#her hair’s a colour I’ve never shaded before so expect it to bounc around a lot for a while lmao

[kalloway]

Scribbled an older Letty just because I was kinda thinkin’ about it 🤷‍♀️

Girl’s gotten a bit of sun, compared to her old (younger) design lmaooo

[chocosvt]

love café

⚬ pairing: jeonghan x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 17.6K ⚬ warnings: some vulgar language, i guess! ⚬ genres: big time nsfw, dirty talk, lap dances, quickies, bath shenanigans, exhibitionism, overstim - you get what i mean. big ole romance, angst, fluff, jeonghan is very rich and very hot, joshua has a not so subtle crush on you. 

✧✎ synopsis: while you’ve spent the last few months pretending the love café doesn’t exist, you realize you need its services now more than ever. this brings you face to face with jeonghan, the son of a luxury fashion designer who’s got money to burn. your exchanges are strictly business. until they’re not. 

✧✎ a/n: YES, ANOTHER REWRITE. the original love café was just so unsalvageable that i almost fully wiped its plot, minus the actual concept of the café. so, this should read as fairly new! I HOPE U ENJOY IT !!

It’s not that you were desperate. Because you weren’t.

You were actually more than desperate at this point, and no longer could you sit on that uneven couch with the broken leg, staring at the chipped paint, listening to your neighbours’ screams, believing you should continue like this. More than anything, you were shortchanging yourself. There was no point in holding onto that little string of hope in which those employers might phone you back. It would be impossible to contact your family when you had affirmatively cut ties with them ages ago. And, it was becoming increasingly foolish to ignore your one saving grace, just a street over from your rundown complex.

But, could you really commit to it? Would anyone even be able to look at you and think you were someone desirable enough to reward?

Those thoughts often hung over you like a dark cloud, and poured down so heavily that you were metaphorically drenched, in your own pessimism. However, on that day, you were beyond patience with the cards you’d been dealt. Such a despairing apartment, with all its bugs and drafts and horrible neighbours, could not be your brightest and most fortunate future. There had to be something you could do.

Even if it meant going to the Love Café.

In other words, an easy gig to financial heaven, in exchange for sexual pleasures of course. You walked into your bedroom and sat down in front of the wooden vanity, clicking on a dim, flickering bulb to help illuminate your face as well as its lifeless expression which stared back at you. It didn’t take more than ten minutes to pat your skin with some emptying makeup and thinning pans of eyeshadow. Then, you fixed up your hair and chose a simple, mute-coloured dress from your closet, immediately swallowed by the large winter coat you cozied into.

You hurried quickly down the corridor, ignoring the muffled shouts from your argumentative neighbours bleeding through the nickel-thin walls, past the barking dog which jumped against the door, scratching its nails whenever you waited for the elevator, and you didn’t even spare one glance at the very strange man who always hovered in the central lobby and watched you ignore his coos every single day. By the time you arrived outside the Love Café, you were breathing like a marathon runner. Despite the cold weather, you felt a sweat run like a breeze down your temple as you wiped your face before heading inside.

The space felt warm. Everything was red, pink, or white. And when you inhaled, the air smelled like a note of rose petals and candy. It was surprisingly easy to sign up for a ‘Love Card’ at the front desk.

“This card has twelve punches per service with your partner. If, by the end of the twelfth punch, you’re not looking to pursue something serious with this individual, you can pay for another Love Card. If you do manage to find, ‘the one’, then congratulations, and well wishes. Since you’re a first-time client, you get twenty-five percent off your first card.”

Whoever the lady was, she seemed less than enthusiastic as she pushed a cherry-red paper across the counter with a finely manicured nail. You thought she must have given this spiel so many times, the script probably haunted her in her sleep. Nonetheless, you thanked her, and heeded her direction when she advised you to choose any of the free tables, marked with a pale rose. For some reason, you picked the very last table amongst the row and slid yourself onto the uncomfortable, white chair, the metal back moulded into the shape of a heart.

Whoever reserved the table wasn’t exactly punctual. About half an hour after being seated, ordering yourself a tea, and examining the different clients who filtered in and out the café, you were beginning to assume the worst. That they cancelled. Flaked. Decided to pull from the service and direct their affluence elsewhere. As you titled the last few droplets of tea around the base of the cup, feeling utterly depressed and bored, you heard the little bells clink above the door, followed by a gasp from the employee at the front desk. Considering her microscopic range of emotion, you figured whoever entered must be some flawless rarity.

“Jeonghan!” She fixed her slouched position. “I wasn’t aware you made a reservation today. I haven’t seen your name in the system.”

“No worries. I set an anonymous appointment the night before. After all the chaos I caused last time, I figured it’s best to stay under the radar. I know I’m late. I was finishing up a term paper.”

“That’s quite all right. Here, I’ll just quickly renew your information. One moment… Okay, Yoon Jeonghan, you’re all set.”

At that, your eyes practically bulged right into the teacup. You’d heard his name in some conversations with a few university friends, before you had dropped your program. His father was an inventive in the fashion industry for nearly a decade, and his brand was considered high-end luxury, with people forking up the big bucks just to wear a piece from the collection. His mother recently begun a perfume company. In fact, you had a bottle from her Sunrise series sitting on your vanity, though you used each spritz very sparingly considering its outrageous price point. According to the most recent gossip, Jeonghan had ended his relationship with a model who’d been strutting his father’s cloths.

You couldn’t believe he was here.

No – even worse, you couldn’t believe he was making his way toward your table. It had to be some sort of mistake. How could it be that you chose to sit here? Was the universe attempting another cruel joke?

His visual seemed even more daunting outside his photographs in the magazines. Beyond a glossy page, he was softer. Thick hair, shiny and dark brown, which swooped beneath his ears and parted smoothly at the forehead. His lips were the same shade as the windowsill roses, as well as the high arches in his cheeks. But then, he was sharper too, with a trim, angular jaw and such a defined yet judgemental brow. You had expected anyone else but him. And now, this esteemed, much too beautiful man had come to the very last table, wearing an expression of waning curiosity. Or, as you interpreted it, clear-glass disappointment.

Before Jeonghan seated himself, he untucked his phone from his coat pocket and clicked a side button to check the time. He then sniffled, looked straight at the wall, and sighed. Despite your now devoted wish to disappear, you attempted to begin a conversation that wouldn’t backfire.

“Yoon Jeonghan. I’ve heard the name. It’s nice to meet you.”

He settled one arm on the table, tapping his fingernails.

“Yeah. I’m guessing you’re not a regular here—” he then peered over at your bright red Love Card placed by the teacup to say your name.

Bouncing your leg underneath the table, you nodded. “No, not really. I’ve been debating for a while if this was a choice I should make, but I can’t seem to have ends meet doing anything else. So, I came here.”

Already, Jeonghan looked painfully bored. He stopped tapping his fingers and leaned his chin against the hand instead. You knew it was the insecurity barking. Unnecessarily, you apologized to him.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m probably not the woman you’re expecting and I get that. I wouldn’t be all that offended if you wanted to save the Love Card for someone else or—”

Out of the blue, Jeonghan laughed, though he attempted to mute the sound by digging the bend of his index finger between his teeth. Your sentence trailed off with an awkward, dying breath. He suddenly leaned back in his metal seat, shaking his head apologetically and pulling back some of the soft hairs from his eyes. You felt utterly confused.

“Sorry, sorry,” he smiled, “didn’t mean to discourage you there, sweetheart. I’ve just never had someone apologize for—well, their looks.”

“I-I don’t know,” you lunged for damage control, “I just thought you seemed disappointed and I… Well, I haven’t done this before, so I don’t really know all that well how it works. I… I should stop talking…”

It felt as though someone had swatted both your cheeks in an iron-slap, because the skin was stinging hot like never before. You knew he was staring at you, probably thinking to himself that you were a train wreck waiting to happen. Afterward, an employee visited the table to collect your emptied teacup, and asked Jeonghan if he’d like anything to drink. Refusing to look elsewhere but the clenched fists in your lap, you waited for the employee to leave once Jeonghan rejected the offer. He’d pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket. Uncapping the pen with his teeth, you watched him sloppily scribble something down.

“My number.” He said, sliding it across the table. “Listen, I’ve gotta go home and proofread that term paper before I submit it. Just send me a text, okay? I won’t be free for a few days, anyways.”

“Oh, okay.” You sniffled.

Quite frankly, you couldn’t comprehend that he was still interested in pursuing something venereal, even when you had embarrassed yourself like a circus act. He rose quickly from the table and wrapped the waistband of his coat tight around his small waist.

Staring down at the paper, you blurted out, “are you sure?”

Jeonghan titled his head. “Am I sure of what?”

“Never mind.” You answered. “I’ll text you later.”

“Okay.” He nodded, on the verge of walking away when he abruptly stopped himself. “Are you always this nervous?”

Caught off guard by his question, your elbow whacked the edge of the table and you meekly stuttered, “I-I don’t know…”

You were more than positive he was going to ghost all your texts.

To a degree, you were correct.

Over the course of the following week, you sent Jeonghan at least three texts, each on separate days, only to be rewarded with a demotivating lack of responses. You knew he was a busy individual who probably didn’t have much time to waste on promiscuous affairs, let alone a committed relationship. So, you tried very earnestly to not feel upset or unimportant at his methods – even despite the series of required payments glaring you down from those white envelopes scattered atop the kitchen table.

And then, during the black, late hours of a snowy Friday, you received a reply. A surprisingly urgent one which detailed that you make it to the downtown Opal Studio before eleven o’clock, as there would be a backdoor entrance left unlocked for your access. He mentioned a storage closet underneath a staircase, worded very sternly as: … Wait inside, and do not make yourself known. I’ll see you there shortly, and ensure you leave without being spotted. Uncertain of what the situation would entail, you phoned a cab and payed the driver using some remaining funds from a paper note purse. The studio’s front was a smooth, velvet black, with a wide window which illuminated several mannequins wearing Mr. Yoon’s newest issue. Each outfit cost a pretty penny.

Like you anticipated, Jeonghan was late to meet you in the storage closet; however, you were at no point going to scold his blatant disregard for scheduling when he’d pressed you tight against the door looking the way he did. Buttons popped down the chest of his unwrinkled dress shirt, sleeves cuffed to his elbows, and his neat, styled hair beginning to dishevel around those intense eyes. He braced his hand beside your head, studying your lips as though they were glittering.

“Can I kiss you?” Jeonghan asked. The question seemed to rumble from deep in his throat and you felt your knees weaken.

You nodded immediately, allowing his hand to frame the side of your cheek as his warm, soft mouth nudged against yours. It was gentle for a fleeting touch, and then there was pressure, teeth, a slick tongue running across your bottom lip and leaving you in such a sensual daze that you just stood there with a parted mouth. Jeonghan definitely knew what he wanted from you in that moment. And he wanted it quick. You were flipped around, chest pushed against the door, skirt hiked up impatiently as the fabric ruffled around your hips. His hand slid between your thighs to rub you through the thin pair of underwear, pressing firmly enough that you could feel the cold, thick rings on his fingers.

Eagerly, you began a slow gyration of grinding against Jeonghan’s touch while simultaneously biting down hard on your bottom lip, knowing embarrassingly well that you were already sticky and soaking and ready for him to use you like a designated fucktoy. He was rather flush to your backside as he dug the heel of his palm against your clit, so much yet not enough between the cotton. Something about his scent was beyond arousing, and it gripped to him like a web. An expensive cologne no doubt, mature, raw, and ocean-fresh. You heard the sound of his belt being whipped open, followed by a zipper.

“Alright,” Jeonghan hummed, passing a hand up his length, “let’s make this quick. Gotta be back upstairs in five to finish the measurements and tapering and all that boring shit. Now, just be a good, quiet little girl for me, sweetheart, and this’ll be a cake walk.”

Your mouth stretched into a low, whiny groan as Jeonghan held your underwear aside and began to sink inside of you, his hips stalled against your skin. His light breath then fluttered at your ear, “bet you’d make such a perfect toy to keep my cock nice and warm. Feels so perfect, being this deep inside you, sweetheart.” He shuddered against you, thrusting once, twice, slowly and teasingly dragging himself out before ramming right back in to pinch you against the door.

“Fuck,” he cursed between his teeth, “life would be so much easier if I could just keep you right here on my cock, wouldn’t it, baby?”.

Undoubtedly, that smooth-talking tongue of his was going to be an impending problem. You don’t know where he got off exactly on such scandalous thoughts, but you were too consumed in your own lust to care. The way he fucked you against that door with one hand scraping at your hip and the other wrapped up your throat, fingers pressing hot into your drooling mouth to keep you quiet, it was more bliss than a one-way ticket to Eden. Jeonghan timed his orgasm appropriately, slipping himself from your warmth at the last second and finishing himself off using the hand which had been maintaining your silence. His breaths were slow but husky in the aftermath, his fingers painted in cum.

“You wouldn’t want to use that pretty mouth of yours to clean this, would you?” He laughed.

Before you could respond, Jeonghan had grabbed some paper towels left to sit on a shelf and cleaned the mess himself. Then, as though nothing had happened, he asked if you were carrying that damn Love Card before you could even flatten down the wrinkles in your skirt. You grabbed the small note purse you set down next to the paper towels and revealed the obnoxiously coloured card. Jeonghan smiled.

“That’s the one.” He took a dry erase marker from the shelf and wrote his initials in the first circle.

“Here,” Jeonghan proceeded to offer back the card, “one session down. I need to scram. The hall should be clear at this hour, but have a cab ready just in case you need to bolt fast. Oh—before I go, you got the money to pay the driver? It’s no problem if you’re short. I can cover.”

“N-No, I should have enough.” You answered.

“Cool. I’ll transact you tonight.” Jeonghan nodded, tucking in his shirt rather poorly before slipping past you to exit the storage closet.

One week later, you were at the entrance to the library, pulling open the door with a big, cold huff. It was much warmer inside. You were beginning to feel the tips of your stiff fingers again.

Despite your service at the Love Café, you wanted one last time to test your luck on a receptionist position at the downtown hair salon, simply because you would think better of yourself if you weren’t relying chiefly on Jeonghan to pay your bills. His last transaction had been more than you anticipated. Finally, you were able to erase that huge electricity bill, and you still had enough of the money left over to supply some warm meals for the next few days. If you could just submit your newest resume to the salon, then you might be able to permanently cover the groceries.

Except, you needed access to a computer.

Ever since you tipped over a glass of water onto your old laptop, it had stopped working properly, and the library was the only place close by which let you use the computer room without fees. However, as you peered in through the backroom window to find an open space, you realized just how crammed full it was. Judging by everyone’s intense typing and unblinking eyes, you weren’t going to steal a seat anytime soon, which pulled out a frustrated sigh as you fiddled with the USB in your pocket. You thought about heading home, until you saw Jeonghan.

He was seated at the distant left corner, leaned back comfortably in the chair while he examined something on his laptop. A gym bag was slid underneath the table, and he was dressed as though he had some sort of sports practice; quite the contrary to his usual crisp, ironed shirts and heavy winter coats courtesy of brands you couldn’t pronounce. He seemed concentrated, chewing on his thumb nail while he tapped the touch pad. In fact, he didn’t notice that you had approached him until you said his name quietly from across the table and his eyes flickered.

“Uh, hey.” Jeonghan replied, sounding bothered while he pushed his thumb harshly against his bottom lip. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“And I didn’t expect to see you.”

He shrugged, maintaining his uninterested glance on the laptop screen. “Well, I’m looking over some notes. Last minute stuff.”

You nodded. “What’s with the duffle bag?”

“My friend Joshua – he’s been making me coach this Peewee soccer team with him at the Greenfield Dome.” Jeonghan puffed out his chest, letting an arm fall loosely to his side. “Those kids are insane. They have too much energy. I shouldn’t have let that bastard sweet talk me.”

At that, you giggled, though immediately hushed yourself when the librarian came by with a metal cart, filled with books to shelve. You stepped around the table to move out of her way. Jeonghan pulled out the chair beside him using his foot and nodded that you take a seat.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the USB.

“I need to upload my new resume. I mean, I probably won’t hear anything back from this place, ‘cause that’s how it usually goes. But, whatever. Thing is, I busted my laptop, and now the computer room is filled up. I’ll just come back later and hope it’s cleared out.” Staring down at your shoes, you avoided Jeonghan’s gaze. “I know I’m doing this Love Café stuff, but it would still be nice to have my own income, you know?”

“I get that.” He replied, scratching at his collarbone. “I’ve already got my laptop here and everything. You can use it, if you want.”

“Really?” You smiled wide. “Thanks.”

Jeonghan closed a few tabs that he’d been rotating between before sliding his laptop over to you. Wriggling the memory stick into the small slot at the side, you logged into your email account through the main search engine. As long as you could send your resume to the salon before they closed their application deadline, then you would hope for the absolute best, even if it was an unstimulating, lacklustre gig answering phones and scheduling hair appointments all day. Just as you went to drag the file into your email, Jeonghan’s laptop froze.

“Uh, Jeonghan,” you whispered, “nothing’s moving. Do I just wait? Does this normally happen? Did I screw something up?”

He shook his head and laughed. “Relax, relax. It’s been doing that a lot recently. I figured out if you hold down these keys—” Jeonghan suddenly scooted his chair in very close, his thigh pressing against yours as he reached a hand underneath your arm, the other lightly nudging your fingers off the keyboard, “then it goes back to normal. See?”

“O-Oh, yeah. It’s working.” You stuttered, not all staring at the specific keys he clicked because the side of his face was much too pretty.

Granting you access to the keyboard again, Jeonghan leaned away, though he didn’t move his thigh from yours even an inch. It was almost concerning how flustered you felt. Jeonghan had literally pinned you against a closet door and fucked his own hand right in front of you, and yet, your heart was fluttering tenfold. In a much different way. And it lit this spark of fear and adrenaline at the core of your chest like gasoline hitting a wicked flame. You detached the USB stick, logged yourself out from the email account, and moved quickly off the seat.

In a hurried breath, you said, “thanks so much!” and proceeded to leave the library as though someone were trailing you with a pitchfork.

While it was embarrassing, you knew it was necessary. There was no way you were going to crush on that boy. It was strictly business.

Tired. Aching.

Uncomfortable moisture covering the slopes and divots of your body. You didn’t think there was anything left inside you for him to so commandingly take, like his name were inked to your each and every limb. And yet, Jeonghan wasn’t ready to let you rest. The mattress dipped behind you, the heat of his chest sticking to your back, the weight of his erection pressed right at your tailbone. While his lips kissed softly up your neck, Jeonghan slid his hand in between your thighs to continue pleasuring you, ignoring the responsive whimpers attached to your sensitivity. He’d already brought you to two orgasms, though you were sensing the overbearing rush of a third.

An index and middle finger slid down to your entrance, the contact beyond slippery, a sort of wet velvet, and you hardly recognized the sensation unlike the first time he’d touched you. Jeonghan hooked the digits deep, using the heel of his palm to rub a thorough friction against your clit. Working faster and faster, his laboured breaths fanned hot across your neck while he sharply concentrated on making you starry-eyed. It was pain. It was bliss. It was exactly what you wanted most and everything you couldn’t endure at the same time. You came heavily, screamed as the pulsation at your core felt almost violent.

Unable to fully ride out the pleasure, you attempted to curl away from Jeonghan, hiding your face in the pillows and further tilting your hips. However, the boy followed your movement. He stayed snug to your back, practically leaned over top you with the latter arm braced next to your head while his hand pounded and pounded. The amount of liquid gushing onto his fingers and spilling down his wrist felt almost comical, and you were certain that you had never orgasmed so intensely in your life. To make matters worse, it seemed as though he’d taken that little memory box in your head filled with all your language and tossed it right out the damn window. You couldn’t form one word other than sobs.

Jeonghan breathed a light, shaky chuckle beside your ear. “Trying to run from me, sweetheart? When I can make you feel so good? Look at how much you can take, honey. Such a good girl when you cum so fucking hard ‘round my fingers I can barely move them.”

The sound of his digits sliding out from your entrance was the most impure, salacious noise you didn’t know could exist. Rolling slowly onto your back, you saw the immediate coating on Jeonghan’s hand and the drops beading down his wrist. He caught one with his tongue, licking all the way back up like he was cleaning the juice from a melted popsicle, and you almost couldn’t watch him. In fact, you were exhausted. There wasn’t anything left for you to offer, and the thought of moving from his bed when your core felt this utterly sore and your muscles this tight set a perfectly timed cue for your eyes to fall shut. It was heavenly.

Nonetheless, Jeonghan had a very specific rule. There was no staying past your session, and he was often strikingly clear about it. But  this was the first time you’d been pushed to such a degree. He must be able to recognize that it was only a short nap you needed, and perhaps a quick minute under the shower to rid your skin of the sticky sweat.

Out of the blue, something was tossed onto your face. It was your t-shirt earlier stripped and thrown to the floor by Jeonghan. Cracking an eye open and peeling away the fabric to hang loosely from your grip, you sighed. He had already slipped back into his exercise pants.

“Seriously? I’m exhausted.”

He threw a loose flannel over the long, beaming red scrapes that you had clawed down his back, shaking his head with a huff.

“I’m not saying you need to get out right now. I’ve got a dinner with the parents at eight.” Jeonghan proceeded to drop the rest of your undergarments onto bed. “So, you gotta be gone by a quarter to, alright?”

Swallowing dryly, you nodded.

“Alright.”

The next morning, you were seated on the edge of your bed, staring with bleary eyes at the smooth, red Love Card that was initialed to its fifth circle, leaving only eight more sessions with Jeonghan. Though you approached the café with nothing more than an intention to earn money (even if the sex would be inexplicably dull), you were beginning to presume that there was more to this business than you thought. Because the sex wasn’t dull. It was concerningly amazing. And the very man who you had sworn to maintain a no-strings-attached type relationship with was throwing you for a loop. But he was boundary driven.

Be ready to go by this time. No sparkly clothes. Leave nothing in the washroom. Don’t show up here. Don’t show up there. Don’t text me unless this. Don’t call me unless that. Jeonghan knew very explicitly that you were a simple trick to relieving his stress and fulfilling his sexual desires, yet, anything further than that was laughably impossible. And, besides, it’s not like you needed to be in love or have this dazzling, perfect boyfriend. There was too much on your plate already.

You had gone to bed in a thick wool sweater, layered with the heaviest comforter you had due to the broken heating. Ignoring the cold, your next-door neighbours had found themselves in another drunken argument, forcing you to hear the unnerving crack of beer bottles and an outrageous number of insults, ranging from the very straightforward, ‘ridiculous bitch” to the audacious, “go fuck yourself, narcissistic prick.”

Thankfully, the dramatics ended just before three am.

You set the Love Card back on your nightstand. After you splashed mild water onto your face from the sink, you started multitasking, attempting to brush your teeth and remove your pyjama bottoms at the same time. Then, there was a knock at your door. You spared a glance through the peephole while the toothbrush hung from the corner of your mouth and the frigid air hit your bare legs. Upon recognizing the face reflected through the fisheye lens, you nearly choked on the mint-flavoured spit collected at the back of your throat, which forced you to unpleasantly compose yourself at the kitchen sink.

He knocked again, and you pulled the door open almost immediately, probably appearing as though you just hiked through the wilderness. Jeonghan’s eyes widened as he smiled at you.

“Damn. Sleep well?” He remarked, looking you up and down.

You were in the midst of a yawn as you answered. “Um, yes. I-I mean no. Wait, I don’t know what I’m saying. What was the question?”

Jeonghan nodded. “I’ll take that as a no.” He then reached into the pocket on his flannel coat. “Anyways, I have your phone. You left it on my bedside table the other night. Figured it’s kind of useful, I guess.”

“Oh my god. I did that?” You winced, realizing you must have been so tired and discombobulated from Jeonghan blowing your brains out that you forgot. “It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

Leaning your temple against the door, you sighed. “How was that dinner thing with your parents? Was it any fun?”

The boy shook his head, pulling out his car keys and tossing them from hand to hand. “No. It was all business bullshit. What they want me to do with my future after I graduate uni. How to be responsible with my money since they think I’m gonna blow it in a few years. Trying to structure my life around stuff I don’t really give a damn about.”

“O-Oh…” You frowned, “well, was there at least good food?”

Jeonghan stopped playing with his keys and titled his head at you. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes gentle, “they had great red velvet cake.”

Unfortunately, your neighbours must have woken up and decided it was a little too peaceful at such an hour, because you heard a loud, clanging thump echo from the room beside yours, like someone had dropped a metal pot or pan on the ground. Of course, the yelling started.

It didn’t last nearly as long compared to the night before, just a few scolding comments which were ultimately muffled. You wondered what Jeonghan was thinking as he blinked at the neighbour’s door and realized how despairing the narrow, dimly-lit hallway looked. After visiting his high-end apartment numerous times based in the luxury core of the city, with its beautiful architecture and sparkle, you were frankly a bit humiliated he was witnessing this drab part of your life – the reason you were seeking his service in the first place. You apologized through your teeth for the commotion, though Jeonghan merely shrugged.

“It’s better than nothing, right?”

“Yeah, that’s true. But those two next door can be a handful sometimes. I don’t get it. If they hate each other, then just break up. Get divorced. It’s like they want to be miserable on purpose.”

“Bet you wish you could get the hell outta here, huh?”

“All the time.” You replied wistfully. “I’m thinking of going to the mall today, actually. I need a new bath towel. Whatever gets me away.”

“You want a ride there?” Jeonghan asked, shaking his keys.

At that, you smiled a little too wide. “Maybe.”

Carefully, you picked up a thin, glass bottle of pink perfume from the display counter, tilting the liquid back and forth as the lights gleamed off the gold nozzle. Everything inside the store was diamond bright and almost blinding, while the air smelled strongly of expensive floral. The employees were tailored in smooth, sophisticated suits, which made you more petrified than usual to touch anything, hence your very delicate inspection of the perfume as you waited for Jeonghan to finish his conversation with the front clerk. Since his father’s collection was sold at the boutique, Jeonghan seemed to have a cordial relationship with the staff, and they had recognized him almost immediately.

As most of their merchandise was quite expensive, you always ignored the boutique until Jeonghan suggested you stop by. It didn’t help that there was actually some cute clothing begging to be bought, though you knew one swift glance at the price tag would change your mind. You brought the perfume bottle close to your nose and inhaled lightly.

“What does it smell like?” Jeonghan asked.

You sniffed again. “It’s sweet, though it’s not strong.”

“Let me smell.” He said, and so you raised the bottle up to his nose. Jeonghan wrapped his hand around yours as he took a breath, shaking his head in disapproval. “That’s all wrong. I don’t like it.”

“It is kind of high schoolish.” You told him, setting the test bottle back onto the counter as though you were laying down a jewel. “I just need a new scent, you know? I actually love that one bottle your mom did, the summer tropic one. It’s so peachy but mild. I’m running out.”

“For real?” Jeonghan laughed, his eyes skipping over the different shaped containers. “You use one of my mom’s perfumes?”

“Um, yeah. Have you even smelled the tropic one? It’s amazing.”

“I don’t hang around her laboratory too often.” He replied. “It gives me a big fucking headache. Smells like this place times a hundred.”

You shrugged. “I guess that’s understandable.”

Suddenly, Jeonghan had latched his hand around your elbow, pulling you around to the opposite side of the counter. He grabbed a tall, slim bottle that was made from foggy glass and a chrome silver pump.

“C’mon, give me your wrist for a second.” He said. “Try this scent. I don’t know why, but it reminds me of you.”

Pulling up your sleeve, you stuck out your wrist and allowed him to spray a thin layer against the skin. Then, you sniffed the area. At first, your forehead crinkled as you attempted to decipher its concoction of notes. There was something a little fresh and cool, but then there was this oddly mature hint of a distinguished floral scent. You couldn’t pinpoint the flower, but it was certainly addictive and very intriguing.

“It’s called Orchid Night. Smells great, right?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, rolling your sleeve back down “just don’t tell me what it costs. It has to be at least fifty bucks.”

“Try sixty-nine,” Jeonghan corrected, “plus tax, don’t forget.”

Immediately, you grabbed the bottle from his hand and returned the perfume to its small podium on the countertop.

“Well, let’s put it back before we break it.”

Jeonghan smirked. “I could buy it for you.”

For a split second, you were tempted to succumb, though you snapped from the thought at the last second and shook your head.

“No way. I wouldn’t let you, anyways.”

He buried his hands in his pockets, rolling those gold-copper eyes of his. Jeonghan made sure to purposefully bump into you as he walked down the bright aisle toward the clothes. “Honestly, you’re so boring, man. That scent, on you? It would be sexy.” The boy then turned around to smother you with a burning gaze. “But, fine. Have it your way.”

You hurried after him, scoffing lightheartedly to camouflage the fact your heart was beating like a broken pendulum. Jeonghan had stopped at a rack of neatly pressed clothing to sort through the hangers.

“My way is the better way,” you smiled, “always.”

Jeonghan moved the long-sleeved button-up he’d been eyeing back onto the rack, merely blowing out a puff of air.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Besides, I still need to get my bath towel.”

“We can find it on the bottom floor. At the new essentials store that just opened up. The Shower Duck, I think.”

“The Shower what?”

He couldn’t help but cackle while repeating himself. “The Shower Duck. You thought I said something else, didn’t you?”

When you were too tongue-twisted to reply, Jeonghan decided to place his fingers softly on your chin, holding your head still as he leaned in very closely to whisper, “you’re such a dirty girl, you know that?” You almost hated how casually he pulled away and continued to examine the clothing, as though he hadn’t just murmured a lascivious comment into your ear while the employees were standing a mere few meters across the store. More than anything, you desired the courage to deservingly tease him in return, to break that relaxed little shtick of his. Except, you weren’t confident nor subtle enough to attempt anything in public.

But when your eyes landed on that brand-new lingerie set wrapped primly on the nearest mannequin, you had a wonderful idea.

“No, are you being serious? Why? Why?”

His blunt fingernails sunk into the leather arms of the desk chair, scraping upward, as equally frustrated with your cruel antics as he was aroused and impatient. Maybe it was somewhat meanspirited to strut the thin, beautiful lace and ribbons curled around your body in a baby pink, and indeed, there was a moment where you pondered leniency, though, you severed the thought, because Jeonghan would surely tear each garter and bow from your outfit like it hadn’t cost anything at all. Pursing your bottom lip, you smiled, sinister and cold.

“I am being serious,” you stated firmly, nearing closer to his desk chair, “your hands won’t touch a single part of me, Jeonghan.”

He glared up at you with a dark, flickering fire in his eyes,  as if he were already weighing the consequence to breaking such rules. You began to sit comfortably on the boy’s lap, curling your arms around his neck while maintaining the intensity of the stare.

“And, if you do, I’ll grab my things and leave. It’ll just be you and your hand, for the rest of the night.” Purposefully, you brushed delicate lips, featherlight, along his warm, red-tinged ear, to which you could practically feel him harden underneath you upon the whisper, “and there’ll be nothing you can do other than remembering how good it felt when I was in your lap, grinding down on you, baby boy, just like this.”

Slowly and with focus, you rolled your hips in a deep, smooth gyration, ensuring Jeonghan felt the heavy pressure against all the right places. His hands keened for your waist, so you immediately reminded him of your unnegotiable rules, forcing them to settle on the arms of the chair. He drew in a sharp breath. And then, he started to laugh, like a beaten protagonist receiving their first, acrid taste of defeat. Jeonghan titled his head back to smile very lazily at you.

“Evil.” He said. “You’re fucking evil.”

“Mmhm,” you agreed, continuing the unhurried, steadfast pace of your hips rolling back and forth, observing with poorly hidden glee as the boy lost his smile, “but you’ll still cum, won’t you, Jeonghan?”

Before he could sneak in a clever rebuttal, you adjusted yourself even lower onto his lap, digging your nails down the back of his neck as you circled a thorough motion against his erection. Admittedly, it was difficult to maintain the domineering act. Even through the black material of the slacks, his cock was managing to create a friction with your lace underwear, a friction so rough yet fruitless that you were already tempted to take him, full and aching inside you. In order to distract yourself, you licked the tender side to Jeonghan’s neck, looping your tongue in a messy, warm pattern overtop a sensitive vein.

“Ff-fuck,” Jeonghan stuttered, scraping harshly along the chair, “you devilish little girl, c-can’t believe you’re g’nna make me cum like this—b-but it feels so damn good the way you’re moving, baby.”

You suckled until you’d drawn a shiny, wine-coloured hue to the surface of Jeonghan’s skin, to mark a dark bruise as a keepsake. He kept breathing through a parted mouth, each exhale shakier and more erratic than the last, his knuckles hard like stone while they gratingly tensed and betrayed his frustration at not being able to touch you. With slow, teasing hands, you began to drag them down his chest, nails clawing at the expensive fabric of his dress shirt. Jeonghan squirmed. He clenched his jaw and cursed rough under his breath. You focused on where his cock was poking you to apply the most dizzying pressure thus far, rolling your hips until something inside Jeonghan snapped and you felt him cum.

“Jesus—fuck!” He shouted, the loudest you had ever heard the boy, and there was a notable tear in his usually soft voice. “Keep going, keep going,” Jeonghan panted, squeezing his eyes shut, “keep fucking moving just like that, sweetheart. A-Ahh, ff-fuck, feels s-so good—"

At the pulsating sensation right beneath your core, you submitted to Jeonghan’s wish and continued grinding down, even if you were beginning to tire at your lack of stamina. However, there came a point where you were too breathless to maintain such a pace, so you trickled to a halt and steadied your hands on his firm shoulders. He tossed his head back, neck leaned against the edge of the chair. The hazy, glass look to his brown eyes and the rose glow smeared on each cheek made it appear as though he’d just touched down from heaven. As you shifted slightly in Jeonghan’s lap, you noticed the white stream of cum that had soaked through his pants, and that somehow, he was still hard.

“I didn’t know you could beg, Jeonghan.” You remarked, grinning, meanwhile attempting to catch your breath.

He shook his head. “Don’t expect it too much.”

“Well, I can tell you’re satisfied, either way.”

He chuckled, brushing some of the loose hairs from his face. You felt his hands settle upon your waist’s bare skin, warm and squeezing. In that moment, you just didn’t possess the same acuteness to scold him.

“Almost,” Jeonghan huffed, “but, what do you suppose you’ll do to please yourself, sweetheart?” He leaned forward, until his forehead was just a sliver away from bumping yours, the boy sliding a hand down your abdomen and beneath the lace underwear. As he stroked the tips of his fingers along your slit, he smirked. “I’ve never felt someone so wet before, dripping all over my fingers and I’m barely touching you. Did it turn you on that much, sweetheart? Feeling my hard cock right underneath this needy pussy of yours?” Jeonghan teased with a smirk and a low, calm tone. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to duct tape his mouth shut or allow him to keep talking, as there was something about his honeyed voice which wound you up like clockwork.

Yet, before you could even start the syllable of a response, Jeonghan pushed you strongly from his lap, his hands glued to your waist as he guided you to stumble against the bed. Your back hit the mattress, the sheets puffing up around you. And then, Jeonghan was kissing you, lips clashing messily while he took advantage of the switched power dynamic to run his hands over your every inch. One second, they were cupping your breasts overtop the baby pink bralette. Another second, they were grabbing at your ass and kneading so desperately. You were being ravaged. It was overwhelming, it was gratifying, it was needed beyond belief.

