#fair warning I have done a wee bit of drinking this evening which is not helping

[brinnanza]

tw mental health nonsense + pandemic, no one’s sick I’m just whining

I’m well aware of the effect that a global pandemic has on one’s ability to produce creative works, and I’m aware that being stuck inside my house all day every day without ever being alone or around other people is not exactly conducive to good mental health, especially with my particular configuration of issues BUT I’m really, really annoyed that I can’t actually do any writing. Before the pandemic really set in, when I was laid off from my job, I thought, oh, I’ll have loads of time to write really crushing fic. but that was three months ago and I just barely struggled to write one 500 word thing that I only wrote basically on a dare. and it was *hard*, it was like pulling teeth, and writing is always hard but it’s not *that* hard.

and I thought for a little bit, well, maybe the fact that I’m home all the time and not throwing ten hours a day into the capitalism void means I don’t *need* to retreat into fiction entirely to deal with my life, but I don’t think that’s it, exactly. because I barely have the attention span to read anything, and I’m still full on special interest spiral with rq but the only thing I can make myself do anymore is draw. which is fine, lots of people just draw, but I’m *good* at writing. or at least I *was*, and that’s how I *want* to engage in fandom. I had so many lofty plans, and it’s like... I can barely stay in my own head long enough to listen to the latest rqg or mag episodes, and even then I’m only barely comprehending it. I *want* to be engaged and theorize and write and I just... can’t.

and like, I know the reason I can’t write anything is because I’m wildly dissociating like 95% of the time as a coping mechanism to avoid Everything. it sucks, but I *know* I have a tendency to yeet myself out of my own head at the slightest sign of distress because the only thing I know how to do it avoid thinking about stuff that makes me upset. It just feels like I’m floating somewhere above my body like a balloon on a string, and all I want to do is winch myself back in there.

I’m tentatively planning to do some traveling at the end of july if I can firm up the plans - driving round to visit some friends who live scattered across the states, and I don’t know if that will help or not, but I gotta do something *else*. And I know if I did stuff like going outside and taking a walk every day that would help but I just. It’s hard. I have a hard time wearing a face mask because it sometimes triggers panic attacks and I do understand the necessity but it’s easier and safer just to stay inside.

I just. I’m not sure what to do to get back into myself. I don’t know how things will change in the next two weeks or months or longer, and the inability to have even basic expectations is not helping. I’m fortunate enough to be in a good financial position so it’ll be a bit before I have to go back to work, but I will eventually, and I can’t even muster up any real emotions about that besides vague displeasure. It doesn’t quite seem real.

anyway. I don’t really expect anything from this post especially since I’m rarely on tumblr these days, but verbalizing things usually makes me feel a little better at least. I just... I just want things to feel real again.

[whenimaunicorn]

The Heart of Admiration - Part 7

Charles Vane x OFC

In which some things are left unspoken that perhaps should be said, and others are uttered that definitely should not have been.

Prompt:  “Looking for mermaids?” Content: introspection, sex-negative attitudes, crass objectification, angst, angst, angst. Catch up here.

Notes: I’m embarrassed to admit how long it’s been since I posted the last part, so I’m not even going to look up the date. Especially since this chapter resumes right where the last one left off! I hope you can remember what was going on with all that “Mrs. Vane” nonsense, because none of the other characters are letting Hope (or Charles) forget it... Also, fair warning, this ends on an cliffhanger, but I do have most of the rest already written and hopefully will be able to put it out in a more timely manner. Words: 2300

It's so much worse than she had thought. Bad enough that Captain Vane might now have the impression that she feels some romantic inclination towards him, but to learn that it’s spread to the entire crew, too? Jack’s words have set her to brooding all the more intently. Hope barely even noticed him depart.

Because . . . she doesn’t feel that way about Charles Vane. Does she? What face could she be making, that Jack thinks he sees longing in her eyes when she contemplates their captain? A ridiculous notion.

And yet. Hope has never believed in lying to herself. A capable woman faces all of the facts head-on. To do otherwise would leave a lady trapped. Outmaneuvered. Society thrives on the soul-numbing lies it requires women to tell themselves. And Hope’s most fervent promise to herself was to leave that sort of thing behind.

No self-deception, then. When she thinks of Charles Vane, her chest warms. His presence on deck sets her heart beating faster, and the effect is not solely due to his authority, is it. He doesn’t speak much, but when he does she listens eagerly, interested in every rare glimpse into his mind.

Bother. Jack might be onto something. 

Those stray thoughts she suffered through in the wee hours last night may not only have been sparked by Vane’s unusual proximity. The warmth in her body spreads lower.

When she turned to piracy, leaving Society, she abandoned its restrictions. This included a short period in which she satisfied certain curiosities. So her maidenhead is gone. Its passing was . . . anticlimactic. She hasn’t thought much about sex since then. Pities the women required to perform that marital duty on a nightly basis, if she’s being honest. And she’s quite motivated to keep to her course now, a life of independence that will hopefully culminate in the acquisition of a small fortune sufficient to set up her own comfortable retirement by the time age starts to stiffen her joints.

She’s surprised, then, to find the notion hidden in the depths of her mind that with Vane, such intimacy could be different. The way his hand had molded itself around her thigh last night, the feel of his arms around her and his breath against her neck when he’d smelled her perfume. Her body had responded so much more vigorously than expected.

But it was probably just the drink. And reactions such as those are always fleeting, aren’t they. Such feelings are not an acceptable reason to risk her respectful place on this crew by tumbling into bed with its captain.

Hope turns away from the rail, puts her back to the sea and gathers her thoughts into a forceful summary of conclusions. Yes, it seems she is harboring a certain affection for Charles Vane. But it’s manageable. Not something she is going to allow to interrupt her plans. If she can just figure out how to wipe the dreamy schoolgirl look off her face that certain perceptive members of the crew have apparently noticed, she should be fine. Because it’s not like her feelings are returned. He would have made a move by now. She remembers her early suspicions, that Vane might be attracted to her, but things had settled, quite comfortably, between them since then. She’s almost embarrassed to have been prideful enough to have thought it.

That issue being settled, she marches herself back up to the helm to adjust their course and sets her thoughts to things that are truly important.

~*~

Fellows pulls through; the cache is there, and no soldiers in sight. They make quick work of hauling it all onto the Ranger. The sun is slanting low by the time they’re done; they’ve had to swing around the long way to avoid being spotted by anyone that could later connect their ship to the theft.

Days like these remind Vane why he’s so grateful to have such a skilled navigator, who can locate their position so precisely that they can leave the sight of land and come back in at such an exact, advantageous angle. Swoop in on the cache from nowhere, and swoop right back out again. They’re like ghosts today.

Rich ghosts. He’d never hear the end of it if he ever drove her away with his clumsy, misguided affections.

Vane knows he will have to be very careful tonight. Their ship could not be seen returning from the location of the cache, and there was not enough time to return Mr. Fellows home from a more roundabout angle before sundown. Which meant their guide was spending the night on the ship, bunking with the crew, and Hope . . . Hope would of course be sleeping in the captain’s quarters with her “husband.”

Vane exhales, fingers gripping the railing as if the wood might impart some of its steadfastness. To have had her unexpectedly in his arms was one thing. A pure, heavenly moment that had caught him by surprise. It was quite another to know that she was to spend the night with him again. How could he possibly stay calm, and feel her body just beside his, in his own narrow bed?

It would be a simple thing to sneak a hammock into his quarters, of course. He feels his face burn a bit as he becomes aware that he’d like to pretend that particular solution had just never occurred to him.

Hope’s smart. She will definitely think of it herself, anyway.

~*~

Hope finds herself down by the guns. It’s not her turn to help with the cleaning and re-setting, but she doesn’t want to be anywhere near Fellows, or Vane, or the boisterous crew in the mess. Besides, she likes being seen doing extra work; helps combat many of the prejudices about a lady on board. She settles in next to Stevens, one of the handful of her old Starling crew that had been accepted with her into the Ranger’s fold.

“Mrs. Vane,” he says by way of greeting just as she starts the scrubbing. He doesn’t say it like the other crewmen had. There’s scorn in his voice, and perhaps a hint of a question.

Hope scowls. “Not you, too.”

Stevens nods, as if she’s passed his test. They work in companionable silence for a while, until the only other man on this deck stretches, stows his tools, and exits via the ladder. Probably sneaking off now that Hope has effectively taken his spot. Only then does Stevens speak. “Been hopin’ you’d come talk to me.”

Hope looks up, without pausing her work.

“Seem to be finding your place here.”

“Everyone has use for a good navigator.”

“More than that. Look like you’re fitting in.”

“Do I?”

“Or is this just what you do. Make people like you. Find your way to the top, the inner circle, even if you’re just making the best of it.”

There’s a bitterness to the way he’s speaking, but Hope doesn’t feel like it’s directed at her, necessarily. Stevens has always had friendly feelings for her, that’s why he followed her to this crew. She decides to say very little, invite him to say a little more. “Can you blame me?”

“Guess not. You’ve always had a way with people.” He glances at the hatch, though there’s no one there. “Big take today,” he comments.

Hope grunts in agreement.

“Biggest we’ve had, since leaving Nassau.” He puts a little more oil on his rag. “Big enough to make up for the Starling.”

Hope’s hands stop moving. She forces them to continue. “I . . . hadn’t thought of it that way.”

Stevens sniffs, a sudden rush of nose-clearing air. “We have. Me and some of the boys.”

He has to mean the rest of the Starling crew. There’s four more of them, those that Vane hadn’t seen a need to punish for her brother-in-law’s stunt, fine seamen who hadn’t seemed like a mutiny risk to Jack when he recruited them out of the splinters of that disbanded crew. Hope had even vouched for them.

Apparently Jack can’t be right about everything.

“With your help, Hope, it’d be easy.”

~*~

Vane’s quiet contemplation is interrupted by Jack’s voice. “Looking for mermaids?” he asks, joining his captain on the deserted stretch of deck and staring down into the dark waters alongside him. The ship is safely hidden in a cove, and most of the crew are down in the mess for their nightly meal.

Vane replies with a rather rude gesture.

“No, there’s only one maid you’re interested in.”

Vane looks up sharply.

“Has a nice ring to it, ‘Mrs. Vane.’ I suppose that’s why the crew can’t seem to stop saying it.”

He grunts. “Torturing her.”

“Maybe just a little.”

Jack lapses into silence, but Vane is certain that won’t last for long. Maybe he should walk away now, avoid the question that is sure to be coming next. However . . . Vane can’t stop asking it of himself, either. So he may as well just let Jack say it.

“I’m out of more subtle advice,” Jack says. “And you never were one for subtlety, anyway. So here’s this: if you want her, just take her already.”

Not exactly what Vane thought he’d hear. He shifts, looks more squarely at Jack, and plays dumb with his reply. “I have.”

“Not onto your crew. It’s obvious how much you want her in your bed.” He’s eying Vane closely.

Is this what Jack thinks of him? He’d always pegged Jack as a bit of a romantic, seeing how well he treats Anne. He’d been bracing himself for a conversation about deep feelings. Not this crassness. “And as a member of my crew,” Vane growls in reply, “she’s got full rights here. I can’t have her by force.”

“Who says you need to force her?”

This is not what Vane wanted to hear, either. The last thing he needs is to build up a false hope. “Lay off, Jack. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turns squarely back toward the water.

“You really can’t tell.”

“I’ve tried flirting with her, Jack. When we first got her. She rejected me quite squarely.”

“Sometimes I wonder what it is you consider to be ‘flirting,” Charles, when most of your experience is with whores who already know how your coin spends.” Or girls looking to yoke his power, but at least Jack was kind enough not to mention that part. “Is it possible your approach lacks a certain . . . art?”

“Don’t say you’re offering to teach me,” he growls.

Jack’s hand flutters in the air. “You’re a lost cause anyway.”

“I’ve already resolved to never try again.”

“But why?” Jack leans over the rail, seeking his eyes. “She’s as smitten as you are; I don’t see how you can’t see it.” He sighs. “You’re too much alike, too proud and too timid, both at once, to see what’s right in front of you.”

“I know what’s in front of me,” Vane retorts, choosing to ignore the accusation of cowardice. Because he likes Jack. He’s let him get away with worse without rearranging his face over it. He can let this one go too. He takes a deep breath, and feels himself scowling. “I’m not going to say anything to her. Leave it, Jack. You weren’t there this morning. When she woke up and found herself in bed with me . . .  she made her lack of interest abundantly clear.”

Jack is shaking his head. “I can’t believe that. More likely you’ve scared her off with your extreme stoicism. How is she to know of your interest, if you’re not giving any signs of it?”

Vane looks over from the corner of his eye. “If I’m not giving any signs, then how can you be so certain that you know my heart?”

Jack claps him on the shoulder. “Because I know you too well, Charles. I know your tells. And you’ve gone through too much trouble to capture this bird.”

Vane growls his disagreement with that choice of phrasing.

Jack keeps barreling on. “Yes, yes. She’s a great value to the crew. But that’s not why you took her.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Is that not what you did? You saw what you wanted, and you got control of her. We didn’t have to come down so hard on the Starling. But you needed to stake your claim. Now I feel like we’re all just holding our breaths. I’ve never seen you like this. You took her, I don’t understand why now you won’t take her. Tough as she is, she’s too much a maid to be the one to take the initiative. She might even be a virgin still. In need of a strong, experienced hand like yours to guide the way.”

Vane grunts, he can’t help it. He’s been trying so hard not think this way, but Jack’s words bring unbidden images to his mind. Hope’s wide eyes, looking up at him from his pillow. The softness of her flesh; the sounds she’d make if he—

Jack’s still talking. “God knows you both could use it. And she won’t be getting it anywhere else, not with you looming over her as you are. So why don’t you get on with it? Scoop her up and throw her in your bed. Hope’s not more than a bird you’re keeping in a cage if you keep going on like this.”

“Is that what I am.” Hope Wickham herself materializes from the shadow at the end of the deck. How long had she been standing there, listening, fuming? Long enough, judging by the look on her face. Charles Vane feels his heart sink down to his knees.

On to Part 8

Taglist is open: @navigatrixnarrations​ @ladyhubris​ @summertimesadness101 @23orso @n3rdybird​ @bitchyikes​

[deadontheinsidebut]

Haikyuu boys have a sleepover !! :)

w/ Karasuno, Fukurodani, and Nekoma

Warning: it is utter and absolute CHAOS

Part 2

It was Daichi and Suga’s idea of “team bonding” which it definitely is because sleeping with the boys is a whole other level of bromance

They decided to have the sleepover at Narita’s house

Tanaka and Noya offered to bring the food but when everyone arrived, they found out “food” meant 6 bags of hot cheetos and 2 bottles of rootbear

So it was up to second mom Ennoshita to order some pizza

Tsukishima and Yamaguchi arrived late because it took Yamaguchi 20 whole minutes to drag Tsukki out of his house

Oh ya he has dinosaur pjs and Hinata and Tanaka are snickering about it

This leads to Tsukki throwing a pillow at Hinata’s head and you know what that means

An extremely EXTREMELY chaotic battle of the pillows ensues

Kageyama is setting the pillow to Hinata and he spikes it down onto the face of an angry Daichi

oh lord

All hell breaks loose

Tanaka has managed to collect half the pillows onto his side and winds his arm to fire them as fast as a machine gun

The poor victim was Kinoshita and both Ennoshita and Narita are trying to revive their dead friend

The pizza man arrives and Asahi goes to open the door

Ofc Asahi hasnt done his hair and the poor baby looked like that one episode before the Tokyo training camp where he scared everybody and the pizza man runs away screaming without even taking the money

Asahi is now half crying over this

So now they’re left with 4 boxes of unpaid pizza and a messed up home

Narita is dead now. His parents are gonna kill him

Each person retrieved their slice of pizza happily and it’s about to be a normal family dinner when...

“Kageyama, it’s not fair that you got a bigger slice! You’re already fat enough!”

“WHAT DID YOU SAY HINATA BOKE???”

Kageyama tackles hinata

Suga tries to separate them n gets tangled in their mess

Daichi tries to save him to no avail

Let the wrestling match begin!

It’s safe to say no one is getting much sleep tonight

Bonus: Kiyoko arrived the next morning to see how things were and found them sprawled across different furniture passed out

Bokuto just wanted a night with the boys so he invited his team over

Because what can go wrong... right?

We’ll see about that

Okay so Bokuto wanted his friends to be comfy and right at home so he prepares the drinks and everything

Except, they happen to contain just a wee bit of alcohol (Bokuto didn’t know!!)

So Fukurōdani is downing their drinks while catching up with one another because they’re so civil n adorable we love it

15 minutes pass maybe? And bokuto is beet red

Akaashi is face first onto the floor and Konoha is crying about something

Washio is trying comfort him while almost being half asleep

Now, C H A O S

Bokuto is jumping up and down on the tables while singing “last Friday night” by Katy Perry

Akaashi, trying to maintain his composed demeanor, is trying to get Bokuto off the table while wobbling back and forth

“I. AM. THE. JACK-OF-ALL-TRADESS!!! BOW DOWN TO ME” Konoha is out of it. He hates that nickname and for him to use it? Whew, he’s done for

“GUYS, ITS NEKOMA! WE NEED TO GET IN FORMAANAOSNTJON” bokuto screams while pointing at a picture of him and Kuroo

The boys shoot up at their captain’s calling and wobbly make their way into some deformed shape in Bokuto’s living room

They run themselves ragged spiking at the air and jumping to block pictures on Bo’s walls

Bokuto jumps off the table to spike and lands on Akaashi which causes a domino effect and now the team has crash landed

Needless to say, they’re never touching alcohol again

But unlike Karasuno, they get a LOT of sleep

Bonus: Bokuto wakes up in Akaashi’s arms and the team takes then taking photos

They’ve been trying to plan one for months but no one’s schedules lined up so when they found out they had this one night off, you bet your ass they were gonna take it

So ofc they already knew what they wanted to do and Kuroo was assigned as entertainment because he’s big boss Kuroo ofc and guess what he chose

No, you did not guess it

He chose a Ouija board

And what better time than on a stormy night

This mf has been planning a get together with his team so he could scare the living shit out of them just for laughs

So it’s 3am which is witching hour and the team is situated in Kuroo’s living room surrounding this tiny board when they hear a creak in the floorboards

Lev is immediately trying to hide behind Yaku to which the libero pushed him off and scolded him for being a p*ssy

Yeah so now they’re in the mood for a good scare and Kuroo is trying to summon a spirit and they ask

“Are you a good spirit?”

Their hands simultaneously move to the “no”

Yamamoto is shaking at this point about how he’s going to die before getting a girlfriend

Inuoka is trying to laugh it off to calm down his friend but god forbid the lights go off or the whole team would be shaking in their boots

Kenma suggests they ask it another question, now intrigued

“Are you here to harm us?”

Their hands move towards m a y b e

Yamamoto shrieks in fear and let’s go of the arrow and now Kuroo is shrieking because they haven’t said goodbye to the spirit yet which means it’s gonna haunt them

So now they’re panicking and running around the room to which lev accidentally punctures a hole in the floor with his foot

The lights start to flicker and the boys are contemplating calling 911 but Yamamoto exclaims that they need the ghostbusters

They hear a subtle whoosh and everyone is cowering and arming themselves with “weapons” which happens to be a lamp, pencil, and charging cord

Yaku starts to yell at Kuroo for choosing to mess around with a ouija board and Kai is patting Yaku on the back in hopes of calming him down

Now they’re staying up all night coming up with a battle plan to fight a supernatural being and ofc no one has any clues because NO ONE HAS EXPERIENCE WITH GHOSTS

They literally sat huddling in a corner for 4 hours until the sun came up and Kenma went around the house to find out that

1. The floor board was old as hell which is why it was creaking and was so easy for lev to break through

2. The light bulb happened to alr be dying but flickered at the most inconvenient moment

3. And the whooshing sound was literally the wind from an open window

Bonus: the team forces Kuroo to treat them to breakfast for ruining their supposed “best night of our lives”

Taglist:

@janellion @darkdinosaurpeanut @herakosmos @personality-still-downloading @myhaikyuuhq

[strigital]

Do tell about Nim, I couldn’t find much info about her through your blog and I am dying to know more about this werewolf lady

well grab a pint and sit yo booty down, cause our bard of the evening tonight is Nim and she's drunk as all hell and ready to weave some outrageous stories!! 🍻

in all seriousness, thank you for asking! 😭💗 she came about back in ye oldie days of hype over the 11th of november 2011, and since then refuses to give up the title of my fav oc!!

now, a Paarthurnax would say: lets-a go!

a quick recap of the events in Skyrim:

Naali Saryn was born sometime in 4E 130 on mainland Morrowind as a result of a quick fling between an unknown Dunmer girl and Lucien Lachance and Kassandra Saryn's (The Hero of Kvatch's) son.

Sometime in that year, the baby was found aboard a ship bound for Raven Rock and when no one came forth to claim her a couple of elderly and childless ash yam farmers decided to take her in until her family was found.

The family, of course, was never found, and so they raised her as their own for the next sixteen years. They called the girl Nim - short, sweet, meaningless, and easy to shout out into the fields where the little brat is out adventuring when the house chores are yet to be done.

Nim grew up alongside her best friend Teldryn (don't believe his tales about his past, there's a reason why he wears a helmet in his hometown). For years the kids dreamt of leaving Raven Rock behind and making it big in the big city. And idea which really annoyed Nim's ol' Nana, who believed that everything needed for a simple happy life was right here on Solstheim.

After one particularly nasty fight with Nana about the ordeal, Nim gathered a bag of things and slipped out in the dead of night to catch an early morning ship with Teldryn.

They stuck together for a while then went on their separate merry ways. He - to Blacklight, she - to Leyawiin. Once in the wild, Nim had to quickly figure out her place in the pecking order. The romantic life of crime seemed to be the most attractive for her, but getting on top could never be easy. Especially for a young, inexperienced, and naive girlie. So she ended up running with the wrong kind of crew. Ended up in some truly dark places. Barely got out alive. Learned from her mistakes. Wore the scars of abuse like armor and made sure that since that day no one in this world or any other would play her for a fool, use her or put a finger on her without her permission.

By the time she turned fifty, Nim was well known amongst certain circles as the kind of scoundrel, thief, bard, and wench one should not trifle with. But her luck had to eventually run out, and so it did on the night of the fabled Umbacano Mansion heist, which failed so badly Nim had to either leave Cyrodiil or end up in a Thalmor owned torture chamber.

Skyrim seemed like a perfect place. After all, in a kingdom torn apart by the civil war, no one would even notice yet another greyskin refugee, right? Well, the Thalmor did. And so she ended up on a cart bound for Helgen to have a date with an executioner. But then Alduin showed up to crash the party before he himself got rudely interrupted by another dragon, who swooped in to save the Last Dragonborn.

After the narrow escape, Nim concluded her duty to warn Balgruuf of the dragon threat and went on to start a new career as a merc with the Companions. She and Aela became fast friends and when the prospect of joining the Circle came up she gladly accepted a sip of her new sister's blood. To never again be helpless and weak? To rip apart any fool who'd take her for just another elf wench who can't put up a fight? Well of course it was worth giving up the ability to sleep and having to get used to all smells suddenly becoming ten times worse!

After that Mirmulnir showed up and ended up as another ornament above the throne in the Dragonsreach. And Nim got stuck with a title which she would wear with great discontent for years to come.

Eventually, she ceased trying to run away and hide from her destiny, accepted her role as the Last Dragonborn, and begrudgingly began her quest to save the world. On her journey, she met and became tight friends with Yollokmir and Alasil who taught her how to speak, fight and fly like a dragon. With their help she inherited Konahrik's legacy: his mask embued with his soul, his citadel far up in the mountains - the NebenLok Zeikangaar - and the right to revive and lead the order of dragon riders sworn to defeat Alduin - DovahDein.

As she gained power and the word of her great many deeds spread across Skyrim, she managed to get quite the following of fellow men, mer, and Dov, willing to follow her into Sovngarde and beat the hell out of Alduin. Alas, she failed. Twice.

At that point, Alasil informed her of a special someone who might be of help in their quest against Alduin and who might prove difficult to convince to join her cause. That was the first time in fifty years that Nim got to visit her home. Unfortunately, Solstheim had changed. And upon arrival, she learned that her Pa passed onto the realm of Azura soon after her departure, and her Nana... well, she wasn't young anymore and suffered greatly due to all the ash ruining her lungs... and when the islanders got called to the All-Maker stones night after night by a mysterious spell, she just worked herself to death. That was the only thing Nim wouldn't forgive Miraak for, not until he swallowed his pride and sincerely apologized for being responsible for his potential mother-in-law's death.

And with Miraak's help, they finally sent Alduin back to his Maker, enjoyed a few peaceful years until High King Ulfric became a bit drunk on his power and needed a good ass whooping as well. Then Miraak suddenly found himself as the new king and Nim... she just did her own thing. As always. The end?

Oh and all the while running about, gathering forces, growing her Dragonborn powers, hunting Dragon Priests and Alduin's henchmen, she also meddled with the Thieves Guild, put Karliah in charge and became her right hand, managed to become an advisor on all things dragon at the Mage's College, ended up teaching lute and songwriting at the Bard's College (she's taking a break since Viarmo can't seem to handle her teaching tactics), earned the title of Thane in every hold and became a good friend to the Dawnguard fellas (Isran is more than happy to teach her kids the ropes of monster hunting) after kicking Harkon's ass into Oblivion. In what little free time she has Nim also manages the Lakeview Manor and leases the ash yam farm back in Raven Rock for some extra cash. All in all, a busy woman!

and some tidbits about the dovahmom:

Although Nim is perfectly aware of her real name, she chooses to use the one given to her by Nana. Both as a sign of respect and because, frankly, she dislikes both the Sarynes and the Lachances, who are, in her humble opinion, just a bunch of pricks. Somehow, the ghost of her murdered grandad finds this opinion of hers kinda funny.

