fury.”

He knew he’d say something like that. Such a good, good boy, his Sooga. Sooga grumbled, before patting his knee. Sooga crawled forward, stopping right in front of Kohga’s lap.

“Good. Because you ARE going to get punished, Sooga. Give me your mouth.”

There was a mumble of confusion amongst the members, but Sooga knew exactly what he meant. Sooga adjusted his face mask, showing just the mouth part of his face. Everyone gave a light gasp, as if Kohga had stripped down completely naked right in front of them. It was considered shameful to show ANY part of your face, and even showing a piece of your chin was like your pants falling down. Kohga held onto his chin, lightly brushing his thumb against his bottom lip. He had seen his face, but he had NEVER touched it. Aside from a little scar on his lip, Sooga’s features were very soft, very pleasant to touch.

“You understand, I’m not punishing you for funsies. You’re my right hand, so you need to be a step above everyone. You messing up is NOT accepted here, at all.”

“I understand fully, my Master.”

Even watching his lips move was hot. Even watching his tongue help him form words did something to Kohga. He had a good, sharp chin to boot, and Kohga couldn’t help but feel at the little spot of hair growing at his chin. Sooga was a VERY handsome man, almost as good looking as yours truly. Almost. Kohga reached down, and un did a part of his uniform, pulling his cock out. To say he had everyone’s eyes was NO exaggeration. Even members that were just passing by doing their daily duties moved just a bit slower to get a good look. Kohga’s cock was different from Sooga’s; shorter, but VERY thick. It didn’t have as much of a curve to it as Sooga’s either, but he DID share the bunch of black pubic hair (though his was more plentiful, as well as more curly). Either way, he could tell everyone was drooling behind their masks, just wishing they could get a taste. Kohga made Sooga look up at him.

“Now, you’re going to put me in your mouth. You aren’t going to suck, and I’m not gonna skull fuck you. You’re just gonna sit there, mouth full of cock, and not move. Understand?”

“I-I mean I would- I’m not, that is to say-”

Kohga liked watching this usually confident man be brought so low. Kohga rolled his eyes, and pushed his head forward, groaning in satisfaction as he stuffed himself fully into that mouth. Kohga gave himself a minute to get used to the feeling, before relaxing in his seat.

“There we go. Now, who here thinks Sooga is in charge?”

Everyone shook their heads no. Good. Kohga snapped his fingers, and another banana was fed to him. This was the life. 

“Master Kohga?”

One of the Blade masters chimed in. Aka, the ones that just LOVED kissing his ass. Kohga chuckled, loving the idea of another big, strong man being overly flirty with him. Kohga held the Blade Master’s chin in his hand, watching him nearly melt.

“Yes?”

“I just...wanted to say, I’m sorry on Sooga’s behalf. You deserve far better than someone so close to you starting such a rumor.”

“Sooga HAS been bad hasn’t he? And here he is, still trying.”

Kohga felt him try to move. He was trying to actually suck him off. While it was cute, it wasn’t what he asked for. And even worse, he DARED to rub at himself. Kohga lightly patted the Blade master’s cheek.

“Do me a favor, help me out with his hands.”

He nodded, seeming to understand perfectly well what he wanted. Grabbing some rope, he practically yanked Sooga’s hands behind his back, and tied them together firmly. Kohga gave Sooga’s cheek a bit of a firm pat, chuckling to himself.

“I wasn’t gonna do that, but you were touching yourself. This wasn’t supposed to be fun. This is punishment, Sooga. You sit there, and you do nothing. Look at me with that mouth full of cock, and tell me you understand.”

That's what he loved about Sooga. He can understand him just by looking right at his face. One of the foot soldiers took another careful step forward, offering him more snacks. Kohga happily let himself be fed and treated, and when you paired that with the endless praises and glances he was getting from many of the clan members, he could tell it was getting to Sooga. His breath was getting hotter, his look was getting hazy, and he kept groaning against his cock. And did Kohga make it worse? Absolutely. In between the constant praises he was getting from his soldiers, Kohga kept petting his head, and making quite a public display with his compliments.

“Who’s a pretty boy?”, “Who’s a good boy?”, and Sooga’s favorite, “Who’s MY boy?”

Each question, each stroke of his head made Sooga tremble something fierce. It felt incredible, but it was killing him. He was being treated like he was owned by Kohga, right in front of everyone. Mouth visible, hands tied, he should be ashamed. But he was honored. Master Kohga chose HIS mouth to have his cock in, HIS head to pet and fond over. One of the foot soldiers (who had previosly been giggling and feeding Kohga his favorite fruit) looked underneath Sooga, and lightly whistled.

“Master Kohga, he’s leaking all over the floor.”

Kohga seemed to find that amusing, lightly smacking his cheek. Even THAT made him throb.

“Sooga, you wanna cum don’t you?”

Sooga nodded, careful not to move too much, less he invoke more of his fury. Kohga ran his fingers across his scalp, and he could tell Sooga got quite the goosebumps.

“Well, you’re not going to. No one is gonna cum today, because no one earned it. I won’t even cum in your throat, and I know you want that.”

Kohga didn’t know how long he sat there. He just knew that Sooga waited patiently, being his own little cock warmer, while he was being fed and loved. Combine that with the shame Sooga was made to bear, was it any wonder his mind lost itself to lust? Kohga eventually decided that he had enough, and slowly pulled Sooga off of his dick. Sooga’s tongue hung out of his mouth like a mutt, and slobber stained not only his lap, but Sooga’s uniform. Kohga watched the hot breath make bouts of steam in the cold night air, and damn was that something tasty. Kohga leaned down a bit to Sooga, not caring how much everyone was staring at his own half hard cock.

“I want you to remember something. I want you to remember how I taste, and I want you to remember I’M in charge of you.”

Sooga gave a faint, almost tired nod. Sooga was a big, hunky slut, and Kohga adored that about him. Kohga leaned back, and gestured to himself.

“Tuck me away, Sooga.”

Sooga was clearly in mourning, but he obeyed, fingers lightly fumbling. Kohga chuckled, giving a light shake of his head.

“You’ve done okay. But we can do better. You’re going to stand there, and let everyone see how hard you get for me. Understand?”

“C-completely, my M-master.”

“Oh, and Sooga, one more thing, before I take my nap.”

Kohga’s hand clamped around his throat, giving it a nice, firm squeeze, just where he knew he liked it. And he lowered his voice, making sure Sooga didn’t miss a single beat.

“I love you, Sooga.”

He knew from the way his body quivered, knew the way he swore, that he just came. Kohga chuckled, letting him go, before turning to his side, and falling asleep to the tune of everyone muttering absolute adoration for him.

Sooga was REALLY a good boy.

[ajokeformur-ray]

Okay another idea I had was you standing up for him, (not that he needs it lmao) but like maybe you go with him to a meeting of some kind and the mobsters there obviously judge him and call him a freak. Which I know he hates, and you get in the guy's face and threaten him etc, J is surprised but impressed. Once you're alone, he sees that you're still bothered by what the guy said and you tell him he is handsome etc even with the scars and scar kissing would be an excellent bonus. Some cute fluff

I love this concept omgggg thank you for sending in requests for him!!! His masterlist is a bit… smaller compared to Phoenix’s sskkskk so I really appreciate you thinking of this.

I always get offended when they call him a freak or crazy lmao imo he’s the sanest one there so *shrugs* I enjoyed writing this greatly! ^^

Warning: swearing, overly defensive reader, clown smoochin’+lovin’.

Word count: 946.

“… You see, a guy like me - “

“Freak.”

Oh no. Oh, no, no, no - 

Under the table did Joker’s purple gloved hand rest atop your knee, squeezing both to give and to receive comfort. Nothing pissed either of you off more than that word. 

You watched as his jaw muscle ticked and Joker lowered his chin as he stared at the man who had dared to address him in such a way, and you saw the way he lost the thread of the conversation and had to think quickly, had to compose himself before the others caught on to the effect that that one word had on him.

Even so, there were just some things you would not tolerate, and this was one of them.

You got there before Joker did.

Your chair made a hideous scraping noise across the linoleum floor as you stood up. Joker had his eyes on the man who had insulted him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Despite his amusement at something only he was privy to, though, Joker had no idea what was coming, and neither did the mob, and that was your advantage.

You had always been the ace up his sleeve for your wicked temper, sharp tongue, and your fierce protectiveness of anything you cared about or loved.

“Do you want to repeat that, sir?”

You leaned right over the table, so close that your nose was almost touching the man’s own. You thought his name might have been Gambit, but you didn’t really care either way. He didn’t matter to you. The only person in this warehouse who did matter to you was the man whose gloved hand had just wrapped around your wrist, his fingers squeezing. Was he offering comfort or taking it? You knew not, and this only fuelled your anger.

“Yeah, I said he was a fre - “

You brought your hand down on the metal table. Hard. “Oh, I heard you. I was just giving you a chance to change your mind. And besides - ” You turned your head just enough to flash Joker A Look and then you turned back to Gambit. “Better a freak than a sheep.”

Joker chuckled darkly, the fingers around your wrist squeezing deliciously in silent appreciation.

Thanks, doll.

You’re welcome.

A look of something flashed in Gambit’s eyes and you resisted the urge to grab him by the collar. You wouldn’t lay a hand on him, for you didn’t need to. Your tongue could cut like a blade all on its own. “Call my Joker something like that again and you’ll be swallowing bullets. Am I clear?” You received no answer, so much more did you bring your hand down hard upon the surface of the table. “I said - am. I. Clear?”

“Crystal.” A quiet and very definitely pathetic whisper and you rolled your eyes. Christ, these guys were all bark and no bite.

“That’s what I thought.” You barely graced the men with a glance as you sat back down, smiling sweetly at Joker, who blinked quickly a few times and tongued his inner cheek before he continued with the vague thread of conversation which had been picked and frayed by Gambit.

Hours later, when the ‘group therapy session’ with the mob was over and Joker had taken you back to your apartment, he had almost forgotten about what had happened but you… oh, you were steaming. 

“What’s got you all frowny?”

“Nothing.” You snapped, busying yourself with the washing up, which you realised now didn’t actually need doing - two plates and two mugs weren’t worth an entire bowl of washing up water - but you had already started.

“Li-ar.” The accusing word was spoken in two syllables, the tone teasing as Joker’s hands grabbed your shoulders none too gently and spun you around to face him. “You’re still mad about that guy with the grandma, aren’t you?”

You nodded. You really were angry. 

Joker’s intense chocolate eyes met yours and suddenly your rage exploded. “You’re not a freak and you’re not crazy! You’re just as sane as I am and - “

Joker started cackling maniacally and the familiar sound made you smile, your rage melting away in the face of his genuine amusement. 

“I was impressed back there, doll. Fiesty.” 

You smiled, hearing what he didn’t say. “You’re welcome, handsome.”

Joker’s hands tightened on your shoulders and he stepped a bit closer to you. It was an invitation if ever you saw one, so you looped your arms around his neck and made sure to stand so close to him that your chests were touching.