“Hey,” Jeonghan said, separating his mouth from the side of your throat to stare at you with an oddly sentimental eye, “before I get all up in your guts and everything— you look beautiful. Even if you did choose this outfit to be a big fucking tease.” His fingers brushed down the edge of your jaw, and he smiled at you in a way that wasn’t clever or teetering on sarcasm. Your heart leapt like a little frog in your chest.

“Really?” You questioned him, not because you didn’t believe the lingerie suited your figure, but rather, you weren’t expecting this sweetness from someone who was always so quick to get rid of you.

He nodded, raising a suspecting eyebrow. “Yeah, really. What, you think I’m lying to you or something?”

“No, I don’t think that,” you answered quickly, curling your fingers into the bedsheets, “I just—I wasn’t… Uh, never mind.”

“Alright,” Jeonghan laughed, lowering his head to delicately kiss your cheek, and then your neck, “you’re a bit strange sometimes, you know that?” He mumbled against the sensitive skin, even daring to dig his knee between your thighs to make you increasingly pliable.

“I-I know,” you stuttered, unable to help your embarrassing voice crack. But you still smiled, letting Jeonghan explore and pleasure your body with an uncharacteristic tenderness for the remainder of the night.

Twelve am.

Usually, at this time, you’d be at the bottom floor of his apartment complex, seated by the lobby water fountain. You’d be examining your face with a pocket mirror, awaiting the yellow taxi cab, and trying to avoid eye contact with the wealthy businesspeople filtering from the elevators in glamourous congregation.

However, tonight was different.

Tonight, you were in Jeonghan’s bed, with a white sheet covering the lower half of your bodies, an ear pressed to his bare, warm chest while you breathed him in like the wind on a bright summer’s day. You felt his fingertips trace long figure eights down your spine and then dance back up to the subtle curve of your shoulder blades. Sometimes it tickled, other times it was a touch so soft it was hardly there, and in between you thought he might have been tracing words. The room was quiet. But good quiet— the comfortable quiet. And then you heard Jeonghan speak into the crown of your head while his hand stilled at your waist.

“Did that salon ever call you back?” He asked.

You sighed, focusing on your thumb which brushed a small freckle on his pectoral muscle. “They emailed me, and said their position was already filled, but that they’ll try to look for another opening.”

Jeonghan rubbed your hip. “That’s good, right? I mean, they didn’t just flat out reject you. They’re gonna keep you in mind.”

“It’s better than what I’m used to getting,” you answered, pressing your lips together and tilting your head up at him.

And, that’s when it struck you, like someone had just clanged a bell right beside your head. You were still in Jeonghan’s bed. You were still in Jeonghan’s apartment. You were still with Jeonghan. Feeling as though you’d broken some vastly significant cardinal rule, you operated on a strange basis of panic and autopilot, already seated at the edge of the mattress while you tucked your underwear back on.

“I’m sorry,” you spewed, reaching for your shirt next and straightening it out frantically in your lap, “the time escaped me. I-I know I have to go. And, my Love Card, I think it’s in my purse or—”

“Can you slow down?” Jeonghan laughed, casting a hand through his loose, disarrayed hair which you had admittedly tugged earlier in the night like your life depended on it. The boy’s arms circled around your midframe, hugging your back to his chest. “I don’t care about that stupid card right now,” Jeonghan hummed into your ear, “stay.”

At that, you almost choked. “Stay? You want me to stay?” You repeated dumbly, dropping the inside-out shirt back onto your lap.

The coldest shiver split down your spine as Jeonghan buried his face against your neck, taking a breath of your scent, kissing your skin.

“Yeah,” he purred, now pecking the soft spot behind your ear, “I want you to stay. Or, if you really want to go home, I won’t stop you.”

“No,” you replied almost immediately, melting into his voice, his touch, his body, “trust me, I’d rather be here.”

Jeonghan’s arms relaxed their snug grip.

“I figured that.”

Even though you had strongly protested the idea, Jeonghan succeeded at wearing you down akin to an ocean tide forming whorls into rock, and now you were seated before your vanity with an array of makeup scattered at your fingertips as you prepared for a dinner. His parents were going to be there, in addition to some business partners and close friends, which sounded like something from a hellish nightmare. In fact, Jeonghan himself didn’t seem all that eager to attend. He’d been sprawled across your bed for the past half hour, with the long drapes of his coat fanned around him, as he flipped through an old magazine. You were certain he just didn’t want to tough another dinner alone.

After focusing a spritz of perfume to your neck (the orchid one, bought by Jeonghan, because he was very insistent that you not smell like his mother) you shut off the vanity lights and sighed.

“I think I’m ready… Physically though, not mentally.”

Jeonghan yawned, tossing the magazine aside before he pushed himself to sit upright on the bed. He rubbed at his eye.

“Trust me, it’s not going to be the big, royal midnight ball that you’re picturing. My parents have these dinners all the time. You’ll be the centre of attention for a few minutes, and then it’s pretty much just business central from there. You’ll be lucky if you can even get a word in. I stopped trying months ago.”

You smiled at him, feeling slightly better about the situation, and took one last, scrutinizing glance in the mirror. The dress was simple yet elegant, a mute shade of dark blue with a beaded, crystal belt that you had forgotten about, as you discovered it laying behind a stool shoved in your closet. The fabric had an elastic tightness to it and was hemmed shorter than you remembered, just above your fingertips. You tried not to judge or overthink the figure which reflected in the vanity glass, or what Jeonghan’s parents might assume upon their first introduction to someone who was so clueless on their accolades. It was merely a dinner.

“Stop worrying so much,” Jeonghan hummed, sensing that you were at the forefront of a spiral. His hands settled to your hips and he caught your eye through the mirror. “No one is going to judge you, or poke fun at you, or say anything mean. I promise.” He then grabbed your winter coat off the bed, helping you slide into the arms, and even doing up the buttons. “You’re gorgeous.” Jeonghan said, tapping your chin.

It didn’t help that he could fluster you so easily.

Joshua wasn’t at all who you expected him to be, while simultaneously encompassing everything you would indeed expect from the position of Jeonghan’s closest friend. He was a juxtaposition personified. Slick, ash blonde hair combed into a handsome wave, eyes which twinkled like the restaurant’s diamond chandelier, and a soothing voice which could be a cup of warm milk on a frosty day, though his interactions with Jeonghan portrayed him as childlike and frivolous. He greeted you, at first with a quick hug. You heard him exhale deeply.

“Wow,” Joshua commented, retreating to shake your hand, “you smell amazing! I mean—well, I hope that doesn’t sound weird.”

You laughed, and wondered how someone could smile with such a prettiness. “Thank you! I’d be upset if you didn’t notice, actually.”

Joshua continued to shake your hand. “Oh, yeah, agree. It’s wonderful to meet you. Jeonghan’s been trying to hide you, it seems.”

“Go shove a break stick in your mouth,” Jeonghan scoffed, blowing a loose piece of hair from his eyes, “and stop shaking her hand like that. You’re gonna snap her whole arm off.”

Finally, Joshua released his grip, and your arm fell back to your side like a limp noodle. His cheeks were starting to turn pink.

“I was not. Anyways—” he nodded at you, “like I said, nice to meet you. I hope we’ll talk more tonight and I’ll pick your brain.”

“Sure thing,” you answered, waving the boy off as he returned to the dinner table before facing Jeonghan. “He seems nice.”

“And totally into you. I haven’t seen him shake someone’s hand like that since I introduced him to Elouise from France. He’s gonna turn into a lost puppy all over again. Bet he’ll try to sweet talk you later.”

“Can’t wait.” You grinned, already giggling through your teeth.

Jeonghan c0nsquently thwapped your forehead with his finger.

However, meeting Jeonghan’s parents was starkly different than the good-humoured Joshua. They both appeared cross, and firm, and before you had even shaken their hands you were forced to wipe yours against your dress. The father was a bit softer around the edges, showing you a pleased smile that reminded you instantaneously of Jeonghan, while the mother was stone-faced and seemed as though she hadn’t slouched since birth. Even when she complimented your fragrance, there was a tartness to her voice which made it sound disingenuous.

“Well, Jeonghan,” she said, clasping her hands together, “I’m glad to finally see you with a lovely lady on your arm. I didn’t think it was possible that you could settle for someone after being with Baejin.”

“Oh?” The father piped up, “you’re my son’s girlfriend?”

Before you could respond, Jeonghan had beaten you to it.

“No, she’s…” he bit his lip hard, “she’s just a friend. Mom kept nagging that I always come to these dinners alone, and she was down.”

For some reason, it felt like someone had pierced a pin straight through your heart – a very tiny hole which shouldn’t hurt all that much, yet stung like flesh to orange, glowing metal. In fact, there was a visible shift in your countenance, from a nervous smile to a sunken frown, but you were able to veil it very quickly and pretend nothing was wrong. Why should you feel so disappointed that Jeonghan had introduced you as a friend? The promiscuous nature of your relationship didn’t immediately loop you two together as soulmates, or lovers, or even the mildest beginnings of boyfriend and girlfriend. You tried to refocus yourself.

Jeonghan’s mother nodded. “Even if she isn’t your next Baejin, it’s nice to meet a new face. The dinner talk might bore you no doubt.”

“No, not at all—” you forced a smile, “I’m just excited to be here.”

It was easier to endure the night than you thought, because true to Jeonghan’s word, the conversation was a bunch of business lingo that you didn’t exactly understand, with the occasional question flitted to you by Joshua who sat across the table. You had completely emptied your glass of ice water, and were halfway through your wine when two fancy, tuxedoed servers stopped by the table to collect everyone’s dishes. A distant relative was seated to Jeonghan’s right, and they had swept him into a discussion of whether or not he was interested in pursuing his current degree or if he would abandon it to work fulltime for his father’s brand. Meanwhile, Joshua had whisper-shouted your name.

You raised an eyebrow, “what?”

“Are you getting dessert?” The blonde asked, already shoving a small, plastic menu to his face. “I can’t decide what I want.”

“I guess so,” you picked up an extra menu sitting by a purple wine bottle and started to browse the list of decadent food.

Joshua sighed, “I usually get the cheesecake… but, I’m torn. What if I want the caramel apple baked pudding with black truffles?”

“The caramel apple baked what?” You questioned, laughing from the absolute mouthful that Joshua just worded so effortlessly.

“I know, I know. It’s a jumble. But my family and I come here all the time so I’ve gotten these names down pat. What are you thinking?”

“Um, I’m not sure. I’ve never been here before, actually.”

His eyes, glistering and delighted, locked with yours. “Can I recommend you something, then?” Joshua said while smiling. “Red velvet cake. It’s right at the bottom. Not to mention the slice is huge so there’s always leftovers for the next day. It’s a favourite here.”

The relative responsible for dragging Jeonghan into another trite conversation concerning his future had excused themselves from the table. He was finally able to return his attention to you, and you slid over the dessert menu so he could pick something. You noted that Jeonghan’s hand had fallen onto your thigh, right at the hem of your dress, and you could only surmise that trouble was brewing. Joshua took a sip from his water glass, then settled it back on the table while subtly eyeing you.

“So, I’ve never seen you around before. Are you in school?”

You tapped your nails against the white table cloth, shaking your head, “no—I had to drop my program. It just wasn’t what I thought it would be and, well, I took a huge hit financially. So, no school.”

“Not everything is going to be a bullseye,” Joshua said, “I’m sure there’ll be more opportunity down the road. This other friend of mine, his name is Mingyu, he does this thing called the Love Café—” the boy then gestured to Jeonghan, “and I know he’s done it once before. Have you heard of it? Maybe it’s not up your alley, but I hear it’s good money.”

The suggestion had quite visibly stunned you. It seemed that Jeonghan was intent to keep the foundation of your relationship as covert as possible, which prompted his ‘friends’ comment before dinner, therefore you had no choice but to follow the rouse, even if the boy was currently sliding his hand further up the inside of your thigh, pushing inch by inch under your dress. Jeonghan didn’t contribute a single word.

“Um, the name sounds familiar. I’ll have to look it up.” You then glanced at him, hanging his head over the menu like a child who forgot their glasses, probably hiding some million-watt smirk.

“Are you having dessert?” Joshua asked his friend.

Jeonghan sat up straight, nodding, “I am.”

“The red velvet cake?”

“Vanilla ice cream. The one that comes on the skillet.”

“Oh, that one’s seriously good,” Joshua groaned, “ask them to put a chocolate chip cookie on the side. It gets all warm and—”

“Joshua,” the young lady beside him, probably in her late twenties, with petal-shaped, twinkling eyes similar to his and ice-like smooth skin, suddenly wrapped her hand around his arm, “can you come outside with me for a few minutes? I think I left my wallet in the car.”

He pushed out his chair. “Sure thing—guys, I’ll be back in a few. I need to help my cousin. If the waiter comes, order for me please.”

While you might have promised Joshua to follow through on his unnecessarily complicated apple pudding, such thoughts were quick to be discarded the moment he’d left the table, as Jeonghan had given you much more to think about. The boy’s hand was wedged between the apex of your thighs with two fingers pressed flat against your underwear. You felt heat, and the faintest burning of pleasure, one that yearned for you to start a gentle undulation against his hand because your unruly body was already eager for stimulation. Jeonghan picked up his wine glass.

“What are you doing?” You tried to shelter the whisper from the table’s guests, hoping the business speech was too engrossing.

As laid back as an ironing board, Jeonghan took a long gulp from his drink, swishing the wine from cheek to cheek before he swallowed. He set the wide-rimmed glass back down and wiped his mouth.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing?’” He said, raising an eyebrow at you as though you’d conjured a make-believe tale. However, the instant he started to slide up his index finger so it could push firmly against your clit, a smirk penetrated that complacent expression.

You grabbed his wrist, stared him dead in those honey-brown eyes. “Are you insane?” the whisper was harsh, “we’re in public.”

He tilted his head indifferently. “What’s your point, love? I get to play with your pussy whenever I want. It’s mine now. Remember?”

The dirty-mouthed comment split a fire beneath your cheeks like a flint cracking steel. Not only that, but Jeonghan studied each minor contort of your face as he slipped two digits beneath your underwear, brushing his fingertips ever so softly around your sensitive clit. You gulped, dry and gritty, hating that your thighs were starting to spread.

“Jeonghan!” A voice called his name from down the table.

Fear gripped your poor heart like latex glove. It was an older relative, asking him to pass down the remaining bottle full of wine.

“Oh, such a nice boy!” She chirped.

You nearly gawked at the remark considering the immoral placement of his hand and what he was doing. On the contrary – as much as you wanted to be embarrassed for allowing Jeonghan to touch you in public viewing– he knew his talents much too well, and the manner in which he used your own arousal to lubricate the massaging motion of his finger to your clit was an astounding bliss. Your legs fell wider apart, inviting him to explore a more rigorous touch, and that’s when Jeonghan curled his two fingers inside of you until his knuckles couldn’t fit.

Before your pinched expression could be caught by anyone at the table, you looked straight down at your lap, watching his wrist work beneath the navy-blue fabric. In fact, very faintly, you could hear the squelch from his digits pumping deep and slow into your warmth. Your bottom lip was quivering as he drew them out, now running the long length of his fingers upward to graze beneath the hood of your clit. He repeated a stroking gesture. It triggered the nerves to swell and pulse.

“I see Joshua walking back,” Jeonghan murmured, an arrogance thick in his voice, “and you don’t want him to find out about this, do you? Or, maybe I’m wrong.” He slid his entire hand beneath your underwear and cupped your centre, squeezing like he owned it. “Maybe you want him to know you’re such a whore of a girl that you’ll take my fingers anywhere. I mean, look at how much you’ve opened your legs, and I didn’t even ask you to. I love when you behave just for me, honey.”

Joshua collapsed back at the table with a huff, combing some snow flurries from his hair. “We found the wallet.” He said.

Yet, you couldn’t even bring yourself to face him. Jeonghan had spread your lips with his index and ring finger, using his middle digit to make rhythmic, deep circles around the bud. An erotic whine escaped your teeth and Joshua’s eyes widened; his face tinged with concern.

“Are you alright?” He questioned. “Did you get a Charlie horse?”

“N-No, I’m fine, really.” You composed yourself with a weak smile, and took a sip from your wine. “I got one of those rib pains.”

The blonde boy winced. “Ouch, those hurt big time.”

Honestly, you didn’t think it was possible to endure dessert without revealing to some degree that you were being, well, stretched open by Jeonghan. It was sheer torture staring at the waiter while he took your order, knowing the boy was lazily pumping his fingers inside you with a half-smirk seated so comfortably to his face. When that huge, delicious slice of cream red velvet cake was placed before you on the table, you could only fork a few pathetic bites, and when Joshua offered you to try a spoonful from his warm apple pudding, you nearly squealed the word no as Jeonghan rolled your sore clit between his fingertips. The most egregious aspect to the entire daubable was that the boy stripped your orgasm from you at the very last second, like stopping a rollercoaster just before it tips over the downhill plummet.

“How was the ice cream?” Joshua asked him innocently.

You observed with horror as Jeonghan brought that sinful hand to his mouth, lapping his tongue against his two fingertips as though he were actually savouring a sweet and flavourful vanilla.

“Delicious.” He grinned, catching your mortified stupor from the corner of his eye. “I’d taste it again in a heartbeat, Shua.”

Dropping the slice of bread into a shallow bowl, you used the spatula to submerge it underneath the milk, egg and cinnamon mixture until it was completely coated. Then, you slid the bread onto your buttered frying pan to let its surfaces crisp and brown. Since you began utilizing the service granted by the Love Café, life at your depressing excuse for an apartment was becoming more bearable, though your ultimate goal would be to ditch the paper-thin walls and insult-spewing neighbours once money was no longer a prevalent issue. You were still insistent on supporting yourself too, if you could ever score a job.

You flipped the bread onto its opposite face, pressing it down with the spatula as the pan sizzled and the butter popped. A few days had passed since your last intimacy with Jeonghan, and the proof would have been stamped to your Love Card if the boy had actually written his initials like usual. The thing was, Jeonghan – who had always been so firm and unwavering on the rules of the café – was now skirting about the regulations as though they were optional. There were days when he didn’t even initial the card, but still delivered his transactions. In fact, you were almost positive that sex had happened more than twelve times and that you could be renewing your card if wanted (you didn’t).

As silly and cliché as it sounded, you liked Jeonghan. You constantly thought about him and missed him and wondered what he was doing while you were trapped in bed listening to another argument between your spiteful neighbours. There was always a deep, electric pounding in your chest upon weaving the tips of your fingers along his skin, touching him, exploring him. Yet, when he held you close, tucked your body tight against his like there was nothing surrounding you but ice, comfort found a home in your belly like a warm, homecooked meal.

After spilling some icing sugar and strawberries across the toast, now fried a delicious shade of golden-brown, you took a seat at the counter and dug in. There had been an occasion where Jeonghan brought you breakfast after warping your legs into complete gelatine (you had no idea that kitchen table sex could be so fiery and passionate), which proved to be a pleasant morning, where you could still feel the softness of his thumb as he kindly brushed some whipped cream from your bottom lip. You sighed, sticking a strawberry into your mouth. How foolish it might be to fall this far and this devotedly for someone like him.

But you didn’t want to stop yourself.

In fact, you reached for your phone across the counter, swiped into your messages, and decided to be bold. You texted him.

[  9:29 AM ]: Hey! I know that I’m not supposed to send you anything unrelated to our business lol, but

[9:29 AM ]: Just wondering if you’re available to grab a coffee with me or something along those lines?

Setting the phone down and turning it over so you wouldn’t be tempted to helplessly wait for a notification, you continued eating. After scraping the last few pieces of toast and syrup around the plate, there was a vibration and a quick, ding! Strangely, you were starting to sweat.

[ Jeonghan | 9:34 AM ]: Sorry. In a lecture rn.

Of course, your surge of bravery immediately dehydrated, and you decided it was best to pretend that you hadn’t asked him anything at all – for your confidence’s sake. The next two hours were spent cleaning the kitchen, taking a short walk outside the complex to feel the Northern air refresh your face, and finally, a long bath, in which you nearly fell asleep and drowned as the steam lulled your eyes shut. While wrapping your body snug in that new, hot pink bath towel, you heard a knock at the door. You assumed it was the painter who occupied the room directly below yours, as you had borrowed his vacuum the night before, though you weren’t exactly raving at the thought of answering him in a towel.

However, by squinting through the fisheye lens, you were shocked (and greatly relieved) to discover that it wasn’t the middle-aged painter dressed in his splattered, dirty overalls, but Jeonghan.

And he was holding a drink.

You unlocked the door.

“Uh, hello after all. What are you doing here?”

He smiled at you and held up the cardboard cup, “my lecture ended, and I thought I’d do you a solid. Couldn’t remember if it was two sugars-one cream, or two creams-one sugar. So I tossed a coin.”

“What exactly was the result?” You giggled.

“Heads,” Jeonghan answered, “two sugars-one cream it is.”

“You’re lucky that’s correct.”

Accepting the warm cup from his hand, you set it carefully on the kitchen counter. When you returned to the door, Jeonghan was evidently ogling you. He really suited the image of a casual university student when he wasn’t dressed to gems and jewels in his sumptuous clothing.

“I knew the hot pink towel would look good on you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not dropping it, so forget it.”

“Whoa,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “I didn’t ask you to drop it, sweetheart. I’d rather you not actually, with this door wide open and everything.”

“Did I really just hear that from you, Mr, Dinner Table?” Folding your arms, you stared him down with an accusing expression.

He held up one finger in defense. “First of all, that was under the table, so unless someone bumped their fork or something, then we were pretty much safe. This is you dropping your whole towel right in the doorway like there isn’t a weirdo probably peeping you across the hall as we speak. And I’m not letting anyone look at you like that, ever.”

“Fine,” you sighed, hoping he couldn’t spot the flustered heart pumping your chest beneath the towel, “you’ve made your point.”

Jeonghan checked his silver wrist watch, “fuck. I gotta get going, need to be at the studio so I can be a taper dummy again.”

“Oh, okay,” you nodded, “talk to y—”

Suddenly, the boy was cupping each side of your face in his hands, and his lips pressed soft but quick to your forehead. Jeonghan then pinched your thigh under the towel, a gesture which felt oddly endearing rather than sexual, before he left the corridor.

“Later!” He’d called.

Shutting the door, you returned to your seat at the counter, holding the coffee cup up to your mouth as you took a small, nervous sip.

How could you let yourself fall this easily for him?

Jeonghan’s washroom was somehow nicer than your entire apartment, and you were fairly certain that your eyes had never seen so much white-grey marble, all squeaky-clean and aglow with lights. He’d shot you a text roughly an hour ago, right after he was released from the painful effort required to keep Joshua’s peewee soccer players in check, wondering if you were available to come over. Of course, the innocence to the term ‘come over’ was nothing more than a euphemism, a means of sugar coating what Jeonghan actually intended: to be inside you no doubt. And since the boy was so drained and unwilling to instigate any work himself, Jeonghan decided that a steaming, hot bath should do.

Well – a bath which involved you seated on his dick. The tub was dark grey tile, square-shaped, and practically the size of a small jacuzzi. It even had a bench to sit on. While it had been difficult at first to simply cockwarm the boy – when all you could feel was how deeply he spearheaded into your sensitive spot and how this shock would ripple from your abdomen at even his gentlest movement– you knew he wasn’t looking to make things quick and temporary. Therefore, you settled into his lap, wrapping your arms around Jeonghan’s neck while his circled your waist beneath the water. Both of you were starting to fall asleep.

“Jeonghan,” you whispered, lifting your head from his shoulder, only to remember that you were indeed naked and this heat lapping around you was definitely not a blanket, “can I tell you something?”

With his eyes still shut, he nodded, his fingers digging appreciatively at your hips. “Of course you can, baby.” He replied, his voice sounding deeper than usual as he orientated on the edges of sleep.

Smiling, you combed through the damp hairs at his nape, your voice reverberating like a musical instrument off the marble. “Remember the salon place? They called me two days ago, said they had an opening for me and that I could start next Monday. I… I wanted to text you about it, like, as soon as it happened. But I wasn’t sure if I should.”

“What? Really?” Jeonghan was staring at you now, his head straightened from its leisurely position against the edge of the tub and cocked with interest. The fact he seemed so intrigued, that you could read the genuine excitement building up in those brown eyes, had almost made you happier than the salon’s phone call. “Congratulations!” He leaned forward to kiss you, pecking your lips chastely the first time, and then slower come the second, his hands squeezing your thighs.

After a tiny laugh, you sighed contentedly. “Thank you. It’s going to be so nice having my own cashflow and everything. And if I can work my way up and become like, a kickass hair stylist? Can you imagine?”

“Should I grow my hair out more so you can practice cutting it? You’ve got a steady hand, don’t you?” Jeonghan asked, mostly teasing, as you could imagine his parents harping him during his next session at Opal Studio if he looked as though he’d ran through some hedge clippers.

Returning the affection, you kissed the rosy tip of his nose. “I think my hands are pretty steady. We’ll find out I guess, and we’ll know for sure if a huge chunk of your hair falls to the floor.”

Your laughter immediately mingled, and you hid your smile against the boy’s neck, a very moonstruck, loopy smile which felt like riding a blazing comet between the stars. If you were legitimately able to climb higher amongst the business, then you could picture a life in which you didn’t need to lean on Jeonghan and the Love Café for financial support. In fact, there were moments where you felt rather dirty using his money even when he was completely insistent on such matters, like buying food and paying off bills. You held tight to a certain hope, that you could become independent again, and maybe, just maybe, be able to keep this beautiful boy whom you once thought would hate you.

His fingers tapped up your spine, urging you to face him.

“Seriously,” Jeonghan said, “I’m happy for you.”

“I know,” you answered, so quietly he could hardly hear it.

And then, you decided to kiss Jeonghan, placing your damp hand upon his cheek while your mouths slotted together. The contact had lost its grace almost instantly, and the kiss turned from a sweet gesture to a sensuality so thick you could feel it swelter the air and pool between your legs. He offered his tongue for you to suckle by sliding it smoothly into your mouth, and from there, Jeonghan’s intended relaxation had vanished. His hands grazed to the front of your body, reaching up and sliding back and forth over each breast. It wasn’t until Jeonghan began massaging his thumbs in circular motions around your nipples that you moaned into his mouth, a sound which flicked a smirk to his face.

Once his lips were shiny and slick with your saliva, he moved each kiss down the side of your neck, now pinching at your nipples, even twisting gently and making sure to ease the dull throb by rubbing them afterward. It was becoming unbearable. You needed to move. However, the second you started a rhythm in Jeonghan’s lap, he shook his head.

“Be still,” he told you, lightly gripping your chin.

The desperation in your whine was horribly apparent, almost soaking each word. “No Jeonghan, I-I can’t do that anymore—” ignoring him, you continued to grind your hips and move the water around you, feeling his engorged head tick against that one spot of insane pleasure, “I need t’cum now, all over your cock.” With every bounce in his lap, you begged, “please, please, please.” This prompted Jeonghan to grab your waist much tighter than usual and slam you down, holding you still.

“No, not like that,” he grunted, and you wondered if his control was simply otherworldly or if he was just that talented at hiding how good he felt. “I’ll make you cum, sweetheart,” Jeonghan nodded, “but you can’t move. I just want you to sit there, all the way down.”

He then leaned in close to your face, nearly pressing his forehead to yours, and that’s when you felt his thumb brush with a featherlight, fleeting touch across your clit. The sudden stimulation jerked your body. Jeonghan bit his lip and grinned while continuing the sensitive touch, the pressure becoming heavier with each minute that passed. Your thighs started to tremble, and your moans were echoing around the washroom.

The honeyed dirty talk crawled up Jeonghan’s throat. “You’re such a cute little cocksleeve, sweetheart,” he purred, titling his head as he rubbed his thumb faster, “oh, look at you, baby. Shaking and crying and taking it like it’s the only thing you’re good for—” a messy kiss to calm you down, thin strings of saliva hanging in the air each time your mouths separated, “I bet you’re gonna cum for me soon, right?” The boy encouraged, keeping his forehead flush to yours so he could observe with utmost clarity the beautiful contortions of your face. “I know you are, sweetheart. Because it feels so good, right?” You nodded frantically, digging your fingers into his neck like a cat sinking in its claws. Jeonghan’s thumb pushed beneath the hood of your clit, directly massaging the soft bud, and the pleasure inside you leapt to a new high which made you dumbly lose all sense.

“Cum.” Jeonghan commanded so gently, his gaze burning against your eyes, squeezed shut. At the straightforward word, you allowed the sensation to swallow you like a current, and the hot, teary cry you mewled had been quickly snuffed as the boy pushed his lips to yours.

“Can feel you clenching so fucking tight around my cock,” he chuckled, digging his nose into your hair and speaking warmly beside your ear, “and how much you’re throbbing right under my thumb. Must feel so good, sweetheart, cumming all over me like such a good girl.”

You slumped against him, overwhelmed, emptied, and breathing so heavy that you were afraid the oxygen might dwindle completely from your lungs. The fact Jeonghan could remain so composed while buried to the hilt in your heat was something else that frightened you, though, in the moment, you preferred not to think about it, instead concentrating on the distant sensation of Jeonghan drawing galactic shapes to each your shoulder blades.

Hopefully, he’d let you stay the night.

Once you started the receptionist job at the hair salon, you had bumped into Joshua on a Friday evening. While his platinum blonde look was indeed enchanting and princely, he complained that it was difficult to maintain the roots, and that he often found himself back in the stylist’s chair for a touch up. He’d come in on a whim. Luckily – due to the late hour – there was an open seat, and Joshua puffed a great sigh of relief as he hooked his jacket onto the salon coat hanger. Curious if there was more behind the reason to his abrupt appearance, you conversed with him while he waited for the stylist to tidy up her work area.

That’s when Joshua informed you of the Opal’s Galleria Night, a fashion exhibition which would display Mr. Yoon’s newest edition for his upcoming Spring line. Joshua seemed surprised that you hadn’t known about the Galleria, or, that Jeonghan hadn’t mentioned it to you. Oddly enough, Jeonghan had been radio silent the past three days; not a phone call, or a voice memo, or even a text. Yesterday you had hoped to catch him stuck in the books at the library, but the area where he usually sat was occupied by a study group of freshman. It concerned you a little.

An ungraceful quickie in the washroom after his three-hour lecture ended on Tuesday was your last encounter. Not to mention, there was only one more opening left on your Love Card.

“He didn’t say anything,” you told Joshua, pretending to act indifferent “so… I don’t think he wants me there. It’s not a big deal.”

Yet, that’s not how you truly felt. There had to be some reason for the boy’s keeping you in the dark. Did he not want to explain the ‘friends’ trope to all the Galleria members, like at the dinner? Or, was he thinking that you wouldn’t be interested? It wasn’t easy to seem unphased.

“Jeonghan doesn’t need to invite you,” Joshua had said, “cause I’ll invite you myself. Mr. Yoon said it was more than  fine if I brought someone along. So, why not you? It’ll make the night more fun.”

At first, you vehemently rejected the invite, no matter how sweetly Joshua attempted to rope you into a night of free perfume samples, delicious catering food and a chocolate fountain perfect for dipping strawberries. However, when the hair stylist pulled Joshua away to fix his darkening roots, you had much time to mull over the offer, and even the fact you felt poignant about dismissing it. As you tapped a pen against the desk, staring out the window into the grey, dulling sky, you convinced yourself there could be no harm in attending the Opal’s Galleria Night. Besides, you and Jeonghan weren’t cast in stone. He probably wouldn’t bat any eyelash anyways, knowing his eased nature.

And so, you caught Joshua just before he left.

You told him you’d changed your mind.

When Jeonghan first saw you at the Opal Galleria, it was from across the ballroom that had been temporarily converted into an exhibition space, stood next to a mannequin draped in a cherub-pink slip dress. Almost comically, he gagged on some sparkling champagne held in a thin and tall glass, though he recovered smoothly as to not interrupt the conversation his father was sharing with the dense crowd. You waved at him, not too noticeably of course, but he either didn’t catch it or had decided to ignore the gesture. Shrugging, you tried not to overthink it.

Mannequins were lined up along both sides of the ballroom, adorned in the mild tones baring semblance to Spring, with the blips of baby blues, clementine oranges, and cream violets transforming the Galleria into an acrylic painting. Jeonghan’s mother took the opportunity to offer some spritzes from her most recent line, which had both you and Joshua smelling like a tulip garden. While exploring the room with the blonde boy, you stopped to examine a mannequin dressed in a relaxed, high-waisted pant and a lace camisole that seemed breezy and flowing. This collection was definitely tamer compared to the usual extravagance you had always seen through the store windows and in magazines.

“Would you wear it?” Joshua asked, chewing on a strawberry that he might as well have plucked from thin air.

Tilting your head and squinting, you took a moment to contemplate. “If it was my size I might, if I could find a price hanging off somewhere. But I don’t want to even touch it. Mannequins are weird.”

“No prices are usually displayed at the Gallerias,” Joshua informed you, “though, I will agree. It’s probably a Toy Story thing where they all start moving at night when no one’s here. Spooky, huh?”

You sighed at him, “thanks for the nightmare material.”

Suddenly, there was a tap to your bare shoulder, and you nearly yelped like a cat with a stepped-on tail as Joshua laughed between bites from his juicy strawberry. Turning around, you were met with Jeonghan, who had this flat-lined, unenthusiastic smile hardly touching the corners of his mouth. He looked rather agitated in fact, and you felt cold inside.

“Hey!” Joshua exclaimed, punching his friend’s arm. “Finally escape your dad’s novella-length speech on the pink slip?”

The crowd once gathered around the mannequin had started to disperse, with the visitors now exploring the rest of the outfits.

Jeonghan hardly payed any mind to his friend, throwing out an impatient, “yeah, it was whatever,” before he began questioning you. He started with a rather inhospitable, “why are you here?”

“I invited her,” Joshua announced, “since I ran into her at that salon place. I thought it would be nice and everything. The Gallerias can get pretty stiff if you come alone. Plus, there’s chocolate fountains.”

He appeared nettled, like he’d woken up and spilled coffee on his favourite shirt. You couldn’t place the exact emotion, nor could you identify the reason behind Jeonghan acting as though there were one-hundred choice words waiting to zap off the tip of his tongue. For an instant, you wondered if it would be worthwhile to question him, though there was a shout of the boy’s name and you spotted his parents beckoning him over from across the exhibition. Jeonghan merely rolled his eyes, disappearing just as quickly as he’d arrived to accompany them.

You folded your arms concerningly. “Do you know if something’s wrong? I haven’t seen him like that before.”

Joshua dropped the rest of the strawberry into his mouth. “He’s probably stressing over something. I wouldn’t worry too much. He’s not really one to blow up or get all in your face. I’ll talk to him later.”