Her friends sometimes describe her as "cyrodiilic brandy in a cup of tea": she's this small elf girl with pretty blue eyes and a smile on her face and you think that she'll be very pleasant and cute and shy and then... then you realize she drinks like a sailor, swears like one too, can beat anyone into the dirt (thanks, Hircine) and doesn't take shit from nobody. She openly speaks her mind and doesn't give a shit about what someone might think of her. She does what she considers the right thing to do, never plays nice with those she dislikes, never pretends to be someone she isn't. She's feisty, sassy, brassy, and, quite honestly, just doesn't give a fuck.

Nim is in almost complete control over her inner beast, partly thanks to her draconic blood, partly - to the ring she got when she and Sinding had that little party on a moonlit night in that grotto. She only loses control over herself when both moons are full and thusly will travel deep into the wilds a few days before the magical night. This way the only people that might get hurt are bandits, necromancers, hags, and the like. She and Aela also managed to get a small werewolf pack going, named the Whitemane Pack after the old man himself and dedicated to those who wish to take control over their inner beast, hunt with honor, and cause the Silver Hand as much grief as possible.

Nim is raising Blaise and Sofie as her own since they both were just wee lil' war orphans (the babes are in their teens now). She never quite really knew why... Nim was never a wifey nor a baby momma kind of woman. In fact, she can't even have children in the first place and, honestly, always thought of this as a blessing - never having to worry about contraception like all those other girls and just having fun without a care in the world! Her friends sometimes joke around, saying that she might've finally "ripened" for the motherhood, but she doesn't care. She loves Blaise, Sofie, and Sissel (thanks, Miraak, you're so good at kidnapping children!) and is content with being their famous Dragonborn mom. Post-Alduin Miraak, however, is secretly annoyed for not being able to get her pregnant. Oh well, the man can dream...

Oh yeah! Nim plays the lute and sings too! It's a skill she picked up across taverns all over the continent when she realized that bards get free drinks and a bed, as well as ample opportunity to sniff out and seduce prey. And even though her days of hunting for good-looking rich fools are long behind her, she still performs in inns and taverns across Skyrim. Firstly, it brings in a fair amount of money, and secondly, it's good for her Voice! And also just plain and simple fun.

Also, people get terribly surprised when she, a Dunmer, doesn't act like one at all! Nim might've grown up in Raven Rock, a Dunmer settlement, but she spent the rest of her life traveling the continent and then living in Skyrim. She's more Nord-ish than some Nords! And the Nords actually really love it! It's so so easy to just get plastered with the homegirl, punch some faces and pass out on a heap of hay behind the inn, just happy to be alive on this fine snowy day. The only truly Dunmer thing about her is the occasional "n'wah!" which escapes her potty mouth. I mean, she doesn't even like sujamma all that much and would rather have a pint of mead! Whatever Ancestors she has must be spinning in their graves fast enough to generate electricity.

uuuhhh I think that's all the important stuff? i might've forgotten, in which case, I'll add it later... meanwhile, have some more Nim content:

^^^ the fanfic is slow, but it's moving... at a snail's pace. my advice: don't expect updates, so that when they do come, you'll be pleasantly surprised!

[detroitbydark]

Part Four

Character: Commander Fox x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Two steps forward, one giant step back -or- Fox can't win for losing

A/N:  You ever want to just press two people's head together until they kiss, like you did with dolls as a kid? wait, you didn't do that? Me either. That's why these two assholes still haven't hooked up. Cheers!

All parts can be found here on my Masterlist

The beginning of the week rolls around with new challenges, the least of which is the lingering stiffness Fox feels rolling out of bed. He wakes before his alarm and tries to work out the aches in a hot shower. He wants to get on his knees and thank the Maker for a private ‘fresher and never having to jockey with one of his men for the last of the hot water. It does wonders to relax the muscles that have seized up overnight. The bacta infusion in the wee hours of the previous morning hadn’t hurt much either. 

As much as he’d voiced his displeasure, Wolffe had remained with him until medical had begrudgingly discharged him. 

He wasn’t 100%, his ribs were still far more tender then he liked and the cut above his eye was barely fused together, but he knew if he spent any more time under the medics watchful eyes he was going to come out of his skin. His Ori’vod has come to bat for him and helped him back to his room after he’d convinced them to let him go.

The cross-eyed son of a nerf herder had also emptied his bottle of drink down the ‘fresher sink in front of him.

“I hear you haven’t been coping well.” 

And just like that they were talking about CT-5555 and the incident and everything he’d have much rather let stew.

vod’kyramund

That’s what the trooper from the 501st had called him. It cut. It bled and festered. It hurt. Wolffe listened as he relived the night in detail, exhaustion nipping at his heels with each word he spoke. But he knew he needed to do it. To say it. He’d never admitted his lingering confusion about everything leading up to the incident to another soul.

Fox had never met a brother with his blaster set to anything other than stun. It was his default setting in any situation. Like he’d always told his men, you can’t interrogate the dead. 

You also couldn’t go around shooting civvies without them distrusting you anymore then they already did. 

He didn’t know how the blaster had been switched to lethal bolts. He didn’t remember when it could have happened. Damningly, he also didn’t remember reverifying the setting, something he always did before going out. Wolffe was the best set of ears he could have asked for. He didn’t say anything when Fox had to excuse himself to be sick.

Wolffe stayed until he’d fallen asleep, curling into him like they had as cadets during training. When he woke he was gone and so were the other three bottles of stock he kept squirreled away for emergencies. He’d cursed the other commander but knew why he’d done it. 

It still didn’t mean he had to like it. 

He’d allowed himself the luxury of sleep for the better part of the day, waking for the fresher and to make a memo to have Y/N pull up the incident report involving CT-5555. He needed to read it again if only to prove to himself that there was no other way for it to have ended, to find some sort of relief from the guilt that was gnawing at him. 

He pushes Fives to the back burner and begins rounds on his men. He’d gotten the worst of it by far but the boys were feeling it. 

Wren and Rule, his kits, both stumbled to the door to greet him with half a dozen questions. The pair had never been parted and hadn’t wanted to start when they’d been assigned quarters. Had he not looked back at their record, Fox would have thought them twins.

Thire has been less than happy to be woken up and Fox didn’t fault him for that, he sported a tender looking split lip and a black eye.

Ryk and Hound had greeted him, each far more chipperly then he felt appropriate. He left their rooms feeling a little disgruntled they weren’t as sore as he was. 

He slept through the afternoon and into the evening. For the first time in a month and a half he didn’t dream about Fives.

He dreamt about his Little Mouse, the one who was not really his.

It wasn’t a dream he liked. He was merely swapping out one protagonist for the other in a nightmare where he was always the villain.

Pieces and parts were lost to him by the time he woke but, clear as can be, he can see himself holding his blaster, aiming center mass, as she held one shakingly at him. He’s yelling, the words lost to the sands of sleep, and tears stain her cheeks as she hiccups softly.

“Fox… it’s me”

His finger is wrapped tight around the trigger. Safety off. He exerts just a little pressure as the blaster wobbles in her grip. Something purrs at him, curls around him, encourages him to do it.

“Fox…”

He wakes up as the blaster echoes in his head.

———

0700 on the dot, Commander Fox strides into the office. 

You can see the stiffness in his gait out of the corner of your eye. You find something incredibly interesting on the datapad in front of you. He doesn’t greet you and you don’t offer one of your own. An impromptu apology almost spills out of your mouth but you bite the inside of your cheeks to stop the flow of it.

His door slides shut with an almost inaudible hiss and you melt into your seat. 

An hour passes. 

Then two. 

Then three. 

Then he’s leaving without so much as a tip of the helmet in your direction.

This was better, right? This is what needed to happen because you could not continue to harbor an ill advised crush on your superior. 

But...

This was not what you wanted. You wanted to see how he was fairing. You wanted to help him however you could. You wanted to forget about seeing him bloodied and remember the almost tender smile he’d given you when you’d leaned into him, or the way his hand felt guiding you through the crowd, fingers protectively spanning your lower back. You had spent the day before in bed remembering what his attention had felt like, tending the spark of the flame that grew a little more in your belly each time you allowed yourself to dwell on it. 

You watch the seconds tick by on the chrono, the office maddeningly silent as you wait for him to come back. You wait the rest of the day. Fox doesn’t return.

The next day a file request is flashing on your datapad. Your work to pull up the case number and load it to the Commanders’s datapad. 

By 0900 he still has not arrived at the office. You comm down to dispatch and they inform you that Commander Fox would be accompanying the Chancellor to the Senate for the day.

Fox hated the Senate floor. He hated it more than he hated being stuck behind a desk with paperwork. 

While outwardly you knew all clones loyalty lay with the Republic you couldn’t ignore the times you’d heard the Commander quietly lament the character of the Senators they were tasked with guarding. Very few passed the Commander’s high standards of honor and integrity. Bodyguard duty at the Senate was comparable to slow torture, the only task he’d happily pass on to one of his men without a second thought.

You admired that about the Commander. The fact that he rarely refused to put himself in every job within his men’s jurisdiction from detention duty to traffic tickets, to interdiction. Now though, you find it irritating - even more so when Wren stops by your desk with a cup of caf and a pastry, his bucket balanced precariously across his forearm.

“Yummy treats for a yummy girl.” 

You give him a sour expression and he laughs, “come on Mouse, it’s funny. I’m cute right?”

“Not nearly as much as you think.” You make a point of not looking at him.

The Sargent makes a wounded sound while you take the cup. He’s made it perfect and you can’t keep the stony expression on your face after you take the first sip and a contented sigh escapes you.

“Gotcha!” He leans against the desk and you offer him a tired smile “Least I can do with the Commander leaving you all by your lonesome.”

You nibble at the pastry. It’s honey sweet and sticky, the buttery layers flake and crumbs stick to your fingers. 

You swallow each bite down with the strong caf he’s brought, likely from the pot in the speeder pool where it was often insinuated it could be swapped with the high octane speeder fuel and no one would be the wiser.

“I didn’t realize the Commander was pulling protection detail this week” you sniff glancing at a report on your datapad as if you weren’t supremely curious.

“He wasn’t supposed too, he swapped with Hound.”  He reaches to snatch an uneaten piece of pastry and you slap at his hand but he’s quicker then you and has it in his mouth before you have a chance to snatch it back.

“Rude” you mutter lowly only earning a laugh.

“I’m glad you survived the other night with your good humor intact” you glance up to see a concerned look on his face “we were all a bit worried about you. Rule nearly had a kittens.”

“I mean, it turned out fine. Right?”

“Mouse?” His fist bumps into your shoulder lightly and you look up into a very concerned face. “We’re all ok. It’s no big deal, ok? It happens sometimes. Too much booze and battle stress and-” Wren shrugs. His eyes examine your face. His hand closes over yours, the gauntlet completely obscuring your hand underneath. “You were scared, weren't you?”

Maybe you weren’t. Maybe you were. You weren’t entirely sure. At the time it had been scary, yeah, but it wasn’t the Guards fault some drunk from the 501st wanted to start a fight. They were just protecting each other like they were supposed to. Maybe you were just more startled, that was probably it. Now, you just wanted to check in on Fox and make sure he was ok. 

“I’m fine, Wren” you offer what you hope is a convincing smile “I think.”

The buzzing of his comms interrupts anything he was preparing to say. Wren frowns as  you both listen to an all points coming through.

“I should probably head out” he offers another barely there love tap to your shoulder before he’s on his way.

Back to work, you pull up the schedule for the rest of the week while you pull up the HNE news feed on a seperate screen. you listen half-heartedly as the reporter drones on listing off casualty statistics, making a point to seperate the numbers of clones and non clone GAR personnel, like one mattered more than the rest. 

The segway into the next segment slides across the screen with a quick montage of popular- and not so popular- senators speaking- and sometimes shouting- on the senate floor.

“And now in Senate new Chancellor Sheev Palpatine's overriding vote came as a shock to the gathered assembly...”

The clip disappears into a video from today. You freeze when you see the Supreme Chancellor presiding over the Senate. You tried to stay out of politics but something about Sheev Palpatine always put you off. It was his eyes. The politician's smile never reached them.

You continue to watch, only half listening as a wide shot brings into focus more of the Chancellor. Your eyes travel to the Coruscant Guard standing protectively behind the Chancellor. Thire is at his right and- your chest tightens- Fox is on his left. You don’t hear anything about referendums or treaties or the rising anti-Republic sentiment. You just see Fox.

———-

“Commander Fox. Come here”

Thire moves to take point as Fox falls back at the Chancellor’s request. “Is everything alright Chancellor.”

The old man waves dismissively, a smile pulling at his mouth. It makes Fox uncomfortable, “it’s fine. Everything’s fine, my friend. I wanted to have a word with you.”

Fox has never considered someone as influential as the Chancellor of the Galactic Republic to be a friend. The notion seemed wildly inappropriate like a tooka keeping a pet rancor. “Sir?”

“I sense something is burdening you, Commander.” The chancellor barely casts a glance toward him but Fox feels a prickle of something primal - sharp -  in his belly. It was silly. He supposed but he was a Shock Trooper, a commander in the Grand Army of the Republic. He didn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve. He was the picture of military excellence. Unless he was slipping. He glances ahead at Thire as they make the turn to the Chancellor’s office. His vod doesn’t look back.

“Sir, I’m not-“ 

Palpatine  waves a hand, “you are not in trouble Commander. I simply wonder if there is not some way I can advise you?”

The question hangs in the air. Fox lets his head continue to scan from side to side, eyes assessing the transparisteel lined wall as they enter the office. He hated that wall. It offered far too many opportunities for a sniper with the right kit and time to wait. 

“Maybe this is about the traitor? The clone?” 

Fox is quiet, his back ramrod straight. Thire glances at him from his spot by the door and Fox offers him a small nod before the other Commander is taking up a sentry position outside the door. A smile plays at the chancellor’s lips.

 “Or maybe it’s something different” Palpatine turns his attention to Fox and looks him over. The prickle in his gut gets worse, a biological warning that something wasn’t right. He feels like a bug under a microscope, about to be dissected by the smiling visage of the old man in front him. “Maybe a girl then?”

“Chancellor Palpatine, such things are expressly against regulation four-“ he’s interrupted from rattling off the exact regulation as the Chancellor sweeps away from him and toward the window, his robes flowing behind him. He stands against the window, the light around him casting him as a dark shadow.

“You are a man, are you not? Not just a meat covered droid as some would lead you to think. Clone or otherwise, it’s natural for you to desire. When this war is over I feel we will see a dawning of a new era. Have you thought about what will become of you after the Separatists are defeated?”

Of course he’s thought about it. Any clone who’d say otherwise was a liar. Some looked at the future with fear and apprehension, others a sense of hope, some only with mild curiosity. That being said he wasn’t about to admit to any of that to the chancellor.

“It hadn’t crossed my mind”

Palpatine turns, narrows his eyes. It's just a minute twitch that Fox is scarcely sure he’s seen before it disappears, melts back into the serene expression he typically wore.

“I suppose I will stay on with the GAR if they’ll have me.” He relents, “or find a civilian defense contract.”

“And what of family? I know you clones hold the term of brother, of vod,” it sounds like a dirty word coming from his mouth, “close to your hearts. Do you want for more?”

The Chancellor’s eyes bore into him, searching, prodding for something that Fox can’t understand. He tries to sound light as he speaks as if the line of questioning wasn’t sending up so many warning signals. “I don’t think the Senate would approve of their weapons starting families.”

Palpatine gives him a grin, it’s devoid of warmth, lifeless. More  of an impression of a smile, meant to be inviting but only working to raise the hairs on the back of Fox’s neck . “Dear boy,” he offers an encompassing sweep of the hand and a light tone “I am the Senate.”

[captainamericasbeard]

Warm Cinnamon (Prequel to Honeysuckle Girl)

Honeysuckle Girl

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader

Word Count: 1,686

Warnings: None.

Summary: Y/N moves into the Tower and she’s overwhelmed by the scent of a certain Alpha. 

A/N:  My daughter was throwing up at 3 o’clock this morning and this dropped into my head. It’s the prequel to Honeysuckle Girl, a drabble I wrote for @the-ss-horniest-book-club​ a few weeks back. Read it in chronological order or release order, whichever you chose. Fair warning, there’s no actual Bucky in this one but isn’t the thought of his scent almost enough? 

“You’re really going to like it here, everyone is really nice,” Steve says, making small talk as the elevator speeds its way up to the residential levels of the tower. You smile nervously at him while your hands fidgeted.

“I’m not going to lie, I am nervous,” you said.

“There’s no reason to be,” the alpha replied, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. The elevator reaches its destination and the doors glide open with a ding to reveal a modern yet cozy living space. Large couches and plush chairs surround a huge tv. To your left is a hallway that seems to lead to private bedrooms. From your right you can hear boisterous laughter and the sounds of cooking.

As you step off the elevator you catch a scent. It’s not fresh but it’s there and it eases your nerves head to toe. It’s all warm cinnamon and spices and leather thats been in the sun. You breath deeply looking for the source of the scent but there’s no one there.

“You okay?” Steve asks at your sudden stop. You realize you’re standing still with your nose slightly in the air and your eyes closed. You shake your head to clear your thoughts.

“Yeah, sorry. I just smelled something is all,” you reply.

“Probably dinner. It’s Italian night and Sam goes a bit heavy on the garlic. Hope you packed your toothbrush,” Steve says chuckling at his own joke. You have to laugh at him as he puts your bags down by the elevator and leads you to the kitchen.

The whole team is gathered there and it’s an intimidating sight that stops you in your tracks. Your overwhelmed with the scents of all the alphas in the room but none of them is the one you caught by the elevator. Your shoulders slump slightly in disappointment.

“Team, meet Y/N. Y/N, meet the team!” Steve announces and every eye turns towards you. They’re all friendly smiles and waves and a girl with long red hair gets up to wrap you in a warm hug.

“I’m Wanda! Let me introduce you around,” she says, kindly hooking her elbow in yours and guiding you around the room. She introduces you to everyone and settles you at the table next to her as dinner is served up. You fears and nerves are quickly calmed in the presence of these heroes. After a dinner of traditional spaghetti and meatballs and a dessert of tiramisu (Sam really goes all out) Steve catches you yawning into the back of your hand.

“Ready for bed?” He leans over and asks quietly.

“Yes, please,” you murmur sleepily. Steve gets up and announces your departure to bed while you stand and offer a wave to the group. Wanda stands and gives you another hug.

“Movies and drinks tomorrow night, yeah?” She asks glancing at Natasha.

“Absolutely,” you say, giving her hand a squeeze.

You follow Steve into the hall where he’s grabbing your bags. There’s that scent again and it gets stronger as you move down the hall. You stop in front of a closed door.

“Whose room is this?” You ask Steve, feeling rather sheepish.

“That’s Bucky,” Steve says, “he’s away on a mission. Left today.” The disappointment is clear on your face.

“For how long?” You ask.

“Couple of months at least. Sorry kid.” Steve says, chuckling at your obviously smitten state. He gently puts his hand on your back and leads you to your room. He opens the door to a beautiful cozy room complete with flowers on the bedside table.

“Wanda’s been pretty excited for you to move in. She’s the only omega in the house so I think she’s been looking forward to a friend.” You smile thinking of Wanda as you open your bags searching for a t-shirt and a pair of shorts.

“Thank you Steve. For everything,” you say and the alpha gives you a quick squeeze before he leaves closing the door behind him.

You toss and turn for a few hours until you hear everyone’s doors close for the night. Once it’s all silent you sneak from your bed, down the hallway to Bucky’s door. Looking to your left and right you silently open the door and slip into his room. It’s simple with a messy bed, a set of drawers and an overflowing bookcase. But more importantly it smells wonderful. You lean against the closed door as you breathe in his scent for a few minutes. You feel totally relaxed as waves of spices and leather wash over you.

You know you can’t sleep in here so you slip over to the open closet and sneak out a well worn hoodie. You slide it on and zip it up letting the warmth of Bucky’s scent envelope you. You tip toe back over to the door and slip out, closing it behind you. You turn around and there’s a super soldier leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a shit eating grin on his face.

“Watcha doin’, Y/N?” He asks.

“Nothing!” You reply.

“That’s Bucky’s favorite hoodie, you know.” You wrap your arms tightly around yourself as if Steve is going to try to wrestle the hoodie away from you.

“I can tell,” you say a slow smile stealing over you features.

“Alright,” Steve says with a sigh, “back to bed, kid.”

“Okay, Dad,” you joke sticking your tongue out at him as you follow him back up the hall. You slip into your bed and pull the hood over your head. You breathe deep and slip off into a sleep filled with dreams of a mystery man you’ve never met.

————

Over the next 3 months the entire team learns of your crush. You get caught sneaking out of Bucky’s room several times. Sometimes you slip in there when you’re feeling overwhelmed. Othertimes you just want to feel close to him so you lie in his bed while you scroll on your phone. And you’ve started walking around in his clothes which is pretty much a dead giveaway. Even clueless Clint eventually figures it out.

Sam teases you mercilessly about it. When you learn he’s in contact with Bucky you have to promise to do the washing up for 2 weeks to keep him from saying anything. Nat thinks it’s sweet. You had been most intimidated by the super spy at first but after a few movie nights you realize she’s and old softie with a romantic streak. Wanda shows you pictures of Bucky and you’re pleasantly surprised to find he’s the handsomest man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

One day Steve comes into the kitchen at breakfast and announces that Bucky will be returning the next day. Your heart skips a few beats and your stomach does flip flops while the rest of the team turns and looks at you.

“What?!” You cry out, crossing your arms defensively.

“Whats your move, kid?” Sam asks. You sit there with your arms crossed, staring at your empty plate and worrying your bottom lip for a few minutes. An idea crosses your mind and you look to Wanda to see what she thinks. The red head easily reads your thoughts and gives a shrug of her shoulders while she nods.

“I think it could work,” she says nonchalantly.

“What?” Sam asks impatiently. You swiftly get up from your seat and dump your plate in the sink as you scurry out to put your plan in action.

You go out and buy beautiful fresh white linens and a new white comforter for Bucky’s bed. Then you come home and spend hours meticulously crafting the loveliest nest you ever seen out of every pillow and blanket you can find in the tower. Finally you put on your favorite bright yellow scarf and curl up in the nest to take a nap, letting your scent fill the room. When you’re done sleeping, you curl the scarf up in the middle of the bed. An offering for having taken so many of Bucky’s clothes.

The next day is torture. Your a bundle of nerves, annoying everyone as you pace the tower and wait for Bucky. Finally around 3 o’clock Steve finds you and informs you that Bucky probably won’t be in till past midnight. You look as though you could burst into tears.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I know how anxious you are to meet him. I can smell it off of you.” Steve says with a kind smile.

“It’s not that Steve. What if he doesn’t like me? What if he hates my scent. What if I’ve been dreaming about him for 3 months and it all means nothing.” You spilled out all your fears as Steve wrapped you up in a hug. Steve was all sunshine and fresh cut grass and while it was nice, it wasn’t Bucky.

“He’s going to like you, I’m sure of it. And the way you caught his scent when you first got here, the way it was the only thing that could calm you down at times, I honestly think you might be true mates. Try not to worry about it too much. Just see what the morning brings, okay?” You pull away and nod your head.

You stayed up as long as you could but eventually Steve was shaking you awake on the couch and Bucky still hadn’t come.

“Get some sleep kid,” he says as he shoves you off to bed.

“Okay Dad,” you tease. You get to your room and pull on Bucky’s favorite hoodie, zipping it all the way up. It doesn’t smell like him anymore, it mostly smells like you, but you take comfort in the fact that it’s his. You crawl into bed and you’re asleep within seconds.

Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning your consciousness stirs at the sound of the elevator dinging. A warm inviting scent wanders down the hallway, slips under your door, and tickles your nose. You sigh deeply in your sleep and roll over feeling calm and comforted like you haven’t felt in months.

[marril96]

Leather in Red

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Rowena's encouragement to give in to one of your fantasies leads to a night of fun and discoveries about how deep your desires go.

Warning: NSFW

Editor: @impala-1979​

*****

"Go on," Rowena coaxed, eager, impatient. "Do it."

The whip was shaking in your hand. It was black as night, leather — genuine, for Rowena would accept nothing else — soft and smooth, a caress against your skin, the object as beautiful as it was frightening.

It seemed easier when it was a fantasy. An idea you had no intentions of pulling out of your head until one day you did and, much to your surprise, Rowena seemed as interested as you and wanted to give it a try.

"Naughty lass," she'd teased you as your cheeks burned and your eyes kept wandering away from hers, unable to face her. Unwilling to, for there was only so much embarrassment you could take.

After all, it wasn't every day that your girlfriend found out you'd fantasized about whipping her, about having her at your mercy and giving her none. Every time you were by yourself and your finger reached for your clit, it was those images that brought you to the edge of pleasure. Rowena at your feet, her pale, white body adorned with welts. Whimpering. Writhing. Begging for more — and oh, gods, there was more. There was always more, and it always felt the best — almost as good as the real thing.