“Careful with your next words, Y/N.”

A warning you ignored, your hands cupping his face, flecks of white greasepaint coming off on your warm palms as your thumbs soothed along the raised lines of his facial scars, the red smearing into the white.

“I’m being serious, Joker,” You mumbled, “You are handsome.” You leaned forward and pressed a line of tender kisses right from the corner of Joker’s mouth right up to the very end of his scar on one side of his mouth, and then you afforded the same treatment to the other scar, Joker’s breaths coming in sharp inhales, his hands coming to clasp at your wrists in a movement reminiscent to the way he had held your wrist in the warehouse. “My handsome Joker. Mine.”

Joker almost purred in self-satisfaction. “Yours, huh?”

You nodded emphatically. “Mm-hm.” Your growing smirk had more than a little of Joker contained within, and he felt heat blooming in his chest. 

Yes… Every Joker needed an ace up his sleeve.

Ledger!!Joker @nothing-but-a-comedy @justahyena @anyatheladyclown   @mijachula   @joker-daddy    @rinbyo    @imightaswellnotexistatall    @vladtoly    @joker-is-my-hero    @liz-rdwitch   @enigmaticandunstable        @ledgerskitten    @tsukiakarinobara

[ohh-baekhyun]

Sugar | 02 - [M]

summary: Getting into a performing arts college isn’t cheap. In desperate need of money, you sign yourself up on an online dating site called Sugar. There, you match with a wealthy and handsome man named Mr Byun.

genre: Softdom!baek, sugardaddy!au, collegeprofessor!au.

[m]: Parking lot sex.

a/n: Merry christmas everyone. here’s a small gift for you, thank you for reading my stories all these times :D i hope you like this!

TWO - Mr Savage 

One week later, the movers came by in the morning to pack and shift your things to the new apartment. The new place was sumptuous, as you expected, and you were still trying to wrap your head around this sudden change in your life. You didn’t know if you were doing the right thing, but you knew you needed the money urgently. You had just received your acceptance letter from the college you applied to, along with an invoice for your first semester’s fee. There’s nothing you wanted more than getting into this college.

Hanlim Conservatorie was one of the most prestigious, elite and expensive performing art colleges in the nation. Their acceptance rate was among the lowest. Getting into this school was like a dream and you had worked your ass off to pass the entrance audition. Now all you needed was to pay for the tuition fee. Only Mr Byun could help you with it, and he already did. Last night, you received a ten thousand dollars cheque from him as a ‘signing bonus’ for agreeing to be his sub. You had cashed the cheque and made payment to the school administrative, now you were just waiting for college to start in a few weeks.

In the afternoon, Mr Byun dropped by to check up on you. While he was there, he found out you only had cup ramen stocked in the kitchen, that’s how you ended up in the grocery store with him now.

You’d never been to a grocery store like this before. You glanced around in awe, wondering if this was where rich people shopped. The environment was cozy with a faint sound of classical music in the background paired with soft chatterings. The lighting was warm and you liked that it wasn’t so crowded. Most of the things sold here were either organic or gluten free, though there are some things you’ve seen in a regular store before, but they were marked at a higher price.

You and Baekhyun were strolling side by side through the aisles. He wore a white t-shirt and jeans today, and with you wearing the same colored top tucked in your denim skirt, you two looked almost like a couple. You studied the way he shopped, noting that unlike you, Baekhyun didn’t go for the cheapest item on the shelves but the highest quality.

“Do you do your own shopping too?” you asked, staring up at him as he reached up to pull out a carton of strawberry milk from the shelves.

“I have someone does it for me,” he muttered absentmindedly as he read the label on the carton. He finally dunked the item into the shopping cart and continued walking.

After getting a few things from the deli section, he moved to the condiments aisle. You looked up at him and found him glancing from left to right, searching for something. “What are you looking for, Baekhyun?” you asked.

“Mixed herbs,” he muttered distantly, his eyes searching. You tug at his sleeve to get his attention. He dropped his gaze to you. “Hmm?”

“I think I saw it somewhere just now,” you told him. “Can I go get it for you?” you asked. He permitted with a hum and you wandered off to find the item he was looking for.

After searching for a minute or two, you found an array of herbs bottle in the canned goods section. You craned forward and squinted your eyes at the items on the shelves. There were so many similar looking items.

“Are you looking for something, pretty?”

Your eyes drifted to where the voice was coming from. A male around Mr Byun’s age was already standing by your side, a grin tugged at the side of his lips.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

Actually, you didn’t need his help, but being someone who was afraid to say no to people, you nodded. Anyway, this stranger was kind enough to offer help, you didn’t want to offend him. “Yeah, I’m looking for mixed herbs,” you told him.

The stranger glanced up at the shelves, searching for it. It looked like he had found something when he shifted himself closer to you with one raised hand to reach for the item. You shifted aside when you felt the brush of his arm over yours, but he scooted closer again. Suddenly, his free hand was resting on your lower back causing your whole body to stiffen up. You were uncomfortable but you didn’t have the guts to push him away. What if it was just a friendly gesture, you didn’t want to wrongly accused someone who has helped you. 

“Here.” The guy handed you the herbs bottle.

You gulped, taking the item from his grasp. “T-thank you,” you say in a slightly shaky voice.

His eyes were currently scanning your body in a way that made you stomach felt nauseous. He looked back at your face with lazy eyes. “Are you here alone, babe?” He asked, sliding his hand from your lower back down to your ass. Your heart hammered with fear. The lump in your throat was muting you. He caressed your butt cheek and inched his face closer. “Who are you here with?”

“She’s with me, Jaebum, get your hands off her.”

The strangers groaned and dropped his hand immediately. Recognizing the owner of that voice, you wasted no time to turn around. The menacing look on Mr Byun’s face scared you, but it didn’t stop your from rushing over to him to seek his protection. As soon as you reached his side, he held your hand and guided you to stand behind him. Half of your view was blocked by his broad back, but you could still see what’s before you.

Mr Byun knew this guy, and it was easy to tell they didn’t like each other.

“Your new play thing?” The stranger asked casually, shoving his hands into his pants’ pockets. Mr Byun didn’t answer to that. The guy smiled scornfully. “What happened to the last one? Got bored?”

“It’s none of your business,” Mr Byun answered coldly. He clenched his palm around your hand and tugged you with him.

“See you around, Byun,” the stranger said when you moved past him. “One more thing,” he said and Mr Byun halted, although he didn’t turn around to look at him. “Let me know when you got bored of this one, I’ll have her.”

“I don’t want you.” The words stumbled out of your mouth before you even knew it. You gasped quietly when you realize.

Mr Byun huffed mockingly. “You heard her, Jaebum.”  he muttered, then he walked away.

Now that it was just you and him, you became so aware of the anger radiating off of him. He walked you back to the condiments aisle where you left him earlier, the shopping cart was parked by the shelves. He finally let go of your and and move to stand before you.

You had to lift your head to look at him because he was a head taller than you. It was obvious he looked pissed.

“Did you know he was touching you?”

His voice was low, but your heart still jumped at his hard tone. He furrowed his brows as he waited for your answer. You bobbed your head timidly.

His frown deepened. “You knew? And you didn’t say a goddamn thing to stop him?” His tone was slightly raised this time. You couldn’t help but to cower under his domineering stare. “This is a public place. You could’ve shouted for help and someone would’ve heard you,” he went on, “What if I wasn’t here? You’d just let him molest you?”

“I–“ you parted your lips to say something, when nothing came out your pressed it close again. You sighed, dropping your head instead of replying.

Mr Byun gripped your chin, lifted it up to pin you under his hard stare. “You have a mouth. Use it.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice quivering.

“What are you sorry for?” he frowned. 

“I don’t know…for being groped?” You said in a small, unsure tone.

“No, that’s not–“ he sighed in frustration. “Sweetheart, it wasn’t your fault he groped you. He was a jerk.”

Your forehead creased. You were confused. If it wasn’t your fault, why was he mad at you then?

Mr Byun finally let go of your chin with a grunt. You cast your eyes down regretfully. He stared at you for a short moment before sighing and shaking his head. “If something similar happens again, I hope you’d at least try to defend yourself and speak up when you’re uncomfortable,” He chastised and though his voice was softer, the disappointment was obvious. “Do you understand me?” He said firmly.

Once he received your yes, he walked away. Your shoulders dropped in dismay. It’s only been a week and you were already making Mr Byun unhappy. He was definitely changing his mind after today, and you couldn’t help the sadness washing over you at the thought. With the sadness, came fear. How are you going to pay him back? You’d cleared the check and used the money.

Mr Byun cleared his throat loudly enough to snap you out of your daze. You glanced at him, who was already standing at a distance from you. He gave a curt nod to beckoned you over. You immediately broke out of your trance and dashed over to him like a puppy to its owner.

When you fell into step next to the shopping cart, Mr Byun grabbed your wrist to pull you closer to him. “Stay by my side,” he murmured, peering down at you.

There wasn’t any warmth in his demeanour but your pulse still quickened at the way he looked at you. You swallowed and nodded in compliance.

Both of you were presently strolling down the frozen food section. It felt like you were walking on eggshells. You stood by and watched Mr Byun grabbed two packs of frozen blueberries and dunk it in the cart. None of you muttered a word to each other. You couldn’t stop stealing glances at him to check on him. There was a cold distance in his expression, he was definitely in a sour mood after what happened.

You couldn’t help but to blame yourself, even if there was a chance that his bad mood was caused by Jaebum, not you. You have always been an overly sensitive child growing up, especially to other’s feelings and emotions. Sometimes, just a subtle change in someone’s expression made you anxious, and you’d start questioning if you’d done something wrong. Like now.

For the umpteenth time, you stole a glance at the man next to you, except this time he caught you in the act. His brows pulled together into a tight frown, almost a glare. “What?” He bit out. His tone startled you, and you unconsciously made a pout with your lips. He gave you a long, assessing stare. At last, he sighed and softened his voice, “Is there anything you want?”

Tentatively, you took a step towards him and clutched on the fabric of his shirt. He peered down at you in confusion. You gave him your pleading eyes. “I want you to stop being mad,” you begged softly. “I promise I’ll be a good girl.”

Thick silence stretched between the two of you. The knit between his eyebrows was slowly disappearing, and the coldness in his eyes morphed into something heated. You can feel his breathing slowed. He looked like he was turned on. By what though? Did he like it when you begged?

“Please, Mr Byun…” you tried again.

“So help me God,” he whispered harshly under his breath. “I’m going to welt your ass for being so cute.”

Your lips parted in a surprise. You certainly didn’t expect him to say that.

Mr Byun groaned when he noticed the blush rising on your cheek. He tore his gaze from you and stared at the fridge behind you. He reached a hand over your shoulder to open it. You felt a cold breeze puffing against your back. “Do you want ice-cream?” He asked, dropping his gaze to you again.