Seeing as there were others who wanted to examine the camisole mannequin, you and Joshua seated yourselves at a tiny table right beside the chocolate fountain and catering foods. Though, you were unable to quell the curiosity at what Jeonghan was needed for, prompting your eyes to wander as unnaturally as possible in his direction. He’d just pulled a young woman into a hug, and she was positively gorgeous, dressed in a silk-fabric dress, form fitting and ruby red, with an elegant slit parting up to her right thigh. Her ponytail was slicked shiny as though her hair had been styled professionally, and she flaunted a dreamy smile that reminded you of a vintage female heroine.

And then, like a slap to the face, you realized she must be the woman whom Jeonghan’s parents seemed to be obsessed over.

Baejin, his ex-girlfriend.

She mentioned something into his ear, and they became giggly, the two pulling in again for another short hug. Jeonghan’s father gestured back to the pink slip mannequin, and the four walked over to discuss it for the umpteenth time. You wondered if she was going to be modeling some of the clothing. The assumption felt correct as Baejin touched the dress’ delicate fabric and the beaded, glimmering string tied around the tiny waist. Quickly, Jeonghan fetched the girl a champagne glass, the two drinking together while the father appeared to be entering another in-depth explanation. And, perhaps dignifiedly so, you were feeling mislead and upset. You speculated if this could be the reason for him to keep the Opal Galleria a secret – Jeonghan didn’t want you to catch even a glimpse of him reuniting with Baejin.

They hardly portrayed two ex’s who were now settled on different chapters to their lives. The longer you stared, the angrier, yet, more confused you felt. As you thought before, the odd relationship between you and Jeonghan was not set in stone, and it certainly didn’t ignite with the intention of actual love taking a blossom to your doorstep. It could be that you were jumping to conclusions, misreading things, or disillusioned by your tendency to wishfully think. Nonetheless, the sight still hurt.

Joshua bumped your elbow.

“Are you hungry at all? The scent from the catering tables is getting to me. I can grab a plate for you, if you want.”

With a sigh and a fragile smile, you shook your head. “No, I’ll come with you. Besides, you don’t know what I like anyways.”

“Fair enough.” Joshua agreed.

He stuck out his hand for you to take while rising from the chair.

Grabbing a small plate, you started at the end of the catering table and began making your way down, using the plastic tongs to serve yourself some spring rolls. Joshua filed after you, instead taking a bowl and scooping up some of the fresh zucchini pasta. Admittedly, you had lost your appetite after watching Jeonghan act so cordially with Baejin, though you were determined to not let the plight sour the otherwise enjoyable night you were having with Joshua. Once you reached the chocolate fountain, you swore a sparkle jumped into his eye.

“Why are you so obsessed with the fountain?” You had tried not to laugh as you asked the question.

The blonde boy looked aghast. “Because, it’s beautiful!” He picked up a strawberry arranged neatly around the base, dipping the edge briefly beneath the chocolate. “I mean, how can they make it so delicious and velvety? When I came to my first Galleria, I spent like, half my night just standing by the fountain, eating the fruit.”

You couldn’t help but think Joshua was adorable, and you grinned at him, “well, maybe I don’t have as much of a sweet tooth.”

“Just shush up and try this.”

He held out the strawberry, inviting you for a taste. At first, you paused, wondering if there was some flirtatious intention behind the gesture or if Joshua was just being his overtly kind self. And then, you held onto his wrist and took a bite from the strawberry, the warmth of the melted chocolate satin-smooth against your tongue.

Wiping the edge of your mouth, you nodded. “It is pretty tasty, actually. Let me try dipping it. You make it look weirdly fun.”

After setting down the catering plate, you took Joshua’s strawberry while he picked up a new one. Together, you pushed your fruits beneath the streaming chocolate, twisting it at the green leaf to fully coat the sides. So it wouldn’t drip, you immediately took a huge bite with a hand placed just below your mouth, humming contentedly.

“Okay,” you mumbled, still chewing, “I can see why you like this so much. I think I could get addicted to chocolate strawberry dipping.”

“Me too,” Joshua chuckled, “oh! Look, there’s whipped cream here and I didn’t even see it!” He set down his plate beside yours and grabbed the bottle like an eager little child. Popping off the cap, Joshua shook the can and pressed his fingertip against the nozzle, spraying a white-frosted peak onto the top of another strawberry. You copied him, though you had accidently sprayed too much. Once you licked the cream off your finger, you poked the entire fruit into your mouth like a funfetti-sized cupcake. For some reason, Joshua started giggling at you.

“What?” You glared at him playfully. “What’s wrong?”

Rosy tinges flushed to the arch of Joshua’s cheeks. “Uhm… Well, l-let me just—” he stuttered, cupping his hand gently to your face, his thumb brushing at a spot right below your bottom lip. “You had some whipped cream on your… chin slash lip. Sorry about that.”

“O-Oh, it’s okay.” You were stumbling yourself, tongue darting out instinctively to ensure there wasn’t anything still there.

At random, you felt this prickle tiptoe up the back of your neck, a sensation that was hardly perceptible yet singeing enough for you to notice it. Gulping, you peered toward that faceless mannequin draped in its pink slip dress, toward Jeonghan, Baejin, and his parents who were enthralled in a conversation with her. Jeonghan was glaring so blatantly at Joshua that you’d forgotten how to speak, and you couldn’t even pronounce a single word of warning as the boy started storming his way across the ballroom.

His grip was on your elbow like a viper’s teeth.

“Geez, where’d you come from?” Joshua said, though he was  able to note the tension this time, and Jeonghan’s surly behaviour.

“I need to talk to you,” Jeonghan murmured by your ear, ignoring Joshua yet again, “in the hall just outside the exhibition.”

You didn’t want to agree. Strangely enough, you felt this urge balloon inside you, an urge to cause a gigantic scene with screaming and thick tears and unnecessary curses, because as much as you wanted to dismiss your anger, there were jealous, wronged feelings inside, on fire and itching to escape from your gut. Miraculously, you held your composure, and announced to Joshua that you’d talk to him later.

Jeonghan then tore you into the empty hallway.

It was like a lightning bolt, how quickly he exploded.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jeonghan ranted, pacing back and forth as the distant echo of music bled through the wall. “Seriously, I don’t text you back for like, three days, and you’re already going on a date with my best friend—” he softened his voice in a purposefully mocking way, “letting him get all delicate with you, feeding you all lovey-dovey style and wiping that cream off your lip. Did you think I wouldn’t see it?”

“Excuse me?” Your brow instantly creased like a folded map, and you felt an intense ache hit the front of your skull. “Um, you’re one to talk! How come you didn’t tell me about the Galleria? Because you didn’t want me to see you with your arm around your ex’s waist? Because you don’t think I’m good enough to show off to your parents?”

Jeonghan gawked at you. “Baejin? For real? You think I’ve been secretly dating her behind your back or something?”

“How am I supposed to know?” You barked, tucking your arms defensively across the chest. And, while it might have been too early into the argument to pit such a statement, you had already started bubbling, and you knew there was nothing to snuff your fire. “Besides, you hardly ever get back to me apart from when you want to fuck!”

At that, the boy was momentarily stumped. What sounded like a rebuttal fizzled at the back of his throat, though it faded away. The silence worried you, because it echoed a confirmation that Jeonghan might’ve actually never seen as you as anything more than an outlet to alleviate his carnality. That, once the Love Café ordeal was finally over with, he could forget you had ever existed like erasing a mistake of smudged lead. The thought made you glassy-eyed and thus, terribly vulnerable. However, you also craved the truth to your relationship.

“Just admit it,” you beseeched him, “admit that you want me only for sex and nothing else. Is that why you didn’t bring up the Galleria? Because you think it’s easier to shove me in the dark when it’s convenient for you? Is that why you were acting so mad?”

He skimmed a hand exasperatedly through his hair. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not dating Baejin behind your back, I have never once thought you weren’t good enough to show off to my parents, and I didn’t purposefully hide the Galleria from you.”

“Right,” you scoffed, “but you’re fine with labelling me as a friend and pretending like we don’t hook up every week.”

“It’s…” he clenched his teeth and growled in frustration, “it’s complicated, alright? Can’t you just accept that?”

“Complicated?” A shudder coursed down your spine at having to repeat the boy, and the tears sprung from your eyes with such a sharp sting that it became impossible to hold them back. You felt each drop, cold and runny, drip along your face. “That’s the word you’re going to use? You’re going to look straight at me, after the entire span of our relationship since the Love Café, and tell me we’re summed up best as complicated?” Again, the word struck you like a stiff punch. If he was going to regard your connection so trivially, then you didn’t care whether or not he knew the verity of your heart. Like it would affect him anyways.

“I would’ve said we were in love,” you shrugged, watching his expression drop in a mere instant, “but—sure, let’s call it complicated.”

And, with the tears shining like salt stars on your face, you stalked out the building into the softening winter weather.

You didn’t know it could be so difficult to ignore someone, especially when you were supposed to hate them. The effect Jeonghan had on you was almost phantom-like; a constant lingering, even if the boy himself wasn’t palpable and poised right before your eyes.

It had been three days since the outburst at the Galleria. That night, you cried, and wept, and broke out the amber bottle stored beneath your sink which was only sipped from in occasions of complete misery – very well suited to the situation at hand. You had questioned calling the Love Café’s customer service desk to issue a termination of your card, and, at one point, you were standing drunkenly by the toilet contemplating your decision to rip up the red paper and flush it. Though, nothing ever came of either idea. Instead, you faceplanted onto your bed and allowed the intoxicated dizziness to fade black. The next morning, you were faced with multiple texts from Jeonghan, missed phone calls, voice notes. But you didn’t listen or respond to anything.

Complicated. That was the word you kept hearing.

Absolutely not, you had thought that morning, you weren’t ready to speak with him, even if the temptation seemed like it could be promising. The air was still too bitter. And you couldn’t handle another argument.

On the second day after the outburst, you were seated at the receptionist desk in the salon, flicking through a magazine while you became increasingly mindless to the humming of the blow dryer and the potent fragrance of the hair products. When you glanced out the window, you nearly combusted, as both Joshua and Jeonghan were about to enter the salon together, hurrying in from the melted snow and winter’s final downpour. You hid in the breakroom until they left, forcing your co-worker to take your position at the desk. Joshua was apparently getting his hair trimmed while Jeonghan had asked about you at the reception.

“He’s gorgeous!” Your co-worker had immediately gushed to you in the breakroom. “Why are you avoiding someone like that?”

“It’s complicated.” You’d phrased it simply.

Dang it. You hated the fact you’d used that stupid word.

But, on the third day, most of your bitterness was gone.

After breakfast, you were back at the vanity mirror to prepare for work, and while you buffed some makeup to sit seamlessly on the skin with your puffy foundation brush, there was a knock at your door. This time, you didn’t bother peeping through the fisheye lens, because you knew exactly who it was – damn his persistence. Jeonghan’s brown hair had been slightly mused in the wind, and there was a glow as soft as a peach to each his cheeks. But that easygoing, relaxed smile was by far the most heart fluttering. He extended a coffee cup to you. When you reached out, Jeonghan suddenly pulled the coffee away with a tsking sound.

“You can have it only if—” he held up his finger, “you agree to let me in so I can explain myself. Yes, I’m bribing you. And yes, I’m an asshole from time to time. But five minutes at least. That’s all I need.”

For a moment, you wavered, only to mutter a resounding, “fine.”

Despite Jeonghan’s company, you still had work to get ready for, so the boy followed you into the bedroom. He took a seat on the edge of your mattress while you settled back into the vanity chair. Picking through your jar of makeup brushes, you plucked a round, oval-tipped one to apply your eyeshadow. Jeonghan was silent at first, watching you through the mirror as you hurried about the look. It wasn’t perfect, in fact it was a bit sloppy and rushed and there was already some fallout  sitting like a glittered dust on your cheeks, though Jeonghan was staring at you with such fondness, you wondered if the mirror was reflecting the same image. Of course, the Love Card was sitting on your desk too.

“Well,”  you spun around in the chair, pressing your lips together, “I’m waiting for you to explain, y’know. Like you said you would. Technically, you’ve lost a couple minutes, and I should really try to be at the salon early, but I’m still going to give you full time since—"

“I love you.”

“… What?”

“I love you,” Jeonghan repeated himself casually, a slow smile spilling from each corner of his mouth, “I’m in love with you, as deep as I could be, I think. Anyways, you want me to keep saying it? I love you.”

It felt like someone had taken a picture with the blinding glare of its flash, a picture you couldn’t be more unprepared for, the dots still dancing and fumbling across your vision. The moment was disorienting, but you experienced a very fulgurant warmth take shape inside you. It was comforting yet daunting, a sugar rush and a hangover, something so alive you knew you wanted it more than anything else in the world.

Yet, “you… are in love with me?” was all that you could express.

Jeonghan fiddled with the coffee cup in his hands. “You’re a funny girl, you know that? But I can say it a fifth time if you want.”

“N-No, I—I just, I wasn’t expecting—”

“Yeah, I can see that, “ he’d laughed, though it quickly fell into a sigh and suddenly Jeonghan’s temperament had shifted. “Look, I know that night wasn’t pretty. I know I ghosted you. I know I didn’t tell you about the stupid Galleria,” the boy glanced up, catching your eye, “but… I didn’t say anything because I was confused. I knew your Love Card only had one signature left, and just like that… you could be in my bed for the last time. If we’re really gonna get sentimental about it,”

Jeonghan chuckled, scratching his chin a bit shyly, “it could be my last time holding you, and kissing you… I just, I didn’t want it to be like that. But I didn’t know how to confront you about it, so I hid. And I stressed myself out, and I got so stupidly jealous and angry when I saw you with Joshua. That was my bad. I should’ve been upfront.”

Tucking your hands together anxiously in your lap, you nodded, beginning to understand the missing pieces.

“Thank you for saying that.” You murmured, tapping your feet in a nervous rhythm against the floor. “I… I was being unreasonable and jealous too,” you subsequently admitted, “I was assuming things about you and Baejin when I shouldn’t have. I don’t know what I was expecting anyways, that you act like she doesn’t exist? It was dumb, and I was adding pressure. I’m sorry too.” Wanting to lighten the tone, you smiled at him, “I guess we both have our flaws, huh?”

He returned the tender glance and held out the coffee cup.

“I guess we do.”

You grabbed it politely.

Turning around in the chair, you grabbed the bright red Love Card off the vanity, initialed until its last circle, “what should we do with this? I mean, we kind of messed up their rules, fooling around more than twelve times. And, well, I’m not gonna renew it.”

“Oh, let me see.” Jeonghan said.

As soon as you passed the card to him, he ripped it clean in half, crumpled each piece, balled them together in his hands and tossed the shreds into the trash can sat in the corner.

“Well, that was fucking easy,” he smiled, getting up from the mattress, “aren’t you late for work? Do you need a drive?”

You looked at your alarm clock.

“If you can get me there in the next ten minutes, that’d be great.”

Jeonghan headed to the front door while you hurriedly grabbed your coat from the closet and snatched your bag off the floor, resting the strap over your shoulder. With the coffee still in hand, you headed into the living area, looking around in one final swoop to make sure you had everything packed for the day. A sheet of sunlight spilt into the room from outside the window, pale, like the morning sky, yet filling every crevice of the cheap apartment with a dull shine. And for a very fleeting moment, you thought this place wasn’t so abhorrent. It had been your home, your stepping stone, a thumbprint which identified a period of hardship and growth. But, despite this bittersweet taste on your tongue, you couldn’t envision yourself staying.

“Come on,” Jeonghan pinched your hip, “at this rate I’ll get a speeding ticket trying to get you to work on time.”

Turning around, you stuck a kiss to the boy’s cheek, just catching the cool beginning of a smirk on that dazzling face of his as you interlaced your fingers and pulled him into the corridor.

No, you could not stay here.

Not when your future was with Jeonghan.

✧✎ a/n: yeah, so this was clearly A LOT longer than the original love café teehee. i remembered the plot vaguely therefore i refused to reread my first version weufhewif PLS IT MAKES ME CONVULSE SO BAD !! i just had to rewrite the plot and do it some actual justice! i hope this version is a lot better and that you rly enjoyed it! i wish yjh would give me money but i guess we can’t all live in a fantasy world!! thx for reading!!

[ill-skillsgard]

Anything faust!valter

I usually don't enjoy vague requests like this, but I was writing a Faust!V piece anyway. So, I'll just put this here.

+

Warning: 18+ smut, mature language, anti-religious themes. **In this part: consensual sleep sex, family conflict, angst.**

Summary: Faust and Faith get caught in the act, propelling Faith to do the one thing she never thought herself capable: defy her father.

- Not based on Lords of Chaos. I use Faust!Valter’s likeness only as inspiration.

Read more Faust x Faith here [x]

A warm prodding awakened Faith in the early hours. Faust was pressed against her naked back, chest and stomach soft and contoured to her spine. Lower down, he nudged her with a growing erection. It twitched across her tailbone once, twice, and so on, in reflection with the man's heartbeat. He felt enormous behind her. Drawing his knees up, his thighs balled her and squeezed.

His breath spread over the back of her neck, followed by a crawling moan. Faust curled his hips under hers, seeking out the sleek warmth between her legs. They had fallen asleep with the TV on, and the same non-stop pornographic advertisements played with the volume low. The ruddy morning glow swirled up the moans, tenderizing the bedded bodies in low heat.

Faust whispered through strands of hair, "can I be inside of you?"

Faith raised her right leg, providing him access which he took with a slow but forceful stab. He trusted her whimpers and went along with each one, finding a steady rhythm guided by her noises. Sleep still licked at his eyelids, teaming with comfort to lead Faust back into a restful embrace. Even her enclosing wetness wasn't enough to keep his eyes open.

This process repeated. Faust fought lazily to stay awake, to stay hard inside of her. Faith didn't seem to mind the five-minute doses of lovemaking with a reprieve to doze. Car alarms, porn trailers and a gentle buzzing went off, ignored by the sleepy couple.

Faust picked up the pace eventually and lifted Faith's leg for less resistance. He slammed into her, wrapping one long arm around her midriff to keep her from bouncing across the bed. Anchored, Faith let the stretch soothe her to the core. Having him inside, muted and reserved to the pleasure and not the filth, was a rarity she longed to savour. Too often, Faust spent their time together teasing, making her feel like the hungry one, the desperate one. Now, he was the one who couldn't hold back.

"Faith... I'm gonna come soon."

Before she replied, he angled her face to smother her mouth with a kiss. His lips devoured her moans, tongue licking hers. He sent his hand down to her groin and pressed his index and middle finger together to create the perfect cushion for her clit.

"Does that feel good?" He asked.

"Yes," she smiled. "Yes, that's amazing."

"Mm, good. I need you to come at the same time as me."

The request struck Faith softer than his usual demands. Faust always told her exactly what to do, at the precise time, through clenched teeth, and if she failed to meet his expectations, he hissed and scolded her. Not this time. Faust paused his movements to get her up to speed.

"Mm, more, please," Faith said.

He fed her half his length. Anything more, and she would clench and mewl. Faust didn't want that kind of thing today. Working her clit with his fingers and pumping himself into her with care, Faust forgot everything.

Faith's cell phone continued to rumble. The first few rounds of vibrations had gone unnoticed, but now Faith was starting to worry. It broke her concentration, robbed Faust's caresses of poignancy. It was Sunday morning, and she hadn't checked in with her parents in a few days. By the shade of light filtering through the rust-coloured drapes, she deduced it couldn't be later than noon.

"Faust...I should answer my phone."

"No, baby. Just stay here. Get close with me."

"I can't," she said. "What if it's..."

"Don't answer. What's more important? Me, or him? You're a big girl. Make your own decisions."

Faith closed her eyes and waited for the vibrations to cease. Faust had not stopped slowly easing his cock inside of her, then out and back in. He delivered one stroke that was harder than the others and hooked her attention back to him.

"Come on, beautiful. Help me come."

It was another hour before Faust came to his shuddering end and spilled a shocking amount of cum both inside Faith and between her thighs. It dripped onto the bed, soaked the sheets and continued dribbling from her cunt even as he climbed down the bed to position his face there. He licked her from hole to clit, over and over until she moaned animatedly.

"Oh my god, Faust."

"You like that, baby? Let me lick that cum-soaked pussy for you."

Faust pinched the sensitive crest, revealing her clit and applying pressure. He used the months he'd spent eating her out to pull out all the tricks. He teased her opening with his middle finger, flicking her clit periodically to make her nerves jump.

"So much fucking cum in there. Oh, it's so nice watching it all dripping out of that perfect hole."

Again, the commotions of the outside world faded into obscurity while they played in their private bubble. Not even the indecency on the TV screen compared to Faust's green eyes watching her reactions while a perfect pair of lips toyed with every inch of her womanhood. She stroked his long hair back, but the black tresses fell over his face until he shouldered them out of the way.

"Are you ready to come for me, Faith?"

"Mm, yes. I'm ready."

"Yeah? What do you want? My fingers a bit harder? Suck your clit?"

"Both," she gasped.

Faust served two equally measured stimulations, enhanced by the slippery sound of his tongue. The peak fell into line, nudged forward by the mix of incentives working together to tickle her beyond pleasure. The noise delighted Faith, filled her with arousal, and she twisted and writhed as her climax approached. Matched with Faust's deep moans, the television and cars passing by on the street faded into obscurity. All thoughts of her neglected cell phone disappeared.

All of this smashed against an invisible wall and shattered before realization. There was a temperamental rapping at the door, followed by the boom of Faith's name from the other side. Faith shot up and away from Faust, clutching for a pillow to block her nudity.

"Faith! You better get out here, girl!"

"Daddy?"

"Oh, shit," said Faust. "Go to the bathroom. Now. Go on!"

Faith scrambled off the bed and grabbed her shredded panties from where Faust threw them the night before. In her haste, she missed her top and only brought her skirt into the washroom for coverage.

Faust wiped his glistening mouth, let the pounding at the door go unanswered until he caught his breath and climbed into his boxers. Prepared to face Stan, he wrenched open the door and found the man fuming, ready to throw his fists.

"Where is she?" Stan asked, bowling through the door and into the motel room where pornography still flashed on the TV.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Faith! Get out here now."

"You need to get the fuck out, right now. Faith's not here."

"Bullshit! Her phone's right there on the table."

Stan went to the bathroom door and banged hard enough the wood jumped from its frame. Faust hauled the man away from the door and met swift resistance.

"You can't be in here!"

"Don't tell me what I can't do. You have my daughter!"

"Daddy, please stop!" Faith cried from the other side of the bathroom door.

Stan glared at Faust with heat snapping behind his eyes. Not one to succumb to intimidation, Faust planted his feet and motioned for the man to leave.

"Don't make this violent, Stan. Faith's with me. She's a fucking adult."

The father noticed the television and spat on the carpet.

"She will never see you again if I have anything to do with it."

"That's just it... There's nothing you can do. So, I suggest you get the fuck out of here before something bad happens."

Stan ignored Faust and knocked on the door again.

"Faith, get dressed. You're coming with me."

"Daddy, you have to leave. I don't have any clothes."

"You son of a bitch," Stan hissed. "What the fuck have you done to my daughter? First, you don't answer calls, then I find you in here fornicating with this scumbag? What the hell is wrong with you, Faith?"

"Look, man, she doesn't have any clothes. Get the fuck out so she can at least get dressed. Or do you plan on dressing her yourself?"

Stan ignored Faust's comments with a sneer. "Have you forgotten your phone's tracking? How did you think this would end, Faith? Your mother and I thought you were taken! Get dressed right now, young lady. You are in for the punishment of your life!"

Faust followed Stan outside and watched the preacher thrash his fists. He recognized the car in front and smirked. The father's anger spread, fuelling Faust's urge to retaliate.

"You'll never keep her away from me," said Faust with a laugh.

"Shut your mouth."

"Can't handle the truth, can you? You hate that she loves me. You hate the thought of someone like me with her."

Stan whipped a warning look at Faust. The air outside was cool and raised goosebumps over his bare skin, but inside, his guts boiled. Faust longed for a more violent reaction. He wanted fire and destruction.

"I fucked her. You've no idea how many times I've fucked her."

Faith made it outside in time to witness her father advance on Faust. She shrieked as Stan's fist made contact with Faust's jaw and sent him reeling backward. He clenched the side of his chin and laughed, blood already coating his teeth.

"Oh, nice shot, big man. Come on. Beat the shit out of me. Show your daughter how a man handles things."

"Get in the car, Faith," Stan pointed.

"No, Daddy. I'm not leaving."

"Faith! I said get in the car!"

"No, Daddy! I won't go with you!"

Faith ran to Faust and threw herself around him, burying her face under his arm. Faust popped his brows and snickered.

"It's okay, babe. I'm fine. It was a good punch, though. Enough for an assault charge."

Faust kissed the top of Faith's head, eyes pinned to Stan while he licked his teeth.

"Get over it, preacher. She's mine."

"Stop it! Both of you stop, right now!" Faith pushed off Faust and stood in the middle of them. "Daddy, you have to go. I'm not a baby, and I'm not going to church. You can move the whole family across the country if you want to, but I'm staying and going to school."

"You are not missing church," Stan said.

"I'm old enough to make my own decisions. And I'm disabling my phone's tracker. This is an invasion of my privacy. And Faust... You keep quiet, too! Both of you."

The manager of the motel stepped out of the office, interested in the source of the commotion but not concerned enough to call the police. Fights broke out on the property all the time. Drapes pulled back, and anonymous eyes surveyed the scene as well. Faith suddenly felt far too exposed to the possibility a gust of wind might lift her skirt and reveal her nakedness. She reserved to make a point to Faust to stop ruining her underwear, but that would have to wait.

"Get in your car, drive back home, and maybe I won't press charges, old man," Faust negotiated.

"I'm not leaving without my daughter."

"Fine. You can stay here and explain to the cops why you punched me in the face and how you're trying to abduct an adult who has already stated multiple times that she doesn't want to leave. I'm sure that will all sound really nice to your congregation."

"Faith... You have one more chance. Get in, or else," Stan opened the car door.

She shook her head while disbelief of her actions sickened her stomach. Not once had she ever defied her father. Before the morning's incident, she didn't believe she had it in her to refuse him. The sky didn't turn red, and the earth refused to break open and swallow her. Faith understood what Faust had been saying; she didn't have to listen to anyone but herself.

Defeated, Stan got into the family car, staring at his daughter through the windshield. His oldest daughter, who he barely recognized, returned the stare until he drove off. Once the car turned the corner and was out of sight, Faust began to laugh.

"Stop laughing! Why do you think this is funny?" Faith asked.

"I dunno. It just is."

"No, it's not! Do you understand the trouble I'm in? You don't know what my dad will do. I'll have to move! I can't afford my own place working part-time."

"Baby, don't worry. You're not moving away from me. I won't let you."

Faith's delayed reaction hit all at once, like a storm cloud bursting above her head. Fiery tears stung her eyes as panic erupted from within her ribcage.

"So, what? You're gonna let me move in with you? Live in your tiny room with your weird roommate, who you hate? Because I highly doubt Mister Solitary will want me around twenty-four seven. You already can't handle more than a couple of days around me at once."

"Faith...Baby, come on. Don't say that kind of shit. We'll find our own place, obviously."

"You don't have a job anymore! You quit your band!"

"Doesn't matter. Just trust me. Stop crying, and trust me, okay? I'll get it all worked out. You have two more months at school before we have to make any moves. Have I ever given you a reason to doubt me?"

"No," Faith peeped. "I guess not."

"I got this, Faith. Stop worrying. You're with me, and that's all that matters, right?"

She nodded. Faust pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her tightly.

"Everything's gonna be fine. I promise."

[megalony]

Braces

This is a fluffy dad! Steve Rogers imagine that I’ve been meaning to polish up for a while. I hope you all like it, feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @ambi-and-sunflowers @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @peterquillzsblog @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh

Masterlist

Summary: Steve and (Y/n)’s son has to wear braces on his legs that Steve knows knocks his confidence a lot. But he decides to surprise Steve after a mission by running properly without them.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bruce smiled at the scene in front of him, something that didn't happen very often and that was rather rare in all cases. He was currently in the lab, trying to do his work but his eyes kept diverting to look over to where Tony was. Although it was him he certainly didn't act like the Tony Stark everyone knew and got annoyed with after a while. He was standing in front of the metal table in the lab which his nephew James was sitting on with a bright smile that Bruce never got tired of seeing.

Whenever Tony was around his nephew he seemed like a totally different person and Bruce found it rather endearing to see.

Things between Tony and Steve had always been uneasy, it was like they were always getting off on the wrong foot or they always locked horns over the most silly, trivial of things. But when (Y/n) and Steve had James, it cemented the broken foundations between both men. They would hardly ever argue if James was around and he seemed to calm them both down rather a lot, more than (Y/n) could ever calm down her big brother and her husband.

The little boy had a lot of medical problems, some of which related to the problems Steve had before he got the serum and it broke his heart to see his son grow up each day struggling in the same way he had done. They all knew it wasn't Steve's fault, the serum did run through James like it did him but not enough of it. James had asthma like Steve did but not as bad as his dad which was a relief to them for Steve had a lot of asthma attacks and couldn't even run properly with how bad his breathing got.

James was also a very skinny child, taking after Steve again and it caused him to gain illnesses quicker but they was the only illnesses James had inherited from his dad. What Steve was happier to acknowledge was that James was his double, he had the same ash blond hair, the baby blue eyes and the cheekbones and even the curved nose. He had a lot of personality traits like his mother and smarts from her and Tony combined too. He was a mix of all of them and they all loved it.

Tony had taken it upon himself to be his nephews doctor and consultant, he wanted to help and look after him in any way that he could which is why James and (Y/n) were currently in the lab with them.

James wore braces on his legs to help him walk properly, when he was a toddler he somehow managed to walk with his feet sticking out to the sides and he found it very difficult to walk without support. The braces were to help correct his walk and give his legs that extra support and Tony designed them so they weren't so bad looking and hard to manoeuvre. He made them so they were thin but strong and kept moderating them like he did to his suits to thin them down but make them more efficient at the same time.

"Alright then, I'll just adjust these and your all set little man. Why don't you surprise your dad without them on?" Tony encouraged, seeing James' eyes light up at the idea like he had stars captured in his pupils.

"Can I?" He asked, excitement bubbling in his tone causing his mother to smile. He wasn't used to walking very much without the braces on, he relied on them to make sure he continued to walk properly since he was still growing. The thought of running- or at least trying to run- to Steve and show him he was a big boy able to walk better made his smile widen significantly when his uncle nodded that he would be alright to do that.

"Sure, just not for too long."

"Your dad should be back now, let's go surprise him." (Y/n) pitched in as Tony carefully placed James down to his feet before patting his back.

With a smile, Tony leaned against the table as he and Bruce watched James slowly walk over to (Y/n), managing rather well on his own without the support he was so used to. It wasn't as if they were crutches that he relied on to keep him upright, James could walk without them but it was safer and would aid him better if he wore them every day until a stage where his walking was adapted to normal.

(Y/n) handed his bag to him and he slipped the straps onto his shoulders, he never went far without his backpack designed to look like Steve's shield. He took his mother's hand and they exited the lab in search of Steve, knowing they would be back in a little while for the braces to be fitted again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steve and Natasha walked down the corridor, both rubbing at their damp hair making their contrasting hair colours look a few shades darker than they really were. The pair had just got back from a mission which took three days and still felt like they were covered in dust and grime.

Even spending half an hour in the shower didn't do much to rid the sticky feeling that Steve got from being in his mud covered suit for hours on end.

Both of them stopped outside the elevator, pressing the button to head up to the lounge in the Avengers tower so they could sit down and try to recover before they eventually had to do something or got another mission come through. Some of the avengers lived at Stark tower, but others like Steve, Thor and Clint had their own homes, though they sometimes stayed over when needed.

"Go on honey." (Y/n) whispered to James, kissing his head before pulling back to watch him make a bee-line for his double. James could see his dad and aunt down the corridor waiting for the elevator and he hoped he would catch them before they disappeared to another level of the tower. James knew not to run too fast, (Y/n) had warned him about that because it would strain his legs and he could pull a muscle or fall which wouldn't be very good for him at all.

"Daddy!"

As soon as the all too-familiar voice reached his ears, Steve felt his heart speed up and he turned to his left to search for the occupier of the voice. Steve hadn't been expecting his son to be at the tower today but he certainly hadn't expected his son to be heading towards him with a bright smile and no braces adorning his slim legs.

A bright smile lit up Steve's features at the rather rare sight of James looking happy to be trying his best to speed walk. It was very hard to get James to want to go out with his braces because he felt awkward with them and as if they were holding him back rather then enhancing him. Steve wanted to take a few steps forward and reach him halfway but he stopped when he realised James was determined to make it all the way down the corridor to him instead.

The moment James got within reach, Steve bent down and scooped his boy up in his arms. He spun round whilst holding James tight against his chest in a comforting hug, knowing he had caught James just in time because his foot had skidded on the polished tiles and he would have fallen if he carried on any further.

"Wow there, soldier! What happened to the braces?" Steve asked in shock, standing up to his full height once again with James secured to his shoulder. He felt his heart jumping in his chest when James wrapped his arms around Steve's neck, hugging him as close as possible since he'd missed him whilst he'd been away.

Steve bounced his boy on his hip but when he noticed James was breathing rather deeply he moved his hand and dug around in the backpack on James' shoulders. He pulled out his boy's inhaler, something Steve had had the luxury of forgetting about until James was a toddler and found out he needed one. The little boy took a few deep breaths to calm down before he managed to give Steve a response to his question.

"Uncle Tony's fixing them, I wanted to surprise you." There was a small hint of sadness in his tone because he knew soon enough he was going to have to go back to wear the braces that corrected his walking but slowed him down at the same time.

"Well you certainly did. Do you think you can make it back up to the lab without them?" Steve whispered the last part in James' ear, seeing his son smile brightly and nod in response to the mini-challenge. Steve always tried to push James to keep going and try harder but at the same time, Steve would stop him if he knew his boy wouldn't be able to do it.

When Steve was younger he never had people trying to encourage him to do things, he had to encourage himself and he didn't want that for his son. As much as his mother had tried to make him feel normal and comfortable and okay, she wanted Steve to hold back and play things safe rather than try and test his limits. He knew that James needed someone to will him on and that was exactly what Steve was going to do, he would try and push James within his limits so he would excel.

"Well done little guy." Natasha chipped in with a smile, running a hand through his hair to ruffle the strands which made him smile before she patted Steve's shoulder and headed into the elevator heading.

Steve pressed a kiss to the side of James' head before he set him back down to his feet, walking close beside his boy just in case he slipped or tripped. Steve could see that James was already starting to edge his feet out to the sides automatically like he did when he was running but he was walking overall much better than usual.

When they got to where (Y/n) was patiently waiting for her boys, she kissed James' forehead, wrapping him up in a congratulating hug before letting him head over to the stairs so she could see Steve.

It felt like a lifetime since (Y/n) had felt Steve's arms binding around her waist, seen his charming yet cheeky smile or felt his lips pressing against hers when in reality he had only been gone for three days. (Y/n) always prayed that any missions didn't last very long because she knew that if three days felt like a lifetime, he would barely get through a week or more without Steve.