Sometimes better.

You’d written it off as nothing more than silly daydreams. Something your mind had conjured up to spice up your alone time, to make it juicier. To make you come undone without hassle. Never in your wildest dreams, though, did you think Rowena would be into it. That she would all but demand you try it out. She saw it as a challenge, yet another shiny toy to play with in the bedroom like many before it.

Rowena MacLeod was picky about a lot of things, but when it came to the bedroom, she was willing to try anything. She had her dos and don'ts, her limits and preferences, but she was up for giving anything a try. Nothing was too much for her, and nothing was too out of the ordinary.

If it involved sex, she was interested.

"Don't be shy, darling." Her voice was as patient as it was teasing. She licked her lips, flicked her tongue over them in such a way that you imagined it on you, in you, boiling hot against your dripping pussy.

"I'm no-I just…" You swallowed. Eyed the whip in your trembling hand. Swallowed again.

Rowena's brows furrowed. "What's the matter? Have you changed your mind?" Disappointment flickered over her face; she quickly smoothed it out with a smile, one of those kind, caring ones that made you fall in love with her. "We don't have to do it if you don't want to."

"It's not that," you said. "It's just… What-what if I hurt you?"

She smirked, a cat that got the cream. A naughty, teasing cat, and you were the squirming mouse in her paws. "Dear, I think you will find that's the entire point of this ordeal."

Heat spilled into your cheeks. Embarrassment at your weakness, at your insecurity. "N-no, I mean, what if I hit you too hard?"

"I've got my safe word."

"Right." Just as you'd discussed. "But still—"

"Don't you worry your pretty wee head about me," she cut in. "I know what I'm getting into, and I'm perfectly fine with it. I thought for sure you would be, too. Isn't this what you wanted?"

She was looking at you, expecting an answer. Expecting a yes, for it was exactly what you'd wanted, what you'd daydreamed of for years.

Thinking of it, though, and actually doing it were two entirely different things.

Gulping, you gave a small nod.

"Good," Rowena said. "Now relax and do it." Her eyes found yours, locked with them in a stare so intense it almost — almost — scared you. "Hit me."

"Okay."

"Good girl."

You couldn't hold back a smile. Her praise never ceased to fill your heart with warmth.

"Turn around," you said, as you did in your fantasies.

Rowena raised an eyebrow, intrigued but not obeying — not yet. She was never one to do what was asked of her. It made the game all the more fun.

"Now," you ordered firmly, tightening the whip in your hand.

She blinked, a sweet, innocent girl. As if. "And if I refuse?"

"I'll have to punish you." It felt silly saying it out loud, but you stood your ground. Willed your face to remain stern, serious.

Rowena laughed, a sugary-sweet sound that reeked of mockery. "Is that so?"

"Uh-huh."

She snorted.

You grit your teeth, irritation coiling in your veins. "Turn around, Rowena."

"If you want me to turn around," she purred like the teasy, naughty kitty she was, "you are going to have to make me."

Your pussy throbbed at the thought. Images you'd gotten off to so many times filled your brain. Rowena's pale body red with welts. Lips begging for mercy and eyes, stubborn, begging for more. Heat pooled up in your stomach, sliding lower ever so slightly the more you pondered on it.

Giving into the fantasy, you swung the whip. It cracked against Rowena's skin as deliciously as you'd always imagined it. One of the most beautiful sounds in the world.

She hissed, and for a moment your heart swelled with worry, with fear that overrode all your other sensations. Had you hurt her? Had you caused her pain — the kind she hadn't wanted?

A smirk as wide as her ego spilled across her mouth, and all your fears dissipated in a flash. She eyed her shoulder, where a welt the color of her nails was blossoming. A stark contrast to the milky white of her skin. She laid her finger over it.

You wished it was your finger there. Wished you were the one to trace the reddening. To feel it, play with it. Admire your work up close.

Soon, you told yourself. The game had only just begun.

"Is that the best you got?" Rowena asked in a bored tone. A challenge, a dare for you to try harder, do better.

What a lady wanted, a lady shall receive.

You struck her again, this time across the chest, a tad harder. The bruise bloomed up instantly, a rich, beautiful red. Heat burned down at you, bit at your quivering pussy. A bit too fast, but who could blame you? Rowena was at your mercy, bare just for you. Inviting. Enticing. Yours to do what you wanted with, and gods, did you want to do more. So much more.

Rowena blinked nonchalantly.

You laid down another lashing, right across the second one. This elicited a yelp, a squeaky little whine that brought a smile to your mouth.

"You've been a very bad girl," you said.

Pride flashed across her face. "The worst."

"The worst," you agreed. "You should be punished."

"I should."

"Turn around."

She pouted.

You held up the whip. "Now."

Eyes once again finding yours, she slowly turned around. Her back was art, a canvas of milk and freckles that dotted it like stars. Perfect. Untouched. Unclaimed.

Until now.

The whip struck almost as if it had a mind of its own, your hand nothing but an instrument, a tool helping it do what it was supposed to. Rowena breathed. Her skin flushed on impact. Your pussy tensed, writhed, throbbed like a heart. An overly excited, enthusiastic heart.

To think you used to be ashamed of these fantasies.

"I'm afraid," you said, breath hitching in your throat as your heart raced in sync with your pussy, "you still haven't learned your lesson."

Another crack of the whip. Another red line across that beautiful back, a thing of beauty itself.

"Maybe you're a bad teacher," Rowena teased.

That earned her another strike, and elicited a gasp, which was followed by a laugh. Taunting. Mocking. Proud.

"You're not making it any easier for yourself," you said, striking her again. The crack of the leather against her skin sent shockwaves through you, turned your blood to lava. Your pussy was drenched, the slick dripping down your thighs. To think you were supposed to be the one in control here.

As if.

When it came to your body, Rowena always had the last word. Willingly or not.

"Who said I want it easy?" she purred.

You imagined that delicate, delicious little mouth on your pussy, sucking you up, drinking you dry. Pushing you over the edge you were so close to already.

"Fair point." She was always a complicated creature. As naughty as she was beautiful. An angel and a demon all in one.

"Enjoying yourself?" she asked with a chuckle.

You rubbed your thighs together, craving friction. Yearning for it like an addict. "A bit." You tried for it to come out nonchalant, but the tremble in your voice, the traitor, gave you away.

Rowena snickered.

You lashed at her, painting more red amidst a sea of white. Pushing the heat all the way down so it swallowed your pussy whole, made it beg for release.

Damn it! It was too soon. You weren't done playing — you'd only just started. Damn Rowena for convincing you to go through with this. Damn your body for being so into it.

Sensing your struggle, Rowena looked back. "A problem, dear?"

"Nope."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?" Her eyes traced the slick on your thighs. Lips curled into that naughty smirk. "So you are not dripping wet?"

You rolled your eyes.

"I take it you are about to come. Or are you already coming?"

"Shut up!" You struck her lower back, and the little hiss that left her mouth only made the pressure worse.

She laughed. "I have to say it's impressive. I haven't even touched you, and here you are, drenched to the bone. If I'd known it was this easy, I'd have let you whip me a long time ago."

If you'd known it was going to be this easy, you would have told her about your kink a long time ago.

Even in your fantasies, it took a bit of time for you to get into it, to warm up. In person, it was almost instantaneous. Magic, one could describe it as.

Not entirely surprising for Rowena herself was magic personified. There was nothing the woman couldn't do to you. All it took was one look, and you were hers. Under her spell. A willing slave bursting with pleasure.

You cracking the whip didn't change that. She still had control over you. Still ruled your body without so much as a single word. She just did, and you loved and hated it all at once, and you never wanted it to end.

There was no better feeling than being hers. No greater state of being.

You swung the whip again. And again, and again, and again, and each crack and accompanying hiss and moan brought you closer to the edge. It was akin to an ache, but a pleasant one, one you craved, wanted, needed.

Even so, you did your best to hold back; you wouldn't come without her touching you. Without her finishing what you'd started. It would only be fair, after all the pain you'd inflicted on her.

But, gods, it was hard. Your body begged for release, screamed for it with every nerve.

Noticing your struggle, Rowena said, "It's okay, darling. You can give in."

"No," you said, defiant. "I can hold it. We're not done yet."

"Och, we are totally not. But you're so close already. Take care of yourself this time, and next time I will take care of you."

"You sure?" She always did it for you. You always wanted her to.

"Aye. Go on. Let me hear that beautiful voice."

So you did. You relaxed, flicked your clit with a single finger, and allowed the pleasure to ravage you. It came in a wave of heat, so hot it burned, but it burned so good, and, gods, you never wanted it to stop. Your clit pulsated, nerves going off like fireworks. Pussy throbbed. Thighs shook as a new trickle of slick coated them. Mouth fell wide with satisfied moans.

"That's my girl," Rowena said, licking her lips.

You imagined that pretty pink tongue on you, inside of you.

Soon. This was just round one. The night was still young.

"God, Rowena," you moaned as the high subsided, still rubbing your clit, wishing the sensations back. Impatient for the next ones. "I never knew… I…"

She chuckled. "Seems you've found your niche."

That was one way to put it. "Guess so."

"Ready to continue?"

You breathed in and out. Steadied your legs. "Only if you are."

"I'm good with a few more lashes."

"Perfect. Turn around."

"Okay. But dear?"

You raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not god. I prefer queen."

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie​​ @oswinthestrange​​ @songofthecagedmoose​​ @apurdyfulmind​​ @getthesalt-sam​​ @metallihca​​ @salembitchtrials​ @jay-eris​​ @hellsmother​​ @elizabeth-effie​​ @shadowgirl-vsb​​ @rowenaswife​​ @wonderifshelikesroses​​ @xfireandsin​​ @liddell-alien​​ @hotdiggitydammit​​ @lae-lae​​ @darkhumorsblog​​ @angel7376​​ @cherrypierowena​​ @evil-regal-vampiress​​ @hellbentredhead​​ @angel-e-v-a​​ @a-queen-and-her-throne​​ @carryon-doctor-lock​​ @fangirlxwritesx67​​ @theeasterbilby​​ @midnight-lestrange​​ @oster-hagen​​ @impala-1979​ @gracib16​

[thekidultlife]

The Most Convenient Escape | Jihoon Soulmate!AU (6)

⍟ Pairing: Jihoon x fem!reader

⍟ AU: Fantasy/ Soulmate AU

⍟ Genre: ANGST, SLOW BURN, fluff

⍟ Warnings: mentions of abuse, drinking, and sex

⍟ Word Count: 6.7k

⍟ Synopsis: For all your life, you have a deep disdain towards Soulmate Bonds, so much so that you are able to write opinions about it in a local newspaper. However, as life would have it, you wake up one day bonded to a person you hardly knew. Throwing in an investigation, annoying roommates, and a revolution looming just beneath the surface, you had to seek for the most convenient escape.

⍟ A/N: It’s been a while since I updated TMCE skskks sorry;;; i missed my drawing tablet so much, I just drew this whole time lmaooo but here you go~ something like a transition chapter!! hope you enjoy? :DD

⍟ Taglist: To those who commented on the previous chapter ;;w;; thank you so much!!! @minkwans, @ialamityo-o, @oprandomfeels, @haotheheckk, and @svt13roses!!! I always say this, but your comments and reactions really keep me going on;;;

CHAP 1 | CHAP 2 | CHAP 3 | CHAP 4 | CHAP 5 | CHAP 6 |

HALF A MILLION MURMURS by Alex Fireflower

The Porta Persa Edition, November 2nd

 To those divinely ordained by the people and the coin with Power and Authority:

            Surely, in some way or another, it had not escaped any person of good conscience and fair moral character the plight which has befallen our fellow men—the Cilvekans—despite differences in and not limited to nationality and/or race; more so and I surely hope so, that it had not escaped the attentions of persons with great abundance in wealth and power such as yourselves.

            Surely, in some way or another, you are not deaf to their pleas—gagged and maimed by a bill, now law, which was carefully crafted to entrap more than half a million people for whatever reason the Parliament has in its defense. These people who had a hand in making our trades grow, making our lives a little bit easier, making this nation prosper to its opulent glory of today—how easy, how convenient it is to leave them to the dust, to fend off on their own all the evils of Porta Persa. Certainly, it had touched your benevolent hearts that the very same people who sweep your marble floors, who wash your dirty ball gowns, who polish your diamond rings, are in need of your help—the very same people who had helped you in your daily lives. Yet even if they had not become a part of your lives in some way or another, surely, maybe, that the fact that Cilvekans are fellow human beings who move and act just like us would convince you that what had been brought unto them was a violation of their rights as human beings, rights which are rightfully bestowed to everyone on this Earth—Cilvekan, Porta Persan or whatnot.

Surely, in some way or another, you have come to an understanding that the creators of this bill had intentions way beyond the national security of this nation. Surely, it is indisputable, with all the abuse of power and discriminate arrests which happened in the course of a few days, that there is no way Porta Persa would attain national security in this manner; but rather, had only caused chaos and anger among the population. How can one, who had held himself with high regard in the face of god and the heavens, be so blissfully ignorant to these people who had been abused and indiscriminately arrested in the middle of the night for various reasons the Royal Guard had come up with as they spin their wee little roulette of crimes and violations? How can we, as human beings, rationalize our inaction and ignorance of this issue with a mentality that “if this does not happen to us in front of our very eyes, therefore, it does not exist”? Of course there is no reason for it to happen on your graciously manicured courtyard because the gold coin had given you the privilege to grab the laws of this land by the neck and turn it to your favor.

Surely, surely, and I do hope so that beyond the loud voices in your head screaming at you that there is no need to help, that the problem is simply perceived by the victims, that this issue does not affect you in any way possible—I hope that you are able to hear the half million murmurs of Cilvekan voices stranded in our ports and stations, banished from their jobs and separated from their families. I hope that you are all able to hear whispers calling out to the warm compassion that is hopefully still inside of your hearts.

As more than half a million Cilvekans congest our ports and stations—sent back to an ironically unfamiliar country with almost no possessions;  inside our jails and police stations, tortured to admit a sin they had never committed—let us not ignore their cries of help. Whether or not they had aided us in our lives before, they are still human beings just like us, who need the same rights as we do. Let’s listen to the murmurs of half a million…

◇

“Your girlfriend sure is livid.”

Yoon Jeonghan, in his platinum blond hair and rather sleepy eyes, said as he tossed the newspaper on the marble garden table. The Minister for the Culture and the Arts was finally present in the meeting, though still in Joshua Hong’s grey pavilion in the middle of his rose garden and still drinking freshly brewed coffee.

“She’s not my girlfriend, and I am very much assured that she is unaware of our soulmate bond,” Jihoon groaned as he massaged his temples, the hangover gradually diminishing with the help of a hangover potion you had forced him to bring along. “How many times do I have to reiterate this?”

“Someone sure is a rainy cloud today, what do you reckon, Minister of Foreign Affairs?” Jeonghan remarked as he received a cup of coffee from Joshua, who had only laughed at his friend’s comment.

“It’s your fault for not coming by lately. You missed out a lot.”

“Did I?” The other smirked, and then looked around, “Oh? It seems our adorable general isn’t here yet?”

“Seungcheol told me he wouldn’t be joining us today,” Joshua informed him primly as he finally sat on his own seat with a cup on his hands. “And for reasons you all already know, unfortunately.”

“What about you though? Aren’t you having a terribly marvelous time trying to deport all these people?” Jihoon asked, his eyes cold and a tad bit exhausted.

“That’s the immigration’s responsibility, not ours. Though drafting an explanation to the Cilvekan government as to why there are half a million people to be deported back to their country isn’t a walk in the park either.”

Jihoon grunted, to which Jeonghan only smiled.

“I’m having trouble with this as well. Several valuable artists living in Porta Persa are in danger of being deported which isn’t in any way favorable in my position. I wouldn’t want to lose Wen Junhui and Xu Minghao in the middle of their own respective careers,” Jeonghan added in a playful tone despite the severity of his situation.

“And just when I was finally able to acquire some tickets to Wen Junhui’s play!” Joshua remarked with a slight scowl, annoyed that his tickets would probably become mere pieces of worthless colored paper.

“Tough luck for all of us, huh?” Jihoon remarked as he pressed down the bridge of his nose, the smell of the decaying rose petals around him was making him nauseous.

As the wind blew across the wide rose garden, a companionable silence enveloped the three of them. While they seemed to be so lighthearted, they all knew the situation was a lot worse than they had feared.

“Is there any way we could reverse this decision?” Jeonghan finally asked.

“If there was, I would’ve done it already. Not to mention how much political power I’ve lost because of this,” Jihoon replied, thumbing on the cork of the potion he was holding. "If not for the laws of this land, I would've wrung Kang's neck by now."

“Seems like your plans on running for Prime Minister is thrown out of the window,” Jeonghan continued to which Jihoon only gave him a cynical look.

“I would continue if I was crazy enough,” he answered with a snort. “Look, there’s really not much I could do as of the moment. The Conservatives are probably holding the biggest victory party of their lives at the seaports, herding off Cilvekans inside cargo ships like cattle, and it’s so frustrating how I could only watch them do what they want.”

“What about going to your grandfather then?” Joshua suggested and Jihoon stilled for a moment before aggressively shaking his head.

“No, no, no. Absolutely not,” he replied with a hint of panic in his eyes. “Not in a million years.”

“Why not?” Jeonghan asked. “He’s still a powerful man after retiring as Prime Minister years ago. Who knows, maybe he has some useful connections.”

“You guys already know why not,” Jihoon responded with a snarl. “There is certainly no way I would return to Santaragossa considering the state of my soulmate bond.”

“Ah, that,” the two men eventually nodded in understanding as they remembered why Jihoon was hesitant to go.

“But maybe this is the right time to tell Y/N that your soulmates,” Joshua was the first one who remarked. “You could bring her along and tell her the truth.”

To that comment, Jihoon only gave an incredulous look. “Please don’t give me any more of these suicidal suggestions, Joshua. You already know that’s not going to work.”

“But you could at least try?” Jeonghan offered. “I mean, Porta Persa is only an inch short of imploding, and we could be headless in a month's time if this escalates rapidly, so what does a lover's quarrel mean in the face of a civil war?”

As soon as he had heard Jeonghan’s words, the dark haired male simply sighed and leaned against the chair he was sitting on. He just can’t believe he was considering this. Returning to Santaragossa could be another mess he wished he had never signed up for, much like the current situation with the Cilvekans. But he knew that if he really wanted to act on the benefit of the greater good, a worthy sacrifice is already a given. What even is a falling out with his soulmate to a half a million people who are more or less starving and afraid?

Jihoon sighed again. Things are spiraling out of control.

“I’ll think about it.”

◇

A few weeks later. November 25th

“Oh god, I almost strangled the bastard if you guys weren’t there!”

It was already late in the morning when the three of you entered Wonwoo’s dorm room in a weirdly tense mood; a mood that was emphasized by the fact that the political atmosphere in Porta Persa was rigidly discordant all throughout the past few weeks. As active journalists, it had of course affected you three.

“I might have bitten his head off twice too,” you were fuming as much as Soonyoung was, tossing your heavy leather bag on the bed which you sat on as well with an exhausted huff.

The only calming force in the room was Jeon Wonwoo, who simply sighed and dropped most of his things on a wooden desk carpeted with heavy tomes of Magical Law. Yet despite is fair countenance, it doesn’t mean he wasn’t exasperated by everything that was happening.

Today, the three of you were scheduled to interview a staunch advocate of the recently passed travel restrictions and border control measures, and to say the least, it did go well, yet at the expense of everyone’s tempers.

“Just—how can someone be so ignorant of this situation?!” you exclaimed as you let yourself fall on the bed, your arms held high in the air. “I-I mean, the ports where Cilvekans had been crowding for days now is just a five-minute walk from his stupidly large mansion! Can’t they see anything?!”

“Not only that! Not only that, goddamn it!” Soonyoung added, furiously pacing around the room. “He even has the gall to question why Y/N was there! Y/N! One of Porta Persa’s best editors! What kind of question is that? Are girls not allowed to do anything anymore? I just wanted to punch that guy’s beer belly!”

“That was really insulting,” you remarked, your voice much quieter now.

Soonyoung groaned-screamed, pushing Wonwoo’s wooden chair before stalking towards the wall and punching it hard. The wall was of course rock solid but Soonyoung’s knuckles were now red and in pain, yet it didn’t really matter. If he hasn’t done anything, chances are he might explode in his place then and there.

Wonwoo only watched, leaning against his desk, as the two of you blew off steam by ranting and just being generally loud, yet in his mind, wheels were turning.

“You know what else is concerning?” Wonwoo spoke, his voice as soft as a mutter yet it was enough to get the attention of everyone. “It’s not only the wealthy who are fine with this as what we might’ve expected, but also some of the upper and lower middle class people.”

You and Soonyoung immediately exchange glances, their eyes glinting with curiosity. So Wonwoo continued on.

“I’ve checked all the interviews we conducted since last week and though they differ in motives, they generally have no problem with this law. The rich are basically ignorant and indifferent. To them, this law is just like all the other laws of Porta Persa. For the middle class citizens however, they saw Cilvekans as an adversary—someone who would steal their jobs and opportunities.”

“Like, ‘why are these people getting rich while I, a true blooded Porta Persan is struggling to get a job?’” you asked, to which Wonwoo nodded.

“So a ‘good riddance’ thing, huh?” Soonyoung bobbed his head up and down in realization, his anger already half abated.

“Precisely. This is why this whole situation is largely divisive. There are people who care about it, but there are also a lot of people who are more than happy that this happened,” the bespectacled boy replied, adjusting his glasses.

“Ain’t that depressing,” Soonyoung grumbled, finally plopping on the plush armchair by the fireplace. “Has anybody started a petition yet?”

“Lee Jihoon already beat you to the chase,” you commented casually. “He’s been busy gathering signatures from prominent people to junk the law, but so far I think he hasn’t really filled his quota yet, right Wonwoo?”

“Yes, I reckon he needs even more powerful people, like someone closely connected to the monarchy or someone with a really huge reputation,” Wonwoo replied, folding his arms over his chest.

“Who else is even more powerful than Lee Jihoon? Even he can’t stop that bill from becoming law,” Soonyoung inserted, now much more cynical because of all the frustration that had built up.

You only shrugged. “We don’t know. At any case, we must continue this responsibility we imposed upon ourselves. Let justice be done though the heavens fall.”

“Indeed,” Wonwoo replied before straightening himself up. “In that case, I suppose it’s time we inspect those documents we found a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, yeah! I almost forgot about them!” Soonyoung remarked, turning as he watched Wonwoo walk pass him and to a hidden safe behind the bookcase where he kept it secure. “We were so preoccupied with all the interviews that we didn’t have time to look at them.”

“I do hope we get something out of those,” you said, standing up from your place on the bed and walked to the round wooden table where Wonwoo had placed the documents.

Gathering round and seated comfortably, the three of you began to carefully examine the documents like an efficient production line.

Wonwoo was assigned to the actual semantics of the documents, inspecting everything word per word and whether or not they mean something else other than what was thought at first glance. Soonyoung on the other hand was in charge of looking into those which contained shipping and trading information—he may not be the brightest of you three but he has trading experience all throughout his life which was more than what you and Wonwoo could do. Finally, you had the task of doing the final inspection, to see if the Soonyoung and Wonwoo had missed anything.

Yet despite all these efforts, even after five hours of perusing the said documents, in the end they all turned out to be rather boring pieces of yellowed paper.

“And here I thought we were going to find something phenomenal…”

Soonyoung was pouting, now more than exhausted as he slumped sulkily on his chair. You and Wonwoo were no different, as you sat silently on your places around the table with long faces.

“I guess we effectively wasted most of our afternoon,” you remarked, standing up to stretch your stiff muscles.

“I couldn’t agree enough,” Wonwoo snorted, “That novelty shop was phony from the beginning.”

“Well, what’s done is done,” Soonyoung exclaimed, also standing up to walk around the room. “And oh, speaking of that shop, the fortune teller asked us to give something to you, Y/N. Wait here for a moment while I run to my room!”

Without waiting for you to reply, Soonyoung already dashed out of the door and to the hallway, leaving both you and Wonwoo to exchange curious glances.

“You know something about that?” You asked him.

Your friend shrugged, “You left so suddenly that day and then everything was so hectic right after that we forgot to tell you about it.”

Understanding the situation, you simply sighed and waited for Soonyoung to return, which wasn’t that long since he was already back before you could even form any thoughts on what Madam Adora had left for you.

“I’m back!” he exclaimed, on his hands a small black box that seemed to resemble a box for a ring. “Here you go, Y/N!”

With that said, Soonyoung placed it on top of the table which you walked towards to see what it was inside. You turned it over and heard a small dull thud, giving the impression that there was a small object inside.

“Did you peek?” You asked him, seating back on your chair and taking a closer inspection at the object.

“What? Of course not!” He denied, which you deemed was true, considering that the seal on the opening was still intact. You smirked at him, revealing the fact that you were only kidding around.

“Well, let’s see what this is.”

Breaking the seal, you opened the box while the two onlookers peered curiously behind you. The climactic tension in the air rose dramatically as the three of you became increasingly intrigued by the contents of the box.

“It’s…” Soonyoung narrated, his eyes glistening at first but then faltered after realizing what it was, “It’s just a coin.”

Inside the box, nestled on maroon red velvet was a mere gold coin—one which Porta Persa uses as currency—the Dossimer.