His unpredictability surprised you. One moment he was telling you he wanted to spank you, and the next moment he was offering to buy you ice-cream.

“Sweetheart?”

You shook your head lightly to pull yourself out of your reverie, then you glanced up. “You’re not mad at me anymore?”

He gave a soft smile. “I was never mad at you.”

“At who then?”

“You know who.”

Jaebum, you thought. And the relief made you smile.

“Ice-cream?” Mr Byun asked again. You gave him a nod and a sweeter smile. He lifted his gaze to examine the content of the fridge. “Which flavor?”

You swiveled around to face the fridge, running your gaze through the stacks of ice-cream tubs. “That one,” you gestured. “Strawberry shortcake.”

Mr Byun dropped his gaze to you, the side of his lip curled up. You blink cluelessly, not understanding the look he gave you. He let out a deep chuckle. “What a baby,” he teased endearingly.

You cocked your head to the side, puzzled. “What baby?”

“My baby,” he said, giving your heart a little jump.

You blushed harder. You knew Baekhyun didn’t mean his word in a i love you baby kind of way, but more in a i’m your sugar daddy, and you’re my baby girl kind of way, but it was heart fluttering all the same.

Once Baekhyun withdrew the ice-cream tub from the fridge, he held your arm to pull you back so he could close the door. He leaned over to set the tub above a pile of goods in the cart. It was then you realised that he had bought a lot, and they were all for you. For someone who used to go for days without food, you were beyond grateful. You didn’t have to worry about going to sleep hungry and having to endure the stomach pain it caused you anymore.

Mr Byun was going to push the cart when you held his wrist to stop him. He turned his head to your side and that’s when you tiptoed to cup his face and kissed him. Being with him, even if it has only been a week, you learned that he really loved kisses. He hadn’t done anything besides kissed you actually. And since you couldn’t offer him anything in return for his kindness, you thought giving him a kiss would at least made him happy. But to your dismay, he didn’t return it.

Slowly, you pulled back and lowered your heels to the ground. Baekhyun had an unreadable look on his face. You honestly couldn’t tell what he was feeling, you just knew you felt stupid for doing what you did. You dropped your head, embarrassed.

He cleared his throat. “Let’s go.”

The journey towards the checkout counter was filled with silence. Baekhyun parked the shopping cart by the conveyor belt and started unloading the things. You flashed the cashier a smile when she greeted you before helping Baekhyun out. Once the cart was empty, he pushed it out of the counter so he could stand next to you.

You didn’t know how long you stood there waiting. It felt like forever. The lady was slow. She actually reminded you of that sloth from zootopia. You glanced at Baekhyun. He was watching the lady scanned the items while tapping his fingertips rapidly on the counter. There’s a tight knit in between his brows. It was obvious he was losing his patience, but he fought to hold it back. Somehow that brought a grin to your face and you couldn’t stop the chuckle from escaping.

Baekhyun looked over at you with a frown, and you wiped the grin off your face before he could see it.

“Your total would be—“ Both of you returned your attention to the cashier. “Wait—I’m sorry, give me a moment.” the lady had a frown on her face as she tapped her forefinger frantically on the cash register’s screen. You could hear Baekhyun’s deep inhalation and exhalation that made you press your lips together. His frustration was adorable, and you were on the verge of laughing.

You slide your palm up his arm and squeezed his bicep to get him to look at you. You offered him a warm smile, hoping it would calm him down. But his feature only tighten up under your touch. You pursed your lips in dissapointment and peeled your hand away.

It’s a good thing the lady was finally done. “Your total would be two hundred and sixteen dollar.”

Your jaw dropped when you heard the amount. You’d never spent so much at a grocery store before.

Mr Byun pulled out his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and silently handed three one hundred dollar notes to the lady. Once his hands were free, he immediately held your wrist and gathered the plastic carriers in the other. He started dragging you away from the counter.

“Mr Byun, you forgot your change,” You reminded him, and just after you said it you heard the lady shouted from a distance.

“Sir, your change!”

“She can keep it,” he muttered gruffly without giving you a glance.

You started to calculate the balance in your head. He just gave away eighty four dollar for free. You gasped. “But that’s a lot of money,” you told him. 

He whipped his head around and gave you a stern look that shut you up completely.

You remained quiet as you walked down the travelator that led you to the basement where the parking lot was. He let go of your hand to hold the door open, nodding in cue for you to walk out first. You dropped your gaze to his fully occupied hand and noted the veins bulging on his skin.

“Let me help you.” you reached a hand down but he retracted before you could grasp anything.

“I can handle it, sweetie, go on,” he bobbed his head towards the opened door. You wordlessly followed the order and walked out into the dark basement.

You were a few steps ahead of him when you turned around to see if he was behind, “Where are we going after–” You next word turn to gasp when your leg stumbled upon something on the floor. His hand flew out to grip your arm and he tugged you towards him. You sighed in relief and steadied your stance. “Thank you,” you whispered, staring up at him.

Baekhyun slid his hand down your arm to thread his fingers through yours, holding it tight. “Watch your steps, will you?” he reprimanded. You bobbed your head with a hum.

You stood close to him as he led you towards his car. “Are we heading home now?” You asked, glancing up at him.

He kept his gaze ahead. “Not before we finish what you started.”

Instant nervousness washed over you. “Wha-what did I do?”

Mr Byun didn’t answer to that. Another silence fell, except it wasn’t quiet because you could hear the million thoughts running through your head as you wondered what he was going to do next. You’ve never been so hyper aware of your bodily reactions toward someone. Your skin was thrumming, your heart was racing and your stomach was twisting with nervous butterflies. When his sleek Audi came into sight, instead of unlocking the door, he dragged you toward the trunk at the back. He released your hand, and you stood by his side, waiting for him obediently. Everything happened so fast as he unlocked the trunk, threw the carriers inside, and slammed it close.

The sound made your shoulders jumped. Your heart was hammering so hard it was actually painful. “Baekhyun?” you called softly, feeling confused but something about this situation thrilled you at the same time.

Mr Byun sucked in a sharp breath at the soft sound of your word. He turned to give you a stare, only two seconds, and then he was pulling you to him. His hands slid up to cup your face. You squeezed your eyes close as soon as he lowered his head. You could feel his warm breath on your lips, and you were expecting him to kiss you right now but he didn’t.

Only a second passed but it felt like forever. Very slowly, you peeled your eyes opened and found his dark eyes gazing down at you. You swallowed thickly, and that’s when he slammed his mouth against yours. You immediately made a fist around his shirt to hold on. Having kissed by him a few times, you knew how knee-weakening it was. You also knew how drugging his kisses were, that they managed to leave you high and breathless every single time.

Mr Byun has always been rough, but today he wasn’t just rough, he was a savage. You whimpered at the sting of his bite on your lower lip. He swept his tongue over the red flesh first, then shove it into your wet cavern. He groaned, and the sound resonated all through you body. For a while, he let his skillful tongue wrestled with yours before he pulled away completely.

You had a glimpse of his face only second before he turned your body around. A soft yelp tumbled out of your mouth when he pushed you forward and bend you over the trunk of his Audi. With this position, you could only think of one thing he might do. Spanked you.

You tilted your head slightly, feeling the cold metal on your cheek. “A-are you going to punish me here?”

“I’m not punishing you, sweetheart,” he shoved your skirt up so it bunched around your waist. “I’m just going to fuck you.”

His words made your insides clenched. You parted your mouth to speak, only to gasp when he yanked your underwear down in one rough move. The cold air hits your cheeks, and there wasn’t any time to feel embarrassed about it because his fingers were already entering your cunt. You bring your hand to cover your lips when a moan slipped.

Mr Byun didn’t wait to start thrusting his fingers in and out of you. “So fucking wet,” he rasped.

Blood rushed to your cheek when you heard the sound of your wetness. “I–I don’t know why–“

“Oh, I think you do, baby,” he sneered, his thrusts becoming faster and harder. “you acted all innocent and shy in front of daddy.” he scoffed. “but inside you’re just a dirty little princess waiting to be fucked.”

You’d never had anyone talked to you like that before, God, was it sick of you to be turned on by it?

You had to bite your thumb through a moan when Baekhyun curled his fingers inside you, the tip hitting you on your prime spot. Your walls immediately clenched and unclenched around his digits.

You mewled when Mr Byun withdrew his fingers completely. His hand was no longer on you. Just as you were about to protest, you heard him unbuckling his belt behind you. Following that was the sound of his zipper tearing through the silence. You brought your head back. Your pulse spiked up in an instant at the sight of his slender fingers wrapping around his hard, veiny cock. You lifted your gaze. Mr Byun had his lips caught in between his teeth as he gave his manhood a few pumps.

The fierce look on his face thrilled you, but your heart dropped when you heard the echoes of footsteps from a distance. You knew it wasn’t easy to spot you here since Mr Byun’s Audi was blocking the sight. But what if the owner of the car next to you returned. “Mr Byun, what if someone caught us?” you whispered frantically.

“Isn’t it too late to be asking that question, princess?” He taunted. “This is what you get for teasing daddy in public.”

He was talking about the kiss at the grocery store earlier. You had no words to argue with him. Scrape that. You didn’t want to argue at all. You wanted this too, as much as he did.

“You’re lucky public sex is an offence,” Mr Byun said hoarsely as he insinuated himself in between your legs. “I was so close to fucking you in front of everyone in that shop.”

Your breathing hitched when you felt the tip of his cock grazing over your wet folds. He gripped the curve of your waist to hold you down. The next thing you felt was a sharp stretching pain as he shoved his length all the way into you.

“B-baekhyun…” your back arched as you let out the lewdest sound you’ve ever made, your pussy was fully stretched and filled with Mr Byun’s cock.

“Princess, you’re so–” Mr Byun dragged his length out of your hole, then he pushed it in again with a rough grunt. “Argh! so tight.”

“...Yeah, I got everything on the lists. I’m heading home now. Is there anything else you want? Okay. See you.”

Your body froze at the sound of a man’s voice. You knew this person had to be somewhere nearby because his voice sounded clear in your ears. Impulsively, you pushed yourself up, only to hiss when Mr Byun pressed his palm on the small of your back, holding you down so you couldn’t move.

He leaned over to place his mouth next to your ear, his cock still buried inside you. “Don’t make a sound,” he whispered, his breathing tickled your ears.

You tried to regulate your heavy breathing over your racing heart. Through the windshield, you saw a man walking towards the car on the opposite side of the parking space. When he shifted his stance so he was facing Mr Byun’s car, you swore your heart dropped all the way to the pit of your stomach. You were unconsciously holding your breath, praying he wouldn’t see you. To your relief, the stranger turned away and climbed into his vehicle. The engine started and soon the car was out of your sight.

A relieved sigh fell from your mouth, but before you could fully relax, Mr Byun has started ramming his cock into your pussy, causing you to cry out in shock and pleasure. You slapped your hand over your lips to muffle your voice as he continued pounding into you at an insane speed.