"Daddy, come on!"

James' voice broke apart the couple's short-lived moment but the lopsided smile on Steve's face made (Y/n)'s heart skip a beat and told her they would carry this on later. The couple started to ascend up the stairs after their son who was bouncing up the steps like he was a spring or a little excited puppy.

(Y/n) leaned her head on Steve's shoulder as they both watched James, but when they got close to the lab Steve noticed James was slowing down. He was clearly getting tired and he was starting to kick his feet out to the sides, his legs becoming uncoordinated because he didn't have the energy to correct himself.

"Alright super-soldier, come here." Steve wrapped his free arm that wasn't placed around (Y/n)'s waist, around James' front and gently picked him up so he could settle him on his hip to rest his legs.

"Uncle Tony I surprised daddy! And walked up the stairs too!"

James' voice became slightly higher in pitch from his excitement when the three of them entered the lab and his words caused Tony's lips to curve into a smug smile. He knew it would raise his nephew's spirit to try and walk without his braces and impressing Steve would only further elate James' mood.

"See, you won't be needing these for much longer I'm sure. So I've changed the design a little, and the colour scheme is just as his lordship asked. Come on little man."

Steve pulled away from (Y/n) so he could walk over and settle James down on the table. He watched intently as Tony crouched down in front of his nephew and slotted the braces into James' shoes before strapping them just below his knees to keep the metal bars in place around his skinny legs. It didn't escape Steve's attention when the smile James previously had on his lips dampened when the braces were put on his legs. But when he noticed the small Captain America shields at the bottom of the braces, a breathless giggle left his lips.

"Thank you uncle Tony."

"Your welcome." Tony ruffled his hair before he made his way over to Bruce so they could carry on working on their new piece of technology.

Steve shook his head with a playful smile when James looked over at him and held his arms out, clearly wanting to be picked up. Whenever Steve had been away even for just a little while James became clingy wanting to be wherever Steve was and he loved it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Are you ready to head home?" Steve questioned the little boy in his arms who he knew was rather tired. James nodded tiredly in response, slipping his bag back on his shoulders when Steve handed it to him. Natasha had stolen (Y/n) for a while wanting to catch up and chat and she said she would meet the boys back at their home when she was finished chatting with Natasha.

Steve gently placed James down to his feet and got up himself, putting his leather jacket on before taking James' hand and attempting to leave the room but he stopped when he realised his son wasn't walking with him. He cocked his head to the side, his baby blue eyes pooling with love and confusion as he waited patiently for James to tell him what was wrong.

But Steve found his face falling when James simply held his arms out to him; he wanted to be carried.

"What's wrong soldier?" Steve went down on his knees so he could be level with his boy who was clearly upset with tears glistening in his eyes which made Steve feel panicked.

"I don't want these." James responded quietly, tapping at the braces on his legs making Steve sigh sadly. He took a deep breath before he looked at James with a gentle expression, trying to think how to make him feel better about it but he didn't know what to say to make this better.

"I know you don't, but they're not forever buddy. If you don't have them you'll hurt your legs and your back too." He tried to keep his tone gentle and understanding and James nodded his head but his expression didn't change. He didn't want to walk around wearing braces that slowed him down and made it feel weird when he walked, They annoyed him and made him feel abnormal, not to mention the way people looked at him when he went out.

"I don't like them daddy."

"Buddy, if you wear them then you can train with me more when your walking better. You wanted to join me didn't you?" A small smile tugged at James' lips as he looked down at his feet and nodded in response. He went to the gym with Steve from time to time but didn't do much, he mainly watched him most of the time although Steve encouraged him to do small weights and he helped him with other activities there. It made James happy and boosted his confidence a little so Steve kept bringing him along.

"But I... um..."

"What is it?" Steve asked, a smile on his features encouraging him to talk and say what was on his mind.

"I want to be like you."

Closing his eyes Steve sighed, that was not what he expected to hear and it broke his heart. Truthfully he didn't know if James could ever be like him with the medical issues he had. James might get better as he grew older, his asthma might subside, he was most likely going to walk fine when he was in his teens and no longer had the braces. And if he put on a bit more weight he might be less vulnerable to illnesses, but Steve didn't know if he was ever going to be like him in a physical stance.

But then again, Steve always thought he himself would always be the short skinny kid who spent half his life in a hospital or laid in bed with a cold and yet here he was now.

"What colour are your eyes?" Steve's rather off-topic question caught James by surprise and he looked very confused before he answered as if he thought it was a trick question.

"Blue."

"Just like mine, and what colour is your hair?"

"Blond."

"Correct, and you've got my nose too; you look exactly like me. You have a shield on your back and your a good little soldier, your kind, funny and I know your smart. You're already like me, you're my little doppelganger and I love that about you, but you don't have to act like me or walk and talk like me. You are amazing and perfect as yourself. My little soldier."

Steve didn't want James to grow up and think he had to act just like Steve or even want to act like him, he wanted James to be his own person. He thought it was sweet and rather endearing that his son- his first child, looked the spitting image of himself, Steve loved that. It was like he was looking in a mirror that showed him his younger self. But he wanted James to grow up and form his own person and his own mind, he came to the gym with Steve because he wanted to try and train but Steve didn't want him to think he had to be just like him.

With a soft smile, Steve reached out and wrapped his arms around James, holding him to his chest in a tight, comforting hug before he got to his feet, ready to get them both home.

[punksarahreese]

Okay instead of it being nat and wills bachelorette/bachelor party it’s Sarah and Avas

Sorry this took so long anon! I really loved this idea though

CW: allusion to Sarah’s marking kink again because I’m gay and I can’t be stopped, blood mention (fake this time though)

***

“You have your costume?” Ava’s arms slid around her waist as she asked the question, making Sarah sigh.

“Ava, you asked me that ten minutes ago,” Sarah wasn’t as annoyed as her words made her sound. She knew Ava was hovering for good reason, she didn’t like surprises and that night was supposed to be a huge surprise.

“Right, sorry.”

“Love,” Sarah stopped walking and pulled Ava over to one side of the hallway outside the ED entrance, “Look at me.”

“I’m looking,” Ava mused, “And you are as gorgeous as ever.”

Sarah’s eye roll was almost audible as she caught Ava’s wandering hand before it could land on her hip or any lower, “I know you’re nervous but we do still have to work today.”

“I know,” she replied and laced her fingers with Sarah’s, “I’ll behave.”

Her girlfriend laughed at the little pout and patted her cheek lightly, “That’s all I ask. Try not to look so scared, you’ll make Maggie nervous and then we’re all screwed.”

“I can’t help it!” Ava whined, which was completely out of character, “I hate surprises.”

“I’m aware,” Sarah agreed, “I know this is out of your comfort zone, it’s out of mine too, but it’s important to them. It would have been better if we had been in on the planning but it’ll work out either way.”

“Yeah, I know,” her short curls bounced as she nodded, “I’ll try to humour it.”

“Thank you,” Sarah replied, allowing Ava to press a gentle kiss to her cheek. They weren’t really about PDA, especially not at work, but it helped ease both their nerves in that moment. They parted ways in the lobby, Ava making her way up to CT and leaving Sarah to go to the ED alone.

Sarah was immediately met by an excited Maggie the second she stepped through the sliding doors of the ED. She was flanked by Doris and April, making Sarah nervous with their mischievous smiles.

“There’s our bride to be,” Maggie came around the nurses’ station to hug her, “Excited for tonight?”

“Terrified, actually,” Sarah hoped her tone was playful enough as she hugged her back, “Not as much as Ava though, you have the poor woman more nervous than I’ve ever seen her.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.”

“We don’t like secrets, Maggie,” Sarah whined, “Can’t you just tell me something about tonight?”

“Nope. Except,” the charge nurse reached under the counter and pulled out some shiny white fabric, “You have to wear this.”

Sarah realized what it was when she took the silky thing, a gaudy looking sash with “Bride to be” spelled out in glittery cursive. She sighed, cheeks already flushed in embarrassment at the thought of wearing this.

“I would really rather not, Maggie...”

“You have to!” Maggie passed another thing to Sarah, this time it was dark red; the same words written across the sash in gold letters.

“For your wife,” she explained, “Now no more complaining, you two will love it.”

Sarah couldn’t help but blush at the thought of Ava being her wife, it still felt so surreal in the best way. Still, she just muttered a comment that they weren’t married yet and insisted she had patients to see, trying to escape the nurses’ pre-party excitement.

She was excited too, of course, but the plans had gotten so out of control. She had just wanted a small dinner with their friends from the ED and CT, not really a huge bachelorette party. Maggie and April, however, decided that was not allowed and took over the plans. They even tease Sarah about it, saying that she was just lucky they were letting them have a joint party instead of separate groups for the brides like most bridal parties go.

Sarah was glad about that at least, she didn’t like crowds and she wasn’t too fond of parties either. At least having Ava close by all night would calm her nerves partially. She knew her girlfriend would appreciate that too, since she still wasn’t all too close with a lot of the other doctors from the emergency department.

She put the sashes away in her locker, along with her work bag and the one holding her outfit for that night. After that, Sarah made her way back out into the hall, deciding she might as well let work distract her as long as she could.

***

“Ava?” Her fiancée’s voice drifted from the door in the locker room, making Ava look up with a soft smile. She had been leaning against the mirror on the wall, trying her hardest to put in coloured contacts without damaging her corneas. She wasn’t sure how Sarah did this every day, contacts were weird.

“Hey, Reese cup.”

Sarah came around the corner and returned her greeting. Once Ava had successfully gotten the second contact in, she blinked harshly and then turned to the other woman. Her vision was slightly blurred and tinted by the red film, but she could still see just how beautiful Sarah looked.

“The white was definitely a good choice,” Ava hummed as she moved a bit closer to toy with the end of Sarah’s sleeve, “Pretty.”

“You like it?” Sarah asked sheepishly, “It’s a little showy for me.”

She was clad in a white ruffled blouse with a much more plunging neckline than Ava had ever seen Sarah wear. Her neck was adorned with a lace choker, the same shade of white with little strings of pearls that settled in the hollow of her throat; contrasting the fake blood on one side of her neck. Paired with heels and a nice pair of dress pants, Sarah looked absolutely gorgeous; even if the outfit was a bit out of her comfort zone.

“You look stunning, darling,” Ava promised, smiling to show the fangs she had already put in. Sarah returned her smile, her own fake fangs making Ava laugh.

“We really are a couple of hot vampires, huh?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Sarah replied, “I really love this dress on you.”

Ava’s outfit was dramatic to say the least, but suited her for exactly that reason. When Ava dressed up she didn’t come to play, so Sarah had expected her to make this costume absolutely wonderful. Her dress was all black with some serious corseting, how she managed to do that up herself was beyond Sarah, and it fell off her shoulders into flowing sleeves. A dramatic layering of red and silver costume jewelry and some blood red heels completed the look, making her appear even more regal than usual.

“Well then,” Ava finished pinning back her hair before offering her hand to her fiancée, “Shall we?”

“Hold on,” Sarah took her hand but instead of moving to the door she stepped a bit closer. She reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind Ava’s ear, smiling at her warmly.

“What?” Ava looked at her in amusement, not quite sure what the glint in Sarah’s eye meant.

Sarah just grinned wider, her free hand sliding down to Ava’s waist, pulling her body against hers. The confident motion surprised her fiancée, hands bracing themselves on Sarah’s shoulders as she laughed a little.

“You’re confident today,” she mused, “Why’s that?”

Sarah shrugged, “Can’t I appreciate my beautiful wife who just so happens to look really hot right now?”

The way Ava’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly made Sarah happy, enjoying whenever she could render her confident lover a little flustered. She looked so regal in that moment but her attitude completely changed when she giggled a little at that comment.

Sarah swore she fell in love all over again at the sight.

“I like being called your wife,” Ava hummed, leaning a little closer so they were almost sharing the same breath. Sarah was the one who initiated the kiss, though it was a lot more chaste than she would have liked in that moment. She didn’t want to mess up Ava’s pretty red lipstick just yet though; that would be a shame.

“Good,” she replied as she pulled back only to press a kiss to Ava’s exposed shoulder, “Because once we’re married I’m never going to stop talking about my gorgeous, brilliant wife.”

***

“There you two are,” Crockett exclaimed over the music, “Was beginning to think y’all ran off.”

“And miss our own party?” Ava questioned, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“That’s not what you were saying twenty minutes ago,” Sarah said in her ear, making her shiver at the sudden closeness and her insinuation. Ava didn’t know what had gotten into her girlfriend or where all this confidence came from, but she couldn’t say she really minded. Crockett saw that interaction and rolled his eyes, ushering the two further into the room.

“Nice wings,” Ava’s remark was teasing as she flicked the fluffy feathers on his back. He just grinned, the halo on his head bobbing as he nodded.

“Ethan’s a devil,” he explained proudly, pointing to where a familiar doctor was clad in all red.

“How ironic.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sarah watched in amusement as they bickered, Maggie catching her eye from across the room. She was waving them over, her pink leather jacket standing out amongst the crowd of more spooky costumes.

After Ava and Crockett had stopped their argument about whose costume concept was better, Sarah led them both over to the group of people dancing. They all talked and exchanged hugs, Ava giving Natalie a bigger hug than anyone expected. That made Sarah smile, she was glad to see her borderline reclusive fiancée open up to the ED staff a bit more.

“I’m gonna go talk to Connor,” Ava’s voice was suddenly right in Sarah’s ear, “I’ll be back.”

She left after giving Sarah’s hip a gentle squeeze, heading over to the bar where Connor had been talking up some bartender who looked too enchanted for her liking.

“Connor, you’re not terrorizing this poor girl, are you?”

“Ava,” he rolled his eyes as the bartender excused herself to serve another customer, “Good to see you too.”

“Ah yes, you do look like quite the dashing pirate. Did you get her number, then?”

“Maybe I did,” he pointed at the silky sash that was interrupting the overall vampire vibe of her outfit, “Nice, by the way.”

“Maggie,” she sighed, “I’m just here to smile and nod and pretend I’m not completely unfamiliar with half the ED staff.”

“Well they seem to love you regardless.”

“They love Sarah,” she shrugged, “And I’m grateful for that. I like knowing she has a support system.”

“Reese is a good kid,” Connor replied and then paused, looking at Ava quizzically, “Well, sometimes.”

Ava raised an eyebrow, silently questioning what that meant.

Connor just laughed, gesturing to her neck, “That part of the costume?”

Ava’s hand went to the left side of neck, realizing the skin was clearly bruised when she pressed down and if she could feel it then it was most likely pretty obvious. Which meant people would undoubtedly see it with her exposed neck and shoulders in this dress. Sarah and her damn hickeys; it’s like she expected Ava to just wear turtlenecks constantly.

Not that Ava would ever really complain.

Ava was saved from more teasing from her colleague when Sarah came up to them, a big smile on her face that warmed her fiancée’s heart.

“Hey, Reese,” Connor greeted her with a side hug, “Congratulations.”

“Oh so you congratulate my wife and not me, I see how it is.”

“How do you put up with this snark constantly, Sarah?”

“She’s sweet to me,” Sarah shot back with a shrug, “Must just be a you thing, maybe you deserve it, Connor.”

“That’s my girl,” Ava laughed, throwing an arm around her waist as they left the bar to return to their friends. Eventually Sarah saw Crockett come over and drag Connor onto the dance floor as well, which made her smile. She liked seeing everyone having fun, despite everything.

The rest of the night was spent with friends and colleagues, enjoying the Halloween party and celebrating the upcoming wedding. Even though both brides weren’t too keen on this kind of bachelorette party, it ended up being a good experience in the end. It was nice to spend time together outside the hospital, a chance to celebrate and relax for once.

[lakesandquarries]

Baby Shoes - Chapter 3

Bubby has been a doctor at Black Mesa for 20 years, living there for 50. He’s been bouncing around from project to project, working on whatever needs most help. He doesn’t have any opinions on his work or his coworkers or anything like that, preferring to keep to himself.

Then he meets Black Mesa’s newest project.

AKA: Bubby is Benrey’s dad au.

title from “Baby Shoes” by Bad Books.

SIDE NOTE please look at this FANTASTIC art by my friend @8redphoenix8​!!!! thank u SO much i love u 

also happy seventh night of hanukkah!!!!

AO3 Link

Dr. Elkern is, apparently, dead set on having Bubby continue work on the arm prototypes. But he does allow them to spend most of their time over in Biological Research, only needing to check on the arm project occasionally.

It’s something. He spends most of his time with Dr. Zeki, who has made her dislike of him quite clear. But she does seem to appreciate a new perspective, even if she ignores it most of the time.

He also spends a fair amount of time with Dekkard - whose first name is apparently Derek - as well. He’s new, fresh out of college, the son of a friend of someone high up. He’s quite forthcoming about his complete lack of qualifications, and fully expects to be fired within the next month.

Dekkard is...refreshing, if Bubby is being honest. He lacks the fear the others in Biological Research have of Bubby, willing to speak his mind and joke around and actually listen when Bubby speaks. Currently Dekkard’s little more than a glorified secretary, keeping track of the various projects happening in the Biological Research Department, who’s working on them, and their schedules. He also makes excellent coffee.

“You should quit,” Bubby says by way of greeting as he approaches Dekkard’s desk. Dekkard spins in his chair, smiling at him.

“And lose all these benefits? Hm, not yet.” He slides a disposable cup over to Bubby, who sips it approvingly. It’s dark, bitter, and slightly burnt, just the way he likes it.

Bubby leans on the desk, nudging the ever-present slinky. “Do you know the agenda for today?”

“Dr. Zeki has four meetings, three of which are back to back.”

A slow smile spreads across Bubby’s face. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all week.”

“I’m gonna cover all her stuff in tin foil while she’s busy.”

“Oh, you’ve made it even better.”

“Wanna help?”

It’s tempting. But Zeki being busy means he can see Benrey, actually see them and not just stare wistfully through one way glass.

“Another time, maybe.”

Dekkard nods. “Well. See you around, if I don’t get fired first.”

Bubby nods, tossing his empty cup into the trash. “Good luck with your project.”

He has, somehow, started figuring out his way around Biological Research. The various creatures make good landmarks. Take a left at the carnivorous bees, keep going straight when you see the ice squirrels, and the acid slimes tell you you’re going the right way. The room is blessedly empty, devoid of any scientists besides Bubby himself.

On the other side of the glass is Benrey. Bubby steps closer, placing a hand on the glass, watching them. They’ve barely moved since Bubby first saw them in this cell. The only time they have any sort of reaction is when they’re fed, which happens exactly three times a day. It’s a simple process from the scientist’s end - open door, slide in food, close door - and has given Bubby a very good view of the keypad and the code needed to open it.

He gives a quick glance into the hall before he types the code in. The door opens.

Benrey doesn’t respond to the noise, pale yellow eyes still staring blankly at the floor in front of them. Their skin, already a strangely desaturated shade when Bubby met them before, seems nearly grey now, and the dark smudge around their eyes has darkened like a bruise.

He takes a few steps forward, shoes clacking against the floor. Benrey flinches as much as the chains will allow them to, squeezing their eyes shut tight. Bubby crouches down so he’s roughly eye level with them, a good distance away.

“Benrey,” he whispers.

Their eyes open. Their head shoots up, looking around frantically before realizing where Bubby is. They strain against the chains, trying to move closer, making a faint whining noise when they realize they can’t.

Bubby shuffles closer, reaching a hand out, and Benrey leans into the touch.

“Hello again,” he says softly. “I’m sorry our previous meeting got cut short, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come see you again.”

Benrey makes a rumbling noise, almost - no, exactly like a purr. Bubby has never seen a cat, but he’s seen videos, heard them described, and he’s fairly certain the noise and vibrating are the same. Benrey opens their mouth, those coloured bubbles Bubby saw previously tumbling out, this time a bright yellow. Sweet Voice, Benrey had called it. He reaches out for one, feeling it dissolve in his hand with a wave of pure joy.

Happiness, then. Yellow...a happy fellow?

It astounds him how Benrey can express happiness like this while still chained up, barely able to move.

“I’ve been reassigned,” Bubby says quietly, moving closer and running his hand through Benrey’s hair. “I work here now. Mostly. I’ve been talking to the other scientists, I’m hoping I can...improve things here, at least a bit.”

He gets the impression Benrey isn’t really listening, focused more on the feeling of Bubby’s hand in their hair. Well, that’s fine with him. He moves closer again, close enough to gather Benrey onto his lap, letting them bury their face in his shoulder.

They’re so small.

He spends a few minutes just sitting there, petting Benrey’s hair, the room silent aside from their purring. It’s the closest thing Bubby has had to peace in a very long time.

Eventually, though, he does need to speak again. Zeki may be busy for most of the day, but time is a limited resource here in Black Mesa.

“I had a few questions for you,” Bubby says softly. He doesn’t move his hand away from Benrey’s hair. “How long have you been here?”

They tense up. “Forever.”

“Forever?”

He can feel Benrey nod against his chest. “Basically forever. I’m from somewhere else but I don’t really remember it.”

“Xen?”

Another nod. “The sky was pretty there. Lots of colours.”

Bubby’s only seen the sky in brief glimpses. He’d managed an almost-successful escape attempt once, in his teens, that had him outside in the middle of the night. The sky has been nearly black, but the moon was bright and full and the stars were one of the most incredible things he’d ever seen.

“I think you’ll like the sky here. I won’t - I can’t promise you anything. But perhaps at some point we’ll go see it together.”

It’s a silly daydream, Bubby knows, but it’s one he’s been clinging to over the last few days. As a child he’d dreamt of escaping, going somewhere far away from Black Mesa, living as a regular human being with no tubes or tests. He still dreams of the same thing, but lately, in his daydreams, his home has an additional occupant.

He doesn’t share any of this with Benrey. It’s nothing more than a pipedream, a small fragment of hope, and it’ll do nothing to help them if he makes a promise he’s doomed to break.

“I want to try and make things easier for you here,” he says. “As I said, I can’t make any promises, but I’m going to try. ”

Benrey nuzzles their face into his shoulder with a soft hiccuping sound. “You’re nice,” they mumble.

Bubby huffs. No one has ever called him nice before. He’s capable of being polite, yes, but his temper is well-known amongst Black Mesa staff. His pyrokinesis and accidental habit of setting things on fire when annoyed cemented his reputation. Dekkard is about the only employee that isn’t working on a project with him willing to be around him for more than ten minutes.

Of course, Benrey’s quite different from any of the scientists.

They pull away from his shoulder suddenly, yawning. Bubby is not an expert on teeth, but he’s fairly sure there’s not supposed to be that many.

“Are you tired? Do you need to sleep?”

“I’m, uh -” they bite their lip, face scrunched up with the effort of remembering something. “I don’t need much sleep. Don’t like it.”

“I can stay here while you rest. I’ll need to leave in a bit, but I have…” he pulls his pager out of his pocket, glancing at the time. “At least a few hours. If you’d like to nap.”

“You’ll stay?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Benrey leans forward again, resting their head on Bubby’s shoulder. “Mmm,” they mumble, more of the sweet voice slipping out, this time a pale, icy blue. When Bubby touches it he’s overwhelmed by the feeling of exhaustion.

It takes Benrey a moment to relax, but eventually they go limp, making small noises in their sleep. It’s - well. If Bubby were the type of person to describe things as cute he would say it was absolutely adorable.

He does, however, wish he’d brought a book.

[hlupdate]

It's hard to pinpoint what exactly makes Harry Styles so incontestably endearing. Maybe it's the energy that bounces along with him and Lizzo as they sing "Juice," or the deliberately uncouth manner in which he wears his hair. It could also be that he steps out in the makeup, earrings, or nail polish that makes him feel good, damnit, because who in the hell says those things are gender exclusive?

Not us, nor Styles, nor the pro behind each of his most recent nail looks, longtime celebrity manicurist Jenny Longworth. She's been in the nail game for more than 20 years and has worked with everyone from Taylor Swift to Rihanna. (Her take of which is equally casual: "I've never been a person that's bothered by celebrity, it just came as a natural progression," she told POPSUGAR. "I'd go on an editorial or campaign that was featuring a celebrity, they'd like my work and want to use me again. Pretty soon my phone started ringing off the hook with people wanting me to come and do crazy nails for photo shoots.")

That's how she met Styles: at a shoot for Gucci more than a year and a half ago. "I'm not too sure what he used to get up to nail-wise before that, but he seems to be more experimental since becoming a solo artist," she said. "I think all of our styles come into their own as we get older. It's great to see a young guy express himself through fashion and nails especially. I love that about him — it's dope."

This much is true. From floral suits to butterfly clips, Styles is all about self-expression and pushing the boundaries — and it often teeters into beauty territory. "Harry always has a good eye for colour, and we tend to gravitate to the same kind of 'off' shades," said Longworth. "We are both obsessed with this one particular mint green [polish] at the moment. That's his go-to shade. Sometimes we switch it up and do something a bit more classic like reds and blacks if he's wearing a suit, or something fun for an editorial, like the recent smiley face nail art."

As for the polish colour he goes through the fastest — oh, and the nail art look he tried to re-create himself at home — you'll have to read Longworth's behind-the-scenes secrets ahead.

1 of Harry Styles's Best Nail Moments

For the 2019 Met Gala, Styles walked the carpet wearing the "paint chip" manicure trend — where each nail is adorned with a different shade from the same colour family — and needless to say, people were into it. "I loved the Met Gala green and blue look, mainly because of how excited people got over it," said Longworth. "It's nice to see people get so into a red carpet nail look."

The Nail Polish Colours Harry Styles Wears With Suits

On event or red carpet days where Styles is suiting up, Longworth gravitates toward stronger polish colours like red and black — like a power suit for the nails. "Chanel polishes are a great core range of classics that never leave my kit," she added. Shown here is the Chanel Le Vernis Longwear Nail Colour ($28). "Other than that I tend to look for odd colours and love a bargain bucket of nail varnish in an obscure foreign pharmacy. I'll usually find some random colours in there that no one else would wear but I love!"

The Nail Art Harry Styles Attempted to DIY

Longworth and Styles collaborated closely ahead of an editorial shoot for Weekend magazine on what she says is his favourite look to date: smiley nail art. "We were all kind of obsessed with the idea for a while before we actually executed it properly," she said. "He even attempted his own version [of the look] on himself a while before."

Harry Styles' Go-To Nail Polish Shade

The nail polish colour Styles and Longworth are "obsessed with" at the moment? Mint green, particularly the Essie Nail Polish in Mint Candy Apple($9). "It's just the perfect [shade], but we heard it was being discontinued," she said. "It may have just been an urban myth, but I'm still stockpiling and buying every one I see in every CVS just in case."

1 Nail Trend You Can Expect in 2020

Longworth admits that she doesn't follow much of the "trends" out there (and when you're jet-setting around with A-list celebrities that help set them, why would she?) but she does have one prediction in the space: "One thing we will see way more of in 2020 is men expressing themselves through nails."

We can only hope so — and it's about damn time.

[hysteriium]

Expect the Unexpected

Gif not mine!

(A/N): Okay maybe this is really specific, but there’s this one scent that’s literally the best smell I’ve ever smelt in my entire life? It’s like an oceany scented candle - my description literally does not do it justice I made it sound gross - and omg idk why but I could literally just picture Arthur having something along the lines of this cologne?? But maybe I’m biased. Here it is if you wanna check it out but omg like I’m not even joking when I say it’s the best thing I’ve ever smelt (and I collect a shit load of candles).  

!! ALSO - FORGOT TO MENTION ‘C/n’ = child’s name !! lol 

Summary: I honestly don’t know what to write for this one?? AHAHAH

Pairing: Arthur Fleck x Single mum!Reader

Word count: 8600k+ (I know, I know, shhhh). 

Warnings: 18+ SMUT STUFF! Fluff and swearing! 

////

When Arthur found himself in the slowly decaying, yet otherwise well taken care of backyard of one of his requestors, performing under the gloomy Gotham sky, never, would he have expected it to change his life. Especially for the better. No, never had he thought, for the better. 

Arthur fiddled with his wig, the tips of his fingers scurrying under the strip of white which crossed his forehead, adjusting it. The fake, frizzy green locks were no longer lopsided, and he continued his routine in front of the kids before him. Laughter filled his ears. The only merriment he was accustomed to, and on that same train of thought, welcomed. It was nothing like the devious cackles of those who made fun of him. 

No, the laughs before him were honest and kind; they appreciated him. Most touching of all, and similarly foreign to him, was the fact that they actually asked for his jokes. 

He often wondered where things went wrong. When exactly did children, who were, for the most part, good-natured and compassionate, turn into horrible people? Transforming into the very same type that treated him like a punching bag? How and why, did they soak up the resentment of the world like a sponge? 

He supposed it was during adolescence. 

Teenagers were mean. 

That much was evident from the purple blotches on his back, markings that were still yet to dissipate, and tender to touch. From such a horrible experience, at least he was able to draw one positive out of it. The positive being that his clown costume was ridiculous enough to hide his battered and bruised body. Away from prying eyes. 

Then again, it wasn't like anyone would have cared.  

Ultimately, he tried his best not to focus on the path his thoughts were leading him down. One of his biggest struggles was staying in the moment, and right now, with the crucial task of performing for a child's birthday, he needed to be grounded. To emphasise this, Arthur dug his nails into his palms. Painful enough to snap him out of his digression, lax enough to keep the blood rushing and undisturbed under tested skin.  

As Arthur was finishing up his act, the magic wand which he seemingly pulled out of nowhere - at least from the kids' perspectives, produced a collective awe. He waved it around, bouncing from toe to toe in his giant clown shoes, flicking it towards the birthday boy. Said child was a small, (h/c) haired boy with twinkling (e/c) eyes; his name, (C/n). 

(C/n) flinched when the wand was suddenly centimetres from his face. Though, he giggled when he saw the expression on the clown's profile. It feigned shock, a gasp leaving his apple-red painted mouth. The clown, which the child only knew as 'Carnival' retracted the stick, inspecting it with squinted eyes. Alongside this, his spare hand flew up to his face, scratching his chin in thought, looking as though he had never encountered such a complex dilemma in his entire life. 

Then, without warning, the wand fell. No longer as sturdy as a stick, it wilted like a dying flower. The clown panicked, watching as it wiggled around in his desperate hands like a worm. While all seemed gloomy for the fate of the magic item in his hands, the children were giggling gleefully, intrigued at what would happen next. It was times like these that made Arthur's job bearable; made life bearable.

All he wanted was to make people smile.

Arthur, pretending as though he was about to give up, engaged with the object in one last attempt, the flick of his wrist propelling the rod into the air. Much to the children's astonishment, the wand had straightened itself, snapping back to its previously sturdy arrangement, with no sign of its prior drooping. 

They had long since formed a circle around the colourful man, looking up in wonder, clapping for him.

Arthur then slipped the item back into his pocket, performing a victory clasp. He threw his interlocked hands over his shoulders and shook them in response to the applause. When the children hushed their amazement, Arthur stuck his pointer finger in the air, wordlessly requesting their attention. His eyes then shut tight as he concentrated. Whipping out the rod from his pocket once more, he gave it one final spin. 

The children waited.

Nothing happened. 

Arthur opened his eyes. Confused. It was difficult for him to process what happened next because it all happened so quickly. One second he was puzzled, the next he was rendered stunned, with a face submerged in flowers. First, he had heard it, the sprout, as a prominent 'whoosh' filled the air. Then he felt it; felt it tickling his nose. 

The flowers themselves were not real ones, but they were vivid; pinks, purples, greens and yellows sprouting from the wand's end. Trying to play it off as though it was planned all along, Arthur mimed a sneeze, shaking his head. 

With a sheepish grin, the clown pulled back. His face was now safe from the sinister touch of the vibrant, ticklish extensions, and he handed the hued bouquet to the birthday boy, hunching over to reach him. It wasn't hard to decipher what the boy was thinking. Unquestionably, a mixture of amusement and joy as laughter bubbled from his throat; his joviality a contagious song. 

And thus concluded Arthur's act. 

"You're so cool Carnival!" (C/n) hollered, waving the newly acquired flowers around. 

Arthur beamed down at the boy. 

"When I grow up, I want to be just like you!"

Arthur attempted to restrain the look of pain which crossed his animated features. 

No, kid. No, you don't. 

Not wanting to ignore the poor child, he shot (C/n) a forced smile and ruffled his (h/c) hair.

"No. One day, you're going to be even better." 

The child gawked up at him, hope dancing in his gem-like eyes, reflecting light. 

Thankfully, the moment didn't last long as Arthur's concentration was ripped from the depressing interaction. He had caught a glimpse of you, the parent, entering the backyard. You had tried to smoothly open the door, an attempt to reduce the obnoxious squeaking from the object, though your steady pace was futile. Despite the hesitant speed at which it was tugged, it was a protest that sustained. 

It was just another complaint to add to the shitty standard in Gotham; everything was half-assed. A primary disease which ate at the heart of the city, decaying and transforming it into the bleak, loveless and harsh mother it was. When you were one of Gotham's children, affection was seldom. No matter how hard you tried to impress the mother, to display your achievements, to show strength, to get back up when you fell, the mother remained emotionless. Perhaps, she kicked you down some more.

Gotham was her name, and tough love was her game. 

Arthur watched you, in all his costumed glory, and drunk in the way your hair was softly carried by the wind. How your skin was kissed by the suns rays; how you moved away from the shading of the roof, which protruded meters from the brick walls of the house, spotlighting your features. He honestly felt like he was in a movie, a movie that was set up for disaster - knowing his luck. He couldn't wait for the great mystery of how he was going to screw up, to unravel before his eyes. Could he even call it a mystery? He knew it was inevitable. A non-mysterious mystery? Expecting the unexpected except it was actually unexpected, though somehow, still expected?

Did that even make sense? He thought. 

His brain hurt.

What was he doing again? 

"Mum!" (C/n) shouted, rushing up to you, simultaneously breaking Arthur's buzzing thoughts as well as the one-sided staring contest he had engaged in. 

"Hey, there buckaroo!" you grabbed onto his small form and hoisted him up against your hip, "how's my big boy?" 

Arthur watched the heart-warming scene from afar, sorrow tugging at his heart. He couldn't help but flick through his memories, to try and find a time where his mother had been just as caring. Limited, but nonetheless there, he yearned for change; for his past to change. He'd been the man of the house for as long as he could remember. Even at a young age. With no father or even knowledge of him, he was forced to take care of his mother. And while he loved his mother, with all his heart, it was an arduous task to take care of yourself and your own needs when you were supporting someone else. 

"Good!" The child giggled in your arms, "Carnival is my favourite clown! Can we have him over every week?"

You couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"I don't know buddy, I-"

"Please, please, please, please, please?" (C/n) whined, looking up at you with large hopeful (e/c) eyes.  

"Run along and play, and maybe I'll talk to him," you tapped his nose, "that sound good?"  

The boy frantically nodded his head, and as you set him down, he bolted off to join his friends. When he was on the other side of the yard, you turned towards the party clown. 

"Sorry about that," you sheepishly grinned. 