You held it up between your fingers, studying it as closely as you could with eyes filled with bewilderment. Eventually, you made a nod.

“Yes, it’s just dossimer.”

Wonwoo sighed. “This day seems to be filled with anticlimaxes.”

“I guess that’s life for you,” you replied, shrugging. “Though I’m not that sure why she would give this to me. It’s not like I lack money or anything.”

“I’m as bewildered as you,” Wonwoo remarked, again adjusting his slipping glasses.

Huffing, you placed the coin on the table harshly, cluttering loudly across Wonwoo’s room. “Fate sure is playing tricks with us, and I’m not liking it.”

“Yet what else can we do?” Soonyoung asked. “We’re at a stalemate now. The investigation is going nowhere, the Cilvekan situation is worsening, and we might be persecuted by the monarchy at any time.”

Wonwoo simply sighed. “Indeed, nothing seems to be moving right now, but we still have to do something, no matter how little they are. It will have a rippling effect all over Porta Persa.”

While the two were bickering, you had unintentionally blocked them out, focusing only on the gold coin on the table, atop the documents you had inspected, wondering over and over again why it was on your hands.

“Are you suggesting we run away then? Run to the mountains of god knows where—“

Wonwoo had raised his voice already, further proof that the argument was getting heated, yet despite that, you paid no heed. Instead, you continued to stare at the coin, still tossing and turning ideas in your head.

The more you gazed at it, the more you felt like you were beginning to imagine things. The coin was glowing with a golden light around it, and while magic isn’t something odd, the fact that the coin was shimmering was definitely out of the ordinary.

Blinking several times, you tried to shook the hallucinations away yet the glowing continued and had now spread over the papers underneath it. You were sure you hadn’t drunk anything weird that day, or maybe it was the fatigue—but fatigue doesn’t really make things glow in front of your very eyes.

Funnily enough, it took you a moment to realize that none of what you had thought of was the truth, and strangely enough, the coin was actually and most definitely glowing.

“Um…guys…” you muttered, pulling on their sleeves as they were already about to pounce on each other. “I’m not imagining that the coin is glowing, right?”

Your words immediately stopped the two of them from their tracks and immediately turn their attentions to the coin on the table. Astonished as you were, they only gazed at it in confusion.

“It’s really…glowing,” Soonyoung remarked, his hands about to touch it.

“Wait—! Don’t go near, Soonyoung,” Wonwoo warned as he fetched a fountain pen on his desk to poke the coin with.

“Isn’t that as dangerous as well?” you asked him, wanting him to reconsider his course of action.

“It’s fine, I’m not directly touching it.”

With a sigh of forfeit, you only watched as Wonwoo moved the coin with nothing much of a reaction other than the bright white glowing.

“It seems to be making the papers glow as well,” he observed, moving his body around it to see all sides.

“Not all the papers. Just that one,” you corrected him since you were seated next to it on the table and had a better viewpoint. “Could you guys get that?”

Without anyone prompting him, Soonyoung snatched the paper from the table and looked at it with a rather confused look on his face.

“What is it?” you asked, turning to him with an expectant look.

“Not to add on our several disappointments today but these are just some shipping routes. I checked this earlier, you checked it again after, and we found nothing. And oh, it stopped glowing.”

“Wait! Why don’t we place the coin over it and see if it glows again?” Wonwoo this time suggested, pocketing his fountain pen, and then continued speaking after seeing the look of hesitance on your expressions. “And the coin is clearly safe, other than the fact that it’s, you know…glowing.”

“You pick it up then,” you instructed as Sonyoung returned the map of the shipping routes on table and laid it there flat.

“Fine,” he conceded sulkily and took the coin from where it sat and placed it over the parchment.

Amazingly, the paper did start glowing again, making the map invisible and then forming scribbles of white glow on the paper. The three of you crowded in front of it, trying to assess what you had discovered.

Soonyoung sighed. “I still don’t know what it is.”

“I’m as clueless too,” you added before stepping away.

“That’s a geass.”

The both of you turned to Wonwoo who was still scrutinizing it with meticulousness.

“I hope you’d care to explain?” you asked, walking to the place beside him.

Wonwoo closed his eyes and adjusted his glasses.

“It’s actually pretty rare. But basically, a geass is an agreement. However, it’s a thousand times more powerful than your ordinary paper and ink contract. It binds parties through magic which makes it unbreakable. If anyone attempts to do so, they will be met by a horrific death.”

“That’s nasty,” Soonyoung remarked with a scrunch on the nose.

“Indeed it is. Which is why nobody really attempts to seal agreements using geasses anymore because it binds for life. You only reserve it for incredibly important things. You could consider the soulmate bond as a form of geass made between two people.”

“Two unconsenting people, you mean?” You added, making a terse glanced at Wonwoo.

“Yes, right. So in this case,” Wonwoo continued, picking up the paper but making sure the coin is still in contact with it. “What we have here is a geass made between the Gestalts and…one Gustav Lemaire.”

“Hey, isn’t that the same judge?” Soonyoung called out, his brows knitting with intrigue. “You know, the one who dismissed the tax evasion case of Luce Trading? His name really fits the corrupt judge image so it stuck with me.”

“That’s novel,” you remarked with playful snide. “But anyway, if it’s between the Gestalts and the judge, then is this some kind of settlement?”

“It kind of is,” Wonwoo replied, as he read the script with narrowed eyes. “It says here…”

“It says what?” you asked, impatient.

“Give me a moment. It’s written in archaic script and I haven’t really mastered it yet,” Wonwoo said, still hunched over the document. “So, it says here that in exchange for the dismissal of the case as well as increased support for Luce Trading, the Gestalts agreed to…to illegally smuggle in Cilvekans into Porta Persa…”

Wonwoo turned his gaze back at you and Soonyoung as if he had realized something. His eyes were blank and his lips ajar as he uttered the same last words he had said like a whispered chant—clearly, it was a huge epiphany.

“I think we might’ve ran into something much bigger than we had expected.”

◇

Dusk was already settling on the horizon when you were able to return to your gaudy dorm room; painting the marble white walls in a gradient of pink skies and sunset orange. You hesitated before turning the doorknob which usually led to the common room—wondering if Lee Jihoon went back earlier than usual, and what you were going to do about it considering what had happened a few weeks ago.

There was really nothing left to say.

You shook those thoughts away and just braced yourself for the unforeseen. It made no sense to overthink situations which happened weeks ago. Lee Jihoon’s presence in the dorm was pretty much lacking ever since the whole Cilvekan issue had blown up. He might’ve forgotten it already and it made you look ridiculous being so hung up over it.

Unsurprisingly, the common room was empty and you only sighed at your dramatics. You thought something had changed between you and Jihoon that night, but it seemed like it was only your imagination. The dorm was as empty as when you had first arrived a few months ago.

With an innocuous shrug, you stepped away from the doorway and went for the dinner table. The suppressant you had drank from last night was wearing off and you needed another dose before that invasive voice in your head starts speaking again. You were glad that your body had finally developed a tolerance to the painful side effects of the suppressants, or else, people would’ve easily noticed how much pain you were trying to conceal.

Opening your pack of alchemical compounds and ingredients, you took a transparent olive green bottle and swirled it around to agitate the particles that had settled to the bottom. Removing the cork, you took a whiff of the godawful scent and simply prepared yourself for the equally rancid taste.  Before you could though, you…hesitated.

Hm?

You looked down on the bottle you were holding, the solution inside swirling as much as your mind was. Why were you hesitating? What was stopping you from taking another dose from the same suppressant you had been drinking for the past month? It was strange. Truly strange that you were making a decision over such a simple task that you had done over and over again for the past few months.

Didn’t you want to block that voice? Didn’t you want to prevent yourself from hurting that’s why you’re doing this? Then why are you hesitating? What’s stopping you from drinking?

“I feel heavy…”

You muttered softly as if any more weight in your voice could make it more unbearable. It was indeed strange—every time you decided to drink it, the heavier your heart becomes as if some parts of it were slowly turning into ice. You felt guilty for something; felt sorry for something you had no idea of. Could it be that you were actually feeling remorseful for the things you’ve done to your soulmate?

Gazing at the bottle one more time, you only felt more sick and grossed out; your stomach belching. It was like the dark liquid inside was a direct representation of all the hate and cold heartedness brewing inside your heart, and you didn’t like how it looked. It felt like some kind of cruel karma finally hitting you back.

Please don’t leave me…

A voice echoed in your head. You instantly panicked, afraid that it was really your soulmate, but it wasn’t. It was Jihoon’s voice. Jihoon wasn’t your soulmate.

Please don’t reject me. I’m sorry…

You didn’t know how to describe the pressure, the pain wringing your heart. It was excruciating. You felt sick. The look on Jihoon’s face that night was all your mind’s eye could see; the way he pleaded for you to stay by his side; the way he held you tightly between his arms as if you were going to slip away at any second. It was like you had caused him direct pain even if you didn’t know how or why.

“Jihoon…”

Your eyes wandered to the bottle in your hands again, but this time you stuck the cork back in, sealing it away for now. Whether or not you’ll stop taking them was a decision you weren’t ready to make. For now, it was best not to tempt karma.

Before you could utter another word however, you heard the main door open and you hurriedly cleaned up your mess on the table. You placed the green bottle in its usual place, glancing at it with thoughts in your head, before dismissing them altogether.

“Y/N? I didn’t know you’d be here,” a familiar voice echoed across the room, making you turn in an instant.

Jihoon was still clad in his formal attire—an all-black suit that made him look like he was going to a funeral. He had been busy running around gathering support for the petition he was championing and it had truly been an exhausting day. He had just finished hanging his coat over the sofa when you averted your attention to him.

“I—well, this is also my dorm so…” you awkwardly replied, your hands gesturing wildly.

“Ah, right, right. Sorry,” Jihoon replied, now a bit embarrassed of his rather obvious observation before he decided to walk away from you.

Considering his usual attitude, you assumed that he would immediately march his way towards his room and lock himself away from the outside world. However, the fact that he was still in the common room, pacing back and forth like some anxious teenager, debating internally if he wanted this or that remain, hinting that he was not done yet.

“Jihoon…?” You asked, slightly worried about him.

“I—“ he began, then wavered, his mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish. It was embarrassing, but he just couldn’t find the courage to say what he wanted to say. Not after the fact that he had cried in front of you that night.

“Are…are you ok?” Your brows were furrowed, now wondering what was the matter with him. “I can make some basic potions—“

“No! No, I’m fine. I’m fine,” Jihoon interrupted and then pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “It’s just, well…you remember a few weeks ago when I got drunk? I realized I haven’t thanked you yet and I just wanted to make it up to you and well…”

Upon hearing his words, you immediately raised your brows in surprise. This was definitely not what you had expected.

“No, it’s ok! You don’t have to thank me!” you replied, now a tad bit embarrassed as well, as you gave him a small smile.

“But I want to,” he said with the usual firmness in his voice, glad that it was back. “And despite being roommates, we never had the chance to get to know each other better.”

“Oh,” was the only thing you could say at that time. He had a point though—you both were partners back in that stupid ball, plus he had seen your breakdown before and you had already seen him crying. You both should just call it quits and end the not-so ‘indifferent’ relationship you had between the two of you.

“Maybe we could have dinner together…?” Jihoon asked tentatively as he checked his pocket watch. “I know a place you might like.”

“Out-outside?” You asked, wholly astonished by how fast things had turned out. “I-uh…”

Honestly, there was no harm in having dinner with your roommate. You already live virtually together, so what’s a small dinner to the both of you anyway? And for some deeper reason, you wanted to indulge him. Maybe because you felt sorry for him that night, maybe you had grown fond of him over time, you don’t know. You weren’t sure. Maybe something did change that night.

“Only if you want to, of course. We can eat here as well—“

“It’s fine, Jihoon,” you interrupted, fiddling with your fingers because you couldn’t bear to look at him, especially with how fast your heart was racing. “Let’s have dinner together.”

◇

It was a rather lovely night outside.

The skies were dark and the moon and stars were twinkling brightly underneath you. Yet what caught your attention the most was where Jihoon had taken you for dinner.

Lanterns of various colors lit up above you, hanging on string and bathing the whole area in a warm and vibrant glow. There was live music as bands strum their mandolins and played their fiddles, creating an ambiance of celebration and vivid colors.

A lot of people had gathered in the area, raucous laughter and loud chatting could be heard from everywhere. All of these placed next to a cliff side which had the best view of Porta Persa at night; the lights from houses and street lamps shimmering against the dark backdrop of the port city like distant stars high above the night sky. It was truly a sight to behold, especially when things had gotten tense and gloomy lately.

“It’s a night market,” Jihoon explained, still clad in his all black attire though he had removed his tie and unbuttoned the first two on his shirt. “Since the ports are where most tourists enter Porta Persa, we coordinated with all the local governments in the country and established a night market to boast the different cuisines found in Porta Persa.”

Your eyes were still filled by the sights while Jihoon began talking, yet despite that, you were listening to him intently, and his explanation just made you explode with amazement.

“Oh wow! Really? That’s actually quite ingenious!” You exclaimed with a bright smile, turning to him as you both walked around to check the stalls. “We should definitely feature this in the Edition! Look at what most people are missing out!”

Jihoon made a small smile at your comment, watching as you checked every single food stall for something you haven’t seen yet. He liked it when you were just having fun, unbothered by the problems of the world—just genuinely at the moment, smiling and laughing in front of him. If you could stay like that, he felt like he was at peace.

“Look Jihoon!” you called out to him excitedly, on your hands was a grilled fish on a stick. “This is a delicacy from the Oihe region! They would soak the fish for a month in Rejhu juice, which is a fruit only found there that has impressive preservation properties, and then grill it! It could go on for several months which is perfect for the region’s harsh cold climate. That’s what the lady told me though.”

“I haven’t tried that yet,” he remarked, and then smirked, “Maybe I’ll take some from your share.”

“Eh…but this is mine,” you pursed your lips and turned your head. “You go buy your own.”

Acting like a petulant child, Jihoon couldn’t help but chuckle at your antics, much to your chagrin. With an irate expression, you looked at him, who was covering half of his face with his hand as he laughed—you didn’t really appreciate being laughed at.

“What’s the matter?” you asked with your eyebrows knitting, your hands on your waist.

“No, no, I’m sorry,” he replied, still in his laughing fit which eventually subsided into a smirk in a few moments. “I just—I never expected you to act like this at all.”

“Act?” you leaned your head to the side in bewilderment. “But I’m always like this.”

“I always thought you were the serious type, you know,” Jihoon explained, his lips curving; his eyes glistening against the vivid golden lights up above you. “I just never anticipated you could be so adorably childish as well.”

“Adorably childish?!” you repeated, now a bit flustered that you had been acting that way the whole time. “That—that was never my intention!”

Jihoon only smiled at you and patted your head gently. “It’s okay. I like it.”

You couldn’t muster a reply to that comment because of how heated your face had become. No one really complimented you like that, and above all, it was Lee Jihoon who did it—the same person you were rather indifferent four months ago.

“Come on, let’s go have some dinner,” he simply said without further ado. Taking in your silence, Jihoon decided to move on and walk around the market, leaving you in your thoughts.

In the end, both you found yourselves sitting on a table with a clear view of the Porta Persa skyline, giving the situation a rather romantic ambiance which you never really had planned on. Before you, warm food of various origins were placed neatly on the table, waiting to be eaten and fill your hungry stomachs.

“You have…. rather interesting choices,” you remarked upon seeing Jihoon’s meal of choice while you carefully dissected your fish from before.

“Hm?” Jihoon looked up to you with a questioning look, a fork and a knife on his hands. “Oh, these are from Santaragossa. They might be a bit spicy, but I do miss them from time to time.”

“Ah, you were from Santaragossa? I always thought you were born and raised in the capital,” you replied, taking a sip from a citrus fruit blend you found rather interesting.

“Why so?” he asked, downing a piece of braised meat. “I assumed I gave an impression of someone from the provinces.”

“Not at all,” you gave him an austere look. “You seem like you run the place.”

“Do I now?” Jihoon asked, his lips again curving into a tiny smirk. “I never realized you thought of me that way. I appreciate your sentiments though.”

“But what is it like?” you suddenly asked. “I mean, living in Santaragossa?”

Jihoon leaned his head to the side, wondering why you were asking him this so suddenly.

“That place was my childhood. The summers were cool and the winters were not too cold. Most of the land are large vineyards and olive groves so I would run around a lot and play with the animals and so on. There is also a large lake near the house which is a great place to swim in during summer months. I do have private tutors, so please don’t get the wrong idea that I wasn’t in school.”

As you watched him talk about his hometown, you noticed how Jihoon had brightened up, rekindling fond memories from his childhood. He seemed to be at peace and less troubled than he was a few hours before, and it gave you a sense of serenity as well, gazing at him like what you were doing at that moment.

“Just by looking at you, I could already tell that it’s such a great place,” you remarked, grinning. “I’ve never really left the capital before, that’s why I always wanted to go to one of the provinces. Since you definitely sold me the idea, I might want to go to Santaragossa someday, given the opportunity.”

A thought struck Jihoon in an instant.

“Hypothetically speaking, if I’d invite you to come with me to Santaragossa next week, would you go?”

At that very moment, in the middle of a night market, you were stunned to silence.

-Hyeri CHAP 1 | CHAP 2 | CHAP 3 | CHAP 4 | CHAP 5 | CHAP 6 |

[mankai-afterhours]

a helping hand - (IzuSakyo)

⚠️ very much smut ahead 18+ pls be aware this is just self indulgent filth wee woo wee woo ⚠️

Warnings: stripping clothes, oral (female receiving), fingering (female receiving), tongue fucking (female receiving), and that's about it pretty straightforward it's just sakyo being a horny simp guys ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

---------

Izumi chews her lip, hesitating only a moment before knocking on Sakyo's door.

"Come in." Sakyo's voice says, slightly muffled through the wood.

Izumi takes a deep breath. She's about to walk in there and possibly strip naked for a yakuza in order to settle a score and save their playwright's life. She tries not to think about it too much.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Izumi says jokingly, hoping to keep the mood light. Walking into Sakyo's room does feel a bit like being sent to the principal's office.

But Sakyo clearly isn't feeling it. His arms are crossed in front of his chest. He looks angry, quiet. Simmering.

"So, uh..." Izumi clears her throat and shuts the door behind her. "Are we going with my plan?"

Sakyo says nothing. He just stares at her. Her eyes wander around his room awkwardly, and she wishes he would quit the tough guy act, especially considering what's about to happen.

"Look, Sakyo, if this is a bad idea, I can-"

"Tell me," Sakyo interrupts her, uncrossing his arms and letting them hang at his sides. He squints. "What do you see in Fushimi?"

Izumi groans in exasperation. "Oh, not this again, Sakyo! It was just a little fantasy, it has absolutely no bearing on real life." She rolls her eyes, embarrassed that they're even still having this conversation. "Omi's hands just happened to be what excited me that night, so it's-"

"I wonder what else excites you?" He asks, his voice a bit deeper than usual.

Izumi doesn't know what to make of this. She's starting to regret offering to do this in the first place, and it must show on her face, because Sakyo changes tacks.

"Look, are you sure you want to go through with this?" He asks, getting that look on his face that he has when triple checking whether Izumi has stayed under the budget.

She rolls her eyes. "If it'll prevent you from murdering my actors, then yes."

Her sass is ignored, and she can't help feeling like Sakyo's staring at her more than usual.

Being kept under his gaze like a specimen under a microscope sets her pulse up a few notches.

"So. Should I just...?" She starts to say, reaching for the buttons at her collar.

"No," Sakyo stops her, lifting his hand. "I... um, go sit down." He gestures towards his bed, and she hesitantly complies.

Once she's sitting, his hand covers his mouth, and she realizes he's analyzing her position. "Could you lay down?" He asks.

"What? Why?" She asks, suddenly feeling wary.

"I just want to recreate it as closely as possible. What Minagi saw," he replies.

Izumi feels herself flush. But she supposes that it's only fair, given the reason this is happening in the first place. Men can be so difficult sometimes.

She huffs another sigh and lays down with her head on Sakyo's pillow. It has a clean, musky scent, barely noticable, but still pleasant.

"Now can I take my clothes off?" She asks, with mock irritation.

Sakyo stares down at her from where he stands beside the bed, his expression unreadable.

"Could I do it?" His voice has a weird tone, almost gentle.

She laughs. "Yeah, sure. Very funny."

"I mean it, Izumi." His brows draw together. "Would you mind?"

She stares back at him, her heart skipping a beat at seeing him look so earnest. He's not joking, is he?

"I, um..." she looks away, trying to decide if she would mind. Does it matter whether she takes off her clothes or Sakyo takes them off for her? She'll be naked either way. "I guess not."

Sakyo's eyebrows lift ever so slightly. "Good."

He sits beside her on the bed, and at first he stays still, raking his eyes along her body. But before long, his hands start to move.

He traces them slowly up her arms, across her shoulders, his fingers coming together again at her collar to loosen the first few buttons.

Izumi doesn't know why her heart is pounding. It's not like this is the first time she's been undressed by someone. Maybe it's the duality of his gentle fingers and the searing gaze he's pinning her with.

"I wonder how Minagi felt..." Sakyo murmurs, so quietly, Izumi almost can't hear it. "Walking in to see you laying there."

His fingers glide lower and lower, soon he uncovers her chest, revealing her bra. She tries very hard to lay still, though his stare is making her feel naked already.

"Witnessing you in the throes of ecstacy... moaning, imagining strong hands-" At this, he slips his hands to either side of her waist and giving her a squeeze. "-pinning you down..."

She must be blushing now, she can feel it. "S-Sakyo..."

Sakyo removes his hands in an instant, as if they were never there, resuming his work on her buttons. "I would have liked to see it myself."

So he was jealous, after all. Staring up at him, Izumi can't imagine Sakyo having feelings at all, let alone for her.

But he did say his attraction was purely physical...

Soon enough, her buttons are done, and he parts her shirt like a curtain, drinking in the sight of her bare torso and bra.

She starts to fidget under his unwavering stare. "Sakyo. Do you want me to take it all the way off?"

He seems to take a moment to process what she said, but then he nods. She sits up a little and sheds the shirt, leaving her top half a bit chillier than before in only her bra.

"I can do this part, if you want." She says, hastily reaching behind herself to get the clasp, but Sakyo's fingers cover hers, brushing against her back and sending chills down her spine.

"Allow me." He leans forward a bit, and in a moment, he deftly flicks open the clasp with one hand.

Izumi tries to cover her shock and embarrassment as he slides the straps down her arms. "When did you learn to do that?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," he replies, a smirk ghosting his lips.

Once her chest is bare, he fixes her body with that stare again, as if savoring the sight, and she feels herself start to get hot. But before she can remind him, his fingers are already working themselves on the fly of her jean shorts.

She lifts her hips while he pulls them down her legs and she carefully kicks them to the side, adding to her growing pile of clothes.

Sakyo then hooks his fingers on either side of her panties, and gives her another look, checking in again. "May I?"

For a yakuza, he's being unexpectedly respectful about this. She nods. "Go ahead."

He peels the thin fabric down her legs, and exhales upon seeing her cunt, completely exposed.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, his gaze unwavering as he takes in the sight before him.

Izumi can feel the heat pricking her cheeks and a spike of it goes straight to her core at the look he's giving her.

She doesn't want him to stop.

"You can, uh..." she tries to find her voice, but it comes out embarrassingly high. "You can keep going. If that'll help you feel less jealous."

She doesn't look at him, but she can feel that stare of his, boring straight through her like a laser.

"You want me to touch you?" He asks in disbelief, and she gives a halfhearted shrug, too shy to speak. "Izumi," He takes her chin between his thumb and forefinger and coaxes her to look at him. "May I touch you?"

She nods.

Sakyo wastes not a moment before his hands cup each of her breasts, squeezing gently. He dips his head down to whisper in her ear, his breath fanning her cheek. "You're so beautiful... I'm unworthy of such a sight."

His voice is deeper than usual, gravelly, and it sends goosebumps down her arms.

"Sakyo," she whispers almost reprimandingly, skeptical of such flattery.

"It's true." His thumbs brush over her nipples, circling around the pert buds. "I am unworthy of even touching such a goddess..."

A goddess? Man, he's really laying it on thick. She shifts a bit, his hands and voice affecting her in ways she didn't know were possible.

"May I kiss you?" He asks in a breathless whisper. "Not on the lips, just... on your body."

The distinction has arousal shooting to her core. Is this how all yakuza express physical attraction?

"Sure, I guess so..." she mumbles, pressing her thighs together to prevent him from seeing how much she's okay with this.

His lips press first to her cheek, then down to her neck, sucking gently on her skin. She lets out a sigh while his hands roam from her breasts down overs her stomach to hold her hips.

"Izumi..." he whispers her name in a way she's never heard from anyone before. He dips a little lower and kisses along her collarbone almost reverently.

But then his hands brush her inner thigh and she can tell he felt the wetness gathering there. She looks anywhere else in the room as she feels him stop moving entirely.

He pulls back, taking his hands off of her, much to her disappointment.

"You're aroused by this?" He asks the obvious, and she lets out a small scoff.

"Anyone would be, with the way you're acting..." she says in her defence, but he seems to pay no mind to her sheepish reply.

Instead, a new proposition leaves his lips.

"Could I give you something to fantasize about for next time?"

Her head whips around to face him. "What?"

He adjusts his glasses. "If you let me help you out, I'll forget today ever happened. Minagi and Fushimi will be completely off the hook, and we'll never speak of this again."