Mr Byun let out a deep growl when your walls clamped tightly around his length. You could barely kept your eyes open. He was getting more and more rough that you could feel the Audi shaking underneath you. Your muffled moan sounded so loud even through your concealed mouth. Your breathing grew heavier the closer he drove you to your release. He was close too. His cock was already swelling inside you.

He reached down to slip his hand in between your legs. You purred when he brushed his thumb over your clit, and cried out in bliss when he started rubbing your but rapidly. “Baekhyun, I–I’m close.”

“Come for me, princess,” he ordered gruffly.

At his cue, your release came washing over you like a tidal wave. You had a black out for a second. Your pussy was spasming so intensely around Mr Byun’s cock, but that didn’t stop him from pistoning his thick length into you. You whined, almost crying from overstimulation everytime the tip of his cock hits your g-spot.

Two to three thrusts later, Mr Byun finally came with a long throaty moan. His body shook as he unloaded his cum inside you. You felt his warm liquid leaking from your pussy, trickling down your inner thigh. He was breathing heavily behind you and so were you.

Once you regained your composure, you tried to straighten your stance but winced when your legs gave out on you. You knew he was going to leave you sore for days. A tired breath left your body. Mr Byun had just fucked you against his Audi in a parking lot and made you come harder than you’d ever came. He was a savage, indeed.

[the-jade-cross]

No Matter What - Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Fawn didn't know what emotions to feel as she sat beside the unconscious Alby as he lay in the bed, sweating and moaning in his sleep. Thomas and Minho had appeared alive at the gate of the maze that morning with the news that Thomas had killed one of the hideous beasts. Fawn reached over and felt Alby's forehead and found it to be boiling hot, hotter than it had been 3 minutes ago . The girl was just reaching out for a fresh cold pack when she heard yells coming from outside. Sprinting out, she was shocked to find all the boys at the foot of the lookout, rocks raining down on them like giant hail ... But to Fawn it sounded like someone was playing drums while everybody else was yelling in fright.

“ I don't think she likes us,” Newt yelled over the ruckus.

Fawn finally reached them and the raining rocks continued but now that she was close, the sound was louder.

“ what is going on? Did Winston dream he was a monkey again!?”

Newt shook his head , “ a new greenie came up... it's a girl and she is very ornery.”

Fawn frowned, “but it has only been a few days since Thomas.”

“exactly,” the boy agreed, “and what is even more crazy, is the first thing that she said was Thomas's name and she was looking right at him as if she knew him.”

Fawn perst her lips in thought as the rocks stopped pelting down on them and she could hear Thomas making his way cautiously up the ladder to talk to the new greanie.

“ I'm guessing Gally isn't taking this too well? He seemed pissed earlier when Thomas got all that praise for surviving the maze .”

Newt chuckled and Fawn did not need an answer when she heard Gally nearby grumbling something about suspicious happenings.

“ I think he should worry less about Thomas and his coincidal involvement and worry more about the New Girl. I haven't met her really but something does not feel right about her .” Newt mumbled.

Fawn nodded in agreement and began to make her way to the slaughterhouse with Drake to do the daily release of the goats. A few hours later when she had fed the animals for the evening, she tucked Drake into bed in his little Patch of hay near the chickens and returned to check on Alby. When she walked in, she could hear Minho, Gally, Thomas, Newt... and a girls voice there. She must be the greenie... but what were they doing in here with Alby? “ Fawn,” Newt said, walking over to take her hand, “ Alby is going to be OK. There was a cure in the box and it seems to be working .”

“ oh, Fawn,” Thomas said, “this is Teresa.”

Fawn tilted her head, the girl had been here 2 hours and already she knew her name? Now that was sketchy. Fawn held out her hand blindly to Teresa and felt long skinny fingers grab her hand.

“so you are the blind girl,” Teresa's voice huffed.

Fawn did not know if she should feel offended by the greeting or worried by the fact that Teresa already knew about her blindness.

“ we never told you that Fawn was blind.” Minho observed, his voice darkening with suspicion.

Teresa brushed it off with a high pitched a giggle, “oh I could tell since her eyes are void of any feeling or intelligence. You cannot be intelligent if you are as blind as a bat.”

Minho, Gally and Newt all moved to defend Fawn and drill the greenie with their suspicions when Fawn spoke up first.

“ actually, bats are not so blind that they cannot see squat. Same for me. I may not be able to see color in detail but I see enough to know that you have long hair, are as skinny as a broomstick and you keep looking at Thomas every 3.2568 minutes. ”

The added decimals were not actually accurate but the three minutes were and despite the fact that the boys knew that Fawn had told a tall tale for the last part just for good measure, they were impressed while Teresa looked furious.

“so a cure huh?” Fawn asked, touching Alby's head that was no longer on fire with a fever, “how did you know it would work?”

“ we didn't,” Gally explained, “but miss greanie-I -know-everything injected it into Alby before we could stop her .”

Teresa crossed her arms over her chest ... Actually below her chest in an attempt to push her boobs up to try to make them bigger than they were once she had noticed that Fawn had a natural decently sized rack . “ you are not going to lock me up so don't bother thinking about it. I've just saved your leader .”

“at what risk?” Newt snapped, “for all we know it could have killed him! You were just lucky but you won't be lucky because we are locking you up until tomorrow when we can decide what to do with your obnoxious ass. While Alby is out I am in charge and both you and Thomas here have some serious explaining to do. Gally you may do the honors.” new one Gally grabbed one of Teresa's arms and began dragging her out of the room and motioned for Thomas to follow. When they were almost out the door, Thomas realized that it also meant his lock up for directly disobeying one of the three rules: entering the maze when you are not a runner and he began to follow them out while the other three lingered behind.

“ and so you know,” Minho whispered to Fawn, “Thomas, myself and some of the guys went back into the maze to the dead griever and we found this radio thing in its gut... we think there may be a way out of the maze .”

“let's focus on the overly suspicious greanie and then we can discuss theories,” Newt suggested gently.

Fawn groaned, “can I sick Drake on her?”

Newt and Minho both laughed when they were brutally cut off by the most horrifying scream they had ever heard. Rushing out as fast as they could run, the three saw that the sun had set and the glade members were running around like frightened ants that had their anthill run over by human foot. Newt was about to ask what was going on from one of the boys that ran past them when Gally ran up to them, having just locked both Thomas and Teresa up in the Brig.

“the maze... the maze is not closing!” he panted in fear.

Fawn's eyes widened in fear and she turned to Newt, “ but if the doors do not close when it's dark... that means...”

Newt nodded, already knowing what she was going to say, “ grievers.”

Just as those words left his lips, loud piercing screeches swallowed the maze and the glade and emerging from the maze like giant spiders from a hole came hundreds of giant spider like creatures... and the glade would be prey to them all night... with no protection.

********

Newt chewed steadily on his fingernails, a nervous habit that he had broken long ago and only just now reintroduced to himself. The sun was high in the sky, shining down on the emptiness of the Glade. More than half of the boys had been slaughtered by the grievers and their bodies dragged back into the maze-like wolves taking a carcass into their cave. The boy looked over at where Fawn stood by her torn hammock with Drake at her side, gathering what little things she owned, including the name jar and slipping them discreetly into a knapsack.

After what had happened the night before and how Alby, Zart and so many of the other guys had been massacred, Gally had accused Thomas and Teresa of being spies of WICKED and had encouraged more than half of the remaining glade members to banish them to the maze that night and Newt had told Minho, Chuck and Fawn to gather a few supplies and be prepared to enter the maze with them and try to find a way out. After all, another night with the grievers on the loose would kill them all and the passage Thomas had found was their only hope.

Newt abruptly reached out and grabbed Minho’s arm, the boy having just walked past him.

“I need to speak with you,” He hissed in an urgent tone to the runner.

He apparently got Minho’s attention for the boy stopped walking and listened to him intently, “What is going on? Is it about Thomas stabbing himself with that stinger to try and “get back his memory”? We already agreed to not question his motives on the fact that he did find out what WICKED has been doing to us here all this time.”

Newt shook his head, “It’s not that. This is about Fawn.”

Minho immediately froze and his eyes glazed over with concern, “What is it?”

“We are going to enter the maze tonight Minho. The grievers will be all over us like ants and the maze is exactly what it is: a maze. If we do not get to the secret chamber before the grievers discover that the minnows are in the water, then there is less chance of us surviving than the chances we had last night. You and I both know that if they attack, they will take out the weak, slower and disabled ones of us.”

Minho smiled softly, “I wouldn’t worry about Fawn man. She is wicked fast with that bow of hers and she doesn’t even need good eyes to see those grievers. Fawn will probably be the last person who would be prey to those creatures.”

Newt nodded, “I know that which is why I need to ask a favor of you.”

“Anything man. What do you need?” Minho asked, completely oblivious.

Newt swallowed thickly, hating himself for having to say this to his best friend and hating the fact that it was the right thing to do, “If we get out of that maze, I need you to promise me that you will look after Fawn. she trusts you Minho probably more than she trusts me because she knows that you will tell her how things are straight to her face and not make up a story to make the truth seem so much better than it is. Promise me that you will take care of her.”

Minho frowned and his deep brown eyes were full of fear and confusion, “What are you talking about? How do you know that you wont be there to take care of her? You aren’t planning on breaking off this thing you have with her are you? Newt, man, Fawn loves you more than anyone else and if she had to choose between the two of us to care for her, she would pick you each and every single time.”

“It isnt because I want to give her up,” Newt explained, “But how can I care for her if I am dead Griever lunch? Minho, they will go after the weakest of us… the ones who stand little chance of surviving. Out of everyone in the Glade, I am the weakest amongst us. Never in my life have I hated my limp more than right now when I know that it will slow me down and give me a higher chance of being one of the first to be picked off. You have to pick off the dull, rotten grapes first before you go in for the ripe, healthy ones.”

“Stop comparing yourself to grapes!” Minho interrupted, cringing at the thought, “Newt, Buddy, stop being the old grandma who is planning who will attend her funeral and what her coffin will look like even before she is diagnosed with a fatal disease. We have no control over when we die or how we go. Until the day when you are dying of a fatal disease or wounded and will never recover, I do not want to be talking about you dying or what you will put in your will! We’re too young to be even thinking about this!

Newt sighed, “Minho, there was a thirteen year old boy who died last night even though yesterday morning he never thought he was going to see death in the safety of the maze. We are in the battle of our lives and our opponent is death itself. Just like you said, we have no control over when we die nor do we have control over if we are allowed to keep living. Everything is a game of chance and my chances of making it out of the griever nest alive are much fewer than you and Fawn’s chances. You are a runner Minho, you run from death every day while I’m the guy who tried to take life and death into his own hands and what do I get? A lame leg and a girl I am madly in love with and zero chance of making it out alive with.”