Arthur didn't really know what to say, the scene before him had truly made his heartthrob. It was a warmth that left him with some strange mix of belonging and attachment. Never before had he felt so appreciated. He wanted to say something, be honest, express his gratitude. And so, he said the first thing that came to mind:

"It's fine." 

He wanted to kick himself. 

"It's kind of strange how much he likes you. He's never really open. He can be quite..."

"Shy," Arthur finished for you.  

When you gave him a quizzical look, he was quick to explain, "I-I, uh, I was the same." 

Your lips upturned into a soft smile.

"Well, (C/n) must've picked up on it. Kid's are good like that - sensitive to vibes. It means you've got a good heart." 

Arthur fidgeted, the words melting him. 

"Oh! Um, thank you for coming on such short notice…sorry, I never caught your name?" 

"A-Arthur." 

"Glad to know your name's not actually Carnival."

His eyes sparkled at your joke, his amusement filling the yard.

"You're probably exhausted, come, I'll make some tea. Or coffee? Is there something you prefer?" 

He was about to protest, not wanting to bother you, to go back home to his crummy apartment and lose himself in his journal for the rest of the day, but something compelled him to agree to the offer. He wasn't sure what.

"Coffee is okay, thank you," his smile hadn't left. 

When you turned to lead, his eyes flew to your hands, searching for a ring. He also wasn't sure why he let himself.

There was none, however; no jewellery at all. 

Huh.

He quickly caught up and shuffled inside after you. 

"This really means a lot," you started, closing the screen door before turning to face him, "to me and, obviously to my son..." 

A sombre look replaced your smile.

"...I haven't seen him this happy since we moved," you looked back at (c/n), watching him jump up and down with his friends, their voices filtering through the mesh. 

"You're not from Gotham?"

You shook your head, rounding him to shift further into the kitchen, behind the counter. His eyes followed your zipping from, moving when you were out of view. 

"Sugar?" 

Arthur found his hands fidgeting with his wig again, refusing eye contact. A soft 'sure' passed his lips, followed by a 'two, thank you' as the porcelain clink of mugs being placed, echoed. The soft scatter of sugar followed soon after.

"Please make yourself comfortable, Arthur. You can sit down if you'd like." 

The scraping of the chair from behind told you that he listened. 

After a few moments of silence, he spoke up. You could tell he was starting to open up, less nervous than when you had first spoken to him. It was endearing. 

"With all due respect miss-

"(Y/n)," you interrupted, turning to grin at the man. You noticed he had taken his wig off, his red foam nose too, displaying his almost raven coloured locks and chiselled features.  

"(Y/n), he repeated. The way your name rolled off his tongue had your stomach fluttering, a sensation that caught you off guard. 

"Why did you move to Gotham? It's not exactly the...best place to be." 

"Life works in funny ways," you started, "one minute you're on top of the world, the next the floor crumbles beneath you, and suddenly you're in a hole." 

Boy, did Arthur understand. Although he knew you weren't able to see him, with your back turned towards him, he nodded his head frantically. How were you able to so eloquently sum up his life? His whole existence? 

"Sorry, I'm oversharing," you awkwardly laughed. 

"No! I know what you mean..." 

With one flick of the kettle's trigger, you returned to Arthur. 

"I take it you're a native Gothamite?" 

He nodded. 

"I live with my moth- … my mother," his voice lost confidence towards the end as if he was ashamed of such a fact. 

This was only supported when he scrambled to get out his next words, "she needs help sometimes, and I'm the only one who's around to take care of her."  

"I'm all she has…" 

You gave him a reassuring smile, gently touching his interlocked hands which were resting on the table. He flinched at the contact. 

"You don't need to justify yourself, Arthur. I'm sure your mother's proud to have raised such a compassionate man."

You had caught him off guard - that was for sure. Flicking through the entirety of your interactions wasn't needed to come to the glaringly obvious conclusion that he wasn't used to being complimented. That he wasn't used to any form of nicety, and that fact well and truly broke your heart.

Who had hurt him?

Arthur had yet to find evidence of repulsion - yet to find anything that indicated you were weirded out by him; like the guys at work. He relaxed into the hold a second later, when he realised it wasn't anything threatening. Or, part of some malicious, ulterior motive.

"As strange as this might sound, you're really easy to talk to, Arthur. You're a good listener."  

"Really?" He couldn't hold back the crooked, love-struck grin that infiltrated his features, and he was about to compliment you too when the shrieking of the kettle broke up the moment, causing you to pull away from him.

He felt cold; the warming action starkly contrasted with the wind which permeated through the mesh door.

In seconds, you had returned with your steaming beverages, warning of the burning hazards, though your touch hadn't returned. 

Fast-forwarding through the small talk and the stories which decorated your conversation, Arthur eventually finished his coffee, and never before had he been so smitten. Out of all the jobs he'd gotten this week, which weren't many, this had been the most enjoyable. Although his work here had finished a while ago, he had tried to stretch out the minutes, just to hold onto the glimmer of happiness he knew would dissipate as soon as he left. He could feel time laughing at him, sticking its ghastly tongue out while telepathically hammering the fact home. He couldn't drag it out any longer. 

And so, when it was time for him to leave, heading towards the door, he paused and swallowed his pride, doing what he thought was best. 

"Did you want to get dinner sometime?" He said, turning back around as he placed an awkward arm against the arch of the hallway, leaning on it. He saw it in movies. The cool, nonchalant characters always got the girl, so it must work. 

Right? 

No, that was stupid, he thought. 

He forced the limb down, it bumping against his side. 

His fingernails dug into his palms again, for the second time that day, pressing against the very same spots as he waited for a response. He was expecting rejection. No way would she say yes, what was he thinking? At least he could say he tried; at least he'd had one positive interaction in the last few months. 

Sorry kiddo, guess Carnival's not coming back. 

His negative thoughts were disrupted by the sound of your reply. A reply in which made him delighted for taking a chance. 

Because your next words were nothing but a sweet package of glazed agreement.

"I'd love to." 

Uttering something about a day and a time, to which you agreed, he quickly found his way out of the house. 

When he slipped outside into the fresh air, he shut the front door. Away from everyone's gaze - at least those he cared about, namely you. He felt compelled to move. One of his legs with a mind of its own crossed over the other, twirling him around against your patterned brick pathway; a path in which led to the small gated exit. His arms then followed a similar pattern, striking the air, drumming into it. With one slide, the soles of his shoes skated against concrete, pushing him towards the iron gate. He felt good as he opened it. He felt confident. Laughter bubbled from his lips, failing to halt as he travelled further and further away from your house. 

He smiled all the way home.

And, it was only until he reached said home, emptying out his pockets while changing into more comfortable clothes, that his fingers brushed up against a flat, smooth surface; thin and malleable. He wrapped his digits over the peculiar material and brought it to eye-level, palm exposed. 

It was a small, folded piece of paper. White, though crumbled from being cramped up in his pocket. 

He didn't remember placing it in there...

Arthur's eyes grew wide when he unravelled the mysterious sheet, a line of numbers taking up a good portion of its space. Below it was a small 'call me - (Y/n)' written out neatly, a drastic variation to his own child-like scribbles. He reclined his head against a nearby wall, letting his childish exuberance take over. 

Turns out you were quite the magician yourself. 

———

Arthur sat alone, leg jittering as his eyes glanced back and forth from the clock on the pale wall opposite him, above the entrance. With each darting glance, barely a minute between them, he became increasingly aware of the chatter around him. While there weren't many people in the area with him as the tables were more empty than they were filled, he was highly conscious of the fact that he was the only one there without company. 

For the first time, he looked out the window he rested against. The chilled frame soothed his hot face as he watched people stroll by, hoping to catch you. His attempts were, sadly, in vain. 

You were late. 

When he returned his gaze to look back at the clock again, he tried his hardest not to make eye contact with any of the staff. He knew that if he did, they'd flock to him like a swarm of bees. Instead, he kept his head low, pretending to look at the menu.

After another five minutes passed before the bell hanging off the door finally rang. His gaze immediately shot to the noise, locking with yours. Air left his mouth, both in relief and at the red dress you were wearing, coincidentally matching his own red suit. It hugged your figure, complimenting every curve, and he tried his hardest to keep his eyes from wandering. 

You hadn't stood him up.

As your beaming face lit up the world around him, your clacking heels took you to the booth opposite him, observing the room with a smile as you did so. 

"I'm so sorry I'm late!" You exclaimed, placing your purse down, sandwiched by you and the wall.

"Kids," you rolled your eyes.

"You came," were his first words, his eyes riddled with a strange confusion, yet a light - hope. He believed he had articulated his surprise internally, that was, until you gave him a look.

"Of course! Why wouldn't I?"  

"I-I don't know." He sputtered out. 

He did. 

As you both got settled in, Arthur for the first time that night willingly made eye contact with one of the servers. Your orders were speedily jotted down and taken to the chef within minutes. 

Conversation flowed, and his jokes actually got a reaction out of you, much to his surprise. The tension, or rather the anxious energy that seemed to bounce off the two of you melted, fading away light the lights of the cars that sped by the open window. In its absence, a playful aura took told. Small touches here and there, and your leg which rubbed against his, even if it was accidental, left his head spinning. This, he thought, was bliss. 

"So," you started, a finger twirling around a strand of (h/c) hair, "I've decided." 

Arthurs brows furrowed, allowing you to continue. 

"I have to tell you something," you said, rubbing your hands against your dress; a nervous tick.

A finger curled into his collar, tugging at it to cool his heating body temperature. Arthur's anxiety which was already a mess, exacerbated from hearing one of the most infamously terrifying phrases.  

"I feel like it'll be good for me to open up - I haven't told anyone since I've left. No one really knew in the first place, except a few friends." 

Arthur didn't know what to say. 

It sounded serious. Your words held a unique gravity to them. And while he felt the air around them shift, from light-hearted and playful, to darker, more solemn, he could tell you had been repressing what you were about to tell him for a good while. He knew the look. 

His hand reached over the table to meet yours. They were timid, brushing against yours experimentally until he knew you were comfortable with his affection.

"How the tables have turned," you joked, allowing his hand to slip into yours.  

"I was in a nasty relationship," you started off wavering, a sigh passing into the air, "I only dared to leave a few months ago." 

Arthur's heart virtually broke as you revealed this to him. He watched as you swallowed the lump in your throat, noting how your eyes started to flutter from the stinging of tears. 

"It endangered me and my son. It took a lot of strength to leave, but I had to for (C/n). He's my world, and I care about him more than myself." 

Tears by now had fallen, running down your cheeks. Arthur intently listened to your confession. 

"Moving to Gotham was the only way we could start over, and if I could have given him a better life, I would have, but it was the best I could do. I just wanted to see him happy again." 

You let out another sigh, trying to blink away a few of the stray tears, though Arthur beat you to it, his hands moving to your face, wiping them with his thumbs. He felt how you leant into his touch, your eyes falling shut with a sniffle. As grim as the situation was, he was happy you were comfortable enough to tell him such a heartbreaking story.

"Sorry," you mumbled, forcing a laugh out to mask your vulnerability. Arthur saw right through it.

He gave you a look, one that virtually said 'are you serious?' before he spoke, exasperated, "what for?" 

"I don't know...for crying? For dropping this on you, for-" 

"Hey," Arthur's thick, dark eyebrows furrowed, his hands still cupping your face, "if I even had half the strength of you, I'd-"

"I'd-"

Arthur paused, his voice coming out as chokes.

Oh no. 

He felt an overly-familiar twitch in his throat, a reflex in which he tried to stifle by clamping his mouth shut, contorting his face in pain to keep it at bay.  

He never could. 

And then, at the worst possible moment, the worst he could possibly think of, he hunched over and wheezed, cackling over the table. Your eyes, riddled with confusion from the lost contact, was promptly replaced with hurt at his sudden laughter. 

He quickly noticed this, shaking his head. 

Everyone else in the establishment, with what few were there, reared their heads to the ruckus, watching Arthur spiral. 

"I-I'm so-" he started, desperate to contain himself. 

It only made things worse. 

"S-sorry." 

He fiddled with his pockets, trying to produce the laminated card, he practically depended on. His fingers brushed the plastic, and he frantically pulled it out, sliding it to the other side of the table.

Please understand. 

Please, please, please. 

You had been the only person he'd connected with in months, perhaps longer. And now, he was about to ruin it with his stupid, stupid, stupid condition. 

Guess the mystery had unravelled, he thought bitterly. 

He tried to watch your expression for any indication of disgust or contempt. It was difficult, however, as he continued his fit, a hand hitting the table's surface. Another reflex. The pain was starting to set in, his lungs screaming, and his chest aching. 

Please just let it end. 

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Your voice surprised him, the kind tone and the understanding in your eyes was something he had to get used to. Something he wanted to get used to. How were you so kind? So accepting?

He shook his head slowly, trying to get a few words out.

"I have-"

"Have to-"

He tried to breathe, nearly choking.

"W-Wait."

"It's okay," you comforted, hurt no longer manipulating your features. 

"Take your time."

———

In Arthur's eyes, the date had gone really well, or at the very least as well as it could have gone considering his outburst. He was happy, the feeling of warmth and nervousness he felt around you was something he hadn't really experienced with anyone, or really had the chance to. He kind of liked it.

He felt like he could be himself. You'd laugh at his jokes, his puns, regardless of how morbid they got; the most you'd do is playfully slap his shoulder and bite back a grin - guilty for laughing. He never understood the frivolous sayings about love, how things could sound so far fetched and dramatic, but now, he understood. 

He didn't know how it was possible, how someone as beautiful as you, could be interested in someone like him. 

After eating, you both walked under the darkness of the sky, the pinpricks which twinkled above, smiling down. Content was the air that surrounded your bodies, a loving blanket. With nothing more than a few minutes walk back to yours from the restaurant, you relished in his company. 

It wasn't long before you both arrived back though, almost too soon, with the giddiness of your date still swirling around in both your heads. Arthur, at some point, had wrapped his red suit jacket around your goosebumped form, an action at which you had initially declined, but gave in when he insisted. You thought it felt good against your warming skin, the smell of his cologne intoxicating. As you entered the hallway, leading him back to the living room, you were happy to see the babysitter you had hired playing a board game with your beaming son. She was the teenage daughter of a friend you met at work, and you, happy to help out a struggling youth, decided it was the perfect opportunity to go out with Arthur. After paying her, and seeing her off, you excused yourself for a moment and vanished into one of the other rooms.  

Arthur had sat down on the table like last time. The wood cooled his clothed forearms as he watched the child from across the room walk his way over, and push himself into the chair opposite him. Once (c/n), was comfortable, Arthur shot him a smile - one that wasn't returned. 

(C/n)'s bright eyes were suddenly reduced to slits, his arms crossed and observing the dressed-up man. It made Arthur uncomfortable, to say the least. What had caused the dramatic shift in attitude? 

Nothing was said, for at least a good two minutes, until finally, the small child in his blue space pyjamas saw it necessary.

"You know, my mommy really likes you." 

Uh oh.

Arthur made a face back to the boy. 

He wasn't entirely sure what face he made, though it didn't matter because the child picked up on his general disbelief anyway.

"It's true!" His arms shot out into the air, "I do too!" 

There was no way a child could know such things; plus, nothing was ever certain. It was with this that he pushed down the hope that had sprung up, like a freshly bloomed flower in spring - its stem resistant and youthful, not yet pressed by the wilting life would inevitably bring. 

"So you better not be mean to her!" (C/n) exclaimed.

The double meaning behind what the child said made him internally cringe. Arthur now knew the context of your troubled pasts and whilst what (c/n) had said was innocent, had saddened him. Not just over the fact you had been through hell in the first place, but because, for a moment there, Arthur saw himself in the child; a reflection of what he was still like. Always having to take care of his mother - look out for her. Support her any way he could.  

Arthur's eyes softened in understanding, a great respect for the child forming. (C/n) sincerely looked up to you - loved you, and he was willing to resist anything that endangered that. 

Arthur leaned forward, a forearm extending. His elbow rested against the table's surface and all his fingers, except for one - his pinky - curled into his palm. 

"I promise," he said, eyes firm, a certainty the child was happy with.

(C/n) reached his small body over, his knees digging into the pads of cushioning on the chair as his significantly tinier finger wrapped around Arthur's skinny one. A smile was shared between the two of them. 

When Arthur went to pull away, he was stopped by (C/n)'s whine.

"No! You have to lock it!"

"Lock?" Arthur questioned. 

(C/n)'s tongue stuck out in concentration as he reached his small thumb over to Arthur's, tapping it. After much trial and error, the older man finally got the hint and connected the tip of his thumb with the boy.

"There!" (C/n) exclaimed.

Unbeknownst to the two seated at the table, you had snuck back into the room, watching the heartwarming scene unfold. The gentle noise of your knocking signified your return, and Arthur, with surprise, jumped in his chair, quickly standing. You bit into your lip, trying not to laugh. 

He made his way over to you when you extended your arm, his red suit jacket floating in the air as your fingers gripped it from the top. In one quick movement, it was hugging his body again.

"Thanks," Arthur smiled.

As much as he wanted to stay, to talk to you all night, his eyes caught the time which had apparently flown by, like a flock of birds migrating for the winter. He had undoubtedly overstayed his welcome, and his mother was probably worried sick. 

His eyes grew wide.

"I-I have to go!" 

His sudden shift in mood had you worried. 

"Arthur? Are you okay?" 

"I'm really late. I'm sorry." 

"Oh - okay well, let me walk you to the door?"

It was barely a few meters away, and you internally scolded yourself. How obvious could you get?

He quickly nodded.

Your form quickly moved past him as you hear Arthur's gentle voice in the background say goodbye to (C/n). When your fingers gripped onto the doorknob, pushing it, Arthur squeezed past with a small 'thank you'. You felt the nips of the wind against your exposed arms, causing you to shiver. The distant noises of Gotham - the blaring sirens which were muffled, and the faraway clamour of car horns, was something you had gotten used to; it was a city that never slept. 

Arthur stood awkwardly in front of you, lost. It was then when you realised you had to make the first move. 

"Thanks for tonight," you said, hands wrapping around him in a gentle embrace, chin resting on the pad of his shoulder. The smell of his cologne hit your nostrils instantly. It was oceanic, traces of bergamot and melon, with a hint of frangipani; so perfectly him. It was a fragrance that you associated with safety, the small feeling of comfort burrowing in your stomach. 

He froze from your actions, evidently stunned. His arms then snaked their way around your waist, pulling you closer to him. 

"I had a great time," you whispered, eyes closing against him.  

The husky agreement which you felt vibrate in his chest induced a sinful shiver. As much as you wanted to stay wrapped in his arms for longer, hell for the rest of the night, you knew he needed to be somewhere. Tearing yourself away, the hands remaining at your hips stopped you, squeezing into your sides. This prompted you to look up at the man, into his hardened eyes. They looked to be concentrating, portraying an internal war. His Adam's apple bobbed. You didn't get a chance to ask if he was okay because he moved before you could, his lips quickly pressing themselves against the softness of your heated cheek before scurrying off.

You smiled, fingers grazing the area. 

Arthur was a unique man. Strange, but endearingly so. 

So soft and gentle; kind. 

He would never hurt a fly. 

———

.

.

.

.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Arthur repeated the mantra in his head. 

He'd fucked up - fucked up big time.

He'd shot three men - killed them in cold blood. 

His ears were still ringing from the gunshots, and he remembered the way his hands shook as he held the trigger. How his tremors diminished with every squeeze until finally, a hardened look replaced his fear. His whole demeanour had altered within those critical seconds.

As he found himself back in the present, his makeup smudged and appearance dishevelled, he emerged out of the public bathroom, panting. 

He felt different. 

The eyes which had stared back at him in that mirror didn't feel like his own. They didn't harbour the terror they once swam in, nor the naivety. His body, which had moved with grace and finesse, had danced on the dirty tiles instead. His movements came from the soul; a conglomeration of motions he was unaware he was even capable of. 

Yes - he was different. 

So, when he wiped off his makeup, and kicked his leg out, against the resistance of the bathroom door, he didn't go back to his apartment. He didn't want to see the rats in the lobby, scurrying and squeaking, only a matter of time before they found their way into his apartment. He didn't want to stare at the wall for hours, envisioning what could have been, and the what if's. He didn't want to sit down with his journal and think about how depressing his life was - just to get his therapist off his ass.

No, he didn't want to. 

So he didn't.

Preferably, he found himself going in the other direction. To the place where he felt most welcomed. Loved. 

Although the date had been days prior, he felt the need to see you. 

He didn't know how long it took him to get there, all he knew was the thumping of his heart, it's frantic beat echoing in his ears when he rapped on the door. The sound hollow. 

Your head peaked out, groggy from sleep as you opened the door, its range widening when you saw him. It was late, perhaps late enough to be considered the early hours of the morning, but you didn't question it. Rather, his name passed your lips with concern. 

Arthur didn't hear you call his name. Though he saw your lips move, plump and inviting. No sound reached his dazed state. His hands found your face alternatively, thin digits sliding below your mastoid, save for his ring finger and pinky. Wasting no time in seizing your lips, his mind worked overtime to memorise every little detail - of the moment he had been waiting for; the grand finale. 

Every scent - like the perfume that seeped into your skin, faint and applied hours prior. It was a scent he often detected, sometimes rubbing off on his clothes, but an odour he never got sick of; heavenly. 

Every feeling - like the way your hands wrapped around his form, gripping him tightly to steady yourself from your stumbling - from his pushes into the house. Or, like the feeling of his stomach, how it fluttered when you kissed him back, his heated blood pumping through him. 

Every sound - like the soft 'click' of the door behind him, which he closed with the sole of his shoe. 

Every taste - like the raspberry chapstick which coated your lips, mixing in with the contrasting flavour of his carmine lipstick. Although most of it was wiped off, there were distinct traces. Smudges.  

Every sight - the way your playful grin took up most of it when you pulled away, teeth dragging your bottom lip, leading him to your bedroom. 

When inside, Arthur dipped you down onto the bed, his slim frame hovering over yours with darkened eyes. The dim glow of your lamp residing on the bedside table allowed you to identify the hunger in his look. A lusting fire which burned right before you, behind those glassy, blue eyes. The warmth of his lips met your mouth once more, but only for a second because he shifted his attention to the base of your neck. The moments in between had you complaining from the loss of contact, a noise which he chuckled at. 

He wanted - needed - to explore every curve of your body; every crevice. Map it in his brain. 

"Arthur," you whispered. He shivered at the sound of his name breathlessly leaving your lips, goosebumps forming across his skin. In response, he hummed deeply - an acknowledgement which originated from the back of his throat, the vibrations sinful against your heightened senses.

"What's gotten into you?" 

The confidence radiating off of him, although adding to the pool in your panties, had surprised you. You had to remind yourself that the previously timid Arthur and the man above you were the same person.

"I need you," he husked. 

Amazed by his forwardness, though equally as desperate, your voice came out shaky, "then take me." 

Three words. Those lovely three words were all it took for him to lose himself; his control. The tightness of his pants was becoming too much to bear. It was his own personal prison, and the anguished motivation to escape was only increasing by the passing moments. Judging by the way you were grinding against him, pressing against his crotch unfairly, he knew you were just as riled up.

His kisses seared into your skin, rendering you a whimpering mess. Your back arched against the mattress, an action driven entirely by instinct as his hands slipped under your shirt. In an attempt to make things easier, your hands hooked under the shirt as well, bunching it up. When he sensed the movement, he assisted you with the material. In your whirlwind of passion, the article of clothing had been removed, thrown away as it was left sprawled across the floor, uncaringly. His breath hitched in his throat when he realised there was nothing underneath it, except for your underwear.

"You're beautiful," he said, pupils full-blown.

Your eyes then smiled up at his in the delicate moment, the tender upturn of your brows leading to the capture of his lips. Without so much as moving away, his slender fingers fiddled with his dress shirt, he too, removing himself from its constraints. 

He suddenly pulled away as his frustration reached its peak. His need for you had become overpowering, and he worked his way down towards the only piece of clothing you had left. The light, tickling touch of the pads of his fingers slid down your ribcage, tracing down your hips until they reached the waistband. His thumbs dipped under the elastic, and with the cooperation of your wiggling, it was promptly discarded. His caress was ever so gentle, his handling virtually leaving you quaking beneath him. 

Arthur wasted no time in pleasuring you, this was proven to you quickly when one of his digits smoothly slid into your cunt. The sound of your wetness was vulgar, although all the more alluring. 

He felt drunk; hazy. In some sense, it was surreal that this was occurring, that you were actually interested in him in the first place. Yet, there was another part of him that was screaming at himself to focus, to halt his berating comments and take pleasure in the way you were crumbling before him. He tried to do the latter.  

"Fuck- oh my god!" You immediately cried out, hands darting to cover your mouth as he slowly started pumping his finger. His devilish movements had your other hand fisting the sheets. 

Your breathing swiftly became ragged under the knuckle you bit down on, and he hastily added another finger, loving your reaction. He felt his chest swell with pride as he glanced up at your dishevelled manner. Encouraged by the enchanting sight, he picked up his pace. It was relentless and brutal, the thrusts forcing obscene mewls from you, some no longer containable. Raising your hips to meet his rhythm, to relieve the overwhelming knot forming, you knew you weren't going to last long. Arthur knew this too, your squirming made this clear, and he instantly added his lips to the equation, stimulating your clit. 

You were done for. 

As your walls clenched around his fingers, your hands rushed to grip his hair. They weaved through his untidy strands, pushing his head down while the wild flicks of his tongue assisted you with your earth-shattering orgasm. Ecstasy rushed over your trembling form, and as your thighs tensed, the tip of your head grazed the headboard; you swore you could see stars. Arthur's cock twitched in his pants at the sight of you unfolding before him, impossibly hard. 

"Holy fuck!" You moaned.

He kindly slowed his rhythm when he knew you finished, yet his tongue licked a long stripe against your slit, moving to lap up your juices. The sensation, as well as the hums that lasciviously left his mouth, vibrated against your already sensitive core, setting you down the path for a second climax.  

Perhaps he had done it on purpose, but when you felt the pressure in your abdomen, ready to burst again, he pulled away. 

"No!" you cried, "Arthur, please! I'm gonna cum, please let me cum!" You sobbed quite shamelessly. In all honesty, your words surprised yourself, and apparently Arthur too, because laid sat there for a moment, eyebrows raised as a delicious smirk settled over his lips. He took his merry time, with no sign of returning to you, savouring your pleading.  

"Beg," he purred, sitting up as his tongue lolling out to lick and suck on the fingers that had fucked you into oblivion. His eyes never shifted from yours, and you watched with absolute astonishment, upon desire, at the action. Your reaction only egged him on. 

What exactly happened to him in the last 72 hours? 

You were genuinely bewildered at the whole situation. The last thing you would have expected was to have Arthur rock up in the middle of the night and turn into a sex god. Though, you certainly weren't complaining. 

While one of his hands was busy, in his mouth, his other trailed up your thigh. Eventually, it reached your bundle of nerves, tracing small circles with his thumb, agonisingly slowly. 

"You're so good to me, fuck," you whined, stirring against his touch. He pulled away again when you bucked into his hand.

"Please-"

"Please, what?"

"I need you inside me, Arthur, fuck please-"

He couldn't take much more of your begging, his own self-control had wholly vanished by then, and he quickly shifted out of his pants, freeing himself. When his cock fell into his fist, he gave two steady pumps before lining himself up with you. You held your breath in anticipation despite your wild heart, making you feel dizzy. The relief you had been longing for - no aching for - had finally arrived when he pushed himself into you. 

"Oh god- you feel so good," you gasped. The moan which fell from Arthur's lips had your name mixed in, a deliciously carnal sound. As he started moving, a slow rhythm from his hips developing, he shut his eyes. With his concentration on chasing his finish, salty beads of sweat trailed down his forehead. 

"Arthur," your gentle voice had called, "w-wait." 

Upon hearing your words, he immediately stopped, eyes flying open with concern.

"Let me take care of you."

He was confused as to what you meant until you maneuvered yourself on top, kissing him softly.  

You could see the stutter in his confidence at your words, though his nod signified his consent. With a small smile, you made sure he was comfortable before your entrance started teasing his cock. You felt him tense up, and when you made the movement again, he thrust into you, an involuntary action which made you both cry out. His stroke hit you perfectly the first time, harsh yet euphoric. If you woke up the next day and found your body aching, you wouldn't be shocked.

His arms reached over to embrace your form as you buried your face in the crevice of his neck, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. Then, fully adjusted to his length, you started to move up and down on his cock, the feeling of him stretching your walls overwhelming. 

"You're doing so well," you gulped, your panting warming the side of his throat.

"I want to see you," he managed to murmur out, and his request was promptly granted when you pulled away from his neck.  

His hands slid down to grip your hips when you shifted, guiding them as you bounced. No longer did he need to fantasise about being with you, image you writhing in pleasure as he touched himself. No longer did he need to envision the way you felt around his cock, the way you moaned; it was now his reality. Hell, even Arthur's wicked fantasies couldn't have prepared him for this. Nor the words that left your mouth next, sending him spiralling. 

"Let go, Arthur. Cum for me."  

He did.

And hard. 

His orgasm rocked him to the core, and you milked him for all he had, his hot spurts of cum coating your walls. Both your paces slowed, becoming sloppy as you came crashing down seconds later. 

Deathly tired, you collapsed on top of his chest, exhausted. The only sound that could be heard were your frantic breaths, and you could've sworn your heart too, considering how hard it was beating. As you both took a minute to calm, neither of you move from each other, his cock still buried within you. 

Only when you felt him soften did you slowly depart, rolling beside him. Arthur's grew heavy when you did, though they tried to resist the weight of his lethargy. He managed to twist his frame over to you, giving you one last kiss, the taste of yourself prominent in the heartfelt and passionate kiss, before he finally gave in. 

Sleep gripped your forms. 

———

Arthur stirred at the alien sensation of warmth next to him. Your naked body was pressed against his, head leaning on his chest as his arms protectively enveloped your frame. It took a few moments for this to register, and a lot more minutes for him to realise this was real; that this wasn't a dream - a product of his imagination.

He hadn't woken up in his own bed with his sheets dirtied from, well, his...dreams. 

Everything had actually happened yesterday. 

Your beautiful form was really there in his grasp, face relaxed with soft exhales leaving your nose. He could feel the breath against his skin, a perception his body reacted to on its own.

Don't start, he thought, scolding himself. 

Perhaps it was his staring that had woken you next, or the soft, dulled yellow tone of the suns rays projecting past the white curtains. He wasn't sure. But, when your (e/c) eyes bore into his, fluttering open with a grin he knew he'd never get used to, he realised it didn't matter. Its appearance always managed to sucker punch him in his gut, make his heart stop. And if that was the way he was going to die, fuck, he really couldn't complain. He'd choose it if he could. Your radiance was sincerely otherworldly to him, angelic - personally constructed and moulded by the angels themselves.  

"Goodmorning," you yawned, arching your back into a stretch. Soft groans left your lips and pops from your joints filled the air. Arthur's finger trailed your spine, forcing you to shiver.

"Morning," he replied lazily, a drowsy smile gracing his lips.

"I don't wanna get upppp" you whined, voice still affected by sleep as you nuzzled into him. 

"We don't have to," Arthur shot you a look, one you were quickly starting to identify as his sex expression. Its appearance forced you to roll your eyes playfully, something he laughed at. 

"Maybe later, loverboy."

After one soft morning kiss, you both decided it was best to do the complete opposite of what you wanted and get up. 

As you both tossed on the discarded clothes from your nightly activities, Arthur beat you to the kitchen, refusing to let you sort your breakfast out. Your giggles decorated the hallway as you admitted defeat, knowing he wasn't going to give in. In no time, Arthur had somehow transformed into a chef, something he casually brushed off, stating he learned for his mother. 

Not long after, a long metallic groan - of hinges - sounded. Then, frantic footsteps littered the hallway, a short form entering the kitchen soon after, eyes observing the scene before them.

"Are those pancakes?" The boy asked, looking between you and Arthur. 

Arthur winked at (C/n). It was enough confirmation for the kid and his feet lept off the ground repeatedly. His cute red pyjamas had green patterns of t-rex's scattered across the fabric, a fact he exhibited to Arthur every few minutes. 

So, this was what having a family felt like, Arthur thought, smiling. 

When Arthur eventually finished cooking and experimenting with pancake shapes (he had managed to morph yours into the outline of a heart and (C/n)'s into Pacman), he was the last to join the table. 

Excited to take a chuck out of his consumable masterpiece, Arthur sipped on his water. But, before he could move on, the boy's words across from him, stopped him, forcing the liquid back into its glass. 

Arthur damn near choked. Deep coughs emerged from his chest, and while he was repulsed by the sight of his saliva swirling with the chilled drink, it was the least of his worries with the child's words buzzing around his head. 

"Does this mean you're my dad now?!"

———

Side note: I was genuinely considering putting the summary as ‘Arthur shoots people and gets laid lol’ because I couldn’t think of anything. I need help PFTT

[afrobeatsindacity]

AFROBEATS CITY MEETS TRAYC SELASI

Following the release of her new sophomore EP, The Art & The Muse, Afrobeats City caught up with talented dancer, singer & songwriter Trayc Selasi to find out about her journey from a dancer to a musician, the creative process behind  The Art & The Muse, the impact her Ghanaian roots has on her music, and more. 

You started your career on the Afrobeats scene as a dancer before becoming a musician - how would you describe your journey?

My career began in 2012, during my dance cameo in Fuse ODG’s “Antenna” video, and again for “Dangerous Love” in 2014 with my dance partner Move with KB, which gained over 22 million+ views on YouTube. It has been a beautiful journey; all the ups and downs have made me who I am today. I started as a dancer but making music was always my ultimate goal. I toured and performed on big stages for Fuse ODG with my dance partner at the time and it was so amazing as I learnt so much on the job. I was quite observant with everything music around me which kept my interest going. I learnt how to record and Engineer in the studio, engineering for some great artists also Fuse ODG himself at times. Everyday there was something new to learn although it was not always easy, it was all worth it. I now have my own home studio set up where I have been able to record music of my own and finishing my E.P.

You recently released your single “Somebody”, what was your influence behind the single?

“Somebody” was created in Ghana during my trip back home in Ghana. It was produced by the amazing Abochi. We created this beautiful song together using concepts I had, bouncing ideas and melodies back and forth. The song is about a dilemma in the mind of a woman and the dilemma is being in love with “Somebody” but struggling to express that feeling as she goes through the pressure internally. I believe a lot of women out there can relate and may have somewhat been in that same “situation-ship”. The concept stems from my own experience with love and struggling to express that. There are women like myself who tend to hide feelings and emotions to avoid being hurt, but there comes a point where enough is enough and we have to start speaking out and expressing our love to that special “Somebody” but also being okay accepting him not having the same feelings for you knowing that ’Somebody’ is out there for you. Do not give up on love.

Congratulations on the release of your sophomore EP, “The Art and The Muse” - can you tell me about the creative process behind the EP and what we can expect from it?