She considers her options. She is pretty turned on at the moment, which makes it hard to think clearly, but if this is a one time thing... and he's been gentle so far... what's the harm in satisfying the burning ache between her thighs and Sakyo's burning temper at the same time?

"Sure, okay." She agrees, giving him a joking half-smile. "My body is yours."

Those words seem to spark something within Sakyo, and in moments, he's kneeling between her legs, parting her thighs to grant him access to her aching core.

"Beautiful..." he says again, and she doesn't even have time to blush before his face is buried between her thighs. He licks a stripe up her center that makes her back arch off the bed.

"S-Sakyo-!" She gasps, gripping the bedsheets in an effort to maintain her composure.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he replies, then begins to eat her out in earnest, his tongue and lips working beautifully together, causing a small gush of arousal to spill from her entrance.

He laps it up, bracing her legs steadily to keep her from squirming while he works relentlessly, deep throaty hums and moans escaping him while his tongue traces frenzied patterns against her swollen lips.

"Ah~! S-Sakyo..." she moans, unable to keep herself quiet as he sucks on her clit, licking up all of her juices.

She feels his finger circling around her entrance before carefully slipping inside, adding to her stimulation.

She's moaning too loudly, but she can't help it with the way his mouth is treating her. She grabs a spare pillow to press to her face, but Sakyo reaches up and bats it away. "I want to hear you." He insists before returning to her pussy, his lips and tongue writing sonnets on her clit.

She can't hold back as he adds a second finger inside her, pumping slowly in a stark contrast to his feverishly paced mouth.

She cards her fingers through his hair on instinct, tugging at him encouragingly, and he growls in response, working even harder to pull an orgasm from her.

He removes his fingers with an embarrassingly wet noise and replaces them with his tongue, easily reaching all the right places inside of her while his nose bumps hastily against her clit, sending a buzz through her with every brush.

She reaches down to help him out, circling two fingers around her clit while he fucks her with his tongue, and she feels herself throb desperately around him, her legs shaking.

"Sakyo, I... I'm close..." her voice wavers, her body arching, aching for release.

She wishes, fleetingly that he'd stick something else inside of her, but the thought is pushed aside by the building of her climax, and all too soon, her mind goes blank as she reaches her peak.

She cums on him with a drawn out cry of pleasure, feeling her walls pulse around his eagerly awaiting tongue.

Sakyo takes it all and sucks her dry, lapping up every last bit of her release with groans of his own. He doesn't let up until she finally comes down, and just when she starts to feel overstimulated, he pulls away with a parting kiss to her swollen lower lips.

"Well," Sakyo says, licking casually at his fingers. "We can consider the score settled."

Izumi huffs breathlessly, laying there seeing stars after such an intense orgasm, and is shocked at how easily he can switch to business, even with her arousal glistening on his lips and chin.

"Sure," she replies with a snort. "I'll just throw my clothes back on real quick, and be on my way, then."

Sakyo smirks. "Like it never even happened."

And that's pretty much how it goes. He carefully helps her to put her clothes back on, no trace of the desperate frenzy in his actions from only moments before.

"Give Minagi my regards," Sakyo says, seemingly back to his usual no-nonsense self.

Pretty soon, she's out his door, heading back to the lounge to help unwrap Tsuzuru, only slightly wobbly on her legs from what just happened.

If she didn't know better, she'd have thought it was all just a blissful dream.

[imagineredwood]

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5    Part 6    Part 7    Part 8   Part 9       Part 10    Part 11  Part 12   Part 13   Part 14  Part 15  Part 16   Part 17  Part 18 

Pairing: EZ Reyes x Camila (OC)