Minho opened his mouth to protest but Newt gripped his shoulders in his hands, “Mate, I may or may not die tonight in the maze but either way, I am asking this of you because I cannot bear to leave Fawn alone without either of us knowing who will care for her. Whether my time comes tonight in that bloody maze or if it doesn’t come until I’m old and grey and eighty-four and sitting in a rocking chair with Fawn at my side, I want to know that no matter what, Fawn will be safe and taken care of.”

Minho’s lip was trembling as he listened to Newt’s heartfelt words. The boy couldn’t recall the last time he had been brought to tears… definitely not since he entered the maze. He bit his lip because darn it all if Newt was the one who would make him cry, he would die embarrassed and ashamed that it took Newt talking all serious to make him cry.

“I…” he stuttered out, feeling his vision blur from the salty tears, “Newt…”

The lame boy smiled and pulled the runner into his arms and hugged him close. There had never really been hugs passed around between the boys before. Of course when Fawn arrived that changed and Minho now wondered why none of them had hugged each other before. He felt all his pain and worry wash away. Newt pulled away and gripped the boy’s shoulders tightly as he stared into his very soul with his big chocolate brown eyes.

“Promise me… please Minho,” he whispered hoarsely as tears of his own sprung ot his eyes but he let them fall freely.

The runner sighed deeply and nodded his head, a single tear escaping his eyes, “I’ll do it…. the day something happens to you, i will take care of Fawn.”

[annabethy]

Since you want more prompts: Actress Annabeth who goes to the store/coffe shop/ restaurant (whatever you choose) and star struck fan boy Percy who’s trying to play it cool but “wow she’s way prettier in real life and she’s super nice and funny and how is she so poised and elegant I must be making a fool of myself” I just love that and we all know Annabeth would be *that* celebrity who does everything she can to make her fans happy and treat them well “hey this fan is pretty cute and sweet”

Percy really just wanted to go home.

It was only noon and he had already had his fair share of awful customer encounters in the magical place he called Walgreens. He didn’t know what was up today, but it was as though every single person had a stick up their ass, and he was not being paid enough for this.

Regardless, he didn’t have the option of going home because he just started his shift and also because he needed money as a poor twenty-four-year-old who decided to go to grad school.

Still. He wasn’t even doing anything useful. Someone else was at the front manning checkout, so he resorted to sort of stumbling around the store for any source of amusement.

Surprise. Nothing came.

At some point during the next hour, he found himself moping in the candy aisle, contemplating on whether or not he should grab something to keep himself awake. It wasn’t like the store was going to miss those delicious sour gummy worms, and if they did, it would still be worth it.

Percy only managed to calm his desire to snatch that colorful candy when someone breezed by the end of the aisle. He wouldn’t have looked twice if it hadn’t been for the fact that they looked like they had just robbed a bank and were now sulking around the aisles suspiciously.

He tried to ignore them the best he could, but in the mirror lining the top of the wall, he could see the person standing in front of a shelf of rather expensive technological shit he couldn’t be bothered to name.

The girl, or at least he thinks it’s a girl if the long blonde hair peeking out from underneath a black hoodie was any indication, had her hands stuffed deep into the front pocket, and she was shifting on her feet ready to run at any given moment. This girl appeared really sketch, and as much as he definitely doesn’t want to get involved, he kind of has no choice if she’s stealing.

He quietly made his way around the aisle towards the area she was occupying, treading lightly. Once she came into view, he leaned against the metal rack to survey her, hoping she wouldn’t turn around and notice him ominously watching over her.

From where he stood, he couldn’t really see her face, but everything else about her seemed overly poised. The fabric of her sweater seemed way out of his pay grade, even with the distance between them, and he had to resist the urge to reach out and run his fingers over it.

She stood there for a second, analyzing the display of expensive chargers and headphones, before gently grabbing one and sliding it down the opening of her sleeve. It sent off alarms in Percy’s head because he was fairly certain that she intended to steal it.

He bit his lip sharply, a wave of annoyance coming over him. What was it with customers thinking that they could get away with theft?

He was just not in the mood to do this today. In the middle of New York City, it could get pretty dangerous when someone was completely disguised by an oversized hoodie. For all he knew, she was carrying a weapon, ready to knock his brains out if he interrupted her master escape plan.

Still, it was his job and those headphones she just grabbed seemed pricey enough to make him lose his job if he just sat by and let it happen, so he didn’t have a choice.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” he called out just as she started to turn and stalk off. She whipped around rapidly, which didn’t do anything to take the suspicion off of her. He still couldn’t get a great view of her face, and he also didn’t really care to.

She slowly twisted her hands together, her fingers just barely peeking out from below the rims of the sleeves. She stayed silent, perhaps to stay innocent until proven guilty, but when he didn’t elaborate, she was forced to calmly mutter, “Yes?”

Percy almost snorted in her face. From her stance, she seemed to know exactly why he had interrupted her. Instead of mocking her though, he just nodded towards her hands. “You’re going to have to pay for that, or I’ll be forced to call the police.”

The girl froze. “I—I was going to.”

Percy eyed her carefully, concerned about the hoodie still really low over her face. “You stuffed it into your sleeve and you’re wearing a black jacket over your face in the middle of New York.”

She scoffed, and then her hand was reaching up to yank the hoodie off her head, revealing her flowing blonde locks and piercing grey eyes, and it was then that Percy realized his grave mistake. “I was not going to steal!”

Percy stumbled over his words because standing right in front of him was Annabeth Chase, one of the biggest actors in the country, hell, maybe even in the world, and she was glaring at him like she was about to pull out a knife and stab him for even insinuating that she would steal from a random Walgreens.

“I—” Percy’s eyes were wide as he stared at the celebrity only five feet in front of him. “I just thought…”

“Thought what?” Her voice as she spoke was venomous, dripping with apathy.

Percy couldn’t find it in him to gather his words because Annabeth Chase was so close he could probably reach out and touch her, and he had spent so long being obsessed with her (but in a healthy way, he thinks) and this could not be happening.

“You’re Annabeth Chase,” he said, dumbfounded. He probably had his mouth gaping and everything.

“And?”

“You’re—” Percy swallowed, suddenly self-conscious of his ugly red polo and work khakis. He felt like Jake from State Farm. “You’re so much prettier than I expected.”

“Excuse me?”

Percy cursed, holding his hands out as though to soften the blow of his words. “No! That’s not what I meant! I just—”

“You just what?” Annabeth looked thoroughly offended by him, and he didn’t know how to clarify what he was actually saying without sounding like a stalker that may or may not have a shrine for her.

Still. He didn’t want to insult someone that could turn millions of people against him with the snap of her fingers, so he rushed to say something, which did approximately nothing. “I’ve been watching you for years and you were so pretty, but now you’re standing in the middle of Walgreens and you’re, like, really pretty, like so pretty I could kiss you, and—” Percy shrieked. “Wait, no! Not kiss you! I mean, I could of course, but that’s pretty rude and I’m pretty sure it’s considered harassment in some states, if not all of them, so I definitely won’t do that to you, but—”

Somewhere along his mess of a speech, her face seemed to morph from fury to amusement, and he wanted to just melt into a puddle on the floor and die.

“I’m making myself look like a fool in front of Annabeth Chase,” he muttered to no one in particular. “Perfect.”

“I would reassure you and say you didn’t, but I’d feel guilty lying to you, considering how honest you were with me two seconds ago.” Annabeth looked him up and down, and Percy thought she looked unimpressed. When her eyes trailed back to his, she tilted her head to the side, lifting the side of her mouth slightly in a smile that showed off one of her dimples, and god, she was so freaking gorgeous. “I wasn’t going to steal, for the record.”

“Yeah, I got that now.” Percy suspected his voice also just cracked, and he was actually going to go bang his head into a wall repeatedly until he had a brain bleed.

It was entirely unfair just how elegant she seemed in this moment because Percy was a blubbering mess over here, and she had the audacity to laugh at him. How could someone be so put together, and just how unlucky do you have to be to look this moronic in front of arguably the hottest celebrity out there?

“Are you alright?” Annabeth asked. “You’re looking a bit faint over there.”

“I just—” Percy gave an awkward grin. “I’m starstruck over here.”

“Starstruck?” she asked, testing the word in her mouth. “No one’s ever said that to me before.”

“Really? How could they not?”

“Most people would consider it lame to actually say that to their celebrity crush, as you so eloquently put it.”

Percy flushed. “Funny.”

“It is, don’t you think?” Annabeth smirked at him, and Percy’s heart just about leaped out of his chest. “I have to say, no one’s ever messed up that badly before.”

“Well, I guess no one’s as stupid as me.”

“No one’s accused me of stealing either,” she added unhelpfully. Even without a mirror, Percy just knew he looked redder than a tomato, and he could tell she was basking in his misery.

That’s it. Percy’s going to walk into the street and let himself get run over by a taxi.

“A lot of firsts in this room,” Annabeth said, a teasing edge to her voice. “First time meeting a celebrity?”

“How’d you know?” he asked sarcastically, and he realized he was standing awkwardly at a distance from her.

She looked at the floor between them. “You can get closer, you know. I won’t bite.”

“The look you gave me earlier said otherwise.” Percy got closer anyways so that they were talking like normal human beings.

Annabeth laughed, and even that about her was smooth and melodic.

He lifted his hand to scratch the base of his neck. “I’m sorry I accused you of stealing.”

“I’ll let it slide because you’re so cute.”

Percy’s mind came to a reeling halt as he processed her words. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought she was flirting with him, but she obviously wasn’t because he was a nobody off the streets. Right?

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say now,” he offered meekly.

“You really are new to this,” she said, whistling slightly.

“Obviously, I haven’t ever tried to stop a famous actor from stealing.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Percy blinked. “Oh?”

“I guess I’ll just have to help you out then,” she said, sighing in mock disappointment. “You’re supposed to tell me your name.”

White hot alarm flooded through him, because yeah, she was one-hundred perfect flirting with him. That, or she was trying to get him to make even more of a fool of himself.

Either way, she sure knew what she was doing.

He supposes he would just have to settle with defeat if she was conning him because in no way was he about to pass up the opportunity to cozy up to the hottest girl alive.

“I’m Percy,” he offered, working up the confidence to give her a dazzling smile. “Figures you would want to know my name.”

“Had to know the name of the guy to call me out for my thievery,” she excused jokingly, eyes gleaming. “And the one who proposed making out in the middle of a convenience store.”

“I’m still down for that kiss,” he teases, voice suddenly much less shaky and much more low, deep in the back of his throat.

“Oh, so now you wanna have game?” she asked, leaning against the shelf with the headphones she’d grabbed now clear in her hand. “Where was that when I asked your name?”

“I was still gathering it up,” he said.

“Hm.” Annabeth nodded knowingly. “I see.”

“Should I make it up to you, then?”

“You’re going to have to if you expect this to go any further,” Annabeth said, but he can tell that she’s mainly messing around with him.

Percy decided to tease her back. “You expect this to go any further?”

“It’s gonna have to. You promised me that kiss, and I expect you to pay up.”

“I guess I’ll just have to deliver, in that case.”