The Art & The Muse is OUT NOW! whooppp and I’m super excited for this release. It has been a long time coming as I’ve been working on this project throughout this year exotically during the lockdown. If you haven’t heard it yet then expect to hear good timeless music that would captivate your hearts and minds. it’s a spiritual sometin’ haha. Honestly, I enjoyed creating this project especially because it’s my first ever project to come out of Trayc Selasi. Most of the songs we created during the lockdown period especially as I had some time to get in my creative bag. 2 of the songs were created during my trip in Ghana, “Somebody” and “Militant” whilst the others were created in my London home with my home studio setup. My creative process is a mashup of different things that I piece together to create my version of art which stems from my past experiences I’ve been through as well as my friends and family around me. Sometimes it can just be words I hear, a feeling or a current emotion. When I create, I think about so many different things based on the current topic and write down everything. Most times I go off from my feelings and allow melodies, words, emotions to naturally flow out of me through songs or dance. I have my moments where I can get stuck and just lay down or be still but the one thing I do a lot is pray and meditate especially when I’m feeling overwhelmed. I usually like to take my time to create just so I know I have pieced it all. The name of the EP is a representation of both me 'The Art' and my influences 'The Muse'.

How much of an impact does your Ghanaian roots have when creating music?

My Ghanaian roots have a massive impact and a few reasons for that is firstly, I was born there and lived a part of my childhood in Accra before leaving to come to the UK at 8 yrs. My family keeps me in check about my roots especially my mother as she constantly reminds me by speaking my language to me and always encouraging me to always be myself and be proud of who I am and where I'm from at all times. I’m so grateful for them, if not I don't know what I would be right now. I love my culture, my country and the whole African continent because it’s so beautiful and rich with amazingness. it has had and continues to have a huge impact on my lifestyle, my hair, the clothes and jewellery I wear as well as my music. My dad used to be a family DJ at most family functions and he would play some of the legends such as Yvonne Chaka Chaka, Agelique Kudjo Daddy Umma etc and i grew up listening to these African legends who inspire a lot of my music creating as you hear the sweet sounds of highlife infused in some of my songs on my EP The Art & The Muse.

How do you think the Afrobeats scene has changed since you first started out?

The Afrobeats scene has changed so much over the last 5-10 years and I’m so proud now more than ever to be a part of this culture. African music is now growing into new heights that we’ve never been before and I believe it’s only going to get better and higher from here and there is no going back as we are already exposed to many different experiences and sub-genres

2020 has been an unexpected year, how was lockdown for you and what impact did it have on your music plans for the year?

2020 has definitely been unexpected but I believe it’s been both a blessing and a curse at the same time. I prefer to keep my focus on the blessings that have come out of it which is the fact that I was able to finish my EP and have more time to connect with my supporters all around the world. I am truly grateful for everything that has happened so far and I believe there are going to be greater things that are coming my way. I won’t lie, in the beginning of lockdown, it was a bit of a struggle trying to get used to being home and working as I was used to a set routine and trying to figure out a new home routine was a little crazy but my music is what kept me going which made me even more grateful for my home studio setup. We thank God.

The music industry is very male orientated, have you faced any struggles as a female artist and how did you overcome them?

Yes this industry is very male dominated but we all know that women run this world. I did face some struggles as a woman from the start of my career in this industry as a dancer well before transitioning into music. One being the fact that you’re seen as a subject and even my skin colour didn’t always help as I will sometimes be pushed to the back but how I overcame that was to keep myself with Fuse ODG team who were very respectful to me as not just a woman but a black African woman which allowed me to feel safe. I worked very hard to build a lot of my relationships in the industry in a respectful way making sure that everyone sees and treats me with respect as I treat everyone both men and women with respect.

What is the best advice you have been given?

The best advice I received was to go fishing. I know it may sound weird or funny but what I understood from that was to go for it, throw that hook in the water and never hold back because eventually I will catch a big fish and get my big break and in my case a second big break as the first big one was from the “Antenna” Dance video. Another great advice I have received and continue to receive from my amazing team, Coelle LDN is to stay patient, pray and grind hard because the time will come. As we all know this journey is not an easy one but it is one that I must enjoy, as it will be all worth it in the end.

 What is next for Trayc Selasi?

Trayc Selasi is taking on new heights and flights. Now that my first EP The Art & The Muse is out, I’ll be working on some visuals for this project and get some shows and performances going hopefully when everything opens up again and lockdown has been lifted. I will also be going back to Ghana very soon to engage with my supporters there. I want to link up with amazing producers and songwriters and start working on my next project. So many things I want to do right now but all in due time.

Just for fun, fill in the blanks….

Without music, I would be… A rich housewife

My current favourite song is… Somebody by myself

My dream artist(s) to collaborate with is… Beyonce

My favourite Ghanaian dish is… Red Red (African stewed black-eyed peas and plantain)

Support Afrobeats because… I love it, it’s my culture, it’s in my bloodline

Download/Stream - Trayc Selasi - The Art & The Muse EP

Follow @Traycselasi on Instagram | Twitter

This interview was conducted by Shade A  / Afrobeats City doesn’t own the rights to the image used.

[chilling-seavey]

Anything But Mine (d.s.) - Chapter Eight

A/N Daniel isn’t really in the next few chapters but be patient...each interaction between smaller characters play important roles into the plot ;)

Saturday, October 12th, 2019

October 12th couldn't come soon enough. It was the day Callum was flying in for a visit. The twins hadn't spoken in weeks and Florence missed her brother terribly. When he said he was flying into the city, he told her he was bringing someone with him. Filled with curiosity, Florence was almost bouncing off the walls. She spent that morning preparing the apartment nicely and even dressed up a little. Since the place was so small, Callum would be staying at a hotel across the street, but she still wanted him to think she had it all together. Plus, she had to impress his guest. Whoever it was.

Sometime between mid to late-afternoon, there was a knock at the door. Clementine was sitting on the living room floor in her pink dress and looked towards the door at the noise. Florence ran down the hallway and opened the door hurriedly, taking her brother into her arms the second she saw him. Callum wrapped his arms around her back and picked her up off the floor a little.

"I'm so glad you're here!" Florence squealed, separating from him after a moment, her hands on his arms. She only then noticed the boy slightly behind Callum. He had deep natural brown hair, streaked with blonde that was set in a coiffed style away from his face. When his eyes met hers, she was startled by the vibrant blue that stared back at her. His full lips broke into a charismatic smile and he rested his arm on Callum's shoulder.

"Flora, this is Ivan. My boyfriend." Callum said slowly, as if he was nervous to hear her response.

Florence's eyes widened. After dating and being heartbroken by Aidan, she never expected Callum to want to go down that path again, but she was so happy he was comfortable enough – even in LA with their parents – to be true to himself.

"Lovely to meet you." Florence beamed.

"You as well." Ivan smiled, a hint of some European accent braided in his voice.

"Well, come on in." Florence gestured them farther into the apartment. Clementine was crawling down the hallway and Florence went to pick her up but Callum swooped in and picked her up himself.

"My sweet niece." Callum beamed, pressing kisses to her chubby cheek. "I missed you!"

"She's beautiful." Ivan smiled, reaching a finger out to tickle her stomach. Clementine shrieked with laughter, curling into Callum.

"Isn't she?" Callum held her securely.

"How was the flight?" Florence asked, sitting on the couch.

"It was fine." Callum shrugged, placing Clementine on the living room rug and kneeled down with her. "How are you holding up? I'm sorry I couldn't come back earlier."

"Yeah." Florence looked down at her hands in her lap. "It was really hard for the first few days – weeks even."

She caught Ivan's concerned gaze from the floor, Clementine holding onto his index finger and trying to put it in her mouth. "My boyfriend left me." Florence explained quickly.

"Oh no, I'm sorry." Ivan frowned.

"He was a-" Callum covered Clementine's ears, "fucking asshole anyway."

When he removed his hands Clementine giggled, still holding onto Ivan's finger. Florence chuckled lightly at Callum's bluntness.

"But I've been fine now. Grayson has been around a lot. He's really amazing and Clementine really likes him." Florence felt herself smiling again at only the thought of him.

"Ah, yes, the infamous boy. Nay, man." Callum teased.

"Callum George!" Florence gasped, cheeks flaring red. Ivan laughed.

"I haven't even met the guy and I know he's better than Matt." Callum shrugged. "So go on about him all you want. Besides, I like knowing someone out here is making you happy."

"I like knowing someone out there is making you happy." Florence winked. It was Callum's turn to blush as Ivan beamed, looking between the twins. Florence watched as her twin brother stared at his boy with nothing but admiration in his eyes and it made her smile. She truly was glad that Callum had found someone genuine to keep him busy, as he lived so far away in the world of luxury and their ridiculous parents, without his twin sister to keep him sane. Florence and Callum continued talking about their past months. When Clementine finally let go of his finger, Ivan reached across the rug to grab the colourful plastic rings, setting them in front of the nine-month-old. She wasn't interested in that as she had seen a glint of his silver necklace under his hoodie. Clementine climbed onto his lap. Florence looked over at her daughter just as she took two fistfuls of Ivan's sweater and pulled herself to her feet on her own, standing between his crossed legs.

"Oh my God!" Florence gasped.

"What?!" Callum and Ivan both jumped.

"She's never done that before!" Florence clasped her hands to her mouth. "She did that all on her own?!" she asked Ivan.

"Yeah. I wasn't even touching her." Ivan smiled, now holding her up gently by the waist. Clementine reached for his necklace with her tiny thumb and forefinger.

"Oh my God, I'm gonna cry." Florence whimpered, getting up from the couch and scooping up her daughter.

"My niece is so smart." Callum boasted, leaning back with his hands on the floor behind him. Clementine whined, reaching for Ivan again.

"I'm popular with the young crowd." Ivan smirked. Florence set her back on her feet and she fell back into Ivan's arms. Callum shuffled over and tickled her sides, making the baby laugh loudly.

"What time are we going out for dinner?" Florence asked, joining them on the rug.

"We told my brother that we'd meet at the restaurant for 6." Ivan said, still holding the baby as she played with his hoodie strings.

"Your brother?" Florence looked towards Callum.

"Yeah. He lives in the city, so Ivan hasn't seen him in a while either. We figured we'd all go out together. If that's okay with you." Callum said.

"Yes, of course. That's fine." Florence nodded. She took out her phone and checked the time; 4:56. "I should get the baby ready to go."

"I'll help." Callum offered, grabbing the baby from Ivan and standing up. The DiCaprio twins headed to the nursery and Ivan excused himself to the bathroom.

Once alone, Callum jumped on the opportunity to ask his sister what she thought of his partner.

"He seems really amazing, Cal." Florence answered honestly. Callum had Clementine on the change table, getting her freshened up before their dinner.

"Really?" Callum asked nervously.

Florence set her hand on her brother's shoulder, "Really. I'm so proud of you."

"Proud of me?" Callum frowned. "Why?"

"After all the stuff with Aidan I wasn't sure how you'd move on from that."

At the sound of his name, Callum tensed a little.

Florence continued, "But you're really finding yourself and feeling comfortable enough to go out and find someone who you like and who likes you and who treats you right. I want you to be happy."

Callum smiled at her, "Thank you."

"How are you holding up with mother and father?" Florence passed him the dress and he started getting the baby into it.

"I'm at school a lot and I stay late as often as I can. And I'm at Ivan's as much as I can too. They don't know about him of course." Callum explained.

"Do his parents?"

"They do. I haven't met them though. They live in Spain."

"That's the accent." Florence snapped her fingers. "I knew I recognized it."

Callum laughed, "You should have. Our childhood piano teacher had the thickest Spanish accent."

"Oh my God, I totally forgot about that!" Florence snickered at the memory, shaking her head. Callum picked up Clementine, setting her on his hip.

"And I'm expecting to meet Grayson at some point this week too." Callum winked.

"We aren't even dating." Florence mumbled.

"Yet." Callum patted her cheek on his way to the door.

Ivan was sitting in the living room again when they left the nursery. Right away, the boys started getting their shoes on. Florence worked on gathering the diaper bag, Clementine's food, and the stroller before getting herself into her shoes. Callum buckled Clementine in her stroller and they all headed out.

It was only a five-minute walk to the restaurant. It was a sunny evening and the sun was only just starting to dip behind the skyscrapers of downtown Toronto. Callum and Ivan walked ahead of Florence, hand in hand. It made her smile. It felt so good to see her brother happy.

The restaurant was eccentric; mosaic stained glass and antique objects placed around the dining room. It was a staple Toronto restaurant – Callum said he had suggested it as Ivan had never been before. Callum had made the reservation, so he checked them in at the host stand. Clementine peered around the bustling area with wide eyes from her stroller, so many random antique objects for the baby to admire. Ivan seemed to be doing the same.

"Someone from your party is already here. Right this way." The hostess led them through the tightly packed restaurant, under the skylight that was shaded by fake ivy strands that were laced throughout the ceiling. As they approached their table, Ivan ran ahead to meet the boy that had jumped up from his chair.

"That's my boy!" they both screamed youthfully, embracing each other tightly. They quickly greeted each other in Spanish before they turned to Callum and Florence. 

Florence was surprised to see Ivan's carbon copy standing next to him. She had never seen twins who looked so identical. Grayson and his brother were identical but somehow looked nothing alike. This was almost overwhelming. Even still, Ivan's twin brother had softly styled hair – less dramatic than Ivan's intense coif – and rounder cheeks, but still the same blonde highlights and cheeky grin.

"Emilio, this is Callum. I've told you about him. And that's his twin sister Florence and her daughter Clementine." Ivan introduced, one arm around his brother's shoulders.

"Hey." Emilio smiled, going up on his tip-toes a bit to see into the stroller. Clementine stared right back at him, her fingers in her mouth.

The group sat down at their table, one set of twins on either side. Callum was across from Ivan and almost right away their hands were together on top of the table. Clementine was in a high chair at the head of the table.

"How old is she?" Emilio asked.

"Nine months." Florence responded, velcroing the bib around her daughter's neck.

"She's beautiful."

"Thanks." Florence blushed a little, never knowing what to say when people said that to her. Clementine took the green plastic spoon from the table and stuck it in her mouth. Emilio smiled at her, making the baby shriek with laughter.

"You're so loud, Clemmy." Florence chuckled, opening the baby food jar before peeling the spoon from her daughter's tight grip. She gave the puree a quick stir before offering a scoop to the baby. Florence peeked over at Emilio who had his menu open but was still making faces at the baby.

“So what are you doing here in the city while your brother is in LA?" Florence asked him.

"I'm a student at University of Toronto." Emilio said, finally looking towards her. She couldn't help but admire his ocean blue eyes. They contrasted his dark hair beautifully. "I'm majoring in Psychology with a minor in Spanish Studies."

"That's cool. Psychology always interested me in high school." Florence tried to clean up Clementine's mouth with the edge of the spoon.

"Yeah, it's pretty sweet." Emilio nodded. “Ivan and I first went to LA together but it wasn’t really my vibe. Plus UofT had some good reviews so I figured I’d give it a go. My brother wanted to stay in LA for modelling.”

“You look like more of the modelling type than him.” Florence blurted out.

“Oh really?” Emilio snorted.

“Just saying.” Florence played it off cooly, quickly feeding Clementine another spoonful.

“What do you do out here?” Emilio asked her.

Florence hesitated, "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"I mean, I don't go to school and I don't have a job. So, nothing.”

"Oh."

"I don't have anyone to take care of Clementine so I stay at home with her. Callum helps me pay for the apartment and I have a couple friends here that help out when I need it too."

"Do you want to go to school?"

"Yeah. I was going to go to university for architecture."

"Now that's cool."

Florence couldn't help but laugh.

“If you guys are done flirting, we’re about to order.” Ivan called.

“We weren’t flirting!” Florence gaped.

“Your blushing says otherwise.” Ivan smirked playfully.

“Oh, leave her alone, babe.” Callum laughed. Emilio hid his pink cheeks behind his menu. Florence bit her lip, scraping the bottom of the jar before giving Clementine the last bite.

The waiter came over and they placed their orders; Florence having to scan the menu quickly as she had been preoccupied with the baby. Once the waiter left, Florence passed her a plastic set of keys to play with.

“So, Florence,” Ivan started, “tell me some savage stories of Callum as a kid.”

“Savage?” Florence laughed. “I don’t know about that. Savage wasn’t quite our lifestyle.”

“Disappointing.” Emilio tisked.

“Tell us about it.” Callum rolled his eyes.

“Well,” Florence thought for a moment, “our parents were really strict so honestly there’s nothing very good. But in the last year of high school, Callum and I threw a massive party while they were out of town.”

“How was that?” Ivan prodded.

“Someone almost broke our father’s prized award, our parents came home early and busted us, and Florence got knocked up.” Callum answered for her. Ivan and Emilio laughed loudly.

“Callum George.” Florence said through her teeth. She then retaliated with, “Callum punched a guy in the face within the first couple weeks of moving here.”

“Now that’s pretty savage.” Emilio nodded.

“He was harassing...” Callum stopped mid sentence, his gaze falling to the table.

“One of our friends.” Florence continued for him, taking his hand in hers under the table. “So he deserved it.”

“That’s pretty savage and all but no one can beat Emilio’s roof jump three years ago.” Ivan boasted.

“Roof jump?!” Florence gaped at the boy across the table from her.

“He almost broke his back!” Ivan added.

“Okay, it wasn’t that bad.” Emilio scoffed. “I jumped from the roof of our LA house we were staying at into the pool. Just couldn’t walk for a few days. No big deal.”

“Holy shit.” Florence breathed. “You definitely beat our story.”

“And that was only one.” Emilio chuckled. Clementine threw the keys on the table and he picked them up for her.

“We always got into trouble.” Ivan finished.

“Never us. We were forbidden.” Callum said.

“I can tell just by the way you talk about your parents.” Ivan replied softly. He then directed to Florence, “We were raised in a poor family just outside Barcelona so we could run around and do anything really.”

“And now you’re living in LA and Toronto and are successful.” Florence said.

“Yep.” Emilio smiled. He and his brother high fived. Dinner arrived to their table a few minutes later and they all ate in silence for a bit. Clementine started getting fussy so Florence picked her up out of the high chair and sat her on her lap, bouncing her on her knee a bit to keep her entertained. Even still, Clementine shifted uncomfortably, whining on the verge of tears.

“Here, I’ll take her for a walk.” Callum offered, setting his napkin on the table and pulling the baby to him.

"No, Cal, you have to eat." Florence protested lightly.

"It’s alright. I can eat later. I missed my girl." Callum got up from the table, Clementine calming down quickly in his arms. "We’re gonna go look at the pretty things?" he cooed to her.

"I'm coming too!" Ivan jumped up and they walked off together. Florence smiled lightly and looked back to Emilio. He had pasta sauce over his face like Clementine did. They made eye contact and he froze guiltily for a second before they laughed and he grabbed his napkin. They fell into a momentary silence.

"How is it for you, living so far away from your brother?" Florence asked.

"It's really hard." Emilio admitted, absentmindedly stirring the pasta around his plate with his fork. "I can't sleep sometimes even. It's ridiculous honestly, we've been living on our own about a year now and it's still no easier than the first day."

"I feel the same way." Florence agreed. "I have some friends out here. But Callum was always my go-to and my best friend."

"I have a few friends here I guess but I rarely ever see them. We're not close. Everyone else is in Spain."

"Can you believe that the only 'friends' I have out here are Callum's ex-boyfriend's family and his friends?" Florence snorted.

"That's rough." Emilio chuckled.

“Apart from one but...yeah...it’s a little weird.”

Emilio simply smiled at her. 

"We should stay in touch." Florence said. "When we miss our brothers we can cry and watch movies together."

"I like that idea." Emilio agreed. He took out his phone and passed it across the table to her. Florence typed in her number and handed it back to him just as the rest of their group returned.

"Mama!" Clementine squealed, reaching to her from Callum's arms.

"I don't know how you do it." Florence said to her brother as she took her daughter from him. Clementine was sat on her lap and reached onto the table. Florence pushed anything potentially dangerous out of reach, tuning into the conversation that was arising once again.

They finished on a good note, dessert shared amongst the four – Clementine even had a bite – and soon it was time to leave. Ivan hugged his brother goodbye; they would be seeing each other the following day for some much needed quality time. Emilio hugged Callum and Florence goodbye too. Florence could have sworn hers lingered a bit longer than necessary but she wasn't complaining. Callum and Ivan parted ways to their hotel and Florence was left to go home alone again. Clementine was fast asleep by then and she was tucked into bed minutes later.

When Florence finally returned to her bedroom for the night, her phone was flashing from her bedside table. She walked over and sat on the side of her bed as she opened the text message.

It was really nice meeting you tonight. I can't wait to see you again.

[verifiefangirl]

Last Breath

AN: Sorry I couldn’t add the keep reading cut off on mobile it’s a bit long.

Azriel had gotten permission to take the middle Archeron sister on a mission with him. It was low threat work and Montevere was made for her. It had rolling hills, exotic flowers and surrounded by water and forest, it was truly breathtaking. It was their fourth day here and they were doing some light treading in the forest. He had to make a more detailed map for his spies of the path leading to the waterfall. 

He was in his Illyrian leathers with just light weapons. He could see Elain glancing over at him every so often from the corner of her eye before biting her lip and looking away. It shot his nerve for some reason, making him self conscious. They strolled in companionable silence. Occasionally he’d lend his hand to help her climb over fallen stumps and rocky boulders. Those brief touches heated him to the core. He couldn’t deny that their time spent together here created an even closer bond between the two. He almost forgot she was mated to another and he was supposed to be in love with the same female he had been for the last 500 year. Though as the day passed his affections for Mor became more of an afterthought. God he was incorrigible. A bastard really. 

He heard Elain let out a sharp gasp and he came to attention and he saw a majestic bird fly overhead. It had every colour of the rainbow on its feathers. 

“It’s stunning.” Her voice laced with awe. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” The smile that tug on his own lips was instantaneous, though it had nothing to do with the bird but the female at his side. 

“They are known as Laetus avem. They are one of the few species that mate for life and said to be unable to survive without their partner. A lot of them die from sadness from such a loss” He gazes up at the sky too and analyse them with interest.

Elain’s hands covered her mouth with emotion and continues to stare at them with wonder 

 “The coloured ones are actually males whereas the females tend to have a deep blue colouring. Sorry I’m rambling.” He apologised a faint blush covering his cheeks as Elain surveyed him from head to toe, a strange look crossing her face, his shadows weaves closer to him from the sight. 

“This whole trip has just made me realise how amazingly smart you are and how brilliant your mind is.” She said, flashing him one of her heart stopping smile. The colour on his cheeks deepened even further. He ducked his head in embarrassment, not used to such a compliment. Shrugging his shoulder he tucks his hands in his pocket. 

“It’s just a bunch of random stuff bouncing around in there.” He said sheepishly. 

“I could spend hours picking your brain apart.” She said playfully. “The things you know is so fascinating.” He didn’t know what to do with himself from all the compliments. 

“Thank you.” He said curtly. “You’d be one of the few people.” He said rather sardonically. 

“You’re wrong.” She said stubbornly. That’s another thing that surprised him about Elain, her resolution. His attention wavers to a doe in the distance. His hand curls around Elain’s bicep, bringing her to a halt as he quietly motions towards the small animal, grazing. Her eyes grow even larger. They are enraptured by as it brambles around before releasing a distressed sound, it stumbles back to the safety of its mother. 

*** 

Its only a short journey before they reach the waterfall. The force of the water crashing below fills their ears. The scent of minerals and earth laces the air. Sunlight streams through the canopy of the trees and butterflies flutter in the breeze. It’s an oasis, like something straight out of a dream. For once Elain seems at a loss for words. She walks around the ice blue water, taking it all in. His wings rustle behind him, unwittingly, her beauty in contrast to the little slice of paradise surrounding them. His thoughts flicker for a second and he briefly wonders if he is actually dreaming. 

“Shall we go in for a dip?” She has the most downright sinful look plastered on her face right. She was already unlacing her shoes and dipping her toes in, her gown hiked up slightly, exposing her ankles and calves, that alone had his heart racing he couldn’t bear anymore skin showing. Satisfaction covers her features at the cooling sensation. 

“You go ahead. I have work to do first.” She pouts at him slightly before huffing and starting the process of unlacing her dress. His eyes widened slightly as she starts pulling it down, he turns on his heels so fast that he almost stumbled. He busies his hands with his satchel and starts absentmindedly marking things down, finding it very hard to concentrate as he hears splashing and sounds of ecstasy escaping Elain’s lips. It takes all his years of training in self control to not turn around and just go to her with reckless abandon. 

He manages but barely as he continues his work for a good half an hour. Elain’s lilting voice breaks him out of his revere. 

“Az, c’mon. It’s not as fun without you here.” The muscles in his back tense and he peers over his shoulder at her. Bad idea, Azriel. He swears expletives in his head, taking the glistening sight of her. The water is up to her shoulders and her hair hangs in damp tendrils, the shade a touch darker.  The restraint he’s notorious for is torn to shreds and lays in tatters at his feet as he starts unlacing his own boots. 

A sound of delight escapes her mouth and she splashes around some more. He works at tunic next and Elain suddenly falls silent, which shots his frazzled nerves more. The expanse of his tanned chest exposed, he watches Elain do that thing she was doing earlier where should would glance at him and bite her lip. It made him have downright dirty thoughts, things he had no such business in even entertaining. 

He removes his leathers next, he expects Elain to turn away with a blush on her cheeks but she continues watching with a dark glint in her eye. He’s never been the self conscious type but right now he’d will his shadows to reveal all the secrets and thoughts that were running through her mind. Only in his undershorts he glides into the water, stopping inches from Elain. Her caramel eyes reveal nothing yet everything at the same time. He realises she’s only in a white shift which is transparent now. He does his best not to stare, the blood roaring in his ears is deafening. 

“Hi.” She utters, small smile on her face, peeking at him through her lashes. 

“Hi.” He replies, the answer rumbling deep from within his chest, making his voice sound husky. Amusement glimmers in his hazel depths. They swim around each other for a while, just revelling in the sounds of nature around them. At one point Elain’s damp hair brushed against his chest and he thought his heart might actually jump out of his chest. It didn’t escape her notice though.

“You’re so restless today, Az.” She had a mischievous smile on her lips. He merely arched a brow in response to her, praying she didn’t put it together that she was the reason he was so tense. Her finger traced the delicate edge of his wing and he sucked in a deep breath. 

“These especially. They won’t stop rustling.” Her voice laced with ponderment. He felt her body shift closer, till he could practically feel the heat of her chest against his back. Those clever fingers not relentling on their deliciously, tortuous journey.

“So beautiful.” She said absentmindedly. He felt her fingers trace the scars from the night he saved her. His was practically heaving now, fist clenched at his side, the muscle in his jaw twitching. She was heading towards dangerous territory, he was fighting to keep his desire at bay. They traced the upper part of his wing and there was no mistaking the anguished moan that escaped through his lips. 

He flipped around so fast, she didn’t have didn’t have time to react as he grabbed the wrist that was inflicting such excruciating pleasure to him. His eyes were dark and damn near unreadable but there was no hiding the effect she had on him, as his briefs strained to contain him, the wet fabric clinging tightly to every inch. 

“Enough.” He whispered in a guttural tone. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, his own features were laced with devastation. They stood at a standoff for what felt like hours before she took a hesitant step toward him, like he was some wounded animal that would easily scare off. Her eyes never left his, the colour like molten honey as they pierced through his soul, until each crevice of his black soul was mixed with her golden.

“Elain.” He warned, surveying her warily but that seemed to motivate her more. She rested her hand above his heart while the other one cupped his cheek, her thumb gently caressing his jaw. His eyes fluttered shut for a brief second and that was all it took as something whizzed through the air. The arrow pierced through his wing and the roar he released scared off all life surrounding them. 

“Azriel!” Elain screamed, fear coating her voice.

The second one just missed him by inches. He pulled Elain roughly to him, shielding her as he tried to reach the shore where his weapon and their clothes lay. He felt a second arrow enter his side, he let out a grunt. The were laced with Ash and he could feel it entering his system, slowing his movement. There was no chance he could winnow them out of here now. 

He had grabbed Elain’s stuff first and tossed them to her. He had barely managed to slip on his pants when he saw the figures approach them from all sides of the forest. He swore and swiped his Truthteller off the ground. Fuck, so stupid. He was so stupid. He should have never let his guard down and had his weapon on him all the time. 

“Run.” He bellowed to her, lacing his fingers through hers as he tugged them towards the only opening. They covered good ground but he was progressively slowing them down, the blood from his wounds started turning black.

“Go, I’ll catch up. I need to take care of him first.” The shooter notching arrows was perched on a tree top. 

“Az please.” Elain whimpered. He cupped her face as they come to a stop.

“Trust me.” He whispered to her as their foreheads touched for a split second. Her whole body was laced with pain and fear as she gave him that deep stare again before her eyes shuttered and she nodded, letting out a deep breath. 

Though it was excruciating to flap his wings, he did so, swerving the arrows soaring towards him. He looked like an avenging angel sent to deliver death. The soldier's eyes widened as he got within range of him and flung the truthteller straight through his head, right between the brows. His body fell with a thud. Azriel banked  on the ground, shaking the forest floor. Icy rage laced his feature but also cold blankness. The promise of death covered his features as he approached the dead body and yanked his blade back out swiftly.

As the rest approached him...those who were smart knew to look at him with fear. His shadows were ferocious, blinding his victims and he finished the job, swiftly and brutally, slicing them with his notorious blade. Hand to hand, he knocked down an army of soldiers. He lost track of how many fell. Everything was starting to blur and he knew that he couldn’t go on like this for much longer. 

Azriel was taken off guard as Elain’s chocolate eyes peered out from behind a tree from afar. She was dangerous to him because with that split second of hesitation, someone had him in a chokehold from behind and a knife was dragging through the centre of his chest. He snarled as he was forced on his knees. A hand twisted his, forcing his grip of the truthteller to loosen and it fell to the ground with a clang, along with any hope of him getting out of this alive. A cry of pain got caught in his throat as his fingers were stomped on and then further broken in several places to ensure he wouldn’t be able to do any more damage with his blade. That was only the calm before the storm. Multiple people approached his hunched form. A blow was landed on his head, making his already cloudy head, spin in several directions. He felt something trickle down from his temple and realised it was blood. Even though his head was pounding and was starting to feel like it was filled with cotton, the only thought that kept running through his mind was hope that Elain had escaped from all of this. 

He scanned the forest again, spying out where he’d seen her last but was relieved to find there was nothing there anymore. Maybe his Ash induced self was delirious and imagined her face there. He shot his captors a bloodied smile. Azriel had felt pain and torture in his life, this was nothing compared to what his half brothers cooked up for him. They were real sick fucks. 

“Well what are you waiting for?” He choked out, spitting blood out while doing so at the mens feet. “I’m not afraid of death.”

Someone grabbed him by the root of his hair and tipped his head back to meet a pair of brown eyes covered by a mask. The person tutted. 

“What’s the rush, Shadowsinger.” His own smile was so twisted that something in his stomach lurched.

He made a motion to what was left of his men and with that the two of them grabbed his arms, holding them secure while a third plunged a dagger down his wings shredding it from top to bottom. His hold body seized and strained. He felt like he was on fire. His wings were connected to so many nerves that everything was thumping with agony. He thought he was going to throw up. The scream that escaped his mouth didn’t even sound like him. 

“Illyrians ... so sensitive.” The man said with a pleased look on his face. Azriel’s breathing was stunted and ragged.

“Is that all you got?” He choked out. Anger passed over his features before he reared his fist back and with a sickening crunch it met his cheek. From there it was amped up several notches. He didn’t even know what to focus on. The wound on his side and chest was long forgotten about as the integrity of his wings was obliterated. He could barely hold himself up, let alone his head up.

He felt himself drifting in and out of consciousness as more pain was being inflicted upon him. The last bits of his will was slipping away, like sand through his fingers. He found himself embrace his demise and the death awaiting him as more blood trickled out of his mouth, coating his black blade. It was the sound of her sweet, lilting voice that had him fighting to keep his eyes open. 

“Don’t you touch my Shadowsinger.” She said it in such a calm voice that it was eerie. He tried to say her name, to get her to go, leave him but all that left his mouth was a bunch of gurgling noises. Her figure was blurry to him but there was no mistaking that scent. He heard the chorus of laughter ring out from the men. 

“Is that supposed to scare me?” He scoffed, even the sound of him addressing Elain had his nerve grating and he wanted to rip his off. She merely walked up to where they had him grasped and picked up his fallen blade. The red droplets against the blackness was oddly striking. The man laughed some more.

“Do you even know how to wield that?” A sinister smile crossed the once innocent flower growers face.

“Why don’t we find out?” As quick as a deer, she was in front of him. It was because of the man’s underestimation of the doe eyed women that she plunged the blade into his chest, where his heart lay as seasoned as an Illyrian warrior would. She twisted the blade over and over. She made sure to look in his eyes as she did so.

“Oh...did I forget to mention? I’m the bitch that took down Hybern.” An innocent look was plastered on her features. Then she proceeded to stab his body in numerous places even after it was obvious he was dead. The remaining men all flinched around him, dropping his body after seeing their fellow leader fallen. They couldn’t scramble away from him fast enough. When she was satisfied with the damage she carried out upon the asshole she turned her attention to her Shadowsinger who was barely conscious.

She ran up to his sprawled body, a sob getting choked in her chest. He felt her smooth back his hair, trying to staunch some of his wounds but there was too many. It would be of no use. He would be of no use. 

“Go.” He uttered out so weakly he wasn’t sure she even heard him but she had.

“Never.” She said fiercely as tears started falling from her eyes. 

“You’re….you’re...wo-worse...th-than...Cassian.” He choked out, trying to lift his mouth in a smile but unable to do so. He heard her a soft laugh in between her tears. 

“Sssh...don’t speak. Save that energy.” 

“E-Elain...I-I...lo-.” 

“I know, ssh, I know Az.” She tried to lift him in a sitting position and with some grunting and upper body strength she managed to do so. 

“I’m going to winnow us out of here.” He wanted to protest but everything around him was starting to fade rapidly. She had never winnowed anywhere let alone trying to get them both to Velaris together but she did exactly that. The last thing he remembers before blacking out completely was Rhys’ voice roaring his name and Cassian hands carrying him through the mansion. All he kept thinking was man... the Madja seriously needed a pay raise.

@julesherondalex​ @jemma-nessian-and-elriel  @maastrash @empress-ofbloodshed @wolffrising @azrielismycinnamonrollprimary @sezkins79 @poisonous00 @humanexile @sleeping-and-books @highladyofidris @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn

[asterythm]

A is for Amour || As We Find The Pieces (10)

Pairings: Slow burn Logicality, eventual Prinxiety (also bonus Cartoon Therapy Corne for this chapter!!) Word Count: 4.9k Chapter Summary: Chapter ten seems like the perfect time to set some friendly matchmaking into motion, wouldn't you agree? (Patton certainly might, if he didn't have so much respect for the fourth wall.) Chapter Warnings: food, caps lock, alcoholism mention, neglectful parenting mention

<< First Chapter || < Previous Chapter || Read this chapter on AO3

***

"Patton. Patton. Paaaaaattonnnnn...”