Warnings: None that I can think of. Mention of past heartbreak i guess  

Word count: 3.2k

Translation: No llore, mija. Ningún hombre merece tus lágrimas. Algunos merecen su paciencia y comprensión, pero no las lágrimas.- Don’t cry. No man deserves your tears. Some deserve your patience and understanding, but not tears.

~~~

Camila gazed out of her sliding glass door, sipping from her cup of Abuelita’s hot chocolate and watching the rain fall. It was dark and gloomy, had been all morning and she couldn’t help but give a soft chuckle at how the weather on the outside was reflecting how she felt on the inside. Yesterday hadn’t gone how she had expected it to, not full of the fun and laughs and love she had been expecting. The event was gorgeous, she couldn’t deny that, but it would have been much better had she been able to spend it with her man. Not that she didn’t enjoy spending her time with Angel, she loved being around him and having him in her company, but not when it was because he took pity on her when it was supposed to be a date night. 

She had tried her best to not let it get to her and she had managed to keep it together for the next hour of the event and for the rest of the night. She had seen Angel scolding EZ when she had come back to sit down, and he had tried desperately to talk with her and get back in her good graces. She had smiled and forged through, but as she laid in bed it had gnawed on her. She had walked in feeling like a million bucks and had walked out questioning her importance to the man she loved. They had driven back to her place in near silence save for EZ making small talk and trying to get her to smile. He hadn’t been all that successful though and they had said a tense goodbye, Camila not holding him and kissing him as usually did. Just a quick peck to the cheek and she was heading inside, EZ standing by his bike looking like a kicked puppy as he watched her. After a quick shower and a snack, she had headed to bed to try and get some sleep. Her brain had been a battle all night, the angel and devil on her shoulders tugging her around until it was the wee hours of the morning and sleep was still evading her. She had tossed and turned, opting to just get up and watch the storm that had been raging. Now here she was, sitting in her lounge chair with her hot mug watching the sky light up, bolts of lightning striking through the night, the rising sun just starting to come up over the horizon. She hadn’t realized how long she had been sitting there caught up in her thoughts, so loud and vicious.

She worried if maybe EZ had lied. Maybe there was still something going on between them, something that he was keeping and that was why Kevin had brought it up. Maybe Kevin had other pictures, pictures of them together. Maybe Emily would always mean more to him because she had carried his first child. What had Camila given him? Her forehead throbbed as she kept thinking and eventually, she gave a sigh, closing her eyes and taking several deep breaths. She pictured her Abuela, soft smiles and wrinkled skin and she felt herself starting to relax already.

Looking down into her mug, she smiled for the first time since she had come home. It was Abuela Magdalena’s recipe, the one that Camila had had drank since she was a little girl. Abuela had always made it for her whenever she wasn’t feeling well. Whether it was physically or emotionally, whenever Camila wasn’t exactly at one hundred percent Abuela would cook up a batch of the hot chocolate, place her into her lap and rock her while she drank. She had done it when she was a young child and she had done it well into her adolescence. Camila could distinctly remember the first time she had been dumped. It wasn’t a serious relationship, but it was her first. Camila had been far more invested than he had been, and it came as a blow. Abuelita Magdalena had found her crying and had quickly slipped away to make a batch of the hot chocolate before coming into Camila’s room, sitting on her bed and pulling her into her lap. Camila could remember vividly sitting in her grandmother’s lap at the age of 16, quietly crying as her grandmother held the cup to her lips. She could hear her words as if she was speaking into her ears right there in her living room.

No llores, mija. Ningún hombre merece tus lágrimas. Algunos merecen su paciencia y comprensión, pero no las lágrimas.

Even though those words had been spoken in a completely different situation, Camila knew that Abuelita had meant them and if she had been here now, she would’ve said the same thing. She would have told Camila to stop worrying and working herself up and just talk to him. To speak her mind and her truth and lay her feelings out for EZ to see. No sense in crying. Just talk.

With another sigh, Camila stood from the lounge chair and walked into the kitchen. She placed her mug down and picked up her phone, unlocking it and pulling up EZ’s contact. She hesitated for a moment, worrying that maybe she didn’t have her thoughts all the way together, but she ignored her apprehension and dialed his number. She held the phone up to her ear and leaned against the counter, her hip against the granite.

It only rang twice before EZ picked it up, his voice bright and hopeful as he spoke her name.

“Camila,”

She smiled softly to herself and nodded though he couldn’t see.

“Hey. You busy?”

“Nope.”

EZ answered quickly, his voice even more joyful as she figured she had relaxed some and maybe wasn’t as upset. That hope dwindled as she spoke her next words.

“I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come over. I wanted to talk.”

EZ swallowed dryly and Angel chucked from his seat beside him, hearing Camila’s words faintly through the phone. He himself had experienced the anxiety that came with having your girlfriend speak those words and he didn’t wish to be in his baby brother’s place. EZ looked over at him, eyes full of worry and Angel slapped his arm, pointing to the phone. EZ quickly looked away and answered Camila.

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll be there in 15.”

Camila agreed, both saying their goodbyes. Before he hung up EZ spoke quietly into the phone.

“I love you, Cam.”

On Camila’s side she smiled gently, wrapping her arm around herself.

“I love you too, EZ.”

They both hung up the phone and Camila left to sit on the couch and finish up her hot chocolate while she waited. EZ, on the other hand, was nothing but jitters as he put his phone back into his kutte, looking at Angel.

“She’s pissed.”

Angel shrugged, his eyebrows high on his forehead.

“Wouldn’t you be? If she brought you somewhere and then left you alone to talk to her fucking ex? Especially with how things ended between you two.”

EZ hung his head but swiftly picked it back up to look back at his brothers as his words registered.

“You told her?”

Angel hesitated then, not realizing that he had ratted himself out. He gave another shrug though, leaning back in his chair as he looked at EZ sternly.

“Yeah, to help you. You can tell she was hurt. No matter how much she tried to hide it or act like she was fine, you made her sad. You ignored her to go hang out with Emily,”

EZ scoffed and cut Angel off.

“I wasn’t hanging out with her. I went to get us drinks and she was there too, stopped me as I was heading back to Cam.”

Angel nodded sarcastically and held his arms up.

“Exactly. And that’s what you should’ve told her. That you had to get back to your girl. Instead, your ass sat there playing catchup for 15 minutes while Camila sat there by herself counting the spots on the ceiling. I went and sat with her to get her mind off it, but she was focused on you. So I told her the truth, figured maybe it would soften the blow it a little. Make her feel like she wasn’t getting ignored for any old ex. I wanted her to think that you were there out of courtesy for the woman that once was with your kid.”

Angel didn’t miss the wince that EZ gave and he sighed, leaning forward to rest his hand gently on EZ’s shoulder.

“I know it’s a shitty position to be in but you gotta get it together. It’s not fair to Cam. She’s your future now. Don’t fuck that up.”

EZ felt his anger simmer and he nodded, standing to start heading out. Angel stood with him and pulled the younger brother into a quick embrace.

“Don’t try to give excuses. Just apologize and kiss her ass for as long as you need to.”

They both shared a laugh, Angel clapping EZ on the back as he walked away, ready to go and start working his way back into her good graces.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

“It’s open.”

Camila called out from the kitchen as EZ knocked on her front door. She had already unlocked it for him when she’d heard him pulling down the street. She stood at the sink washing her cup as he walked in, closing the door behind him. He laid his eyes on her immediately and gave a soft smile which she returned. She dried her hands and he walked up slowly, coming to stand still beside her as she turned around. He held his hand out to her and prayed that she didn’t just stand there looking at it, refusing to have contact with him. To his relief she returned his smile and placed her hand in his, allowing him to pull her into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her gently, one around her body while the other was around the back of her neck, hand softly resting and holding the back of her head. He closed his eyes as she settled into him, taking a deep breath. He sighed as he was engulfed in the sweet scent of her, always smelling like vanilla. She pulled away slightly and looked up at him, but he could still see that like last night, her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Not in the way that it usually did.  

“We can go sit,”

She trailed off and EZ nodded, letting her go and walking with her to the couch. She sat down first, and he sat down beside her, both facing each other. There was a bit of silence that dragged on before Camila started speaking.

“I’m not gonna beat around the bush. I’m still kinda mad. I know that she’s your ex and Angel told me about the history that you two have so I get it, but I think it was disrespectful for you to leave me like that just so you can go talk to her.”

Camila took a breath to try and gather her thoughts, EZ using the gap to jump in and try to explain himself.

“I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, I just was,”

Camila quickly held her hand up to EZ and cut him off.

“I wasn’t done yet.”

EZ stopped mid-sentence and grimaced, reaching over to take her hand softly.

“I’m sorry. Keep going.”

Camila nodded and looked down at his hand holding hers.

“I love you, EZ. I love you and I love being with you and that’s why I agreed to go with you. Because I want to spend as much time with you as possible. You didn’t have to bring me with you. You didn’t have to tell me about the event. You could’ve kept it to yourself and not told me anything, just said you had plans and it would’ve been fine. But you did tell me, and you asked me to come just so you could ignore me for her. I get that you two had something…special,”

Camila paused as she tried to find the right word, not knowing how sore of a topic losing his child was for him. He didn’t react to her words and so she kept going.

“I know you can’t just pretend she doesn’t exist. I don’t expect you to, but I guess I didn’t expect you to prioritize being with her over me. I just want to know that if I go with you to anything else like that, I’m not gonna look stupid.”

EZ’s hand squeezed hers as she said that word. Stupid. He remembered her conditions.

‘I’ll stick by you, be with you through anything. Just don’t make me look stupid.’

He never wanted her to feel that he was making her look stupid. That was the last thing he ever wanted, especially knowing that was her line that she didn’t want crossed. He reached forward then, holding her hand with both now.

“Everyone was there dancing with their partner, smiling and laughing and enjoying each other and I was just…there. By myself.”

Camila looked down, finding it hard to maintain the same eye contact when she felt so vulnerable. EZ reached out slowly and took her chin in his fingers, lifting her head gently and ducking his head below hers to get her to look at him. When she did, he saw things he hadn’t seen before. Uncertainty, worry, fear. He saw a woman that was questioning where his loyalties lied and that wasn’t something he ever wanted her to doubt. Bringing his other hand up as well, he cradled her face in his hands ever so gently, his brows knitted together in guilt and concern as he spoke to her.

“I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t important, Camila. I went to get us something to drink and she grabbed my attention, wanted to see how things were going. It was weird and awkward. I wanted to get back to you, but I stayed talking because…I’m fucking dumb.”

Camila let out a small laugh at that and he smiled, some of his worry subsiding.

“I fucked up. I should’ve gone back to you and that’s it. She isn’t important to me, you are. Yeah, we were close and we almost had a kid but that’s the past. I never meant to make you feel like I was putting you on the back burner. No one else is more important to me. Te amo.”

Camila looked away from him then, tucking her hair behind her ear the way she always did when she felt slightly uncomfortable. She stayed looking down for a couple moments more before she looked back up, the worry gone from her eyes. She gave a lopsided smile and nodded, her eyes locked on his.

“Te amo, Ezekiel.”

He sighed again, knowing that he was still going to have to work to earn forgiveness for hurting her feelings but at least he knew the worst of the argument was over if it could even be called that. His smile stayed in place and he leaned his head forward, resting his forehead against hers. He rubbed the tip of his nose against hers gently.

“I’m sorry.”

Camila nodded against him, squeezing his hand.

“I forgive you.”

EZ noticed her choice of words. She didn’t say it was ok like most people did, she simply said that she forgave him. That she didn’t like what he did, and it wasn’t ok, but she forgave him anyway. Just in that simple sentence, it was reaffirmed to him that she was a woman who knew what she deserved and knew when she wasn’t getting it. That she wouldn’t settle, and EZ was thankful for it, knowing that she would always give him the kick in the ass he needed if it was deserved. He pursed his lips and left a kiss to her nose before kissing each of her cheeks. Pulling away, he looked at her and saw her face now relaxed, the worry line between her brows smooth now. He couldn’t promise that he wasn’t ever going to fuck up again, that he wouldn’t ever hurt her feelings again, but he would know better for next time. Leaning back from her, he pulled her hands up to his mouth and kissed the backs of them, looking over the nude nail polish that she had painted specifically because they matched her dress perfectly. He winced and tried to push the guilt back down as he stood up from the couch.

“I gotta head back to the clubhouse to meet Angel. We have to ride into town to go pick up some supplies, but we should be free then. Just gonna hang out, listen to music. You can swing by the clubhouse if you want,”

EZ left the invitation open, allowing her the opportunity to refuse if she wanted to. Jut in case she still didn’t want to be hanging out with him so soon again. She smiled though and nodded, looking around her home.

“I just have to clean up a little around here and then I’ll go. Should I bring anything?”

EZ shook his head and took her into his arms, looking down at her lovingly.

“Just a smile.”

Camila rolled her eyes but grinned nonetheless, pushing him away by his chest.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He took a couple of steps back with a smile and headed to the door, looking back at her over his shoulder as he left.

“We can slow dance together all night, I promise.”

Camila looked at him lovingly then and nodded once.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

EZ ran his hand over her head as he walked into the clubhouse, Angel sitting there on the couch with Coco. He barely even let EZ get close to them before opening his mouth.

“She didn’t even let you in the house, did she? Did she make you stand outside? She should’ve.”

EZ shook his head as he chuckled and took a seat beside them, sighing heavily as he relaxed into the couch.

“She forgave me.”

Angel could’ve given himself whiplash with how quickly he spun his head around to face EZ.

“Are you serious? Already?”

EZ held his hands up and shrugged.

“I mean she’s still annoyed over it, she has every right, but she let me explain myself. We talked it out and we’re ok.”

Both Angel and Coco nodded at that, taking sips of their beers. Angel spoke again, all playfulness gone from his voice as he eyes his brother.

“She’s a good kid, EZ. A good woman. Don’t fuck that up.”

Coco nodded in agreement and looked at the prospect as well.

“He’s right. It ain’t often we find women to hold us down in this life, boy scout. If she’s riding for you, don’t make her regret that. Take care of her and she’ll take care of you.”

EZ nodded, knowing that they both were right. Angel stood then, tapping the back of his hand against Coco’s chest.

“Well let’s get going, Dr. Phil. We got shit to do.”  

Tag list: @caramara3   @lostgirl219 @mrsjaxtellerfan   @actuallyazriel   @vannabanana1995   @unnecessarypineapplesstuff  @thegreat-annamaria @negansdirtygirl22 @svintsandghosts @piccasoe @tobesurroundedbysplendidthings @jadert15  

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Ryan and Nate Share a Bonding Moment: Anon Asks, Answered

Anon asked: May I please request more Ryan reluctantly taking care of a sick Nate? maybe even finding some pity in his heart..? 

Timeline: A few days after BTHB’s Worked To Exhaustion Prompt

Tagging @special-spicy-chicken, @spiffythespook, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @finder-of-rings, and @whumpywhumper

The first thing Ryan thinks when Vandrum comes staggering out of the bedroom is Jesus God, you look fucking rough.

With a couple of days of real sleep under his belt - Danny had recovered enough to insist Ryan get some rest, too, before he also got sick, and Ryan had been selfishly happy to hand the reins back to his older brother and sleep like a fucking log for twelve-hour stretches - he finally felt human enough to get back to normal.

Which meant he was enjoying, without guilt, a nice hot toddy. Hot Irish breakfast black tea, lemon juice, his dad’s favorite brand of imported whiskey, and honey. Ryan sipped it with a small smile on his face. He was on his second mug of the stuff and feeling warm and relaxed in a way he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

He wasn’t exactly trying to drink so much but on the other hand, you had to fight the flu - or whatever the fuck was wrong with them - germs, right? He was pretty sure whiskey was a disinfectant.

Plus, lemons helped you hold off scurvy, so, you know, he had that going for him, too. 

Ryan had been alone out here the whole day. Danny was better, up and trying to do chores until Ryan all but begged him to stop, but he still slept most of the time and moved with an old-man shuffle that was hard to watch. Vandrum hadn’t appeared in more than a week except to go to the bathroom, take the occasional shower, or rummage through the fridge in the wee hours of the morning when Ryan was asleep for more Gatorade and Pedialyte.

Ryan just kept buying it because, fuck it, they weren’t keeping anything else down. Well, that and those little cracker sandwiches with peanut butter in them.

So when Nate Vandrum came out of the bedroom at 8:30 at night, while Ryan was sipping his hot toddy and checking on company emails that had come through (no such thing a true medical leave for a real executive, his father had warned him, and he’d thought he was kidding about that but there wasn’t any way to undermine Danny’s needs they wouldn’t find), Ryan was genuinely shocked to see him.

You look like someone ran you over with a truck.

Vandrum doesn’t even look up at him. He’s limping a little, favoring one leg, and Ryan thinks about how his testimony included that Denner motherfucker fucking up his leg. And of course the bad hand is always slightly open, where his other one is closed tight in a fist even as he walks into the kitchen, pulling out a new bottle of Gatorade and staring at its artificial neon-blue like he’s looking at the holy grail, or maybe a portal to hell.

“Do you need help, Vandrum?”

Nate flinches, hard, and jerks his eyes up to look at Ryan, white-ringed and frightened. “Wh-what?”

He was pretty fucking terrified of you putting your hands on his neck, this is what happens when you hurt people, Ryan.

Ryan hesitates, then leans forward to set his hot toddy down on the coffee table. This man has lived in his apartment - in Danny’s apartment, Ryan had just been saving it for him the only way he knew how - for months. Ryan has called him a coward and a rapist, accused him of wanting Danny to himself so much he’d kill - not to save him but to keep him - and through it all Vandrum has stared at him with a placid green stare that tells him nothing.

Except for when he put his hands around Vandrum’s neck and the broken bits of Nate Vandrum had taken over, and Ryan had seen the fire in Danny he’d thought Denner put out for good, rallied not for himself but to defend Nate Vandrum against his own goddamn brother.

Ryan hates to admit it, but he hasn’t really been fair to his brother’s maybe-sort-of-boyfriend. Maybe he should try.

“Let me help you, Vandrum,” Ryan says a little heavily, pushing himself to his feet. “You still feeling gross?”

Nate looks at him like he’s grown three heads, and his bad hand is splayed out on the countertop. Ryan moves towards him, slowly - Nate and Danny are both jumpy as hell when they’re sick, and Ryan tries not to think about how it’s a result of being sick being a cause for punishment up in that fucking horror-cabin. Danny talked about being thrown down in the cellar whenever he was sick for too many days in a row, like that psychopath thought locking him a damp basement was somehow going to make him get better faster. 

Nate never talked about his punishments for being sick, only that there were some, and he didn’t want to think about it.

Nate watches him, his green eyes listless and fogged over but still scared, his face looking oddly younger with the expression. Like Danny looks, Ryan thinks - tense and worried, nervous that he’ll fuck it up, that he’ll be hurt. When Ryan makes it to the kitchen, Nate shrinks away from him a little, shifting back.

“Still feverish?” Ryan asks, and his voice gentles, a little.

“I th-think so,” Nate says, his own deep voice a little breathy, the words slightly slurred. “The r-r-room moves, when I’m n-not looking.”

Ryan holds up a hand and Nate doesn’t flinch, but his eyes lock onto the hand and follow its movements with perfect concentration. “I’m just going to feel for a fever,” Ryan says trying to pitch his voice soothing, the way he talks to Danny when he does shit like this. “Can I do that?”

Ryan’s blood runs cold when Nate says softly, “Wh-whatever you w-w-want. I can d-do whatever y-y-you want.”

“Jesus,” He whispers, and feels Nate’s forehead. “He taught you that, too?”

Nate closes his eyes against the touch. His skin burns Ryan’s hand, like there’s a flame taking Nate over from the inside out, leaving charcoal behind where his organs and bones and soul should be. “The rules are th-th-the s-same,” Nate whispers, and he doesn’t pull away from Ryan’s touch, only closes his eyes and holds still. “J-Just hurt less.”

“I’m not so sure of that.” Ryan thinks of the barking laughter in the courtroom, of Abraham’s absolute fucking glee recounting all the shit he’d done to Danny, the way Nate had kept his eyes on the table in front of him whenever Abraham was talking, had worked so hard to never look at him.

He sighs. “You’re a fucking mess, Vandrum.”

Nate laughs - it’s more of a raspy, hoarse chuckle than anything else. “I kn-know,” He answers, and his knees buckle a little but he catches himself on the counter, pushing himself back up. “I know I am. D-D-Don’t you th-think I did okay, though, M-Michaelson?”

Ryan steps away from him, pulling the bottle of whiskey back from the cabinet, setting water on to boil. Nate watches him with glazed eyes, without questioning anything he’s doing, and Ryan wonders what he’s even seeing at this point. “Okay? Are you really asking me that question?”

“I did the b-b-best I c-could,” Nate says, and then it’s quiet for a while. Just the scrape of a ceramic mug on the counter as Ryan pulls one out, the paper rustling of a teabag being picked up out of the specially-carved wooden box his dad had given Danny a long time ago to keep the good teas in. 

Ryan pulls out an Irish breakfast for Nate, too, humming to himself a little as he works. Adds a squeeze of fresh lemon juice, a tablespoon of honey, two shots of whiskey. When the water boils, he pours the hot water over the mixture and stirs, mixing it all together. “There. Give that a few minutes to steep, and you sure as fuck won’t get scurvy, at least.”

“I’ve al-always worried about sc-sc-scurvy,” Nate says, and his total deadpan voice makes Ryan glance over at him to see if he was really serious, only to find a faint smile on the older man’s face. 

Ryan shakes his head, curls falling over his forehead and his eyes, but he feels something inside himself not entirely unlike affection for how goddamn weird Danny’s boyfriend is. “Go sit on the couch, Nate, I’ll bring your tea to you, yeah?”

Nate hesitates, and then nods, moving into the living room with slow steps, still favoring one leg. He settles onto the couch and Ryan follows him, setting Nate’s mug down in front of him on the coffee table before dropping into the armchair and picking his own back up.

There’s a silence while the two men sip, and Ryan finally asks, “What do you mean, about did you do okay?”

“I d-d-don’t know.” Nate sighs. “I d-d-did my best…”

“You said that already.”

“It’s all I h-h-have, M-Michaelson,” Nate says wearily, and closes his eyes at the mix of flavors - sweet honey and the twist of the lemon juice, the welcome burn of whiskey, the strong black tea. “That I t-t-tried. And it w-wasn’t enough, b-b-but… but it was all I c-could do. Keep him ah, alive until I c-could break it, and… and h-h-hope enough was left.”

“He’s getting better every day,” Ryan says, and he’s not sure if he’s reassuring Nate or himself.

“N-Not him. I mean, y-y-yes, I had to hope enough was l-l-left of him, but…” Nate licks his lips and gnaws on some chapped skin, a weird nervous habit Danny has picked up too. “I don’t kn-know. But what I m-meant is…”

Nate trails off, and there’s more silence, uneasy and uncomfortable.

“What?” Ryan grips his warm tea mug, watching Nate sip from his steaming one. 

“I g-guess I just meant… I had to h-hope enough of me was, was l-left, too. And I... I w-w-wasn’t s-sure, not until... not until he c-came back.”

“Well, you tried to burn Denner to death,” Ryan says, and earns himself a slight smile in return from the older man. “So that’s evidence that you were still in there, right?”

“I d-d-don’t know. It could also b-be… being like h-him. I’m so sc-scared, I just…”

“Of what?”

“That I am. Like th-them, already. That I c-c-c… c… that it won’t st-stop. That I’ll h-h-hurt him, and… and en, enjoy it.”

Ryan considers, sitting back in his armchair. He’s accused him of almost exactly that, but in this moment, Nate Vandrum looks tired and sick and sad and scared. He doesn’t look like a monster, he won’t bark like a hyena, he won’t laugh when Danny screams. 

“I don’t think so, Nate.”

“Y-you don’t? But before, you’ve…”

“Fuck what I said before, I’m a fucking asshole, Vandrum, you and I both know that. Especially with… with everything with Danny. I’m a spoiled rotten poor little rich boy and I’ve always been that, and what happened to Danny maybe made me grow up a little bit more, but… but fuck all of that mess, you’re not like him at all.”

“How… how d-d-do you know?”

Ryan’s eyes glint in the dim light from the streetlight outside the apartment, seem momentarily to glow, but this time Nate was looking down in his mug and didn’t see a thing. 

I can look at your face and know you - I’ve always been that way. I’m good at reading people.

“If I’m honest... I always knew you weren’t. I’ve just been a shit to you because I can’t be a shit to him. And besides…” At the bottom of Ryan’s mug it’s all honey and lemon, hardly any whiskey or tea taste at all. “If you were like them, you wouldn’t be worried about it, would you?”

Nate looks up at him, surprised, and then back down at his own drink. “I… I g-g-guess.”

“So there you go. Now how can I convince you to go back to bed to fucking snuggle my disease-riddled brother so I can have my living room back to myself?”

[authorgirl1111]

A/N Couple of things.

1. Spike has a soul. If I do continue details of how he got it and why will be revealed.

2. I know Spike doesn't show up until School Hard. But for reasons, this story starts 1 week before school starts. Before 2x01.

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer and affiliated works.

***

Welcome to Sunnydale (Home Sweet Home)

Oops, Aisling thought when she drove over the ‘Welcome to Sunnydale’ sign.  Beside her her bleach blond adoptive father chuckled softly. Instead of staying to survey the damage done to the sign, she made a turn and drove down until she found the street she needed.

To be honest, the absolute last place she wanted to be was in another town that had a Hellmouth, (Cleveland had been a mess and a half) but this Hellmouth also had The Slayer, and if she had to choose between a Hellmouth with the slayer and one without- well it wasn’t exactly a hard decision. Though if it hadn’t been for the fact that a Hellmouth could supposedly help her father heal, she wouldn’t have even entertained the notion.

She stopped at the building she had been searching for, an apartment building a few blocks away from the school. For a moment she stayed still her hands clasping the steering wheel.

Then a pale cool hand reached out and held hers.

She turned to face the man, bleached blonde hair and blue eyes and covered neck to feet in black. She took a deep breath at his concern. "We're here." She said, he voice held a light irish accent, undoing her seatbelt.

Her father shook his head. “Wait here.” He said.

She wanted to argue and leave with him but he levelled her with a stare that had her backing down. When he was sure that she was going to do as he said he undid his seatbelt, opened the car door and left leaving him behind.

She locked the door behind him and waited. The moment her father had left she let out a breath she hadn’t realized that she had been holding since they left Prague.

She should never have suggested going to Prague. France would have been better, or Rome, or Ireland (where she had chosen to go every other year), literally any other place but Prague.

Every summer they travelled for summer vacation. Every year they switched on who got to decide where they vacationed. Her dad had been reminiscing about Prague and Aisling had figured that it would be nice to see, so that’s what she had suggested.

Aisling shook her head Idiot.

She leaned her head against the steering wheel. She would have given anything to take back that summer, to suggest any other place.

Someone knocked on the door and she turned to see Spike waving at her to come out. She took another deep breath and unlocked the door and stepped out of the cool September air. Together they walked to the back of the car and opened the truck.

Aisling reached out and pulled out two suitcases while Spike pulled out another. Aisling sighed as she watched him struggle.

“I can make multiple trips, it’s fine.”

Her dad stared at her before ruffling her hair and kissing her forehead and instead reached into the backseat and pulled out a backpack. Aisling rolled her eyes, the backpack contained most of his food.

“Want you to eat when we get inside,” Aisling said. “You haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Bit”

“So you say,” Aisling said then she switched tactics. “Still… I don’t want that to expire, so please. Eat.”

Dad sighed. “Point.”

Aisling smiled at the win, then it slipped when she looked at the suitcase her father had been unable to lift before she turned and walked with her Dad toward the landlord.

The landlord was not human, though the exact species of the demon was completely lost on her. He smiled down at her and she smiled back, but she could tell that both her father and the landlord could tell that she was forcing it.

“She’s tired.” Dad covered. “Bit’s been up since dawn.”

The landlord wisely did not mention that Aisling was carrying more than her father was. He walked them over to the main entrance and walked them through the passcode needed to enter. Then with a glance at the young human girl he explained that if they were bringing human company, there was a second code they had to enter, that worked as a kind of warning system so the demons living there could hide out of sight.

“Course, the girl here doesn’t count, since she’s living here. I take it she’s used to demons?”

“She is,” Aisling said tired of the landlord talking to her father like she wasn’t capable of understanding speech. “Living with a vampire will do that.”

“Have to say, I’ve seen a fair number of humans and demons living here together, but a human and a vampire living together is new.”

Dad wrapped an arm around Aisling. “She’s my daughter, found her when she was just a wee young thing.”

“I was 7.” Aisling cut in. “He found me when I was 7.”

“And how old are you now?” Landlord asked finally turning his attention to her.

“Turned sixteen this June.”

Landlord whistled. “Almost a lady.”

She wanted to gag at the almost patronizing tone the Landlord adopted. Her father must have sensed her ire because he quickly changed the subject.

“Will the other tenants mind?” Her father asked referring to Aisling bringing friends over.

The Landlord shook his head. “Nah, a good number of demons have kids that are human or human passing, and they like bringing human friends over. We just ask that you and your... daughter give us a heads up.”

Aisling nodded, though she had no interest in bringing friends over. “Thank you.” She said anyway.

The Landlord walked the two of them to the elevator, pressed the button and it led them up to the fifth floor.

“Have to say, Spike, when vampires do rent an apartment here, they tend to take the basement; fewer chances of sun exposure. Yet you specifically asked for an apartment with east-facing windows." The Landlord said as he led them through the building.

Aisling's father, Spike, shrugged. “Aisling likes watching the sunrise.”

“I also like not having my dad burst into flames,” Aisling said.

Her dad rolled his eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Aisling said rolling her eyes. “You always say that.”

Dad smiled. “And It’s always true.”

Not always. Not that Aisling was going to out her father’s injuries to a stranger.

“Here’s your room.” The Landlord said as he unlocked the door. “Rents due at the beginning of every month, though if you need more time we can work something out.”

“Thank you,” Spike said, Aisling nodded along.

The Landlord handed Spike the key before leaving. He closed the door with a soft click.

Fortunately, the apartment already had furniture. So they didn’t have to worry about sleeping on the floor, especially considering they had sold their last house and everything in it to afford to come there.

Aisling placed her bags on the floor and turned to stare at her father, who looked ready to keel over.

Aisling hurried forward and steadied him before leading him to the couch and gently pushed him onto it; then she removed his coat before she did so. Gently she took the backpack from him pulled out a thermos, opened it and handed it to him.

The smell of blood nearly undid him- even if it was two days old and nearly expired-, Aisling could tell he was holding himself together just enough that he wouldn’t vamp out as he guzzled down the thermos of blood.

Once he was done he put the thermos down, his mouth now blood red. He licked his lips and stared down at her.

“You don’t have to hide when you feed,” Aisling said. “I’ve seen you vamp out before, I’m not scared.”

“It’s not you Bit,” Spike said. “You know I have less control when I vamp out.”

She did, she also knew that Spike had the best control out of any vampire she knew. “Are you still hungry?”

Spike hesitated and Aisling pulled out another thermos and handed it to him. “Drink, I’m gonna go get the rest of the stuff.”

“Ash-“

“It’ll be fine,” Aisling said with a smile as she rummaged through the pockets of Spike’s leather duster to find the keys. “Have a little faith in me, will ya?” she said clasping the keys in her hand and hurrying out of the room before Spike could argue.

***

For as much as Aisling tried to hide, Spike always knew when she was scared, or worried, or in pain. Her heartbeat tended to always give her away, and if not her heartbeat then he tended to be able to smell the fear, or pain that would radiate off her in waves.

The last time Aisling had been near a Hellmouth had been when she was 12, they’d stayed there for six months before they’d packed up and left.

At least this one had The Slayer which would mean that there was some level of protection. It was the only reason he’d agreed to come to Sunnydale in the first place, and even then he’d raised concerns, but Aisling had been adamant, arguing that Spike’s job depended on him being in top physical health.

When Spike had still declined arguing that they would find another way to make money, that it wasn't the first time that they had landed on hard times. Aisling had brought up Her. Arguing that now that he was weak, she would likely know and would be heading straight for them. At least if they left for Sunnydale, they had the added protection of the Slayer, and with any luck it would detour Her, from making her way over.

He hated it. Hated that even after 8 years She was still a threat.

Spike was not the type to run. Every time She had come he'd been able to get her out of town, but now that he was weakened he had been forced to leave Los Vegas and come to the HellMouth in the hopes that the Slayer was somewhat competent (Though the fact that she'd survived the Master and Lothos suggested that she was), and able to deal with a vampire's whose mental abilities was on par with Lothos.