“I charge interest.” When Percy locked eyes with her, there was fire burning between them, and it was like there was something more between them, despite them having just met.

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he said.

A silence fell between them again, but it was comfortable and fitting. They just stared softly at each other for a while until Annabeth spoke again, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re different,” she started, nibbling on her lower lip. “You’re really sweet.”

“I think you mean chaotic,” he quipped, ignoring the way his heart pulsated beneath his fingertips at the heartfelt compliment.

“That whole being in love with me spiel you did was pretty cute,” she said. “When I say you’re sweet, I mean it. I don’t hand things like that out for nothing.”

Percy blushed, gesturing towards her. “Look at you, though. You’re — perfect. I’m not sure how else to put that, but you do everything to please your fans.”

“I am quite perfect,” Annabeth agreed. “But being accused of stealing and then watching you melt into a puddle of nerves and get all jittery? It’s unmatched.”

Percy could not believe that this was actually happening. Everything he thought was true about her from movies and pictures was magnified by ten in person, and she was such a nice person. She was more down-to-earth than other people out there, and it was refreshing.

He tried to play it cool, but he did the exact opposite, and she still called him cute and sweet and he could actually start fangirling right now.

Percy really didn’t want this to end, so he would just have to take things into his own hands.

“Listen,” he said, standing up straighter. He could feel his stomach tingle with nerves. “I know you’re famous and all, and I’m…not, and you probably get asked this all the time, but you seem like someone I’d like to get to know, so I was wondering if…”

“Careful,” Annabeth warned, amused. “You’re starting to lose your game again.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, gently shoving her shoulder. It wasn’t until after the fact that he realized he just touched the golden girl of the country. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

She didn’t answer, and his heart dropped, but then—

“I thought you’d never ask.” Annabeth pursed her lips to stifle her widening grin.

Percy clapped his hands together, admittedly surprised that she agreed. It was something of dreams. “When are you free?”

“Today works.”

He looked around, contemplating on how to answer. He really needed the money, and he was still in the middle of his shift. Leaving now would cause him to get in some major trouble, but on the other hand…

“Let’s go.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Right now?”

“Right now,” he confirmed.

“You don’t have to finish working first?”

“The guy up front can cover for me,” Percy said, already working up the courage to grab her hand and start pulling her towards the exit. She seemed just as enthusiastic to go with him, lacing their fingers together, sparks of electricity flowing through them.

Annabeth dropped the headphones back onto the metal racks, smiling jokingly when he looked at her. “Wouldn’t want to steal, would I?”

“I suppose not,” Percy said, utterly infatuated. He had just met her, and he was already dreaming of a future with just the two of them. From the way her eyes traced over the slopes of his face, as though burning them into her memory, he knew he wasn’t alone in it.

As they walked out into the New York sunshine, Percy smiled at Annabeth, and thought she looked amazing under the rays of light. She was everything — pretty and funny and nice and flawless — and she agreed to go out with him.

Percy tries not to fall in love, but it was easier said than done when this perfect woman was looking at him with those breathtaking eyes and setting his heart on fire.

(But when she kisses him in the middle of Central Park, he knows he already is. He finds he doesn’t mind).

[cha-melodius]

The Definition of Madness Chapter 1

Whumptober No. 22: Drugged

Fandom: The Man from UNCLE (2015)

Pairings: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin, Napoleon Solo & Illya Kuryakin & Gaby Teller

Summary: They say the definition of madness is doing the same thing and expecting a different result.

Or, Illya gets stuck in a very whumpy time loop.

Ao3 Link

*****

You're ready for a new round Don't it look like it's gonna be fun, be fun Up from the floor on the count of ten Oh you get up, you get down and you try it again

“Fuck!”

Illya sits bolt-upright in his bed at the safehouse, and it’s barely another heartbeat before he has his gun in his hand and is ripping open the door to his bedroom. Have they been discovered? Is the safehouse compromised? Are they being attacked?

Instead he finds Napoleon in the kitchen muttering a litany of colorful swears under his breath as he holds his left hand under the tap. Gaby joins Illya in the doorway only moments later, the expression on her face a somewhat odd mix of concern and irritation.

“I take it we’re not being attacked?” she asks through a yawn, pushing errant strands of hair out of her face.

Napoleon looks up at them and winces, looking almost sheepish. “Ah, no. I didn’t expect the handle of that pan to be that hot.”

“Hmph,” Gaby huffs, then immediately turns around to return to her room.

“You had to be up anyway!” Napoleon calls after her, but whatever she grumbles back is unintelligible.

Illya steps closer to the sink and sees an angry red welt on Napoleon’s palm. His partner hisses softly as the cool water splashes over the burn, and Illya moves past him to the freezer, which has thankfully been stocked.

“You don’t make a very good alarm clock, Cowboy,” Illya says as he hands him a bag of frozen vegetables.

“So very sorry about that, Peril,” Napoleon bites out sarcastically. He squeezes his eyes shut, mumbling under his breath when he presses the makeshift ice pack to his hand. “God damn cheap pans without properly insulated handles.”

Humming softly at Napoleon’s grumbling, Illya goes to get the medical supplies that typically only come out after a job, thank you very much. There’s some burn cream inside, he knows, and he tosses the whole thing at Napoleon, who just manages to catch it with his uninjured hand.

“Better not have to save your ass today because of that,” Illya mutters at him before he goes to get himself ready. He’s already dressed, because he tends to sleep fully clothed before missions, but he still needs to gather the rest of his tactical gear and weapons. Plus, he really doesn’t want to listen to Napoleon complain, which is currently what he’s doing based on the curses drifting in from the next room.

By the time he reemerges Napoleon is still fumbling with gauze as he tries to bandage the wound one-handed. For a moment Illya considers going over to assist him, but then he seems to have actually gotten it anyway as he rips the medical tape with his teeth and shoves everything else back into the bag.

“Wouldn’t want you to actually help,” Napoleon accuses, glaring at him.

Illya just shrugs. “You seem to have done fine.”

Napoleon narrows his eyes at Illya and huffs, but he’s caught: either he protests this statement and admits that no, he did need Illya’s help, or he accepts the backhanded compliment and tacitly admits that Illya was right. Illya just manages to suppress a smug smirk, but only because he’d actually like to eat some of the omlet that Napoleon put together that morning.

Sure enough, Napoleon grabs the offending pan (with an oven mitt this time, Illya notes) and divides the eggs inside into three portions, then wordlessly pushes one of the plates across the counter toward Illya. They eat in silence, standing at the counter, while Gaby bangs around in the other part of the safehouse. Illya watches out of the corner of his eye as Napoleon flexes his hand experimentally, wincing as he does.

It’s definitely not a good development. Illya considers suggesting that they put the mission off for a few days, or that Napoleon hang behind, but he knows that neither will go over well. Napoleon is as stubborn as anyone Illya has ever known—the way he pushed himself to the limit almost immediately after coming out of Rudy’s chair had driven that home early in their working relationship—and he will certainly dismiss a small burn on his non-dominant hand as trivial.

Besides, he doesn’t need to say anything. When Gaby finally reappears she’s wearing her own tactical gear and a surly frown. “Don’t you think you should probably stay back today?” she asks Napoleon.

“What?” he answers, looking confused, like he’s already forgotten about the injury. She looks pointedly at his bandaged hand, and he waves her off. “Oh, this? It’s nothing. I’ve worked through much worse.”

Gaby looks skeptical, but she, too, knows that it’s not worth arguing with him about. Instead she eats her portion of the eggs, still frowning as Napoleon leaves the kitchen to finalize his own preparations for the mission.

“You’re ok with this?” she asks Illya.

“Not really,” he shrugs. “But he’s not going to listen to me.”

Gaby tilts her head, giving him a shrewd look he doesn’t really understand. “He might.”

“He won’t,” Illya insists. They stare at each other for a moment, and Illya has the uncomfortable feeling that she is evaluating him in some way. “If he says he can work through it, I trust him. I trust him not to endanger the mission or our lives.”

These are words he could not have imagined speaking only a year ago, but spending that much time with someone, and trusting them with your life as many times as he has, certainly changes your perspective.

“What about his own?” Gaby asks, arcing a brow at him quizzically.

Illya doesn’t have an answer to that question

The compound they’re infiltrating is halfway up a mountain with only a single, narrow road leading to it, so they have no choice but to approach overground. The climb takes all day, and Illya would find it all surprisingly pleasant—it’s a beautiful day, and the views are stunning—if it weren’t for the fact that he knows at the end of it they’ll be walking into a highly dangerous situation. Dusk is just beginning to fall when they approach the fencing around the sector they’ve identified as the best access point. Illya’s CO2 laser makes short work of the chain link, and they slip inside without tripping any alarms.

It’s far more deserted than they expected, which should be a good thing but instead just makes a sense of unease settle into Illya’s bones. But there’s no way their targets could know that UNCLE was coming, no way they could have seen the team’s approach. It is more likely that they’re just overly confident in their mountain fortress, such as it were, and not expecting the infiltration.

At least, this is what Illya keeps telling himself as they make their way deeper into the compound, and his feelings of disquiet only grow.

The plan was to split up—the compound is huge, and they have only a vague idea of where the data they are looking for might be kept—and there’s no way to change that now. They pause at the chosen rally point and nod silently to each other, and then Illya’s partners fade into the darkness surrounding them.

Right. Search his sector, back to the rally point in 30 minutes. 

He should have turned around the minute he found a buildng inexplicably sitting where none had been marked on the map. He should have turned around when his nose had been assulted by harsh chemical odors the moment he slipped inside. He should definitely have turned around when his vision started going just a bit fuzzy and his hearing dulled like there was cotton in his ears.

But the building seems empty, and if their targets are working on chemical weapons UNCLE needs to know, and so he does not turn around until he hears a soft tread behind him.

The man standing there regards him curiously, like he’s not alarmed at all to find a giant, heavily armed, Russian spy in his facility. Dimly, Illya thinks he knows why. He can feel his grip loosening on his rifle, can feel himself slowing until it feels unmistakably like he’s moving through some kind of thick porridge.

“Intriguing,” the man says, and his voice sounds like it is coming from a great distance.

Illya wonders how he’s not affected by whatever is hanging in the air, clogging Illya’s lungs and making it increasingly difficult to breathe. He knows he needs to move, to get out of here, to get back to the rally point and try to warn his team, but it is becoming obvious that it’s going to be impossible. At least he can hope that by distracting them here, Napoleon and Gaby can get out.

“Go collect the others,” the man tells someone that seems to be just outside of Illya’s field of view. “We may need them for leverage.”

Someone tugs the rifle out of Illya’s hands, then pulls his wrists together and binds them roughly behind his back. A moment later his legs are kicked savagely from behind and he lands hard on his knees on the concrete floor, but the pain only manages to be a dull throb through the fog in his mind. His vision continues to narrow until all he can see is the man standing in front of him, silhouetted by a blinding white light pouring through an open door. Then the light is blocked in part by more figures coming through it, and oh, no, it cannot be.