The owner of the name in question barely blinked in acknowledgement of the beckoning voice; eyes seemingly fixated on an invisible point on the air, the only indication that he was alive at all was the movement of his jaw as he chewed thoughtfully on a handful of pretzel sticks. 

“Patton? Hello? Foley!” 

Moments after the last word, a tiny, greasy object launched across the table to smear against the lens of Patton’s glasses, jolting the boy back to reality at long last. “Huh? What?” Patton looked around in confusion, first at the french fry in his lap, then across the table at Sloane, whose arm was already rearing back to throw another. “Hey!”

Sloane grinned, triumphant. “There he is. Welcome back to the land of the living, ya goof.” The second fry bounced uselessly off the side of Patton’s head.

“What was that for? I’m already listening!”

“Just making sure.”

Next to Patton, Valerie shovelled a spoonful of chocolate pudding into her mouth before giving Patton a big grin. “So what had you so distracted there, Mister Plato?” she teased, poking the plastic spoon in Patton’s direction.

“Oh, you know… just thinking,” was the vague reply, delivered offhandedly as he glanced at the empty spot beside Sloane. Contrary to his previous protest, he still seemed distracted. “Where did Corbin go?”

“Bathroom, I think. Or maybe he just got tired of waiting for you to tell us what you were thinking about,” said Valerie, tossing any semblance of subtlety out the window with a raise of her brows. There was an expectant lull in the conversation as the two friends waited for Patton to fill them in. When it became clear that he wasn’t about to, she turned to Sloane with a roll of her eyes. “Guess we have to figure this out on our own. Hmm, let’s see. What new factors have entered Patton’s life recently that could be distracting him this much?”

Sloane caught the meaningful lilt in his feisty friend’s voice without missing a beat. “Well, I can think of at least one thing. One person, to be precise.” He tapped his chin with another fry, pretending to think hard. “What was his name again?”

“Leonard? Liam? Maybe Luke? Something with an L. Cute tutor guy, right? The one with the swoopy hair and —”

“And dreamy eyes —”

“Okay, alright, fine! Enough!” broke in Patton, red as a tomato. “First of all, his name is Logan, okay? Which I know you know — Sloane, he’s in the same grade as you, for crying out loud!” 

Sloane, to his credit, at least had the decency to pretend to be sheepish, even if his best efforts couldn’t mask the impish gleam in his eye. The same could not be said of Valerie. “So you were thinking about him!” she said, triumphant. “Damn, I’m good.”

“Um, actually, no. For once.” The tips of his ears had begun reverting to their regular shade for a moment, but now the bright red glow returned, twice as strong as before. The words hanging on Patton’s lips couldn’t get out fast enough. “I mean, don’t get me wrong — I’ll be the first to admit that he does have just the cutest hair and eyes, and he’s super smart, which is obviously a plus, and it’s so adorable the way that he’s always adjusting his glasses and necktie as if they’re not already perfectly in line with the rest of his outfit — hey, speaking of, have you noticed how you never see him wear the same necktie twice? Where is he even getting those things from? D’you think he might have some kind of secret necktie stash or—?”

“Patton. Breathe.”

“Right, okay, sorry, I... yeah." Patton clamped his lips together as he sucked in a huge breath through his nose, grateful for the timely reminder. What were we talking about again?

“You’re still avoiding the question,” supplied Valerie. “Don’t think I didn’t notice. If it’s not thoughts of cute necktie tutor guy distracting you, then...?” 

“Oh! Well, I don’t think I’ve mentioned this to you guys yet, but there’s this one really nice guy who works at the library where Logan and I meet up for our sessions. His name is Virgil. Super sweet guy, really cool nails.”

“Aha!” Valerie leaned forward. “So Logan’s getting some competition now, is that it?”

Patton laughed freely at that. “Oh, no — ha! — no way. He’s, like, twenty years old; pretty much the same as Roman, probably. No, we’re just friends. At least,” he added, furrowing his brow, “I think we’re friends. He seems pretty shy, though, and we’ve only really talked twice, so maybe he doesn’t actually consider me a friend yet?”

“Acquaintances, then.”

“Sure. Close acquaintances. Anyway, we were having a pretty nice chat while I was waiting for my mom to come pick me up from my session yesterday. He kind of fell asleep halfway through, but —”

“Back up,” Sloane interrupted, “fell asleep?” At Patton’s nod: “Sheesh, man. I thought you said he was this ‘super sweet person’.” He made little air quotes with his fingers as he spoke. “Checking out mid-chat doesn’t exactly scream sweetness. You’re sure you’re not just too nice to realize his true colours or whatever?”

“Wait, wait, wait, don’t jump to conclusions yet. I was just about to get to that. See, the poor guy had an absolutely exhausting day yesterday. He told me all about it after his, uh, energy crash. Because I invited him to, not because he just decided on his own to go ahead and dump his worries on me,” Patton added as he saw Sloane readying another protest. “But, see, here’s the thing: I don’t think that the whole streak of bad luck was the only reason for Virgil’s stormy mood yesterday. I mean, maybe I’m just overthinking, but both times I’ve talked to him so far, he’s just had this kind of… permanent tiredness. Not as in I-want-to-take-a-nap tired. This feels way deeper than that. Almost hollow.

“You should see the way Virgil carries himself. His shoulders are always curled in, for one, like if he makes himself smaller, the empty whateverness inside of him will get smaller too. And he keeps his hands really close to his chest when he’s not typing or knitting or something, like he always needs to be ready to shield himself from someone trying to reach in and tear that hole any larger. And he never smiles without ducking his head a little, as if...”

Noticing for the first time since he’d begun his strange monologue how blank his friends’ faces had grown, Patton trailed off sheepishly. 

“You know what? Never mind,” he dismissed. “I didn’t mean for that to get so heavy. Sorry. Um, so yeah.” Patton shifted in his seat uncomfortably he continued while he turned to address Valerie, who was so lost that her eyes were fixed on a point above Patton’s head as she tried to understand.

“Patton, if I may…”

Oh, wait. So that’s what Valerie was staring at! Hearing the new voice join their conversation, Patton turned around with a delighted smile. “Corbin, you’re back!” he cheered, all thoughts of holes in chests disappearing to the back of his mind as he leapt to his feet to greet the new arrival.

“Oh my g— you’re just as bad as Sloane,” grumbled Corbin in response before sliding back into his spot next to his boyfriend. Contrary to the studious disinterest he’d been feigning at first, Corbin couldn’t resist giving Sloane a quick but affectionate smooch on the cheek. He waited until his arm was wrapped securely around his boyfriend’s shoulder before continuing, the sting of his words somewhat dampened by the way Sloane was already nestling into the crook of his arm, almost purring in contentment. “Seriously, do none of you have any chill? At all? I was gone for less than five minutes.” 

“Sure, but I missed you!” Patton said with a pout.

“Looks like you didn’t miss my pretzel sticks,” shot back Corbin, gesturing to the now-empty container in the middle of the table. “That was basically full when I left!”

“Sorry, Corbin,” chorused the three friends, not sounding sorry in the slightest. 

“Yeah, yeah, save it. Anyway,” continued Corbin, turning to Patton, “I couldn’t help but overhear your desperate plight.”

“He means he was eavesdropping.”

Corbin lifted an eyebrow at his boyfriend’s interruption. “It’s not eavesdropping if I would have been a part of the conversation in the first place anyway!”

“Mm, not how it works.”

“You shush or I’m taking this arm away.” Taking Sloane’s protesting whine as a sign of surrender, Corbin returned his attention to his cousin. “Patton, I totally get where you’re coming from. I think that this library guy just needs a friend.”

Patton’s forehead creased. “A friend? But I’ve already been trying to be his friend!”

“Yeah, but… look, obviously, it’s great that you’re already spending time with this guy —”

“Virgil.”

“— sure — spending time with Virgil after your sessions. Super thoughtful of you. But honestly, you know as well as I do that half an hour of small talk twice a week is hardly enough time to really get to know someone.” Corbin idly messed with Sloane’s hair as he spoke. “Not that I don’t think those half-hours are helping — I’m sure they are! I just… you said that he’s older than us, right?”

Still listening attentively, Patton nodded. “A few years.”

“Well, then, maybe you could try introducing him to someone else around the same age. Someone with a little more control over their own schedule than a high school student would have. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

“Uh… sure do.” Patton did not.

A fact which did not escape his cousin’s notice. Corbin exhaled. “Alright, here’s the thing. It’s not that I doubt your ability to befriend someone older than you. I know you, Patton, you could probably make friends with a rock if you put your mind to it. Actually, scratch that — you have made friends with a rock, haven’t you? Remember Percy and Pierre, your ‘twin’ pebbles from when you were in, what, grade two?”

In spite of himself, Patton laughed. He remembered, all right. “Pretty sure I might have paid more attention to the well-being of those rocks than I did to myself.”

“Okay, yeah, see? That’s my point exactly. You’re a really friendly, caring, all-around great guy — impossible not to like. But if I’ve learned anything from all those post-secondary preparation lectures they make you attend in twelfth grade, it’s that uni students’ schedules and high school ones don’t always mix; they might be busy in the mornings and evenings with classes and work, but have most of their afternoon open, or vice versa. It’s a mess.” Corbin shrugged. “Hey, if anyone could make a friendship thrive under those weird hours, it’s you. But I still think it might be a better idea to find someone who’s around the same age as this Virgil guy.”

While Patton thoughtfully processed his cousin’s suggestion, the table lapsed into comfortable silence for a spell. Across the table, Valerie finished the last of her chicken and rice. It was as she was screwing the lid back onto her thermos that a question appeared to hit her. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Valerie had to give voice to her curiosity: “Hey, Corbin, it seems like you really know what you’re talking about. If it’s alright to ask, why is that? Are you speaking from experience, or...?”

She trailed off as both she and Patton noticed the worried expression Sloane now wore. He shifted on the cafeteria bench to glance up at Corbin. “You don’t have to share if you don’t want to,” he murmured.

“No, it’s fine.” Corbin punctuated his words with another bite of his apple, which he took his time chewing, carefully formulating his answer before swallowing to speak again: “When I first entered ninth grade — so, two years ago, you and Pat would’ve still been in seventh — I was... going through a bit of a rough patch. That was around the time my dad packed his stuff, and a few weeks later, my mother started to drink. A lot more than she should have, probably. 

“Patton, you might remember that we weren’t at the family reunion that Christmas. That’s because neither of us were in any shape to go to a party; things had gotten really messy at home, to the point where I was skipping school almost every day to make sure she didn’t — uh, to take care of her.” Corbin rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Long, long, long story short? First semester of high school was not a great time.”

Valerie blew out her cheeks. “That... sucks, Corbin. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well. Things got better.” Down came Corbin’s hand as he glanced at Sloane, whose head hadn’t moved from Corbin’s shoulder since he sat down. The moment his eyes fell on his boyfriend’s face, it was almost as if Patton could see his walls coming down, too. “And believe it or not, the improvement began in History class, of all possible places.”

“Our teacher’s seating plan put us next to each other.”

“I was trying to get some dramatic buildup going there, but… yeah, basically. My home situation was a little better by second semester, so I started coming to class more often. Sloane moved from Clivesdale right around the same time. As luck would have it, he wound up next to me for homeroom. The fresh transfer and the kid who never came to school. Probably the only thing we had in common besides a similar desk arrangement was the fact that neither of us had any friends, though not for lack of trying on Sloane’s part.”

“I baked cookies for everyone my second week there! Cookies, and no one besides Corbin even tried one!”

“Dang, so that’s how your whole love story began? Cookies?” quipped Valerie. “Those must’ve been some good baked goods.”

Corbin snorted. “No. I mean, yeah, they were good cookies, but it would have taken a tray a day to break through the angst-barriers shielding me from the rest of the world back then. No, it was that dumb A Moment in Time project. You know, the one where you and a partner have to prepare a full-length presentation to ‘transform the classroom’ and ‘take your peers back’ to a decade they assign you?”

Patton nodded. He remembered it well. 

“Man, I have no idea where they come up with this stuff. Anyway, the point is, being the only ones in the class who had no pre-established connections with any other classmates, the two of us were kind of forced to partner up through process of elimination.” The last of Corbin’s apple slices gone, he paused to slide the container back into his lunchbox. 

Sloane picked up the narrative where he’d left off: “I ended up inviting Corbin over to my house, I think about two days before the deadline? I told him it was to put some finishing touches on our Swing in the Roaring Twenties poster, but honestly, I just wanted to get to know him a little better.”

“We both knew it was an excuse—”

“He never suspected a thing.”

“I absolutely did.”

“Not a clue. Nada. There’s a reason they call me Sloane the slick.”

“No one calls you that,” insisted Corbin. “Besides, I knew all along. Our posters had been done for a week.”

Sloane gave Corbin a playful nudge. “Then why’d you agree to come, hmm?”

“I guess... because a part of me didn’t hate the idea of having a friend,” Corbin had to concede. “Actually, I’m not sure what I was expecting to get out of our little meeting, but a total mental breakdown at a near-stranger’s house definitely wasn’t it. Took both of us by surprise. I’m… still not entirely sure why it happened.” 

Patton had his suspicions; he’d met Sloane’s mother before, and she was the epitome of sweet and affectionate. His voice softened. “Aw, Corbs.” 

To his surprise, though, Corbin smiled. “There I was, a snivelling mess on the carpet of a guy who until then had been a friendly acquaintance at best, but instead of judging me or getting uncomfortable, Sloane just… sat with me. Listened. And eventually, gave me comfort when I was ready for it. That’s where this quote-’love story’ began, Valerie — having someone to lean on was so helpful in getting me through the rest of the year, and by the time my mom finally cleaned up her act, our relationship had long since moved from partners in History class to, well, partners in just about every other sense.” 

“Corbin’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Sloane added. “Man’s witty, sweet, and so easy to talk to it’s stupid. All I really wanted after transferring here was a casual friend or two. Corbin turned out to be way more than that; he’s been my rock. My loneliness-b-gone, know what I’m sayin’? Nothing can mess with my funky flow when he’s around.”

“Hey, Sloane?” 

“Yeah?”

The corners of Corbin’s eyes crinkled affectionately. “That didn’t make any sense.”

***

By the third time the lead on the tip of his pencil snapped off, Patton could no longer ignore the voice in his head telling him to just give up for the night. He pushed his homework to the side and closed his eyes in a lazy attempt to calm the headache that had been steadily growing over the past half hour. This effort — if you could even call it that — proved futile; the image of the trigo-whatsit cosine graph he’d been staring at moments before was burned firmly in his mind’s eye. If he focused hard enough, he could even make out a colourful impression of the curvy lines faintly floating against the dark backdrop his eyelids provided. 

Patton yawned, wishing he hadn’t left his math homework for last. Talk about not making sense.

The bizarre pseudo-graph starting to psych him out, Patton opened his eyes back up with a yawn. His gaze landed on something bright blue: the cat-eared case of his phone, lying face down on the other side of his little desk so as not to distract him from the homework he was supposed to be doing. 

Fat lot of good that had done him. He’d been eyeing the thing all evening. 

Try as he might, Patton couldn’t get his lunchtime conversation with his friends out of his mind. Corbin’s story in particular had given him a lot to think about regarding Virgil’s predicament, and it hadn’t been very long after when Patton realized he knew exactly what to do. The answer was blindingly obvious in hindsight, really. 

Admittedly, he had yet to actually act upon his “master plan” — he’d been pushing the thing aside in favor of trying to make sense of his math work for most of the day. But now that Patton had, er, selflessly decided to sacrifice the completion of said work for the greater good, nothing was left to stand in his way.

Except possibly a lack of cooperation, but he could cross that bridge when he came to it.

After the briefest of internal debates, Patton’s hand reached out to make contact with something bright blue. Moments later, the brightness of a phone screen lit his features from below:

TheJollyJollyFoley (7:59pm): rooo

TheJollyJollyFoley (7:59pm): romannnn

TheJollyJollyFoley (7:59pm): roman my mannnnnnn

TheJollyJollyFoley (7:59pm): heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

le-petty-prince (8:00pm): Sorry I was just watching the clock change from 7:59 to 8

le-petty-prince (8:00pm): What can I do for you pattington bear?

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:00pm): ooh new nickname :DDD

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:01pm): anyways i just wanted to ask a question for science reasons

le-petty-prince (8:01pm): Well that sounds completely normal and not at all suspicious even the slightest amount! Ask away, O Vaguely Cryptic One

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:02pm): you ever wish you had friends

le-petty-prince (8:02pm): ???

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:02pm): wait no that came out weird let me try again

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:03pm): “how would you like to add a new friend to to your already existing large roster of many cool and awesome friends” <<< pretend thats what i said the first time pls

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:07pm): u still there?

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:12pm): hello?

When a few more minutes of waiting yielded no response, Patton’s brow furrowed. What if he had accidentally offended his older brother? 

Just as he was seriously starting to worry he’d blown it, though, his phone vibrated in his hands:

le-petty-prince (8:21pm): Sorry. Back. Monet says hi

le-petty-prince (8:21pm): Anyway!! Im intrigued!

With a sigh of relief, Patton tapped out his instinctive response:

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:21pm): hi intrigued im pat ;))

le-petty-prince (8:22pm): Funny

le-petty-prince (8:22pm): Now call me crazy but something tells me there was a little more than ordinary curiosity motivating this Friend Roster Expansion hypothetical

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:23pm): science reasons, roman, i told you

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:23pm): ..but yeah also another less sciencey thing

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:23pm): well i guess he could be sciencey? V was playing minesweeper last time we talked which seems like a smart-people kind of game but idk where exactly it would fall on the spectrum of scienciness

le-petty-prince (8:24pm): To be fair, its gotta take great courage to play minesweeper in public. Whoever this V person is, I deem them worthy of my respect

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:24pm): i assure you it was a very cool and respectable thing

le-petty-prince (8:24pm): In that case, I would be honoured to meet such an indisputably Cool Guy

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:25pm): !!! YESS

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:25pm): ok so i was thinking you and V could maybe meet up over coffee or something? theres this one really cute place that opened up recently, best cronuts youll ever taste <33

le-petty-prince (8:26pm): Ngl cronuts sound EXQUISITE right now

le-petty-prince (8:26pm): Why dont you send me their contact and I can try to schedule something, say next week?

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:26pm): ooh uh

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:27pm): thats the thing

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:27pm): i kind of dont really have any of V’s contact info BUT!! he works at the library so i’ll see him on friday and i can set up a time and place for you two then!!

le-petty-prince (8:28pm): Hmmhm

le-petty-prince (8:28pm): Funky circumstances but I trust your judgement! If you like V this much then Im sure he must be a real grand guy, I cannot wait to meet him!!!

le-petty-prince (8:29pm): Oh shoot sorry I need to go, Ive got a date to get ready for. Im super into this though so we can work out the details tomorrow, capiche?

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:29pm): caposh~

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:30pm): be safe!! dont have TOOOO much fun ;)))

le-petty-prince (8:33pm): Pfft. Bye dingus

***

“I just don’t get it!”

“Heard you the first time, bud,” quipped Valerie through a wry smile and a bite of celery. “You’re absolutely sure you didn’t… I don’t know, misinterpret something?”

“Yeah, I — no! Maybe?” Patton first tossed his phone onto the cafeteria table, then his hands into the air, frustrated. “I just don’t know why the sudden change in heart, Val. You know?”

“Who knows?”

“I know!”

“Okay, no. Press pause.” All eyes at the table turned to Corbin, who in turn was squinting through his glasses at Patton. “Guys, I’m barely following. Could you maybe explain what’s going on one more time?”

“Alright, you remember how I was telling you about Virgil yesterday? Lonely librarian guy? And you told everyone your and Sloane’s backstory and recommended I play friend-Cupid and all that jazz, right?” At Corbin’s nod: “Well, I tried it with Roman, and everything seemed to be going just peachy last night. He seemed really excited! But now all of a sudden… well, here.” Patton retrieved his phone to show his tablemates the messages. “Look.” 

le-petty-prince (11:12am): As I was saying though: I do hate to rain on your parade but to be frank I think Im uhh

le-petty-prince (11:13am): Good? Friendwise I mean

le-petty-prince (11:13am): Real sweet of you to reach out though

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:13am): wait what? really??

le-petty-prince (11:14am): Sorry there are just so many complications

le-petty-prince (11:15am): Im unbelievably busy these days, for one

le-petty-prince (11:15am): So so busy

le-petty-prince (11:15am): Student life, man. Busy with college

le-petty-prince (11:15am): Essays and stuff

le-petty-prince (11:16am): Look frankly I hardly even get to see my other friends anymore, if I went through with this the chances are pretty good that Id meet him for cronuts or whatever this one time and then never find time to hang out with him again

le-petty-prince (11:16am): Which just seems boorish. It would probably do more harm than good for poor V frankly

The last text appeared as Patton’s friends were still reading; with a frown, Valerie handed Patton’s phone back to him. “He is acting kind of weird.”

“Right? I’ve got to get to the bottom of this.” Patton looked up at his friends apologetically. “Is it okay with you guys if I text at the table today?”

An indifferent shrug was his response. “Go nuts, man.”

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:17am): hey ro? can i be straight with you for a sec?

le-petty-prince (11:18am): Good luck with that

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:18am): -_-

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:18am): no points for the gay joke today, however tasteful it may have been. serious business here

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:18am): roman, what changed your mind really?

le-petty-prince (11:19am): Huh

le-petty-prince (11:19am): Wdym

le-petty-prince (11:19am): Didnt I just say? Haha

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:20am): mm i dont think you did

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:20am): you keep talking about “complications” and youre using the word “frankly” a lot and i know for a fact that you only ever use those words when youre hiding somethin

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:21am): nice try though!! but i did grow up in the same house as you did so im gonna need you to give it another go

le-petty-prince (11:22am): I dont know why youre being so weird about this pat

le-petty-prince (11:23am): I mean sheesh maybe I really am busy okay?

le-petty-prince (11:23am): And for the record that maybe is actually a resounding REALLY

le-petty-prince (11:23am): Look see I didnt even say anything to do with frankness that time! Absolutely zero traces of frank in this honest fellows messages right now

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:24am): -___-

le-petty-prince (11:24am): Frank? Whos that? Dont ask roman, he wouldnt be able to answer you!!

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:24am): -_______-

le-petty-prince (11:25am): Okay sorry youre right Im done

le-petty-prince (11:25am): Seriously though I dont understand how this warrants such a fuss? I just thought it over some more and realized it would actually be a bad idea to meet V for aforementioned reasons, et cetera et cetera. Why does that have to be such a big deal

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:26am): i…

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:26am): okay youre right i dont really know

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:26am): i guess this is just a really quick turnaround and it doesnt seem like something youd typically do??

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:27am): i mean you were all for it yesterday. you said, and i quote, “I cannot wait to meet him!!!”

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:27am): THREE exclamation marks and all!!! 

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:28am): besides, maybe college is busy but theres no reason you should be any busier now than youve always been and

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:28am): whew. sorry for being pushy. i didnt mean to sound like i dont respect your choice, ig im disappointed is all :(

le-petty-prince (11:29am): No thats ok

le-petty-prince (11:30am): Ill tell you what. You said youd see V on friday right? And todays thursday.

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:30am): uh

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:30am): yeah..

le-petty-prince (11:31am): So hows this: Ill think it over some more during rehearsal this evening, and if I have another change of heart Ill get back to you tomorrow.

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:31am): !!!!!!!!

le-petty-prince (11:32am): Its still not a yes!! 

le-petty-prince (11:32am): But… consider me solidly in Maybe territory.

le-petty-prince (11:32am): Capiche?

***

The majority of “tomorrow” had come and gone, and Patton still had yet to hear from his brother. 

He’d been glued to his phone all day, checking his messages with a near-obsessive frequency in hopes that Roman might text him to say he’d come to his senses after all… but as Patton buckled into the passenger seat of his mother’s tan SUV on its way to the library, he had to admit the odds were getting pretty slim. 

His mother, misinterpreting his solemn expression, shot him a quizzical glance out of the corner of her eye. “I thought you said the tutoring was going well.”

Before Patton could answer her, a quiet chime sounded from within his backpack — barely audible, but Patton’s ears had been piqued for it all day. Instantly, he scrambled to retrieve the bright blue source of the sound, perking up as he saw the screen was already illuminated. As Patton read over the contents of the notification, a wide grin spread across his face.

“Yeah,” Patton said out loud, addressing his mother with his words even as his fingers were already moving to type out a reply to someone else. “Tutoring’s great.”

le-petty-prince (3:44pm): Ah, what the hell. Im in.

***

A/N: me, rushing in more than a month late, starbucks cup in one hand and this update in the other: HEY GUYS DONT FORGET TO LIKE COMMENT AND RING TH -- wait where did everyone go

for real though, i'm so so sorry about how long this mediocre chapter took to go up!! this was the first chapter that i HADN'T finished the rough draft stage of during nanowrimo, and i huuuugely underestimated how long the unfinished portion would turn out to be. couple that with this weird writer's block that's been following me around wherever i go for a little over three months, and, well... you'll end up with this ^^; thank you so much for sticking with me though, and i hope it was at least semi-worth the wait?

[next chapter]

General: @surleytemple @starryfirefliesbloggo @icecoldparadise @lyditist @fandom-random2405 @beach-fan @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @starryeyedhomicide @unring-this-bell @flix-net @pheonix-inside @thelowlysatsuma @residentanchor @sanderstalker @kazykazu @theres-no-winning-on-christmas @fandersfic-patton @fandersfic-roman @fandersfic-logicality @fandersfic-prinxiety

AAmour: @romanticsanders @thatrandomautist @mirror2thespirit @pokii-jonas @basicmillennial @starlitparfait @littleladynightshade @insert--self--hatred @psychixx @damien-furlong

[flowesona]

Bluebells - Yandere! Jimin x reader

Colour Blind Soulmate AU! Where you're completely colour blind till you meet your soulmate. Things go back to black and white when they die.

The world had always been black and white for (Y/N), in a figurative and literal sense. People had described to her beautiful scenery, but she could not see it. They were happy, they had met their loves.

Knowing that upon sight you would see your true love had advantages. People with great looks but a horrible personality were avoided. She didn't have heartbreak, but she didn't have love.

It was a gift, but a curse.

                                          »»---------------------►

She was at a club of some sort. There was pounding music and flashing shades, yet in her current state she was unable to register the bright colours.

Until her eyes met those of a young man, and her world burst into light.

She smiled at the boy, who smiled back and made his way to speak to her. The blinding neon lights did little to help her newly acquired coloured vision, but her breath was taken away nonetheless.

This boy was the sort that at first glance wasn’t too extraordinary. However, the closer you were, the longer you looked, the more beautiful he became. His smile alone radiated pure sunshine.

"H-hi." (Y/N) managed to piece together her most basic and pathetic introduction.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Hoseok." The radiant boy replied. "And this is Jimin, my friend."

"Hey." The guy Hoseok gestured towards waved nervously, blushing slightly.

                                          »»---------------------►

"It's about time to call it a night." Hoseok yawned, stretching his legs from exhaustion after being sat idly with the girl on a bench for half an hour.

"Good night!” (Y/N) smiled, waving at the disappearing angel.

"Can I walk you home?" Jimin offered, giving a kind yet substandard smile to (Y/N)'s expectations.

"Sure." (Y/N) replied with a slight drowsiness, not fully recognising the euphoria she'd sparked within him just by accepting his offer.

                                          »»---------------------►

The moon had taken over the sun's job, its light bouncing off the rippling water of the canal. Jimin was nervous, at how perfect this moment could be if he had the guts. To take her hand, to kiss her.

But (Y/N) wasn't paying attention to him, caught up in her utopian daydream about her new world filled with colour.

"Hey (Y/N)?" He asked, trying to achieve his dream; his Eden was so close to him.

"Yeah?" She replied dreamily, an emotion that he interpreted as infatuation with him, not with his close friend.

"C-can I hold your hand?" He asked, looking away so she couldn't see how pink his face was.

"Sure!" She said carelessly, her mind only filled with mirth and dreams and not focused on the nervous boy standing next to her.

Jimin wiped his hand on his trousers, ridding the sweat that had built up, and clasped her smooth, soft hand.

                                          »»---------------------►

The morning light streamed through the translucent curtains, like in a dream. (Y/N) awoke, stuck on her slippers, and took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the sunrise, a sight she'd never enjoyed before.

The beauty was unreal, like that of a fairy tale. Soft shades of pastel orange and pink, dappled with white clouds.

She walked downstairs, her slightly-too-big slippers slapping against her feet.

Flicking on the kettle, she attempted to fix her hair. But even little things like that were exciting. She felt like her life before was like being blind - such a beautiful world was hidden from her.

A tiny ring sounded, letting her know that she had a message. Excitement buzzed through her at the memory of last night, and seeing the burst of colour indicating her soulmate's presence.

She picked up the phone quickly, but the anticipation faded when she saw it was just the timid Jimin. Asking if she wanted to meet up.

(Y/N) simply ignored him, returning the phone to it's original place before making herself the coffee she'd been craving.

                                          »»---------------------►

"This is the place?" (Y/N) stared at the grassy slope still glowing in the early evening light.

"Come on! I know the best spot to sit!" Hoseok tugged her hand slightly, directing her to the shade of a tree. (Y/N) wrinkled her nose, but he just laughed and told her to give him her trust.

Of course that was what he deserved. The sunset was amazing with the subtle shades of orange being simply breathtaking, like an artist had painted the sky.

(Y/N) was caught up in the sight that would never be forgotten, yet became pleasantly surprised when Hoseok snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

"I've been told this is the perfect sight to see with someone once you're in love. That's why you being here with me is the greatest thing I could ask for." Hoseok sighed pleasantly.

Before (Y/N) even had time to react she'd been pulled into a sweet kiss, one she'd craved, been waiting for over the years. But it was worth it.

(Y/N) knew something was wrong. She could sense it in the air, a miasma of despair.

She shrugged this off as her own pessimism and went about her day as usual, not questioning the lack of communication  from the boy she'd consummated her love with.

Until she received that fateful phone call.

Her eyes filled with tears and heart swelling with fear she abandoned all plans of work and rushed to A&E in a near blind panic to be met with her second worst nightmare.

                                          »»---------------------►

"We've asked around and no one saw the license plate. The most we can do is hope for an anonymous tip-off." Jimin sighed, placing a comforting hand on (Y/N)'s shoulder as her eyes stared blankly into the ground.

"I need to see him again" was her only audible response.

Jimin frowned, a cold look glazing over his face for a second before he resumed his mournful comfort.

"Would you like to go for a walk? Get some fresh air, yeah?" He offered the rhetorical question, standing up and leading (Y/N) with their linked hands.

The two seemed an odd couple to those passing by, a melancholic girl and struggling optimistic boy.

"It's kind of weird that they're called bluebells, huh?" Jimin indicated to the purple flowers after a short while of complete silence in the serene company of nature.

"What do you mean?" (Y/N) finally replied monotonously, with a look of such confusion that struck ice into Jimin's heart.

                                          »»---------------------►

The young man knocked politely despite being aware of the spare key hidden under the doormat.

"(Y/N)? You in?" He gripped the Tupperware with leftover to repress the anxious feeling rising in his stomach.

Making a somewhat short decision to enter regardless, he fished the key from underneath her doormat and let himself into the flat only to be greeted by an ominous silence.

Curiosity took him over as to why she wasn't responding, as there was no doubt that she wouldn't have left the apartment in her emotional state.

He quickly made his way to her bedroom, and panicked seeing her motionless body next to a bottle of sleeping medication. His initial motives for visiting were forgotten in his immediate panic as he shook (Y/N)'s shoulder aggressively.To him nothing else mattered but for her to wake up.

Her eyes slowly opened, sliding over Jimin's panicked face in confusion.

"What are you doing?" She slurred, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

"You're okay?! I was so scared seeing you and the medication and I know you've been struggling and you just can't do something like tha-" Jimin grasped her shoulders, fingernails digging into her skin until she shrugged him off, cutting off his rambling.

"Just fuck off Jimin. You're really starting to get on my nerves." In her half conscious state she didn't realise the crack she'd struck into his heart yet again with her words.

He immediately straightened up, leaving the room with such a silence that left (Y/N) unsettled but somewhat relieved.

                                          »»---------------------►

When (Y/N) awoke on the following Tuesday morning, her brain didn't register anything different from the past three weeks. Same grey walls, same cool white sunlight peeking from the top of the curtains.

Still stuck in the typical morning drowsiness she shuffled into the kitchen, and picked up the coffee that had been eagerly awaiting her for 5 minutes, still fresh and at the perfect warm temperature.

The bitter taste slowly turned sour as the caffeine boosted her consciousness. She picked up on how the dishes she'd procrastinated washing were stacked neatly.

This line of thinking was interrupted by her ears perking up at the faint sound of whistling. She didn't have to connect any dots with this however, as there was a  click of keys turning in the locks and entrance of Park Jimin himself.

"Are you feeling better today?" He shot her a hopeful smile and placed down the basket filled with fresh laundry before fishing out the keys again.

Dread rose in her stomach like bile as she stared in shock at his casual invasion of her apartment, alongside the possession of her keys around his neck like an accessory.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Her confusion and fear combined to create a spitting tone, which unlike previously didn't make Jimin flinch.

"You can't take care of yourself properly nowadays, can you?" He responded, approaching her and ignoring the way she backed away. "Therefore, it's my responsibility as your soulmate to step in and make sure we can both live our lives in the most glorious colour!"

The insanity swirling in Jimin's eyes was enough to make her start planning an escape route, until the memory of him locking the door with her own set of keys stuck down majority of her plans.

"What do you mean? Hoseok's my soulmate, not you. Isn't that obvious?" She instantly regretted bringing up her lover's name when she saw the furious look in her current captor's eyes.

"Hoseok? No, no, no he was just an obstacle, he tricked you into thinking you were in live but I know that the true chemistry is between us!" She took advantage of his insane rambling to edge her way towards her bedroom, before making a mad dash for her phone.

She had barely entered the second digit of emergency services before her phone was ripped out of her grip.

"There's no need for this anymore." He declared, apathetically throwing her phone against the wall and delighting in the resounding crack. "After all, anything you could need I can provide for. All I ask for in exchange is that you stay with me forever, it's only our destiny."

As she tore her eyes away from her smashed hope of escape to the boy demanding her attention, she saw the worst nightmare she could face. The pure obsession hidden in Jimin's grey eyes.

[lokisgame]

Wild Wild West [2]

[part 1]

They were so used to leaving in a hurry, that it wasn't an issue anymore. Only problem was, that she didn't pack any real holiday clothes. "We need to do some shopping." She said, walking through the parking lot. "What for?" "I don't know about you, but I." She began, but a heavy sigh cut her off mid-sentence. "Will you stop saying that?" Mulder said, slightly annoyed. "What?" "That 'but I' thing, I'm here too, with you." Scully glanced over her shoulder, expecting a scowl, but found a smile instead. “Just say what you wanna say." "I need clothes." "Okay," he grinned wider, shrugging as if it was the most obvious thing, which it was, really. "We'll go get some clothes." "Nothing fancy." She said, trying to stop the chagrin from spreading. "Of course not." "Some t-shirts, pair of shorts." "Whatever you need." "And you?" "What about me?"