It helped to know that he had personally seen to Aisling's training, that he had taught her every conceivable way to kill vampires and demons. Trained her in techniques that would hopefully protect her from mental attacks. Training that saved her life multiple times, that saved his own life in Prague.

It also helped that the Master was dead, and the leader of the Order of Aurelius was some child fledge that had only been a vampire for a few months.

It helped that they were living close to the active Slayer. For however long that Slayer had left she would at least make sure that as many vampires and demons as possible died and stayed dead.

Still living so close to a Hell Mouth, while making him stronger, was very dangerous to the young human girl living with him, and he didn’t know if the Hellmouth would ever truly revive him to full strength.

He heard the sound of someone turning the doorknob and turned his head just as Aisling walked through carrying two more suitcases.

“Before you head back out.” Spike started stalling her. “Choose a room?”

Aisling paused and stepped forward and headed to the first door that was right beside the living room. She opened the door and looked inside it. It was small but not cramped there was still a bed from the previous owners, though it was completely stripped of sheets. A small dresser and a closet off to the right.

The east wall had a large window that gave her a perfect view of the town Skyline and would allow her to see the sun as it rose.

Despite its very deadly effect on her father, she always found the sight of the dawn to be beautiful. With a sigh, she turned and walked down the mini hallway and opened the second door and entered what was so obviously the master bedroom. Around twice the size of the other room with a walk-in closet, that Aisling was tempted to suggest to Spike that he convert it into his bedroom, so he didn’t risk waking up every morning burning to death. Oddly enough the window here was a lot smaller and had blinds already up.

“I’ll take the other one,” Aisling said.

“Are you sure?” Spike asked.

Aisling smiled. “I don’t need a lot of room.” She said.

“Neither do I Ash.”

Aisling shrugged. “The other room has bigger windows,” Ash said. “You're less likely to fry here. Also, the walk-in closet could be better for you… if you want to convert it into a smaller bedroom so your even less likely to fry during the day.”

“Ha, bloody ha,” Spike said dryly.

Ash rolled her eyes. “There are a few extra bags in the car, I’m going to go get them.” She said turning to walk away.

“Aisling.” Aisling paused and turned around.

Spike hugged her. “I love you alright? Please don’t ever forget that.”

Aisling smiled a little to herself. “Never have.”

Aisling sat down on the floor after she had brought in the last of the luggage. Her arms hurting Spike poked his head out of the room that Aisling had claimed as her own and knelt by her side. “Time for bed little one.” He said a hand on her shoulder. “You can finish unpacking tomorrow.”

Aisling stared at him for a long moment. “Can I just sleep here?” She asked. “ ‘m too tired to move.”

“Aisling.”

“Worth a shot.” Aisling yawned before she stood. “Don’t forget to put the curtains up before daybreak, I so do not want to wake up with a pile of ash as my father.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “I won’t.”

“Good,” Aisling said before she stood up and walked to her room. “Night, Dad.” She said before she closed the door.

Once she closed the door she sighed and rummaged through her suitcase to find a white lacy short-sleeved nightgown. Slowly she peeled off her day clothes and slipped her nightgown over her head.

She sat on the bed, that Spike had made up for her, for a moment just taking in her new room and sighed. “Home Sweet Home.” She said softly before she lay down and pulled the covers up to her chin.

Within moments she was asleep.

Outside the door, Spike looked around his apartment and sighed. “Home sweet home” He echoed.

***

A/N if you want more please review. Knowing that people like it gives me one more reason to update.

[breathlester]

Play date

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

summary: Dan and Phil need a night off parenthood duties, so they leave their baby son with Phil’s mum and make reservations at a nice restaurant. Only things don’t really go to plan…

genre/themes: parenting, fluff, smut

content warnings: mild sexual content

“Y’know-,” Phil says mid yawn and stretched halfway across the table. “Y’know what we need?”

Dan doesn’t respond, face hanging so low above his mug of coffee he’s inhaling it rather than drinking.

It’s seven in the morning and neither of them have slept for more than three hours.

There was a time when three hours of sleep would have been fine with them. There was also a time when getting up at seven would have been intolerable - at least for Dan - but those times have passed, and though neither of them says it, they are both immensely thankful for this short while of peace and quiet that only the early morning grants them.

Phil tries again, this time lifting his face off his arms. “Dan, you know what we need?“

The other man makes a grumbling noise, not looking up. His hair is a mess of tangled brown curls and his lids are so heavy Phil can barely make out his eyes.

“We need a day off,” he declares.

There are two bowls of cereal on the table in front of them that Phil has managed to pour in his overtired state. He’s forgotten milk and spoons, which proves handy now as Dan extends one hand and shows a bunch of dry cereal into his mouth.

Phil listens to the crunch, crunch of his teeth, then his inevitable cough as he swallows too many shreddies at a time.

“You think?,” Dan replies finally, lifting his mug with a shaking hand to take a careful sip.

His brown eyes blink at Phil, small and blood-shot.

Phil drapes one arm across the high-chair next to him to be able to interlace their fingers, cracking the first tiny smile of the day as Dan’s wedding band presses cold against his skin.

For a while neither of them says anything else, as Dan sips his coffee in silence and Phil is content for the moment playing with his fingers, his head resting on the table again.

He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until said fingers weave through his hair and tickle him awake.

A mewling noise slips off his tongue and he frowns, hearing Dan giggle softly. It takes the greatest effort to crack his eyes open again and he yawns so wide he can feel his jaw click unpleasantly.

“Did you hear what I said?,” Dan asks, seeming slightly more awake now that he’s had his daily dose of caffeine. “I think you’re right. We do need a day off. And a night, for that matter. We haven’t slept through in a week.“

Phil smiles up at him, feeling giddy at the mere idea, until doubts and a sense of guilt seep into his mind. “Are you sure we can do that, though? Just leave him with somebody? Wouldn’t he get -“

Dan interrupts him before he can start to obsess. “Phil, he’ll be fine. He’s been without us before, remember?“

“You mean when we were sent on a BBC thing late at night and he was supposed to stay with my mum until the next day but you got so anxious we drove all the way up north afterwards and picked him up at 4 in the morning?“

Dan blushes and looks down, fiddling with his cuticles. “Yeah, well, he was only a baby then. Now he’s a toddler and we know better.“

Phil catches his hand and pulls it away, up to his mouth so he can kiss Dan’s maltreated fingernails as a silent ‘don’t do that’.

“Let’s call my mum later?,” he suggests. “She’s been meaning to visit us in a while; we could have her over for dinner tomorrow and let her take Charlie home. Then we can take off Friday and go up north on the weekend. I haven’t seen my dad in a bit anyway.“

Dan closes his eyes and sighs happily as Phil’s lips move to the back of his hand, pressing a soft kiss there.

“Sounds like a plan. We should probably give her a fair warning though…“

-

“Sounds to me like he’s moving on to his defiant phase now,” Kath says on the phone. “You boys better prepare yourself for some mean temper tantrums.“

Dan’s slouched on the sofa, forming a new crease on their fairly new piece of furniture. He’d brushed off Phil’s attempts at critique with the argument that he needed to break it in.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. The paediatrician said so, too. The terrible twos and all.“

“Oh, Phil was bad with those. I don’t quite know how I survived.“

Dan bites back a grin, watching Phil stack lego towers on the lounge floor, looking quite a bit more enthusiastic about the building exercise than their small son who’s sat next to him. “Was he? I can hardly see that.“

„Yeah, he’s playing Mr Innocent now. You’d better watch him with Charlie though, I have a feeling he might turn out just as indulgent as his dad used to be. It’s no good for a child to be spoiled.“

Phil looks up questioningly when he feels Dan’s eyes on him. Dan puts him off with a wave of his hand, but Phil pushes out his lower lip and reaches out one hand for the phone.

Dan chuckles. „Speaking of two-year olds – your thirty-two year old is pouting at me because he wants to talk to you.“

She laughs. Dan can hear her clanking with pots. „Ah, that sounds like him. Well, then, Dan. It’s been nice chatting with you! I suppose I’ll sort out the details with him?“

„Yeah, alright. See you soon!“ Dan straightens his back, stiffling a moan as he hears it crack, and gets off the couch to hand the receiver to his husband.

„Hey, mum!“ Phil’s face lights up immediately as it always does when he’s talking to his family. Not like Dan’s jealous, because he knows he’s part of that.

And someone else is as well, for nearly two years now.

„Hey, duck“, he says softly, crouching down next to the infant. „You’re building a nice house, yeah?“

Charlie looks up at him, dark blue eyes wide and honest. „Daddy build house.“

In front of him, Phil has constructed a small tower of blocks. Dan smiles, settling down cross-legged. „Yes, daddy was building one just now, you’re right. But let’s bet you and I can build an even better one, huh? One just like the one we live in?“

As Phil reclines on the sofa, Dan picks up a yellow brick and holds it out to Charlie. „What colour’s this one?“

-

It’s the morning after dinner with Kath and Phil is a nervous wreck.

„And you’re sure you’ve got everything you need? Nappies, toys, his blanket -“

He reaches out to check the baby bag for the third time, but his mother stops him.

“Philip, I’m not an old woman, I promise you I haven’t forgotten anything. Besides, Martyn’s left some of Sophia’s things, including a potty that Charlie can use.“

“I’m sorry, I’m just trying to make sure.“

She reaches out to pat his cheek. “Since when have you become the over-anxious one? Wasn’t it Dan last time who rang me out of bed in the wee hours?“

“Hey, I’ve improved since!“ Dan emerges from the nursery down the hall with a warmly dressed Charlie in his arms.

Kath’s face lights up like a christmas tree at the sight. “Aww, look at you, little man! All dressed up! The neighbours are going to be so jealous, Mrs Hudson’s granddaughter isn’t half as charming as you are.“

Dan laughs, tugging on the jacket his son’s wearing. “I know, right? Phil found it online. It’s got a duck’s bill on the hood and a tail and everything.“

“Me ducky“, Charlie voices confidently, causing Dan to press a kiss to the side of his face.

“Yes, you’re a little duckling, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he coos, smoothing down Charlie’s feathery locks of ginger hair.

Two years ago, Dan would have cringed at words like these, but now look at me, he thinks, gone all mushy and soft. And he’s not even ashamed of it. If it’s true that fatherhood changes people, it’s certainly brought out the best in him and Phil, and they wouldn’t have it any other way, even if lately Charlie has cost them their good night’s sleep more often than not.

The boy calls for his granny, and Dan passes him on to her after one last kiss to his cheek.

Phil observes with a smile how his mother greets the two-year-old, lifting him up and joggling him softly until he giggles.

Dan’s arm snakes around his waist, chin coming to rest on his shoulder; a touch that reassures him without words, ‘don’t worry, it’ll be fine.’

“I’ll best be off then,” Kath says, the baby bag slung over her shoulder and Charlie stood next to her contently holding on to her hand. “Before traffic gets too crazy. You boys enjoy yourselves, yeah?“

She eyes them with a smile playing in the corner of her mouth.

Phil goes red in the face, about to say something when Dan bursts out, “Oh, right! The baby seat!“, and runs off again to fetch it.

-

At five in the afternoon, Dan stumbles out of the shower and wraps himself in a towel. Phil’s playing Muse in his bedroom while getting dressed. He’s banned Dan from the room as if this was their wedding all over again.

It’s good though, it makes Dan feel giddy and even more excited for the night. They’ve reserved a table at a nice place in London they haven’t been to in a while. Living on the outskirts, they rarely visit central London now except for the BBC.

But tonight they will, and considering the traffic they should leave in about half an hour if they want to be on time, Dan realizes with a glance at his phone.

He dries himself off and puts on his clothes – a semi-formal black suit and a white dress shirt, because how long has it been since they’ve had a proper date? Just as he’s done straightening his hair with extra care, Phil calls for him from the hall.

He’s leaning against the wall next to the door, checking his phone as Dan walks up to him.

And fuck, this is one of those moments Dan wants to pat his own shoulder for getting this gorgeous man to marry him.

Phil’s wearing a slim grey suit and the azure blue shirt Dan got him for his last birthday that matches his eyes perfectly. His hair is pushed back casually into a quiff, there’s a subtle waft of his cologne in the air, and Dan wants to eat him up.

“Good, you’re ready.” Phil’s eyes dance over Dan’s frame and he smiles before looking back down on his phone. “Shall we go then? I was thinking we could take a walk along the Thames before, since the restaurant’s right there. You know, work up a bit of an appetite and all that”, he rambles on, taking no note of Dan’s change of mood.

“Oh, I’ve already got quite an appetite, to be honest,” Dan remarks and Phil finally looks up, picking up on his suggestive undertone.

Dan meets his stare, smirking although his heart is beating slightly too fast. Saundering towards him with his hands pushed into his pockets, he allows his eyes to wander as well.

“God, you’re a feast for the eyes, aren’t you,” he says in a low voice once he comes to stand in front of Phil, watching with satisfaction how Phil’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard.

“Dan…”

Dan ignores him, reaching out to smooth the collar of his suit jacket, then grabs his tie to pull him close. Phil’s breath hitches, his eye lids fluttering closed, and Dan can’t lie, he definitely enjoys the little whine his husband gives when he draws out the moment before the kiss.

“I’ve always wanted to do that”, Dan admits, tugging softly again on Phil’s tie to emphasize his words, before Phil lets out a moan and takes the initiative, leaning in to crash his mouth against Dan’s.

Dan flicks his tongue against Phil’s bottom lip, then takes it between his teeth, and Phil’s hands capture his face. When he tips his head to deepen the kiss, Dan wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him flush against his body.

Phil groans, attempting to pull back, which only causes Dan’s mouth to leave his and press tiny kisses to the underside of his jaw instead.

“Dan – we’re going to – be late,” he manages to croak out.

“Oh, screw the walk to the restaurant, Phil, don’t pretend you hadn’t got this in mind when you said we needed a night off,” Dan mutters against the soft spot beneath Phil’s ear, making him shiver.

He sucks a patch of skin into his mouth, biting into it softly, and Phil’s hands slip to his shoulders, fingers digging into his suit jacket. “Don’t l-leave marks,” he warns him, head leant against the wall to allow Dan better access nonetheless.

Dan moves to nibble on his earlobe, causing Phil to whimper softly. He kisses his way down Phil’s neck, fingers fiddling with the upmost button of his shirt. When he manages to pop it open, he pulls Phil’s shirt to the side so he can latch his lips onto the joint between Phil’s shoulder and neck.

Phil whines, running his hands down Dan’s arms in search for something to hold on to. As Dan pulls back to admire the purple mark he’s created, conveniently hidden beneath Phil’s shirt, Phil pushes him against the door.

“We should really leave,” he says, palms pressed flat against the door to both sides of Dan’s head, “if we want to make it on time.”

His cheeks are flushed, his hair is starting to come loose and his lips are red and swollen.

“Who needs dinner when I can have you?,” Dan murmurs, head cocked to the side, glancing up at Phil from beneath his lashes.

“That such a sentence should come from your mouth,” Phil huffs in amusement, still keeping a fair distance between their bodies.

“More than that shall come from my mouth,” Dan smirks and Phil gasps.

"Dan.”

He chuckles, watching intently as Phil exhales heavily, then bows his head until their foreheads touch.

They stare into each other’s eyes for a bit, basking in the simple fact that they’re able to. No child is going to start crying in the background and disrupt the moment, no child is going to walk in on them doing something he shouldn’t see.

They’re alone. And fuck, if they aren’t going to make the most of it.

The next kiss is soft and slow, composed of Dan’s arms around Phil’s neck and Phil’s smile against his lips.

“Love you,” Phil sighs as Dan winds a strand of hair around his finger and tugs on it. As a reply, Dan pushes his thigh between Phil’s legs and breaks the kiss so he can whisper into his ear.

“Say that again.”

A moan tumbles off Phil’s tongue. “D-dan – love y-”

Dan doesn’t let him finish, pulling his fingers out of Phil’s hair and snatching his wrists in his hands in one quick movement. He sucks Phil’s bottom lip into his mouth, revelling in the way Phil thrusts his hips against him eagerly. Interlocking their fingers, he lets go of Phil’s lip.

“Want to take this to the bedroom?”

-

It’s dark and quiet when Dan comes to.

He feels so warm and relaxed it takes him a bit to orientate. He stretches, then flinches as he becomes aware of the soreness in his lower back.

Steady, gentle breaths to his right.

He turns, moving closer to the source of the breaths and the source of body heat, trying to recollect his memory.

Hot breath against his neck.

“You smell like cinnamon and apples.”

“New shower gel.”

A flick of tongue, a sharp inhale.

“Hmm… I like it.”

Soft giggles, muffled by skin.

Oh, right. There was that. Well, that might explain why his ass hurts.

Dan almost laughs at himself. Between their demanding jobs and their even more demanding two-year-old, they’ve gone without sex for so long he’s nearly forgotten what it feels like to wake up afterwards.

But god, was it worth the pain. He closes his eyes again, revelling in the memory.

The sound of skin slapping against skin.

Forgotten words whispered into his ear.

Phil’s hands holding on to his shoulders too hard, not hard enough.

The feeling of heat pooling in his stomach, legs wrapped tightly around Phil.

Breathy moans, high-pitched begging, fingernails scratching flushed skin.

The final thrust, the touch of Phil’s hand that sends him over the edge.

And then bliss – Phil curling up next to him – panting breath, a kiss to his cheek –

He blinks as someone yawns and shifts next to him.

Right, Phil.

He looks so lovely with his hair ruffled and no clothes on, Dan thinks, and I’m the only one who gets to see him like this. A smug smile spreading over his face, he reaches out to wrap one arm around his husband.

Phil reacts by snuggling up to him, face pressed into Dan’s shoulder.

“Hi,” he mutters, voice soft and slurred.

Dan chuckles and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Hi, love. Sleep well?”

“Hmm…”

He’s ready to happily settle back in and drift off again when one thought rises from the back of his mind, claiming his attention.

“Oh, shit.”

At first he wants to slap himself, but then he just throws his head back and laughs, because fuck it, this was worth it.

Phil looks up at him, his wide, puzzled eyes replicating the expression on Dan’s face. “Dan?”

It takes him a few minutes to stop laughing. “Phil,” he chokes out, breaking off into a hiccup. Tears are sliding down his cheeks, and Phil reaches out automatically to wipe them away.

“What? What is it, Dan? You’re scaring me.”

Dan bites his bottom lip to force the laughter to subside, cradling Phil’s face in his hands.

“Phil, we had dinner reservations,” he says finally, like it’s the funniest thing in the world.

But actually, the funniest thing must be Phil’s face as realization hits him.

“No,” he says slowly.

“Yes,” Dan replies, still chuckling.

“No,” Phil repeats, sitting up and reaching across Dan. “Give me my phone. What time is it?”

Dan finds it on the bedside table and unlocks it, promptly beginning to laugh again. Phil pries the phone away from his hands.

His eyes grow even wider. It’s hilarious.

“Fuck!” he exclaims, throwing the sheets off. “Why won’t you stop laughing? Dan, we’ve got to get dressed, maybe if we hurry we can still make it!”

“Phil, I’m moderately sure they’ve given our table to someone else by now,” Dan says, watching Phil climb out of bed to put on his boxers.

“Why? It’s not seven yet, I mean we’ll probably be a bit late but we can call in and -”

Dan shakes his head, sitting up as well. “Phil – Phil, wait. Phil!”

“What?!” Phil cries out, exasperated and half-dressed. He’s got his underwear on backwards.

“It’s half past six in the morning, not at night!”

-

“Stop laughing already!”

Phil hits him across the head with his pillow.

Dan rolls over on to his back, still choking back laughter. “You have to admit it’s funny!”

“It’s not! I really wanted to go there, Dan!” He looks genuinely upset.

Dan raises one eyebrow. “Are you saying you would have rather gone to this restaurant than have sex with me?”

Phil looks at him uncertainly for a moment. “Yes?”

Dan huffs and turns away from him. “I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that.”

He’s mostly faking, but it serves to finally get Phil’s mind off their missed reservation.

His arms snake around Dan’s waist from behind, lips brushing his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy the night, though.”

Dan grins, pushing his bum out to earn a gasp from Phil.

“Yeah, I had the feeling you were enjoying yourself quite a bit there, just like your mum told us to.”

“Shut up,” Phil says, pulling back one hand to pinch him, albeit gently.

They settle into silence again, curled up comfortably until Dan mutters, “There’s one disadvantage though. I’m fucking starved.”

Phil groans in agreement. “Pizza would be amazing right now.”

Dan giggles. “It’s seven in the morning. I’m pretty sure they don’t deliver before noon.”

“I think we still have some in the freezer,” Phil murmurs sleepily into his neck.

“Are you serious?” Dan frees himself from Phil’s embrace and sits up, pushing back the duvet. “Then why exactly are we still in bed? Come on, move! It’s time for breakfast!”

Ignoring Phil’s protest, he strolls to the door, swaying his hips as he’s aware of Phil’s eyes following him.

“Don’t you wanna put some clothes on?” Phil asks, the corners of his mouth curled upwards.

“Why?”, Dan replies, eyebrows raised. “Charlie’s not here. Or does it bother you?”

They look at each other for a moment.

Then Phil grins.

“Go preheat the oven, I’ll be right there.”

*** this used to be on my ao3 page (softiejace). i’m taking my phan content down from there for personal reasons but reposting it here so people can still enjoy it :) ***

[celtictrinity]

chapter 7

    “He’s gaining too much strength. If this goes any longer none will be able to stop him. The cycle must end, Airmid, before he finds a way to destroy everything we’ve tried to protect.”

    “The others weren’t happy about this the first time we tried it. Especially because the children were stronger than they had expected. You know they are wary of the children of gods and mortals, and for good reason.”

    “Nevertheless, those three put something into motion that none of us expected them to. The time for their spirits to re-enter the world is coming. If we want them to be able to stop him once and for all, you must go now.”

    “I know. Tell the others. I will do what I can.”

    “I know you will, Airmid.”

                                                   * * *

    Ben and Cinda wandered the salvage yard, Cinda brushing absently at her arms every now and then. Ben noticed that she was faintly uncomfortable but he wasn’t sure why. Both he and Sam had picked up some faint discomfort from her since they’d showed up at the salvage yard but there hadn’t really been time to ask about it. Of course, he was uncomfortable himself, not far enough away from his twin to cause pain but enough to make him very aware of the distance between them.

    When they’d gotten in last night they hadn’t talked much before unloading the truck and heading to bed. Bobby had been surprised to see the weapons they’d brough with them and it had only sobered him more. But they had waited until this morning to talk about the events of the last few weeks.

    Bobby hadn’t seemed wary of Cinda until after Sam told him what they both remembered of that night back when they were four and a half years old. Learning that it had been Cinda’s father that had come to tear their family apart had the older man studying Cinda, who has been busy studying her knees, shoulders hunched. Ben had tugged her into his side as Sam finished up with what they knew, that their mother had come back much later that night to talk to John and John hadn’t reacted well. Bobby’s face had turned grim as Sam explained that their mother had spoken to them both that night before she’d left and John had taken them away.

    “She told us it wasn’t safe,” Sam had said. “That we had to stay with our dad. She told us we wouldn’t remember much but it was to keep us safe. And she told us she loved us very much and she’d watch over us as much as she could. Bobby… he lied to us. He told us she hadn’t come back for us at all, that she didn’t want us. For years he told us that. The only reason Mom let him take us was because she was trying to keep us safe.”

    They’d learned that after John had talked to Missouri (whose house they had been staying at after the confrontation between their mother and Cinda’s father) he’d made his way to Bobby.

    “I knew… well as much as John could make sense of what happened that night. He didn’t know he was dealing with gods, didn’t know anything at all except that his wife wasn’t human and was fighting something else that wasn’t human. He was running scared, I knew that. He came to me because we were old friends but also because of my specialty. He wanted to know what he could do to protect himself and you boys.” Bobby had paused and looked uncomfortable for a long moment before adding slowly, grudgingly, “He also wanted to make sure you boys were human.”

    Sam and Ben had been taken aback by the admission. Not that it surprised them much. John was always uncomfortable around his boys, even before they’d left Kansas and their mother behind. And knowing what they knew of themselves now, they couldn’t really get offended since it seemed they weren’t fully human anyway. But it left them wondering what their dad would have done with them if Bobby hadn’t told John they were human.

    “Did you know?” Sam’s question was quiet and Ben held Cinda a little tighter.

    Bobby pulled the hat off his head and twisted it in his hands. “I knew that there was something more to you boys. But that’s all I knew. Missouri hadn’t sent me any kind of warning about you so I trusted her judgement. I don’t have any special powers, you know that. I read a damn lot and I’ve picked up even more but it’s all intellectual knowledge, Sam. I don’t sense things the way Missouri does, the way you two do. I don’t feel the world the way you do. So, I could only go with my gut and my gut said you were traumatized boys who needed their family to care for them. If I’d known what John was going to do….”

    There had been silence between them until Cinda had finally spoken up, hesitant. “It was a bad situation. You did what you thought was best for them. They were only wee lads and you didne ken that their da was hiding things. I dinna think you acted to cause anyone harm. I believe you were trying to help your friend and his children. If you’d kent what had happened perhaps you’d have done things differently. But guilt… it does nae do much to change what’s already done and gone. It’s clear you care for them; you’ve done what you can to make up for what their da did. You canna ken everything.”

    Sam had glanced at Cinda, still huddled into Ben’s side and sighed softly. “She’s right. It doesn’t matter anymore. You already told us you didn’t think John meant to hole up for more than a decade in that old bunker you sent him off to. You couldn’t have known what paranoia and fear and strong drink would do to him. Especially if he didn’t even keep in contact. We need to focus on now and try to figure out how to handle what’s coming. Because something is definitely coming. And our mom, she told us we have to stop Cinda’s father. We need to figure out how. That’s why we’re really here. We need access to your library.”

    Bobby had studied Cinda for a long moment before pulling his cap back onto his head and sighing heavily. “I’ve regrets aplenty for my life. Can’t live this long without collecting up some. But none have ate at me as much as when John dropped off the face of the planet and wouldn’t even talk to me. Worried about you boys all those years. Was surprised and glad when Missouri called me and said John’s boys needed help. Any help you need, you got from me. You know that.”

    Sam had wanted to dive into the books right away. Cinda had spent a few hours helping him. Ben had struggled through two books before Sam had gently suggested he go work on something out in the salvage yard instead of torture himself with fighting words that didn’t want to cooperate with him. Ben had been all too relieved to put the book down and escape to do something with his hands, even if he’d felt he was somehow failing Cinda and Sam by doing so.

    Cinda had come looking for him a couple of hours later and Ben had taken a break from his single-minded focus on the engine he’d been fighting with, which led to them taking a walk through the salvage yard.

    Ben glanced sidelong at Cinda who was rubbing her arms absently and finally decided he wanted to know what about the salvage yard was setting her on edge.

    He stopped walking and Cinda paused as well, looking at him with a question in her eyes.

    “What’s bothering you about the salvage yard, Cinda? You keep… brushing at your arms absently and while you don’t seem in pain there’s something… some kind of discomfort.” Ben didn’t bother with trying to lead up to it, just asked fairly bluntly. It didn’t make any sense to beat around the bush and he wasn’t good at it anyway. None of them really were, though Cinda could circle a subject for ages before actually coming to the point.

    Cinda blinked then let out a startled laugh. “I hadne thought it was obvious. It’s all the iron. I told you and Sam I have fae in my background, aye?”

    Ben nodded, head cocked to one side. “What does that have to do with anything?”

    Cinda gestured around. “Fae canna tolerate iron. I dinna have much of the blood but I’ve enough for this place to make me fair itch. Is nae pain, leannan. It’s only discomfort.”

    Ben studied Cinda for a long quiet moment, trying to make sure she was being honest. The endearment brought a brief smile to his face as it always did, but he wanted to be sure Cinda wasn’t trying to tolerate something that was causing her actual pain for their sakes. Neither he nor Sam had thought about what being at the salvage yard might be like for her because neither of them had known her fae blood might make it painful.

    He looked around the salvage yard, suddenly registering how many old wrecks were stacked on the grounds and how much iron had to be found in the mess of metal and fiberglass gathered on the grounds of the salvage yard. “We didn’t think….” Ben said softly, looking back to Cinda in concern.

    She touched his arm, eyes softening. “Is nae pain. I promise. Is an annoying itch but naught I canna handle. I dinna usually even think of my fae blood much, there’s nae a lot truly told. But sometimes it will rear up and make itself felt.”

    Ben studied her face again and decided she wasn’t trying to hide more pain than she could handle. He was pretty sure he’d be able to tell if she was actively in pain. “Is it better inside?”

    Cinda shrugged a shoulder. “A wee bit, aye. Easier to block out. But I came looking for you, remember? I needed the break. I kent what I was doing when I walked out of the door, leannan.”

    Ben nodded but he didn’t like the idea of walking about the salvage yard now that he knew it was causing Cinda even minor discomfort. He put his arm around her shoulders and gently turned them back to the house. “We should probably rouse Sam for dinner anyway or he’ll forget to eat. He often does when he gets into the books looking for something in particular.”

    Cinda let Ben turn her and gave him a fond smile though she didn’t argue to walk any longer. Ben was glad she didn’t decide to argue because he was pretty sure he’d have been insistent and he didn’t want to come up against Cinda’s temper, which was a match for his and Sam’s easily. They ambled back towards the house. “I dinna think I’ve ever seen him at the books like he was today. I kent he could focus but I didne really understand how focused he could get.”

    Ben laughed softly. “He likes to know things and he loves books. He would tear through any books we had looking for an answer when he got a question in his head Dad wouldn’t respond to. When we first showed up at Bobby’s and he saw the books, I think he had an orgasm just from the sight.”

    Cinda chuckled softly, leaning into him as they walked. “I dinna mind books, I even like them. But I dinna have the same kind of focus he does. And he makes some intuitive jumps when looking things up I canna follow.”

    Ben nodded. “Yeah, that’s Sam. He’s ridiculously smart.” There was pride in his voice and his fond smile.

    Cinda nudged him lightly. “You are just as smart as he is, laddie boy. Dinna think I missed you were doing more anger management on that engine than actual fixing of it. Reading is nae all there is to solving a problem. Is nae your fault the words on the page dinna behave as they ought when you try to read. It does nae make you less intelligent than Sam.”

    Ben felt himself flush at Cinda’s words because they were entirely too accurate. He had been taking his temper out on the metal and had been castigating himself for not being able to help more with researching. He should have known Cinda would notice.

    “Sam usually read to me,” he said slowly. “I don’t know why reading is so hard, but it always has been and it makes me feel stupid. Sam tells me all the time that I’m not but… it’s hard to believe sometimes.”

    Cinda shrugged as the house came into view. “Everyone has different strengths. You have them a plenty. Reading is just nae one of them. Is nae your own fault for that.”

    Ben shrugged noncommittally. He mostly believed her but there was a small part of him that still felt dumb because reading was so damn hard. It kept whispering to him it shouldn’t be so damn hard, it was reading for fuck’s sake, not rocket science.

    Cinda was about to say something in response to the shrug when they both heard a car entering the salvage yard. They both went on alert as though expecting the worst. Cinda’s hand drifted towards one of the knives she had on her person and Ben’s eyes narrowed as they hurried up to the porch where the house wards were stronger than the ones in the yard. But neither of them could bring themselves to go in the house until they saw whether it was friend or foe approaching.

    Ben felt a moment of surreal disconnection at the thought and how easily it came. He and Sam were wary of people in general but they had never jumped straight to wondering if someone approaching was a threat. Of course, that was before they’d learned a dark god had tried to kill them as children and their mother had exhorted them to stop the same dark god. It didn’t feel like they were in the same world they had been in before.

    It took longer than usual for Ben to place the sound of the engine coming towards them because it was so unexpected and out of place. Once he did, he relaxed though his face looked puzzled. Cinda felt him relax and glanced at him, though not pulling her hand away from the knife.

    As the car came into view and pulled to a stop next to their truck Ben said slowly, and in some confusion, “It’s Missouri. What’s she doing here?”

    At the same time the front door behind them opened and Bobby came out onto the porch. Cinda and Ben both looked at him as he stopped, waved to the car that had just appeared before looking at the both.

    “She called about twenty minutes ago to say she was almost here. Don’t ask me what brough her out here, I didn’t call her. Didn’t even think about it. But I’m guessing she sensed something that couldn’t be said over the phone.”

    Ben and Cinda exchanged a look and then glanced back over to the car. Then Ben shook his head and left the porch to meet Missouri at her car. If Missouri felt she was needed here, he wasn’t about to argue it.

                                                  * * *

    The first time Airmid incarnated as a human, she was unprepared for the experience. Gods were not mortal and experienced the world differently than mortals did. Taking on human flesh to carry a child that might stop Crom Cruach altered the way she saw and felt the world. She thought she had been ready for it, had had others try to tell her what the experience was like. But she had never incarnated as a human, had never seen the need to, and the first time had been overwhelming.