Surely they did not get the drop on both of his partners. Surely this is some kind of hallucination.

With one, final burst of strength, Illya struggles futiliy against the bindings and feels the rope dig sharply into his wrists. It’s no good. He bends forward, gasping for breath in air that feels as thick as pea soup, and blacks out.

Next Chapter

[96harmony96]

Chapter 4 part 1

It took an endless moment to realize jauregui and I were still alone in the room, that the voice I’d heard had come through a speaker. Jauregui stood at the far end of the sofa, flushed and scowling, her chest heaving. Her tie was loosened and the fly of her slacks strained against a very impressive erection.

I had a nightmare vision in my head of what I must look like. And I was late getting back to work.

“Christ.” she shoved both hands through her hair. “It’s the middle of the fucking day. In my goddamn fucking office!”

I got to my feet and tried to straighten my appearance.

“Here.” she came to me, yanking my skirt up again.Mortified by the sudden intrusion into our privacy, I scrambled up and back into the armrest, yanking down my skirt.

“…two o’clock appointment is here.”

Furious at what I’d almost let happen when I should be at work, I smacked at her hands. “Stop it. Leave me alone.”

“Shut up, Camila,” she said grimly, catching the hem of my black silk blouse and tugging it into place, adjusting it so that the buttons once again formed a straight row between my breasts. Then she pulled down my skirt, smoothing it with calm, expert hands. “Fix your ponytail.”

Jauregui retrieved her coat, shrugging into it before adjusting her tie. We reached the door at the same time and when I crouched to fetch my purse, she lowered with me.

she caught my chin, forcing me to look at her. “Hey,” she said softly. “You okay?”

My throat burned. I was aroused and mad and thoroughly embarrassed. I’d never in my life lost my mind like that. And I hated that I’d done so with her, a woman whose approach to sexual intimacy was so clinical it depressed me just thinking about it.

I jerked my chin away. “Do I look okay?”

“You look beautiful and fuckable. I want you so badly it hurts. I’m dangerously close to taking you back to the couch and making you come ’til you beg me to stop.”

“Can’t accuse you of being silver-tongued,” I muttered, aware that I wasn’t offended. In fact, the rawness of her hunger for me was a serious aphrodisiac. Clutching the strap of my purse, I stood on shaky legs. I needed to get away from her. And, when my workday was done, I needed to be alone with a big glass of wine.

Jauregui stood with me. “I’ll be done by five. I’ll come get you then.”

“No, you won’t. This doesn’t change anything.”

“The hell it doesn’t.”

“Don’t be arrogant, Jauregui. I lost my head for a second, but I still don’t want what you want.”

Her fingers curled around the door handle. “Yes, you do. You just don’t want it the way I want to give it to you. So, we’ll revisit and revise.”

More business. Cut-and-dried. My spine stiffened.

I set my hand over her and yanked on the handle, ducking under her arm to squeeze out the door. Her secretary shoved quickly to his feet, gaping, as did the woman and two men who were waiting for Jauregui. I heard her speak behind me.

“Scott will show you into my office. I’ll be just a moment.”

she caught me by reception, her arm crossing my lower back to grip my hip. Not wanting to make a scene, I waited until we were by the elevators to pull away.

she stood calmly and hit the call button. “Five o’clock, Camila.”

I stared at the lighted button. “I’m busy.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

“I’m busy all weekend.”

Stepping in front of me, she asked tightly, “With whom?”

“That’s none of your—”

Her hand covered my mouth. “Don’t. Tell me when, then. And before you say never, take a good look at me and tell me if you see a woman who’s easily deterred.”

Her face was hard, her gaze narrowed and determined. I shivered. I wasn’t sure I’d win a battle of wills withLauren jauregui.

Swallowing, I waited until she lowered her hand and said, “I think we both need to cool off. Take a couple days to think.”

she persisted. “Monday after work.”

The elevator arrived and I stepped into it. Facing her, I countered, “Monday lunch.”

We’d have only an hour, a guaranteed escape.

Just before the doors closed, shesaid, “We’re going to happen, Camila.”

It sounded as much like a threat as a promise.

___

“Don’t sweat it, Camila,” Mark said, when I arrived at my desk nearly a quarter after two. “You didn’t miss anything. I had a late lunch with Mr. Leaman. I just barely got back myself.”

“Thank you.” No matter what he said, I still felt terrible. My kick-ass Friday morning seemed to have happened days ago.

We worked steadily until five, discussing a fast-food client and contemplating some possible tweaks to ad copy for a chain of organic grocery stores.

“Talk about strange bedfellows,” Mark had teased, not knowing how apt that was in regard to my personal life.

I’d just shut down my computer and was pulling my purse out of the drawer when my phone rang. I glanced at the clock, saw it was exactly five, and considered ignoring the call because I was technically done for the day.

But since I was still feeling shitty about my overly-long lunch, I considered it penance and answered. “Mark Garrity’s—”

“Camila honey. Richard says you forgot your cell phone at his office.”

I exhaled in a rush and sagged back into my chair. I could picture the handkerchief wringing that usually accompanied that particular anxious tone of my mother’s. It drove me nuts and it also broke my heart. “Hi, Mom. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m lovely. Thank you.” My mom had a voice that was both girlish and breathy, like Marilyn Monroe crossed with Scarlett Johansson. “Clancy dropped your phone off with the concierge at your place. You really shouldn’t go anywhere without it. You never know when you might need to call for someone—”

I’d been debating the logistics of just keeping the phone and forwarding calls to a new number I didn’t share with my mom, but that wasn’t my biggest concern. “What does Dr. Petersen say about you tracing my phone?”

The silence on the other end of the line was telling. “Dr. Petersen knows I worry about you.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I said, “I think it’s time for us to have another joint appointment, Mom.”

“Oh…of course. He did mention that he’d like to see you again.”

Probably because he suspects you’re not being forthcoming. I changed the subject. “I really like my new job.”

“That’s wonderful, Camila! Is your boss treating you well?”

“Yes, he’s great. I couldn’t ask for anyone better.”

“Is he handsome?”

I smiled. “Yes, very. And he’s taken.”

“Damn it. The good ones always are.” she laughed and my smile widened.

I loved it when she was happy. I wished she were happy more often. “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow at the advocacy dinner.”

Sinuhe Cabello Barker Mitchell Stanton was in her element at society functions, a gilded shining beauty who’d never lacked male attention in her life.

“Let’s make a day of it,” my mom said breathlessly. “You, me, and Cary. We’ll go to the spa, get pretty and polished. I’m sure you could use a massage after working so hard.”

“I won’t turn one down, that’s for sure. And I know Cary will love it.”

“Oh, I’m excited! I’ll send a car by your place around eleven?”

“We’ll be ready.”

After I hung up, I leaned back in my chair and exhaled, needing a hot bath and an orgasm. If Lauren Jauregui somehow found out I masturbated while thinking about her, I didn’t care. Being sexually frustrated was weakening my position, a weakness I knew she wouldn't be sharing. No doubt she’d have a preapproved orifice lined up before day’s end.

As I swapped out my heels for my walking shoes, my phone rang again. My mother was rarely distracted for long. The five minutes since we’d ended our call was just about the right length of time for her to realize the cell phone issue hadn’t been resolved. Once again, I debated ignoring the phone, but I didn’t want to take any of the day’s crap home with me.

I answered with my usual greeting, but it lacked its usual punch.

“I’m still thinking about you.”

The velvet rasp of jauregui's voice flooded me with such relief I realized I’d been hoping to hear it again. Today.

God. The craving was so acute I knew she’d become a drug to my body, the prime source of some very intense highs.

“I can still feel you, camila. Still taste you. I’ve been hard since you left, through two meetings and one teleconference. You’ve got the advantage, state your demands.”

“Ah,” I murmured. “Lemme think.”

I let her wait, smiling as I remembered Cary’s comment about blue balls. “Hmm…Nothing is coming to mind. But I do have some friendly advice. Go spend time with a woman who salivates at your feet and makes you feel like a god. Fuck her until neither of you can walk. When you see me on Monday you’ll be totally over it and your life will return to its usual obsessive-compulsive order.”

The creak of leather sounded over the phone and I imagined her leaning back in her desk chair. “That was your one free pass, Camila. The next time you insult my intelligence, I’ll take you over my knee.”

“I don’t like that sort of thing.” And yet the warning, given in that voice, aroused me. Dark and Dangerous for sure.

“We’ll discuss. In the interim, tell me what you do like.”

I stood. “You definitely have the voice for phone sex, but I’ve got to go. I have a date with my vibrator.”

I should’ve hung up then, to gain the full effect of the brush-off, but I couldn’t resist learning if he’d gloat like I had imagined she would. Plus, I was having fun with her.

“Oh, Camila.” Jauregui spoke my name in a decadent purr. “You’re determined to drive me to my knees, aren’t you? What will it take to talk you into a threesome with B.O.B.?”

I ignored both questions as I slung my bag and purse over my shoulder, grateful she couldn't see how my hand shook. I was not discussing Battery Operated Boyfriends withLauren Jauregui. I’d never discussed masturbation openly with a woman or man, let alone a woman who was for all intents and purposes a stranger to me. “B.O.B. and I have a longtime understanding—when we’re done with each other, we know exactly which one of us has been used, and it isn’t me. Good night, Lauren.”

I was so grateful to be home after the day I’d had that I practically danced through my apartment’s front door. My heartfelt “God, it’s good to be home!” and accompanying spin was vehement enough to startle the couple on the couch.

“Oh,” I said, wincing at my own silliness. Cary wasn’t in a compromising position with his guest when I barged in, but they’d been sitting close enough to suggest intimacy.

Grudgingly, I thought of Lauren Jauregui, who preferred to strip all intimacy out of the most intimate act I could imagine. I’d had one-night stands and friends with benefits, and no one knew better than I that sex and making love were two very different things, but I didn’t think I’d ever be able to view sex like a handshake. I thought it was sad that Jauregui did, even though she wasn't a person who inspired pity or sympathy.

“Hey, baby girl,” Cary called out, pushing to his feet. “I was hoping you’d make it back before Trey had to leave.”

“I have class in an hour,” Trey explained, rounding the coffee table as I dropped my bag on the floor and put my purse on a barstool at the breakfast bar. “But I’m glad I got to meet you before I left.”

“Me, too.” I shook the hand he extended to me, taking him in with a quick glance. He was about my age, I guessed. Average height and nicely muscular. He had unruly blond hair, soft hazel eyes, and a nose that had clearly been broken at some point.

“Mind if I grab a glass of wine?” I asked. “It’s been a long day.”

“Go for it,” Trey replied.

“I’ll take one, too.” Cary joined us by the breakfast bar. He was wearing loose-fitting black jeans and an off-the-shoulder black sweater. The look was casual and elegant, and did a phenomenal job of offsetting his dark brown hair and emerald eyes.

I went to the wine fridge and pulled out a random bottle.