    She’d lost herself to it, truly told, and she knew it. It’s what allowed her to be taken unawares and for her human flesh to be killed before the children she’d borne could be taught their purpose. But more than that, she’d loved her children, her twin boys, with a fierceness she had never known could exist. She’d had no children before and the way gods loved their children was different than the ways mortals loved theirs.

    She had watched over her twin boys as well as she could. Had been glad their father had taken them to be taught to use their powers, though it saddened her he seemed to think nothing of leaving the boys behind. She hadn’t expected the way grief would change the man who had fathered her children. She hadn’t loved him in the human way but she’d been fond of him. She hadn’t known he had loved her quite so fiercely, hadn’t known what her apparent death would do to the man.

    Still, she hadn’t taken human form to conceive children on a lark, there had been a purpose and the twin boys were important in a way their father was not. She’d watched over the boys as much as she could. She hadn’t counted on them coming across a third child of a god, hadn’t foreseen the soul ties the three would forge. Airmid didn’t think anyone had seen that coming or the repercussions of three very powerful children being tied in such a way. They definitely hadn’t expected the third to be the child of the one they were trying to stop.

    In the end, the gamble had failed and all three had died as only mortals could die. But their powers and magic and soul ties had tied their souls together in ways the gods couldn’t even understand and kept the purpose her twins had been born for alive and part of the fabric of the world. Therefore, the gods could only wait for the three to return to the world and hope they were more successful the next time.

    Airmid was more prepared for incarnating as a human this time and didn’t lose herself as she had the first time. She expected to carry twin-borns this time and she was far more careful about keeping her own presence as muted as she could lest she lead Crom Cruach to her again. She hadn’t counted on her twins being more powerful this time around. She did what she could to erase a signature from the power that flowed around them but they still shone like beacons and in the end all she did was postpone when they were discovered. Sooner this time than the first, but she was prepared, not lost in mortal sensations.

    Again, however, she did not count on the twin’s father reacting as he did. Time was a difficult concept for her to come to terms with and the many years that had passed since the last time she had incarnated had made such things as gods who walk among mortals a rare thing more humans not only had no experience with but could not comprehend. She knew her boys would be safer without her, to grow up and hopefully become strong enough to stop the mad dark god. She had hoped to explain to their father their purpose and have him help her but he was not willing to hear her out, indeed feared her almost more than the god who had come and destroyed their temporarily quiet lives.

    It pained her greatly to have to let her twins go. A second time, no less. And this time she could not watch over them as she had before, still wearing human flesh and feeling the need to continue to do so for the time being. She wasn’t sure what instinct led her to keep to her current incarnation of Mary Winchester rather than shedding it and regaining her full powers, but she did.

    Instead of following after her boys, which her heart wanted to do, she sought out other deities currently at work in the world, seeking a few who might shelter her, who might be willing to help her boys when the time came for them to face the dark god they were meant to stop. Airmid knew it wouldn’t happen until they had once more found their third and hoped that they would do so before Crom Cruach regained his strength from the encounter between them. She had managed to weaken him greatly and it would take time before he could go seeking her boys again. Hopefully it would give them enough time to come into their full powers, find their third and end this once and for all.

    But she missed them desperately.

                                                  * * *

    Sam crawled up out of the books once he knew Missouri had come to visit them, looking surprised and frowning in frustration. He’d had little luck poring through the books he’d pulled out in learning how one killed or stopped a god. He wasn’t sure if there was no info because there was no way to do so (which he didn’t believe, why would their mother tell them to do the impossible?) or he hadn’t found the right book yet. Bobby had a fairly extensive library but he had a whimsical categorizing system so sometimes it got tricky finding the right book. And Sam hadn’t looked for something in Bobby’s library in earnest for a while. So, his memory of the system was hazy at best.

    He hadn’t been aware of how many hours he’d been poring over books until he stood and his back protested the movement. Ben often teased him that he was gonna need glasses the way he spent hours at a time with his nose in books when he was given the chance.

    He met the others in the kitchen, where Bobby was pulling out drinks for everyone and Missouri was settling into a seat at the kitchen table. He glanced at Cinda, who was hanging back and looking awkward and like she might bolt and figured that five people in Bobby’s kitchen was about her limit of tolerance. It would have been for the twins if it had been anyone other than Bobby and Missouri, who he was pretty sure he had never seen in the same place at the same time before.

    Before he could move to Cinda’s side, Ben snagged her arm and tugged her over to the kitchen counter to make sandwiches for them all for dinner. Instead, Sam settled in a chair next to Missouri as Bobby tried to find something other than beer to offer the woman.

    “What are you doing here, Missouri?” Sam asked with a smile and a hug for her. “Kansas isn’t exactly a social drive.”

    “And well I know it,” Missouri said agreeably. “But I knew you boys would be here and I needed to give you something and you needed it sooner than later. First though… are you going to actually introduce me to the young woman with you both?”

    Sam blinked in surprise, having figured that Ben would have done so already and glanced to his twin who looked faintly chagrined. He looked back to Missouri. “This is Cinda Callaghan, our third and other half. We met her in February. I’m sure we told you about her.” Sam frowned, thinking back over the months and trying to recall if either of them had thought to call the powerful psychic and let her known about Cinda. He found he couldn’t recall.

    “No, you did not bother to call me and let me know, not that I didn’t know when you found her. Think most of the psychics and witches and anyone with power in the whole country heard when you met. It was a powerful meeting and echoed through the world. It’s nice to meet you, Cinda, dear. I hope these boys are treating you right.”

    Sam looked over in time to see Cinda toss a wary smile over her shoulder, face flushed though he couldn’t tell if it was nerves or embarrassment. He felt oddly protective of Cinda when he caught her look and sought to draw Missouri’s attention back to himself and away from their fire witch who didn’t do well with many people. They hadn’t planned for Cinda to have to deal with anyone new other than Bobby.

    “You said you needed to give us something?” Sam looked inquisitively at Missouri, wondering what she had that couldn’t have been sent through the mail.

    Missouri patted Sam’s arm. “Your meeting shook the occult world, Sam. Anyone with power felt that meeting even if they didn’t know who it was who’d met. The echoes of it have just been settling down but it’s stirred up some powerful beings. Something I think you are all already aware of.”

    Sam blinked in surprise. Then shook his head with a bemused smile. Missouri always seemed to know things and they never did know how she did so. She never explained but she was rarely wrong and she seemed to have a soft spot for them. He knew that Ben was listening sharply even as he and Cinda worked at the counter, Ben softly telling Cinda where the chips and pickles and such were as she retrieved them.

    “We learned who our mother really is,” Sam said seriously, the smile fading from his face. “And what sent dad running off into the night when we were kids.”

    Missouri touched Sam’s arm lightly before pulling her hand back and studying his face. “Yes… your memory is free now, I can see that. You can see the truth your daddy couldn’t accept. So, you know what’s coming then.”

    Sam frowned. “I know we have a god to stop,” he said, his voice hard. “But other than that, we’re woefully lacking details. Do you know anything?”

    Missouri looked at him sadly and shook her head. “I don’t have much to do with the gods of the world, Sam. I don’t know what you need to know. But that’s what brings me here. I think maybe I know someone who can help you. I just recently came across this book, newly published, called Children of the Gods. Some of the artwork is what made me think of you and Ben and I knew I needed to get this book into your hands. I didn’t want to trust to the dubious postal service while such powers are moving in the world. Too easy for one package to be waylaid and never reach its destination. Since I knew you boys would be here, I thought I would bring it to you myself.”

    She reached down and picked up a large handbag set on the floor next to her. Sam blinked at the size of it, wondering what all Missouri felt the need to be carrying around in it and wondering if she could use the bag as a weapon on its own.

    Missouri dug around in the bag for a moment before pulling out a hardback book which she handed over to Sam. “It hasn’t been out for very long, mind, and its only really known in the occult community. It’s a different book than I would usually read but when I saw it, I had to buy it. Almost as if there was a geas bound into the very words of it. Considering it was written by a very powerful witch I wouldn’t be surprised if she inadvertently did just that. Look at page 153. The author is also a very gifted painter.”

    Sam frowned, looking at the book before taking it from Missouri. At the contact he felt a tingle shoot through his fingers and Ben and Cinda both stopped what they were doing to look at him with wide eyes. Clearly Missouri wasn’t wrong. There was power bound into the book, though Sam couldn’t figure what it was meant to do.

    With a wary glance at Missouri he turned to the page she’d indicated and then stared at the full page illustration in shock. It wasn’t a portrait, exactly. The style was abstract and beautiful, illustrating flows of power Sam could recall seeing but had never thought to try to put down to paper. What had him staring so hard, though, was that within the gorgeous work he could clearly see two figures that resembled himself and his twin.

    At his shock, Ben stopped what he was doing and turned away from the counter. He moved over to Sam’s side to get a look at the picture Sam was studying and froze. “Damn,” he said softly, reverently. He and Sam exchanged a glance, both wondering who the artist was and if they’d ever met them, even in passing.

    The shock and surprise in both twins pulled Cinda over who stared at the illustration with wide eyes. She pulled the book from Sam’s hands and flipped to the back of the dust jacket and stared long and hard at the author photo there before breathing out softly, “It’s Shara Rose.”

[desperationandgin]

Market Price (Modern AU Outlander Fic; Jamie x Claire)

Chapter 3: Dinner

Also Read On: AO3

Previous Chapter

“Ye should wear somethin’ a bit sluttier, Claire.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Geillis, do you ever listen to yourself speak?” Still, as she regards herself in the mirror, ‘beige turtleneck’ doesn’t exactly scream sex appeal.

“I’m only sayin’, an attractive farmer is coming for dinner and ye’re dressed like a nun on a ski trip.”

“What does that mean?” But she knows, and so off comes the turtleneck (God, it isn’t even cold) as she tears through her closet. “I’m not wearing a dress, it’s too much.”

“So be casual about it, then. Relaxed. Leggings because it’ll show off yer arse and a fitted tee. One wi’ a wee cheeky joke on it. The kind ye wear when ye work ten days straight and have no’ done yer laundry.”

“I am not wearing the shirt you gave me that says ‘one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor.” Said as she does pull out a burgundy colored fitted v-neck t-shirt. It’s not fancy, but she does agree with the leggings idea. “Christ, what if he dresses up?”

Geillis scoffs. “Men dinna ‘dress up’ on a house date. Jeans, perhaps a leather coat because he’ll think it’ll impress ye. Some sort of button up. Trust me. A man’s idea of dressing up is a shower and cologne. Ye said he called ye ‘Sassenach?’ Pet names already?”

“It isn’t a pet name. Help me tame my curls, please.”

Sitting, her friend dutifully begins to style and soon there’s some semblance of an actual hairdo instead of the mess earlier. “What do ye call it then when someone calls ye something other than yer name?”

Claire rolls her eyes but lets out a breath, not answering the question. “I haven’t been on a date since Frank, you know.”

“And?”

“And it will go the same. Fun at first, especially this week, then frustration as the reality of my schedule sets in. Then he’ll eventually give up and that will be that.” She’s already resigned herself to it, apparently.

“Have ye ever considered, Claire, that he’s a farmer? Which means up at dawn and hard, long hours? Not to mention a nice tanned body, muscles for days. A certain strength in his hands…”

“I’m sorry, would you like this dinner instead?”

“Are ye offerin’? Because aye then, I would.” Geillis moves around to look at Claire. “Are ye letting what one selfish bastard did keep ye from ever trying again?”

Is she? Claire looks at herself in the mirror, then takes a deep breath and lets it out. “No. No, I deserve this. Don’t I?”

“Of course ye do. And I looked at yer astrological chart, yer due for some mind-blowin’ sex.”

At that, Claire laughs and they ease into the kitchen together, chatting, putting together the food, letting her friend make the lamb because truly, Claire has no idea how to cook. “He was so sure of himself, me being the only Beauchamp in the area.”

“Well, ye are, so he should be here soon, aye?”

Glancing at the clock, she realizes that yes, Jamie would indeed be there soon - if he were punctual anyway. “Are you sure I look alright?”

Stealing an olive from the spread set up on the table, Geillis appraises her friend and nods. “Ye look fuckable,” she decides. “Leave yer feet bare, it suggests more casualness, ye ken.”

Before Claire can do anything other than roll her eyes there’s a knock. “Oh, Christ, he’s ten minutes early. Don’t say a word,” she warns, wiping her hands and making her way to the door and opening it to him.

Damn Geillis for being right.

He looks incredible; jeans, a plaid shirt untucked and perfect. There’s no leather, but she can’t stop looking at those beautiful copper curls framing his face. For a moment she forgets to speak, lips parting as they take each other in, very aware of his eyes moving from top to bottom over her frame.

“I found ye, then.”

Why those words make her heart tighten in her chest she doesn’t know, but lucky for her, Geillis appears in the doorframe introducing herself as the pair moves further into the apartment. “Weeeeeeeeeel, I should go,” Geillis decides, sing-songing the words. “Jamie Fraser, a pleasure. Claire.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “Have a mind-blowin’ evening.”

Once she’s gone and Claire’s decided to murder her later, she looks at Jamie and smiles with a hint of nervousness. “Make yourself comfortable. It isn’t much, but it is home.”

“Can I help wi’ anything? Although by the smell of it, there may no’ be much to help with.” The offer is made as he walks inside, looking around; it’s not overly large or overly decorated, and he wonders how much time she truly spends doing anything other than sleeping in her own home, what with a doctor’s schedule.

“No, no, it’s all coming together. You sit, I’ll pour wine unless you’d like something different? I bought what you suggested. For the cheese and honey.”

Once he sits, he reaches for a piece of prosciutto and puts a sliver of goat cheese on top. “The wine will be fine, but come here first.” When she’s close, he hands her the offering. “It goes well together, aye?”

Taking the bite from his hand, Claire closes her eyes and chews slowly, savoring the way the flavors explode in her mouth; tangy goat cheese with the buttery, salty flavor of the prosciutto. “It does. Now you know why I’ve asked you over. To help me better understand food combinations. I thought the meat would go best with the hard cheese.”

“Och, no. ‘Tis good ye have me here, Sassenach. I’ll teach ye.” He glances at the brie. “Ye can bake this one,” he tells her as he gestures. “And it goes well wi’ fig preserves.”

With a scoff, Claire opens the wine bottle. “I’ve done well to even display the prosciutto that impressed you so much. Trust me, you’re the expert here.”

He smiles, watches her turn to pour the wine, then clears his throat. “Ye look...well, ye look verra bonny. Better than bonny.”

Putting a wine glass in front of him, she sits and smiles in amusement. “Better than? That’s quite a compliment, though you do clean up well yourself.” A downplay of words. He looks incredible, smells incredible, and she’d like to never stop looking at him. She’d also like to see how thoroughly he can wrap her in those arms but she is, perhaps, getting a bit ahead of herself.

“Farmers do manage to bathe every now and again. For special occasions and the like.”

“Oh, so this is a special occasion?”

“Dinner made for me by a beautiful woman? Aye. ‘Tis special.”

Claire blinks, looks stunned, and takes a sip of wine. She’s gone from bonny to beautiful and tries to cover her expression behind her glass.

“I didna mean to make ye uncomfortable,” he apologizes, mistaking her action for such.

“Uncomfortable? No, no, I’m not. It’s only been...well, it’s been some time since I’ve done this.”

“Had dinner with someone?”

“Been on a date,” Claire clarifies. But when she looks at him he’s grinning at her, leaning back in his chair.

“Oh, this is a date now? No’ just a casual dinner wi’ a friend.”

“Did you want me to just be a friend?” She calls his bluff, reaching for a piece of fruit and looking up at him with a smirk before popping it into her mouth.

“I want this to be whatever it is ye want, Claire. But I do think no’ kennin’ ye at all would be verra disappointing,” Jamie confesses, idly taking a piece of bread for himself.

“Well, as I said, I’m not uncomfortable,” she promises, putting her glass down and smiling softly. “But I will be honest with you. I don’t have the sort of schedule that allows for much free time. I work a lot. I’m hardly home and before the market this morning I had nothing edible here other than butter.” She got rid of the old takeout, just in case he peeked in her fridge, and now there’s a fair offering of other foods, even some beer that she’ll likely never drink.

“But ye have the time now,” he points out. “So here we are. I understand a grueling work schedule; maybe no’ completely the same, but I do understand backbreaking work that must be done.”

Claire lets out a soft breath and pauses a moment. This is how it starts, she realizes. It sounds easy but maybe, if he understands, if he’s just as busy, it could be different. Or, they could both be frustrated. “I’m only here tonight because I told my direct boss to fuck off. Or to go fuck himself. I can’t quite remember which.” Might as well be honest.

For a moment there’s silence until Jamie laughs loudly, leaning back in his seat and dragging a hand over his face. “I dinna ken much about ye, Sassenach, but I believe, wi’ no doubt, that it’s somethin’ ye would do.”

To hear him laugh and to know she caused it creates a warmth blooming in her belly that surprises her. The way his face lights up, the way he brings a hand over his stomach, is nothing short of beautiful and her smile is bright and wide. “Well, I’m glad your opinion of me hasn’t changed.”

“Oh, but it has. I think more of ye now.”

When he says that she looks down and a hint of blush colors her cheeks. It seems effortless, the way they go back and forth in their conversation. Already it feels as though they could speak for hours about anything, though only an hour of getting to know one another goes by while they snack on various meats and cheeses before she notices his expression shift. “What is it?”

“That smell. Is something burning?”

Claire’s eyes widen as she shoots up. “Oh, fuck, the lamb!” She has the presence of mind to grab an oven mitt and pulls the very blackened and smoking lamb chops that were roasting out of the oven. Throwing the pan in the sink, the clattering seems to go on forever until silence falls on the scene and they’re both left with the acrid smell of burnt meat. “Fuck.”

Jamie stands beside her, arms crossed over his chest loosely. “I think it’s burned, Sassneach.”

“Oh, Christ, you bloody Scot, I know it,” she says, tossing the oven mitt on the counter.

“And that would be the beautiful lamb ye bought from me this morning?”

“Yes. Anything else?”

“Ye canna cook, can ye?”

Claire stares at him, lips parting in preparation to be upset but it fades to complete resignation. “No, I can’t. Geillis did this, I was only supposed to be keeping it warm but I must have turned the heat too high. I can’t cook, Jamie. I can’t pair wines well with meals, I eat takeout every day, sometimes twice a day. I’m rarely home at night, I work too much, I--”

She doesn’t get another statement out before his lips are pressing to hers.

It’s one way to shut her up.

“Do ye want to keep telling me about what ye think all yer negative qualities are, or can we move on?” he asks, once he pulls his head back.

Claire’s so stunned that she can only nod as she looks at him.

“I’m going to leave now, but I’m coming back, so dinna fash. Open a window, perhaps,” he teases gently. He doesn’t try to kiss her again, not wanting to overstep as he goes to the door. “Forty-five minutes or less,” Jamie promises, and then he’s gone.

In the wake of that, Claire stares dumbly at the closed door, then turns to look at the ruined rack of lamb. Christ, why had she even considered it? And then to try and serve the same meat that he’d sold her and to ruin it so spectacularly.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.”

She’s angry at herself but too intrigued, really, to dwell on it. She has no idea where he’s gone, though she assumes it has something to do with food. And then, there was the kiss. The absolutely heart-stopping kiss that she wasn’t ready to end. He’d pulled back though, not pressed or pushed. ‘Intrigued’ is the only word she can come up with for all of it.

Rather than try to clean the roasting pan, Claire throws the whole thing in the bin, takes out the garbage, then goes back to the apartment and opens the windows in the living room, lighting a candle and placing it in the center of the coffee table. Great showing, Beauchamp. What a wonderfully fucked first impression. She puts up the charcuterie and on the premise that he will indeed return, pours more wine for each of them. Just as her eyes meander to the clock, there’s a knock on her door.

Forty-five minutes or less, and it was thirty-two. Impressive. Opening the door for him, he holds up a large bag with Baba Restaurant written on the side. “A wee bit of everything?”

Claire smiles softly and nods, stepping aside to let him in. “Exactly what I wanted. Though, I can’t say I’m familiar with the restaurant.”

“They dinna usually provide take out, but our farm supplies them so I asked a favor.” Pulling out containers he puts them all on the table, buffet style so they can serve themselves. “Prawns, in case ye like a wee bit of seafood, charred broccoli and lentils in case ye’re a secret vegetarian and that’s why ye canna cook lamb,” he teases. “But I also brought lamb. Potatoes for sides and carrot salad.” Stepping back, he smiles a little, almost shyly. “Will it suit ye then?”

The look on his face makes her stomach flip (God, he’s charming and thoughtful and sexy when he’s unsure of himself), though she looks completely stunned at all of the food, that he brought back so much. “Jamie, it’s...I eat out a fair amount but this is the nicest food I’ve had in a long while. Or will have. Thank you.” For a moment, her fingers lightly graze his wrist before Claire moves to the kitchen and returns with both plates and cutlery. After they serve themselves, she waits until he’s settled to take a bite. “Well, it’s wonderful so far. Everything is sourced from Lallybroch you said?”

Jamie takes a bite of potatoes and nods, wiping his mouth before speaking. “Aye, except for the prawns.” There’s only a slight pause before he launches into his next question. “Why did ye want to try and cook for me when ye dinna ken how?”

Claire’s mouth opens, then closes, trying to give him a real answer rather than something off the cuff. “It wasn’t for you, not when I bought it. I wanted to prove that I could take care of myself when needed. I suppose I failed at that spectacularly.”

“I wouldna say that, Claire. Ye’ve made it this far. It’s no’ a bad thing to need others.”

“How does the saying go, though? That if you can’t enjoy your own company, you aren’t ready for the company of another?”

Jamie’s eyebrow quirks. “I dinna think that’s quite how it goes. And if ye don’t mind me sayin’ so, whoever made ye think that is a bod ceann.”

“What in hell is that? English, please.”

“A dickhead, if ye’ll pardon my boldness. Ye dinna need to be the one doing for everyone at all times. Ye’re a surgeon so yer time is no’ yer own while ye make people whole again. And because of that, ye arena supposed to let anyone do anythin’ for ye?”

Claire looks down at her pate, thinking about his words as she pushes food around with her fork. “I was engaged.” Before she can think about it the words tumble out of her mouth. “We were together for two years and I truly thought he understood what my passion was, what my schedule would be like, for the most part. But then he proposed as if he thought that would change things. That I would put aside my life and what I enjoy doing to be a housewife. When it was clear to him it wouldn’t be that way he left. After some parting words about loneliness being a choice.”

Jamie’s been listening and by the time she’s done, he’s frowning, food forgotten for now. “I stand by my former assessment of ‘dickhead,’ then. Whoever’s so lucky to have ye, Claire, they wilna ask ye to give up a part of yerself. Ever. Ye make it work and make sense for the pair of ye.”

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she manages a small smile before looking at him, consoled by his words, letting them be a balm on the wound that was Frank Randall. “Thank you, Jamie. For the advice, for the food. For actually coming back,” she says with a laugh.

“Oh, I had to return, ye’re too interesting to me, Sassenach. And besides which, I’d like to see ye again.”

“Another date?” she asks in surprise, unsure why it shocks her but not unpleased.

“Aye, though no cooking involved, I promise. I thought perhaps a tour of the farm if ye have any interest. Lunch, maybe?”

Claire ducks her head, smiling to herself. He’s nice, he’s a gentleman. He’s the very model of handsome which doesn’t hurt. “I do think that would be nice, Jamie. I have quite a lot of interest.”

“Tomorrow then,” he decides, taking a bite of the lamb. “If ye came ‘round somewhere between ten and eleven in the morning, I wouldna mind.”

“I’ll be there,” she promises before they fall into conversation (A back and forth; childhood pets, favorite foods, holidays, movies) while they finish eating. But he seems aware of not over-staying even if she would be more than happy to take the conversation to her living room. Before she can offer, he’s up and cleaning his plate in her sink.

“Ye can keep the leftovers seeing as how I’m afraid ye’ll burn down the entire apartment if ye cook again.”

Claire scoffs and stands beside him to dry. “Arse. Though not a completely incorrect one. I told you, I don’t cook.”

“Lucky for ye I do. No’ anythin’ gourmet, but ye wilna starve as long as ye keep dating me.”

She laughs and looks at him. “Oh, so that’s your pitch for getting me to date you? That I’ll be well fed?”

“Aye. Is it working?” he asks with a grin, turning to face her fully.

Looking up at him, thoughts filter through her mind (It can’t be this easy. He won’t always be like this. But God is he charming now.) before nodding her head, an easy smile on her lips.

“Aye.”

Next Chapter

[softscholasticism]

a voice like music, lips like wine • rami malek

a/n: thank you so much for all of your feedback on “in the wee small hours of the morning” ! it was so delightful to see how many of you loving it! to celebrate, i’ve wrote this out for you:) fair warning, this is purely indulgent because i love rami’s mouth anywho. i do hope you enjoy and dont hesitate to send me requests for what you’d like me to do next🖤

word count: 1724

warnings: panic attack only slight though also slight angst but not to worry, there’s plenty of fluff:)

It was the end of the first month of filming a new movie you were working on. This one was a large step further than the ones you had previously worked on, higher budget, higher anticipation, higher casts, higher risks. Everything was multitudes more important, and you, you were chosen to be apart of the crew as one of the cinematographers. A little young perhaps to be taking on such a huge feature film, but hey, you love a good challenge. One challenge was very daunting however, the challenge that was being in Rami Malek’s presence.

You were a massive fan of all of his previous works, your favorite being ​Mr. Robot​. He was such a fantastic actor and you were so incredibly lucky to be able to get up close and personal with his acting skills. It’s also important to note that you had the largest crush on him, his dark hair and bright eyes, his rather muscular body, even his height was attractive to you due to your short stature. Of course you loved his personality and how he acted around you. The boys hung around you quite often because they too found you intriguing. You even became quite close with Joe, loving his quirky nature, his attendance was almost grounding due to the madness of the film.

Aside from the loud nature of the boys, Rami was politely quiet around you, always checking on you and making sure you were doing okay. He would always bring you your favorite coffee in the morning, knowing it was the only thing that could get you through the hectic day. He would sit near you as you prepared everything you needed to start the work day, drinking his own coffee. Every now and then you would sneak a glance at his mouth. That was probably the thing you loved most, his mouth. His top lip - even without the teeth - slightly protruded outwards from his bottom lip. You wanted to bite it between your teeth or suck on it, but alas, all you could do was watch. And watch you did, when he spoke, when he laughed, when he drank, almost every moment you could without being caught, you spent it watching his mouth.

And this occasion was no different, it was lunch break and the cast and some crew went out to eat at a local pub near the filming location. As you at your chips that came with your sandwich, you could help but only pay attention to Rami’s mouth as he spoke of a joke that him and Joe had during the filming of ​The Pacific, ​a work they had done together.

Ben was to your left and definitely noticed your staring, a smirk gliding itself to his face. “My my my, Y/N, what is so intriguing, love?” The color drained out of your face as Rami stopped telling his story to look at you. You slammed your foot into Ben’s leg, satisfaction filling you as he groaned at the pain. Everyone was looking at you now, expecting an answer of some kind. Your eyes reached Rami’s, he was biting his lip, a smile glowing in his eyes. You could’ve sworn that he was flirting with you at times but why would he like you? You were just some cinematographer and he was the lead actor in your film.

Realizing you were taking to long to answer, you just shrugged and replied, “just zoned out there for a second,” letting the moment go with a nervous laugh. Luckily it seemed like everyone believed it, well all except for Joe, Ben, Gwilym and Lucy who were all very aware of your crush on Rami. Even Rami seemed skeptical when he pursed his pink lips, which made you want to melt even more because how could someone make pursing their lips look so good? “I’m fine Rami, I just had a lot on my mind.” As the words left your mouth, you immediately regretted it because Joe began giggling like a mad man, along with the other two boys. Joe placed his arm on your chair as the laughing continued, a blush settling on your cheeks. Rami seemed confused but looked at you in concern due to your embarrassment.

“A lot on your mind, or rather someone on your mind, eh Y/N?” Your embarrassment reached new heights and silently begged that they would all just shut up. But no, they kept teasing. Phrases like “ooo she’s in love” or kissy noises floated around the conversation until the inevitable happened.

“Well who do you like, Y/N?” Rami asked clearly wondering who it was that had taken your heart. His eyes were so open, almost hopeful, his hand underneath his chin in the adorable way that he always does it. You looked at his mouth again, trying to be grounded as your chest swelled with anxiety. You hated being put on the spot, or being the center of attention. You were a fish out of water, panic was settling in. You couldn’t breathe or even think at the thought of Rami finding out about your feelings. The others stopped teasing and began looking equally concerned about you. “Y/N?” Rami asked, grabbing your attention by him placing his hand on top of yours.

“I-I... I gotta go.” You whispered, ripping your hand out of his and practically ran out of the restaurant. You thought that the others were calling out after you but you couldn’t be sure, your hearing was muddled in your state of panic. You kept walking until you reached the corner of the coffee shop Rami always bought your drink from. There was an alleyway between buildings and you leaned against the wall. You lavished yourself in the cool wall, allowing your breathing to calm down. You felt stupid for leaving but everything had just become too loud and too much, you didn’t want to hear Rami’s response because you already knew that it wouldn’t be the one you wanted.

You heard pounding footsteps along the sidewalk, hoping for it to just be a runner you stayed in your spot, basking in the alone time before you begrudgingly had to go back to the set. The steps came to a stop, you turned your head and was met with the most beautiful man you had laid eyes on, Rami. His breath was coming out quick due seeing as he ran to find you. He walked closer to you, biting his wonderfully pink lips in worry. The emotions of what just happened came back, tears rushing to your eyes. “Y/N,” Rami whispered, his warm and surprisingly soft hands cupped your face, forcing your attention to be directly on him, “what happened back there?”

Sweet Rami, sweet sweet Rami just wanted to make sure you were okay, as a tear fell from your eyes, he wiped it away. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to be held by Rami for a little bit longer, dreaming that he felt the same way you did. Once you were ready, you opened your eyes and looked at Rami, the moment of truth it seemed. “They were talking about you Rami,” his eyes widened at your confession, “I’m in love with you.” Your head moved down, tears flowing down, you felt small, and your heart slowly breaking with each second passing.

Suddenly Rami’s hands lifted your chin back to its original position, a smile gleaming in his eyes with a closed mouth smile that you loved so much. You blinked obliviously back up to him, not understanding what was so funny about the situation. His thumbs moved across your cheeks, wiping away the remnants of your tears. Your eyes couldn’t help but fall back to his lips, the ones you had so many dreams about the things they could do to you. Rami moved closer to you, his chest now basically touching yours. “Well that’s good, because I was hoping you wouldn’t say someone else, thank God you didn’t say someone like Ben, or else I would’ve kicked his ass because he knew I loved you too.” He laughed, you just stood there in shock.

For so long you had told yourself that there was no chance that Rami would ever like you back. You couldn’t believe it, it was almost as if you were in a dream. The two of you stood there embracing each other for what felt like an eternity until Rami spoke again, “can I kiss you?” You nodded fervently, wrapping your arms around him as his lips met yours. His mouth and yours slot perfectly together, moving in perfect harmony almost as if it was choreographed. You moved to deepen the kiss, biting his top lip in the moment softly. He giggled and pulled away, “how long have you been waiting to do that?”

You blushed profusely, “forever,” you replied, bringing his lips to yours once again. He sighed into your mouth as you continued to kiss. All of your sense were Rami and just Rami, you could smell his cologne, feel him encompass you with his body, hear his breath. You were filled with such a sense of joy at being in his arms that you didn’t even notice you had a crowd watching you. Finally needing air, you pulled away, not before you placed one last kiss on his swollen lips, a feeling you would never forget.

“About damn time, Jesus.” Ben laughed the other boys and Lucy were standing a few feet away, smiling and seeming proud that the two of you finally got your act together. It was Rami’s turn to start blushing and he hid his face in your neck, goose bumps forming at the feeling of his smile on your skin. You couldn’t care less that they had just watched you and Rami make out heavily. All you cared about was the wonderful man that was holding you, and that you had spent such a long time worrying about whether or not he liked you back when really, he loved you too. And of course that you were going to thank the boys for embarrassing you in front of everyone since it forced you to tell Rami, but you were still going to kick their asses for doing that, out of love, of course.