Trey shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels, talking quietly with Cary as I uncorked and poured.

The phone rang and I grabbed the handset off the wall. “Hello?”

“Hey, Camila? It’s Parker Smith.”

“Parker, hi.” I leaned my hip into the counter. “How are you?”

“I hope you don’t mind my calling. Your stepdad gave me your number.”

Gah. I’d had enough of Stanton for one day. “Not at all. What’s up?”

“Honestly? Everything’s looking up right now. Your stepdad is like my fairy godfather. He’s funding a few safety improvements to the studio and some much-needed upgrades. That’s why I’m calling. The studio’s going to be out of commission for the rest of the week. Classes will resume next Monday.”

I closed my eyes, struggling to tamp down a flare of exasperation. It wasn’t Parker’s fault that Stanton and my mom were overprotective control freaks. Clearly they didn’t see the irony of defending me while I was surrounded by people trained to do that very thing. “Sounds good. I can’t wait. I’m really excited to be training with you.”

“I’m excited, too. I’m going to work you hard, Camila. Your parents are going to get their money’s worth.”

I set a filled glass in front of Cary and took a big gulp out of my own. It never ceased to amaze me how much cooperation money could buy. But again, that wasn’t Parker’s fault. “No complaints here.”

“We’ll get started first thing next week. Your driver has the schedule.”

“Great. See you then.” I hung up and caught the glance Trey shot Cary when he thought neither of us was looking. It was soft and filled with a sweet yearning, and it reminded me that my problems could wait. “I’m sorry I caught you on the way out, Trey. Do you have time for pizza Wednesday night? I’d love to do more than say hi and bye.”

“I have class.” He gave me a regretful smile and shot another side-glance at Cary. “But I could come by on Tuesday.”

“That’d be great.” I smiled. “We could order in and have a movie night.”

“I’d like that.”

I was rewarded with the kiss Cary blew me as he headed to the door to show Trey out. When he returned to the kitchen he grabbed his wine and said, “All right. Spill it, Camila. You looked stressed.”

“I am,” I agreed, grabbing the bottle and moving into the living room.

“It’sLauren Jauregui, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah. But I don’t want to talk about her.” Although Lauren’s pursuit was exhilarating, hier goal sucked. “Let’s talk about you and Trey instead. How did you two meet?”

“I ran across him on a job. He’s working part time as a photographer’s assistant. Sexy, isn’t he?” His eyes were bright and happy. “And a real gentleman. In an old-school way.”

“Who knew there were any of those left?” I muttered before polishing off my first glass.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry, Cary. He seemed great, and he obviously digs you. Is he studying photography?”

“Veterinary medicine.”

“Wow. That’s awesome.”

“I think so, too. But forget about Trey for a minute. Talk about what’s bugging you. Get it out.”

I sighed. “My mom. she found out about my interest in Parker’s studio and now she’s freaking out.”

“What? How’d she find out? I swear I haven’t told anyone.”

“I know you didn’t. Never even crossed my mind.” Grabbing the bottle off the table, I refilled my glass. “Get this. She’s been tracking my cell phone.”

Cary’s brows rose. “Seriously? That’s…creepy.”

“I know, right? That’s what I told Stanton, but he doesn’t want to hear it.”

“Well, hell.” He ran a hand through his long bangs. “So what do you do?”

“Get a new phone. And meet with Dr. Petersen to see if he can’t talk some sense into her.”

“Good move. Turn it over to her shrink. So…is everything okay with your job? Do you still love it?”

“Totally.” My head fell back into the sofa cushions and my eyes closed. “My work and you are my lifesavers right now.”

What about the young hottie bazillionaire who wants to nail you? Come on, Camila. You know I’m dying here. What happened?”

I told him, of course. I wanted his take on it all. But when I finished, he was quiet. I lifted my head to look at him, and found him bright-eyed and biting his lip.

“Cary? What are you thinking?”

“I’m feeling kind of hot from that story.” He laughed and the warm, richly masculine sound swept a lot of my irritation away. “sHe’s got to be so confused right now. I would’ve paid money to see her face when you hit her with that bit she wanted to spank you over.”

“I can’t believe she said that.” Just remembering Jauregui’s voice when she made that threat had my palms damp enough to leave steam on my glass. “What the hell is she into?”

“Spanking’s not deviant. Besides, she was going for missionary on the couch, so she’s not averse to the basics.” He fell into the couch, a brilliant smile lighting up his handsome face. “You’re a huge challenge to a girl who obviously thrives on them. And she’s willing to make concessions to have you, which I’d bet she’s not used to. Just tell her what you want.”

I split the last of the wine between us, feeling marginally better with a bit of alcohol in my veins. What did I want? Aside from the obvious? “We’re totally incompatible.”

“Is that what you call what happened on her couch?”

“Cary, come on. Boil it down. shepicked me up off the lobby floor, and then asked me to fuck. That’s really it. Even a guy I take home from a bar has more going for him than that. Hey, what’s your name? Come here often? Who’s your friend? What are you drinking? Like to dance? Do you work around here?”

“All right, all right. I get it.” He set his glass down on the table. “Let’s go out. Hit a bar. Dance ’til we drop. Maybe meet some guys who’ll talk you up some.”

“Or at least buy me a drink.”

“Hey, Lauregui offered you one of those in her office.”

I shook my head and stood. “Whatever. Let me take a shower and we’ll go.”

[twilightofthe]

Which other tcw Arc`s do u think are not in character (like the Clovis arc)?

Oh dear I think I’ve genuinely made y’all think I hate TCW or something.

Nah, look, it’s. The Clone Wars is one of my favorite cartoons of all time and always will be. The way it expanded the SW universe and the Prequel universe in particular was astounding and its complex ideas and mythology and worldbuilding and additions to the established story were wonderful. I adored the new characters it introduced me to.

MOST of the movie characters? I LOVED what they did with them. They didn’t really alter Obi Wan’s character that much at all besides making him way more of a hoe lol. I’d say my only OOC critique of him in the show is that they lean on him too much as the only moral compass character which means his characterization and motives have a tendency to slide around a bit for different episodes that need him to behave differently to do the “right thing” in that particular circumstance, if that makes sense. There IS one particular arc where I feel Obi Wan acts out of character quite often, but I’m saying right now that that leads into an argument I don’t want to get into so I’m not saying 😇

(Ik I ranted a bit about Pads in the last post too but overall I think she’s pretty alright in TCW too! I like her solo plots and her ones bonding with other characters!!!!)

But anon’s question was if I think any other arcs are OOC like the Clovis arc, I’m gonna say yes solely in regards to Anakin being OPC as for any other characters it’s not that big an issue save for the one unnamed Obi Wan offender. While I think Anakin has some individual moments where he’s OOC peppered throughout the series, I’d say the only two arcs that are particularly guilty offenders besides the Clovis arcs are the Deception arc and the Kadavo arc.

Now, the dichotomy of these two arcs is funny to me because the Kadavo arc is unfortunately my least favorite arc in the entire series while— and now THIS is an unpopular opinion —the Deception arc is one of my favorite arcs in the series because I am so SO here for the Obi Wqn character study it is; I think he’s totally in character for it and I love watching what they do with him in it.

However, where they go right with Obi Wan in this, they drop the ball with Anakin unfortunately. Like Anakin’s plot throughout the arc is.... gah, ok so. Ani boy vowing to hunt down and murder the guy who killed Obi Wan in vengeful rage is in character for him, it is, I get that. But the fact that that Vengeful Silent Broodish Rage is literally the only reaction we get out of Anakin the entire fucking arc???? Nah. NAH.

I’m sorry, but if there is ONE universal constant we’ve seen in the movies, it’s that Anakin Skywalker loses his entire shit if he’s faced with losing someone he cares about. We saw it with Shmi. We saw it with Padmé. We saw how emotional he got before he went into Murder Mode, he was kind of a wreck, he CRIED.

Now, TCW has a number one rule and it is that Anakin Cannot show any “girly” emotions whatsoever, ESPECIALLY none of the Dreaded Tears. So they just skip right over the messy emotions part and just have him be silent and cold and Angry. Full of brutish violent anger. Acceptable emotions for an Alpha Male to have. When OBI WAN died.

And I’m sorry, if your logic for Anakin’s muted reaction is just that he doesn’t care about Obi Wan as much as he does about Shmi or Padmé, I gotta STRONGLY disagree. It doesn’t matter if their relationship is viewed through a romantic lease or not, I will die on the hill that they were one of The Most important people in each other’s whole life and their relationship defines the whole prequel trilogy.

So yeah, no, Deception bugs me because they don’t let Anakin mourn Obi Wan at all, only get angry, like we don’t even get a freaking reaction to his death, we just get him yelling his name when Obes falls and his kinda confused-distressed face when he finds Ahsoka crying over the body (and SHE is allowed to cry..........) and then just a flash forward to his brooding sulk at the funeral.

Now, I’m not asking for much, I’m really not. I don’t need him uncontrollably sobbing at the funeral or anything (they already have Satine for that and no I will NOT rant right now about how taking a female character and bringing her back once briefly just to be a man’s Fragile Weeping Widow and then again to be his Helpless Damsel who you then fridge to make him sad is Not Good Writing I’m already writing a whole-ass spitefic about that 🙃🙃🙃)

But ughhhh they could have let Anakin have just a BIT of softness, of upset for losing his fucking best friend. Like, just save Ahsoka the additional teenage trauma and have Obi Wan die in Anakin’s arms instead, hype up them Qui Gon parallels! Give him just like a single fucking tear, just ONE for a moment! Like what y’all did with Rex, remember? He’s still Manly(TM) for crying!!!!!! Maybe make Satine not be the only overly emotional person at the funeral and then afterwards have her and Anakin have a convo where he accuses her of not caring and we can see how she, unlike Anakin, knows how to let those she loves go.

So gah yeah Deception is OOC for Anakin because he doesn’t get to show emotions, and Kadavo...... ugh, so many other people have written very detailed pieces that summarize basically my exact opinions on why I don’t like the arc, but I think a huge part of that is how they downplay Anakin’s trauma as a past slave in favor of, once again, brash, cocky toxic masculinity.

Anakin the former slave would NOT be so easily comfortable and all jokey jokey with letting the sixteen year old in his care pretend to be sold into slavery and he definitely wouldn’t be cracking jokes about how he makes a better slave master. Like I mentioned before, he would Not be able to keep his cool around the slaver Queen so easily. He wouldn’t. This isn’t even just a question of whether his newfound flirting abilities are valid because I actually think they are so long as he doesn’t feel attraction himself, but the pure rage at her being a slaver who sees him as a sex slave would at Most mean he’d be able to barely be restricting himself from murdering her. He would not be that good at it with her specifically

And tbh I do think this arc has several issues so I don’t even quite know how I’d fix it. I know how I’d fix certain issues, but def not all of them.

So yeah agh, Anakin OOC in Deception and Kadavo, other characters are usually p fine. Clone Wars Good Show!!!!