"You're not spending two weeks in this suit." She turned again and saw Mulder looking at himself, dumbfounded. "Mulder!" "What's wrong with my suit?" "You look like a…" He arched one eyebrow in challenge. "Like what?" "Like an FBI agent!" She said and they both laughed. "I get that a lot." Mulder said. "I couldn't help myself," she hiccuped, "sorry." They found their rental car and Scully popped the trunk. "Was that a subtle hint I should change my style, Agent Scully?" "Maybe," she smiled, letting him handle her bag. "For the next two weeks at least." "I didn't know I'd be vacationing with the fashion police." Mulder said and slammed the lid, turning to her, hand reached out, palm up. "You wasted your chance to boss me on picking the car. I'm driving." "You wish," she grinned, taking a step back, hiding the keys behind her back. "Should I remind you of the statistics?" "Only if you wanna walk." Scully pushed a button on the small remote and the roof of their navy blue convertible, folded neatly into a small compartment, hidden behind the back seat. "Get in the car g-man." She said, and he noticed her smile grow three sizes.

They didn't exactly follow each other around the store, but Mulder kept a close eye at Scully, her head surfacing in strange places, as if she was diving. He picked light cargo pants, pair of grey sneakers, couple of 2-dollar t-shirts, nothing fancy as promised, and went to find her, since she went under again.

Thumbing through rows of hangers, Scully tried to turn the volume down on her inner critic. If she had time, she wouldn't shop at Target at all, she would look and try on and compare, visiting at least four stores in the process. Not because she was picky, she simply liked to have options. This felt like hit and run, if the colour caught her eye and she found her size, it landed in the cart, t-shirts, shorts, flip-flops. Only thing that made her pause was the dress. She wanted something simple, something she could throw over herself and be ready to go. She scanned through the rack, crossing out one model after another; too long, too short, neckline too high, too… lace. The lace made her pause. She found her size and looked at the dress closer. Chantilly lace it was not, but it made her smile, and made her other choice easier. Ten minutes later Mulder's voice found her, while she was examining herself in the dressing room mirror. By reflex, she caught the dress to cover herself up, but then the absurdity of the gesture washed through her, making her chuckle. "Have you seen a slim redhead come in here?" He asked someone, sounding closer. A young, female voice replied, sugary sweet. "Sorry, no, but maybe I can help you with something?" "No, thanks." Mulder said cooly, just outside. "I'm with someone." "In here!" Scully called out, sticking one hand above the door. The girl looking at her from the mirror blushed, all the way from her cheeks to the edge off the bikini top, then she smiled, slowly letting the dress drop. A light thump bounced the door and his voice came even closer, little over her shoulder. "You okay in there?" "Mhmm." Scully glanced at herself, practically naked, and tried to imagine him seeing her through the mirror. Cancer took the few extra pounds, but she looked healthy again, slim but toned, if a little pale. She liked what she saw, and oddly enough, she liked the thought of him, watching her. "I think I've got everything so," he said, pausing before he teased quietly, "need any help?" "I'm good, thanks." She chuckled, decision made, and tugged at the string that kept the bikini top around her neck. "You could find us beach towels thought." "Okay," Mulder chuckled, "any colour preference?" "Surprise me."

Mulder left the changing area with a goofy grin on his face, thinking how his life could turn in one day. That morning he woke up thinking what's next, and not twelve hours later, he was on vacation. A vacation with Scully no less. Not wondering what she was doing, whom she was meeting, what she was wearing, what she was thinking, because the few times they tried that, it almost drove him crazy. Last time she went away on a holiday, she hugged him goodbye and wrote him letters, which kept him sane as he worked a vicious murder case and the last one, a polaroid of her smiling against the sunset, still sat in his wallet, along with the words, 'wish you were here'. (*) The towels weren't that hard to find and as he looked for the largest ones, an image of her flashed through his mind, stretched out on blue cotton, water on her skin, glistening in the sun. They were really doing this! Somewhere out there, she was trying on swimwear, giving him two weeks off her time, out of her own free will. It's been ages since he shared a vacation with anyone; semi-regular quarantine stays didn't count. He had trouble remembering the last time he swam in the ocean, not to mention sunbathed, he preferred hiking to lying idly in the sand, but who said they couldn't do both. Hike and sunbathe that is, not quarantine and vacation. He will not ruin this trip by getting them into some kind of mess, he owed that much to Scully, if nothing else. Strolling through rows off summer clothes, a simple hat caught Mulders' eye, pale straw trimmed with a deep green ribbon. Sun and sand and Scully in a straw hat, he thought smiling to himself again. It was his duty to protect her, and a brim like that, would provide plenty of shade. Who knows, maybe she'd let him hide in it as well.

He found her at the pharmacy, patiently watching a young clerk ring up an impressive pile of medical supplies. "What's all this?" Mulder asked, hand on the small of her back. "You plan on opening an emergency ward?" "With you in tow, I just might." Scully said and turned to the clerk, remembering something else. "You have steri strips?" Mulder sighed and with a hand on her shoulder, made her turn around, then took her face in his hands and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. She definitely needed a break. "Scully," he said quietly, resting his forehead against hers, "I know you think I'll run off and do something stupid, but trust me, all we need is sunscreen." He let go and turned to the clerk, embarrassed by his shameless display of affection. "What's the best one you have? Something that could withstand a nuclear blast." "We have this," the girl reached for a simple, white box, "for very sensitive skin, UVA and UVB, SPF120, and it's waterproof." "We'll take it," Mulder smiled and took out his wallet. "The rest of it, too." "And the steri strips?" She asked Scully, making her look away from Mulder, equally embarrassed. "Yes, please." She said. "Better safe than sorry." Mulder shrugged smiling at the girl.

The sunset caught them driving along the waterfront, with wind tugging at Scully's hair, blowing like a red flame. It was hard for Mulder to take his eyes off her, but he did, just in time to see a narrow parking lot cutting into the beach. He gently taped her side with the back of his hand and she looked away from the road, following his nod and pulled over. "What a view," she said when they got out, leaning shoulder to shoulder, against the car. Sun fell slowly into the ocean, painting the sky purple and orange, kissing her skin with blushing peach, softening the lines, elongating shadows for them so that they could hide. She lost the jacket and her hair was a mess, but she never looked more beautiful. "One for the books," he said, putting his arm around her, finally sparing a glance for mother nature. With Scully's arm around his waist and her head on his shoulder, they watched the sunset in comfortable silence. Their motel was less than five miles away.

[artificialqueens]

Once Upon A Time (Branjie) - dreamyunicorngirl

A/N: Hey lovely people!So I’ve been working on this lovely songfic for the past 3 months and it’s finally here. A big thank you to my two wonderfull betas, Charlotte and Mags. Without them this fic wouldn’t exist. Thank you Charlotte for cleaning up the mess in my mind and always believing me. Thank you Mags for cleaning up the mess of a fic and bringing the best out of me and this fic. I couldn’t have done this without you (and without everyone on the AQ discord).

The song I used is “Once Upon A Time” from Bare A Pop Opera Have fun crying your eyes out to this one :)

Please tell me what you think! Hope you love it as much as I do - can i say that? - idk but i will. Enjoy my loves!

TW: Religion, Internalized Homophobia, Panic Attacks

Wordcount: 14693

Once upon a time

I first held your hand

Vanessa meets the ice-cold beauty on a very unspectacular day. The rain is pouring outside of the dust covered windows of a dance studio in the suburbs of Los Angeles as a steady rhythm makes the walls cave in, free spirits throwing up their hearts on the dance floor. Crimson painted lips let out a small laugh as she carefully studies all of her students, realizing that they are as annoying as always, way too loud-mouthed, and full of adrenaline - just like their teacher. Vanessa introduced a new choreography that day, hoping to share her passion with the youngest of her students, daring them to be as bold and creative as their young minds allow them to be. The kids twirl around on the wooden floor, each beat erupting in a new movement. Flashy grins fill the room as students let their fantasies unwind. Children swirling through the air, swinging their brightly painted wings, dancing to the rhythm of their souls, rather than to the one playing from the loudspeakers. A sly smirk appears on her lips as she looks over her newest work of art, full of pride. 

With a small clap and a ‘Mary, we are finished for today’, the class ends, students erupting into heartfelt laughter and chatter. Within seconds the dance room starts to lose its character, as student after student leaves through the wooden doorway. Scanning the room, Vanessa slowly gathers her bag stained with red paint. She’s mentally planning out her well deserved weekend - full of “The Notebook” retwaches and banging parties in between - when she spots one of her students, Plastique, hovering in the hallway. 

Before she can even tease Plastique for having a staring contest with the floor, Vanessa catches the sight of her - a glowing beauty entering the hall with a head held high. Her perfectly sleek ponytail swinging with every step, sending a shiver down the woman’s spine. Tongue tied and wide-eyed, she stares as the blonde strolls towards her youngest student. With broad shoulders straightened in a regal poise, she seems to be walking on air, as a reserved smile appears on her otherwise indifferent face. Curious feet carry the brunette towards the stranger, before she can even sort out her spinning thoughts. Her pulse quickens, and she silently prays for her heart not to fall out from her chest - a hot flush rushes through her body as she catches the beauty staring back. 

With a slight cough, she introduces herself, “Hi, I’m Vanessa Mateo, Plastique’s dance teacher,” She hesitates a little before continuing, “but my students call me Vanjie”. 

The blonde looks her up and down, raising a brow as she extends her hand. Another shiver, much more intense than before, goes through Vanessa’s being as her doe eyes meet grey thunderstorms. Vanjie shakes her hand after catching herself staring at her counterpart in awe for an embarrassingly long time, praying for the blonde not to notice her already sweating palms.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes. I’m here to pick up my goddaughter,” she replies in a steady voice, lips curved into a smirk. Her fingers linger on Vannessa’s tanned skin for a second too long, causing the other woman’s breath to hitch in her throat. 

And love was not a crime

Ground beans and freshly baked pies sweeten the air. Two pairs of hands wrapped around steaming mugs and two toothy grins. Shy doe eyes with fluttering lashes flirt in silence. 

The two women have made it a habit of meeting up on Fridays, after Vanessa’s classes ended, get a coffee or two and let go of all the pent up annoyance from the week. Heated rambles and soothing advice fill the air between them, creating a bubble for just the two of them. Even silence was cozy with the other by their side, simply appreciating each other’s presence, feeling their own hearts warming up with every meeting. Neither of them initially expected a lasting bond, and yet, the moment Brooke sat down next to Vanessa, she could feel a bouquet of flowers blooming in her soul, her body buzzing, full of warmth and gratefulness. The shorter girl never felt less judged, more treasured and more safe than with Brooke Lynn by her side. And slowly but surely, the ice queen accepted the fact that she genuinely enjoyed her company, even began to look forward to her weekly meetups with the loud Puerto Rican. 

Brooke smiles around the rim of her cup as Vanessa rambles about her equally loud roommate falling for another “street-rat”. Her hands fumble in the air, grand gestures accompanying her captivating story. Laughter fills their little bubble, breathing life into two equally exhausted souls. Yet every time the Latina fixates on those stormy eyes, her heart shakes, bends and inflates like a big balloon, as it keeps growing fond of the woman by her side, tripping over words while Brooke’s smile widens. A slight flush on Vanessa’s cheeks always follows, rose petals replacing the blood cells in her veins - painting her cheeks a pretty shade of red.

“Hoe, that can’t be true!” Vanessa screeches, trying to lower her voice after receiving disapproving looks from the elderly visitors of the small cafe, long-drained cups discarded on the otherwise empty table, both forgetting the meaning of time.

“No, I’m telling you, I just never had the time to date. Never found the man of my dreams… but you know, he is probably busy shagging some other woman.” Brooke lets out a nervous giggle as a heavy lump clogs up her throat, regretting having shared this with Vanessa. 

She has known the other woman for quite some time now, but was it soon enough to let her see all of her insecurities? Silence falls between them as Brooke desperately tries to avoid the all too familiar doe eyes directly in front of her, dread filling up her lungs, slowly replacing the air around her as she exhales heavily. Her eyes flicker across the café, trying to find something, anything, to take the edge off.

“Have you ever thought about, you know…” Vanessa softens her voice, a slight frown appearing between her brows as she weighs up how to phrase the question burning at the tip of her tongue. 

“Is everything alright, can I get you guys anything? Two more coffees perhaps?” Vanessa is cut off by a waitress with a beaming smile and an awful sense of timing. 

“No, thank you, but we would like the cheque please?” Brooke flashes the tiny Latina an unsure smile while the waitress leaves the two of them to sit in silence, Vanessa’s unfinished question hanging in the air.

The brunette carefully observes the woman right in front of her, waiting for a reaction as she twirls her caramel brown hair around her finger. With a single cough, she mentally prepares to revoice the question, but before Vanessa gets a chance, the waitress returns with their cheque. With a deep sigh the brunette sits back in her cream coloured chair and crosses her arms, accepting defeat.

Brooke hands the waitress a five dollar bill with a small “Thank you”, before grabbing her belongings. Vanessa mirrors the blonde’s action as she swallows her way too curious inquiry. Brooke, polite as always, holds the café’s bright pink door open for her, before waving goodbye to the lovely owner, a new found friend of theirs.

“Would you mind going for a walk to the park with me? I’ve still got some time left before I need to be home…” Brooke trails off, playing with one of her earrings, trying not to look directly at the brunette. 

“I would love to.” Vanessa grins and joins the blonde’s side, her initial question long forgotten. A light flush covers the Canadian’s cheeks, brightly lit eyes watch the little powerhouse next to her bounce across the crosswalk.

They walk together, sparks flying through the chilly air as nervous hands brush against each other, while Brooke realizes that she’s found herself weirdly drawn to the brunette with big sparkly eyes. She observes the ball of joy skipping next to her, brash words and deep laughter resounds between the trees.

A bright smile is plastered on the shorter woman’s face as she rambles about everything and nothing at the same time, pointing out odd looking shapes of roots and tumbling ducklings along the way. Every time Brooke looks at Vanessa, something undefinable pulls at her heart. A thin string of hope connecting two lonely souls; a warm feeling gradually replaces Brooke’s otherwise cold interior, slowly melting the thick ice built up around what some would consider to be her heart. With every shallow breath, it begins to beat a bit faster, and her cheeks start to burn whenever the girl lays eyes on her. It’s that moment when an unholy seed is planted in her chest.

A silent ache in her being, one that barely scratches her lungs, but leaves her breathless for a second, catches her off guard. Vanessa’s vibrant laugh and intoxicating smile makes her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. She’s never felt like this before, so used to always keeping people at an arm length - valuing her freedom and her ability not to depend on anyone with her own happiness. As the realization hits her, she is afraid of what it might mean. No, it couldn’t… No, she would never. She slowly shakes off her spiralling thoughts, accepting this all must be an overreaction, simply knowing that her parents taught her better than this, never considers that the mind has its own ways.

The night sky darkens around the two familiar figures as they fall into comfortable silence. Each enjoying the quietness of nature that surrounds them, each mind spiralling on its own accord. With every step Vanessa takes, her heart pumps the blood in her tiny body a little faster, red like rose petals, flooding every inch of her being after weeks of accumulation. Her eyes carefully follow every move the other woman makes, admiring her simple elegance. Craving her closeness. 

“The stars are beautiful tonight, aren’t they?” she states, innocently.

“We’re in the city, Nessa, the stars are hardly visible,” Brooke lets out a mocking huff.

A memory illuminates her spiraling thoughts - the Canadian and the Latina giggling on a hilltop out of the city, dancing along to the music in their hearts, drenched in the moonlight - gone within an instant, passing by like a shooting star. 

“I’ve meant the ones I can see sparklin’ in your eyes.” A sheepish smile appears on Vanessa’s lips as the scratches the back of her neck.

“You say this to all of your friends?” She jokes back, because friends is what Brooke needs them to be. She comes to a halt in front of her apartment complex, a slight frown gracing her forehead. Just friends.

“No,” a breathy whisper, barely a tease - a reminder of what she couldn’t have. “Just you.”

In a private world where

You said don’t look down?

The static hum of a TV in the background and smooth olive fingertips on her hips. A deep sigh escapes her cherry-kissed lips as she closes her eyes and frantically tries to catch her breath. Fists desperately gripping cotton pillows, a tightened chest denying sweet oxygen to enter her burning lungs, as soft wet kisses are planted across her neck. A little Puerto Rican goddess seated in her lap, lavishing every inch of her silky skin with adoring attention. Groans fill the heavy air as unspoken words swirl around the intertwined bodies. Hands grasping at virgin skin, marking their desire on every inch they can reach, as one particular lost soul shuts her eyes from reality. Colourful constellations imprint on holy skin. Rose-stained fingernails scratch lines onto a willing lover.

With each feather-light touch and each tug of skin, Brooke fights her overwhelming fear of the unrighteous scene in front of her eyes. Clinging to the darkness around her shameful being, only allowing her skin to sin. Scared of a person she doesn’t recognize, a lover she never dared to have. Yet deep down she knows, she just needs to see. Needs to take in all of the lust, all of the passion. Watch eager lips on a silent frame, roses growing on her skin. Every movement with so much care and precision, revoking needy sounds from her gaping mouth, godly sounds that were only reserved for the Latina beauty. Brooke couldn’t keep her hands from caressing Vanessa’s body, eyeing her every reaction, careful not to get pricked by her thorns. Staring at blown out pupils, getting lost in swirly brown eyes full of lust and adoration. 

Her fingers flinch as Vanessa’s lips pucker at her touch, deep red blood adornishing the ice queen’s fingertips. Sickly sweet thorns piercing through white skin, staining it with deep rooted promises. It’s the exact moment Brooke vows her long lost soul to let go. With a deep breath, she buries her mauve nails in the brunette’s hair and pulls her mouth to her trembling figure. 

Desperate teeth on bruised skin, painting reminders of losing control. Arching backs releasing unspoken words, speaking their own language. Demanding fingers chasing her own release, as she forces her mind to simply forget. 

‘God loves you, Brooke, you can do this for him’

A sting in her heart, another breath caught in her throat. Tears springing to her eyes. She shakes her head, trying to escape the biblical quotes imprinted in her mind. Casting off all her consciousness, desperately following her primal urge. With one last trembling breath, she grounds her body onto the squirming and willing brunette underneath her, and just let’s go.

But then I did and now you’re lost above me

It’s when the first sun rays fall through the curtains that Brooke’s guilt-stained memories begin to eat her alive. Her shaken heart stumbles as frightened eyes take in the blooming mess right in front of her. Sickly sweet hands closed around her throat, heavy feathers buzzing in her bones. A silent sob escapes her bruised lips, sin-stained fingers grasping at her exposed figure. Cyan waves crashing at the shore, drowning her frame. Tightly hugging what it is left of her dignity. Vanessa is still sound asleep to her right, unaware of the hurricane breaking lose. The blonde’s ice-cold heart weighs heavy in her chest as realization begins to settle within her mind. ‘What have I done?’ Like she had been visited by the Devil herself, she dashes out of the bed. Desperately scrambling for every item of clothing she can find, shaky fingers attempt to clothe her bare soul. She spins around one last time, fearing every next step she will have to take. With one last forbidden kiss to Vanessa’s forehead, she is gone. Only leaving dried up rose petals behind.

So much left to say

Trapped alone here 

With my best-laid plans astray

Months pass and Brooke Lynn still finds reminders of her favourite mistake imprinted on her soul. She desperately attempts to wash off every sign of their shared night. Scratched skin and thrown up thoughts, as she prays to the showerhead to cleanse her from her sins. Silent sobs, red stained porcelain skin - results of attempts to scrub away every memory until rotted rose petals cover the ground her shaking figure stands on. A silent scream stumbles from her forever blemished lips as her head hits the bathroom floor.

Night after night, the snow queen kisses bearded men who grip roughly at her hips and push her against walls in dark alleys with even darker passion, bruised constellations forming on her skin. She desperately tries to choke the thoughts lingering at the back of her mind with the aftershave she chases like oxygen. Lies spill so easily from a burned throat as she attempts to dry out the seed of doubt in her soul. Every kiss just a rehearsed act, the flick of a tongue, a silent moan. Only the most convincing actors play the part. She tries to learn a foreign language, staging a new scene each day - attempts to let them guide her to a hidden piece of heaven on this Earth, praying to find forgiveness in each kiss. Yet they never teach her how to forget dried up rose petals and the taste of her name.

Vanessa spends days filled with loneliness, mourning the past. Months of coffee dates, moonlight dancing and late night shopping - all turned into stone. Maybe she had misunderstood the hints, misinterpreted the signals. Fire and ice alive just for a single moment in time. Vanessa regrets never pouring out her smitten heart to Brooke. The roses and daisies, lavender and berries, all fading away in her chest. Maybe they were simply destined to be friends all along and Vanessa had just messed up, letting the burning fire in her get the best of her. Because the lonely Latina indeed craved her, craved all of her. With every touch and every glance, the flowery garden of affection in her soul grew. She wanted to break Brooke’s icy walls, melt away all the pain and let her come undone. Get down to the nitty-gritty of her soul, exposing her to a force unknown. Yet she only got to admire her personal hurricane up close once, before Brooke took away everything she had left to give. Because loving her is a losing game. Just a small-town girl in a big arcade, addicted to a losing game.

So she throws herself into work and parties too much - all while attempting to dampen the fire in her soul, even though tequila only fuels the red flame instead of bringing it down to a simmering heat. Vanessa loses her heart on the dance floor, grounding her body, rubbing her burning soul onto every tall blonde that catches her eye. Playfully, she whispers sweet nothings to willing partners, gives away every inch of herself, desperately awaiting a revelation, a savior. And after all her drunk shenanigans, she closes her eyes and can still feel Brooke’s mauve painted nails scratching every inch of her. Imagining softly painted lips bruising her up, instead of chapped kisses barely grazing her skin, is her saving grace. Equally intoxicated lovers never tug on her hair like the ice queen did, don’t imprint their desire for the Latina on her body so artistically like the other woman. No one gives her the pleasure she craves like a drowning human craves oxygen - the deeply satisfying ecstasy the blonde gave her. And no one, simply no one, touches her heart like Brooke Lynn. 

Standing scared outside a cold church

Soul search, seeking some lost answer

From a God who loves me

Brooke Lynn goes up North again, visits her family and old friends. Taking a well deserved vacation - at least that’s what she told her employees. Her mother greets her with open arms, asking too many questions, majority of which Brooke has to leave unanswered. Most conversations fly past her consciousness nowadays, leaving her mind blank; she works on auto-pilot, building up a new comfortingly safe routine. Visiting her childhood church again is a part of her plan, attempting to dig up some virtue, hoping to find forgiveness. It has been years since she last set foot into the stone cold building. Years of build up pain and shame breaking in a crescendo as her body crashes down, kneeling in front of a wooden cross. “Please forgive me, father.”

As sickly sweet poems begging for forgiveness escape her still bruised lips, everyone pretends not to hear the longing desire humming within her heartbeat. Night after night she lays awake, striving to drown the rhythm of rainbow within her soul.

“Lord Jesus, for too long I’ve kept you out of my life. I know that I am a sinner and that I cannot save myself. No longer will I close the door when I hear you knocking. By faith I gratefully receive your gift of salvation. I am ready to trust you again,” with a shaken voice, the shell of a woman urgently repeats the words stumbling from her lips as she is laying alone in the comfort of her own bed. Tears leak out of her darkened eyes even after her breathing has evened and her consciousness faded away. A torn apart heart craves healing while the mind attempts to rest. 

From then on she speaks to God every day. Praying to forget. 

‘God loves you Brooke Lynn, but not your sin. You can do this for him.’

Her shaking fingers itch for a rosary more and more with each night. A silent prayer on her lips as faded memories and forbidden dreams flood back to the surface - each of them continuously burning her wrinkled soul, only thriving on poisoned air, capturing a broken heart. All she wishes for is calmness - a privilege Brooke’s damned soul is not worthy of. Pictures now disrupt her restless slumber. Red spit on burned out soil, a grey face melting away. Butterflies and daisies scratching bloody feet, berries and flowers adornishing a decaying shell of a lover. An anxious soul dances on clouds as Venus feeds her the venom of eternity. Broken glass mourns a broken bond as her consciousness fades away for the second time that night.

Can I turn to You in my need?

An unbearable heat builds up in the tiny dance studio. Young students repeatedly practice their choreography for the upcoming regionals, each pair of stumbling feet steadily increasing the temperature within the already stifling room. Frustrated groans fill the air as their ruthless teacher pushes them for another round. Children miss their cues and barely hit the beat, and Vanessa pinches the bridge of her nose, brows knitting in a frustrated frown. Leaning against the chipped wall, she slowly watches her students sloppily wobble through the brunette’s precisely crafted choreography. A sick feeling of disappointment - no, just failure - spreads in Vanessa’s chest. Crinkled eyes watch tired limbs in wrong positions ruining her well rehearsed craft. 

The Latina had spend weeks perfecting each step, making sure each movement sparked a purpose, each gesture told a story. It didn’t matter that Vanessa couldn’t stand to see herself in the mirror while constructing a passionate dance for her students to follow, to immerse themselves in. Nor does it matter that it took the skilled teacher much longer than it should have, each ounce of creativity drowned from her overworked mind. A flow of artistry used to live within her, flowing through her veins, just like the rhythm that claimed her soul a long time ago. But now every time she stares into the stained mirrors of an empty studio, a stranger appears at the other side of the glass. Eyes so empty, a mouth so silent and a heart slightly chipped. She desperately tries to keep it together, so she chooses to focus on her students’ flaws instead. She picks them apart one by one. Each mistake of each child highlighted by Vanessa’s grim voice ringing through the clustered room, mocking their imperfect performances. Comments leave her dried up lips in a harsh tone, hitting her students in the face, correcting their posture with a lack of respect, dragging down their innocent souls.

“Scarlet, for the third time today, it’s a left turn and then a drop, not a right turn and a simple flourish - it’s not that hard, Mary.” Impatient words escape through clenched teeth, letting boiling hot frustration get the best of her. 

“I know, but It’s just really fast, and I-” a wombly children’s voice quietly tries to defend her mistake, rubbing her eyes to hide glassy tears.

“No buts. We’ve been over this way too many times, just get into the gig.” Throwing her hands in the air, Vanessa looks around, directing her message to all of her students, “y’all aren’t here for no reason, so you better step your pussies up to get these cookies.”

“It’s not like Scarlet’s never made that mistake Miss V, but now, all of the sudden, you give a fuck. Somehow, all of us aren’t good enough for you today. I call bullshit,” Yvie defends her friend, challenging Vanessa with her pointed tone. Yvie was right, she has been unnecessarily harsh today, for reasons unknown to the children. A heat wave flushes through her rock solid body, fists tensing at her sides, fully knowing she couldn’t let that kind of behaviour pass. Vanessa has never deemed herself to be a strict teacher, but in that moment, she just snapped.  

“It’s because you all aren’t giving your goddamn best. We’ve been over this so fucking much, y’all should know it by heart by now, Mary. We have a competition to win - you guys can’t just-” as her muscles start quivering and purely harsh words leave her aching throat, she attempts to catch herself with a deep breath. “Anyways - todos vosotros me ponen de los nervios, I won’t discuss this any further. Class dismissed.” 

She draws in another slow, steadying breath, plastering an obviously fake smile on her chapped lips. In an attempt at a carefully controlled voice she adds, “I better see something good from all of you tomorrow morning, no shit show.” 

In one swift motion she turns around, ignoring the wide blown eyes of frightened children, combing her hair with her shaking fingertips while packing all of her belongings to her slightly worn out sports bag. 

She tries to keep it together, plasters another forced smile on her weakened lips, a band aid to fix her broken heart - at least for now - as she coldly wishes her students a good night, grasping at every string of her being to keep herself together. 

After she dismissed the class, she lets her thoughts wander, not paying too much attention to the string of curse words leaving her mouth. Scratched skin, heavy lungs and an exhausted mind rot away. Eyes closed, steady breathing. Focus, Mary, focus. Her heart yearningly awaits Brooke Lynn’s return. Needing to see the blonde beauty walk through the halls of the dance school, just like the day she met her, even though deep down she knows that her friend won’t come back to her. 

The lost figure lets herself glide onto the wooden floor, pulling her knees up to her chin, and tries to calm her breathing, still feeling the burning fire simmering in her veins. Tears of frustration escape a heated grimace as she slams her right fist against the floor. How could she do that to her? A sweat stained forehead falls into her lap, red nails dig deep into her own skin, anger growing within her.

“Hey, Miss Vanjie, I was just wondering, I am - is everything alright?” Big, bright child eyes stare at her flushed face, a mind full of worries presented to her, curious. 

“Por Dios, shouldn’t you have left already?” In one sweep she is up on her feet again, shaking off her startled expression. Certainly won’t let no goddamn child look taller than her.

“I - I just wanted to help, because, you know, you were really mean today, Miss V. And I thought, maybe - maybe you are upset” 

Vanessa’s world stands still for a moment, shaking hands tightly folded into fists. How could she let her emotions get the best of her? An overwhelming feeling of embarrassment spreads in her chest, tightening with every breath. She failed to keep her personal problems from affecting her ability to teach - Jeez, she shouldn’t be doing this. 

“Shit,” she curses silently, “I am sorry, I shouldn’t have phrased it like that.” Her almost robotic voice fills the air, nearly regretting her outburst. Nearly.

Her swirling thoughts come to a halt as Plastique’s mother, Nina, approaches Vanessa as well, softly laying her hand on her daughter’s shoulder and asking for some privacy. As the girl grabs her bag and moves to the changing room, Vanessa dares to face the well known calm after the storm. Kind hearted emerald eyes pierce through the burning steam surrounding the brunette tornado.

“Would you mind explaining to me why you felt the need to be an ass to your students today?“ a steady voice without any ounce judgment asks, only fueling Vanessa’s pounding heartbeat.

“I don’t know why that matters, Mary. I felt some type of way and that’s it - it’s not my fucking fault my students can’t distinguish left from right.” Her body tenses with every punctuated word.

“But that’s not what this is about, isn’t it?” Nina’s head is tilted to the side, her face wearing a sympathetic smile. 

“No, it’s not, but that’s none of your business.” The younger woman puts on a brave face; attempts to hide her inner turmoil from her counterpart, pretending to unsee the damage her lack of self control has caused. Fists still balled up tight, fighting the urge to punch the stained mirror at her side.

“It is my business if your lack of professionalism results in my daughter, and other children, being crushed by your harsh words.” Her smile falls for a second, before pity reaches her kind eyes again, as she finally acknowledges the hurt in the young woman’s gaze. “Look, Vanessa, I know it’s not easy, but-”

“No, it’s not fucking easy. I don’t feel like this for no reason.” She couldn’t take it anymore. Her voice increasing in volume, cutting of Nina, as she barely registers anything or anyone besides the woman through a narrowed vision. 

“I know, but you gotta keep your calm, dear,” the kind hearted woman tries to reason, yet the blood pounding in the brunette’s ears keeps drowning out the words. 

Vanessa takes a step back and throws her hands in the air, letting out an infuriated groan, before attacking her scalp with sharp-cut nails.

“Jeez, I thought we were closer than for you to be so condesc- condescen- for you to judge me. It’s not my fault some of them actually complained about me poppin off,” bitter words leak out of her mouth, not only raising her voice, but also her hand again.

“You could have pulled them aside-”

“They all fucked up, I am not hiding it from them, hoe, so they better learn to take some criti- criticism.” Flared up nostrils and the world around her painted in dark red. It didn’t matter that she was in the wrong - all of her build up emotions came crashing in a crescendo around her, making her believe that maybe her outburst was justified. 

The setting sun highlights the destructive potential of the burning match.

“That’s not criticism anymore, Vanessa, it’s straight up bullying.” Nina voicing the truth is an icy wave hitting her upfront, drenching the brunette from head to toes. Cold, ghostly fingers wrap around her throat and an unbearable weight crashing her bones.

“I don’t fucking bully my children, I never bully them, I could never bully them, for fucks sake, I just, I-”  her building volume crashes into a heart wrenching sob. Red nails forcefully tug at caramel hair, fighting her inevitable destruction.

“Hey-” Nina shuffles closer and wraps one of her arms securely around Vanessa’s waist, petting the bruised fingertips holding onto her own frizzy and uncombed hair. “Shh - just take a deep breath.”

Her breathing becomes erratic again as silent sobs bubble up her throat. “I shouldn’t. I-I don’t know what to do, Nina, but - she just left. And I-”

“I know,” Nina shushes the frightened deer in her embrace, barely recognizing the headstrong woman who just passionately fought her moments ago. Nina silently holds pieces of the once ever-so-joyful and loud-mouthed girl in her arms, slowly taking in all that’s happened so far. Viciously poisoned words replaced by hopeless destruction within her small frame. 

Nina knows she shouldn’t be here, Brooke had begged her to not speak a word to Vanessa about her departure. But Nina also knows that she can’t just let the young one suffer on her own. Something broke within her heart, seeing her so shattered. Just a shell of the woman she used to be.

“I don’t even know why I care so much, it’s not like she said she loved me and shit, but-”

Nina silently holds the brunette as glassy tears wet her delicate blouse. She sighs as she realizes this must have been something more serious than “a fight between two friends”. Just one look at the broken girl in her embrace says enough.

“-but you love her,” Nina finishes.

Vanessa doesn’t have to say a single word for Nina to know that she has hit the right nerve. The burned out girl simply closes her eyes as cyan waves flood her paralyzed mind. A muted soul drowning, because she wasn’t there.

Would You take me back or watch me bleed?

Are You there? There at all?

Time keeps moving and the planet Earth keeps spinning, yet Brooke Lynn cannot find the person she desperately longs to be. Her body and mind betray her God-loving soul as she rutts against her bedsheets, one finger pressed to her bundle of nerves. A droplet of heaven on sinner’s skin will never heal a soul not worth saving. So her heart begins to shake as she comes undone to the thought of her. Because holy water on forbidden soil still grew the damned fruit of Eden. 

Rosary prayers are replaced by deep, toxic drags of flower painted cigarettes. A golden cross weighs heavy on her chest - the last reminder of her once so innocent soul. It mocks her with its presence - everlasting, reminding her of her failure to keep control, the one skill she had always taken pride in. With a deep breath she runs her shaking fingertips through her messy, freshly cut hair and opens it’s clip, let’s it fall to the marbled floor. 

Weeks pass before Nina calls, begging her to come back to the States and telling her how much misses her. Brooke Lynn let’s rehearsed lines pour from her throat, promising to get back to her soon. She scribbles on notebooks as she listens to Nina’s trembling voice, trying to ground herself into reality. 

“You can’t just kill the beast, throw the gun away and pray away its death, Brooke, that’s not how life works,” Nina finally drops the bomb.

“What kind of beast are you even talking about, Nina? I am way too sober to deconstruct your metaphors right now,“ Brooke steadies her breathing, tries to sound oblivious to whatever Nina might be hinting at. She picks up her chewed up pen again, doodling on a scraped note, trying to distract her thoughts from spiralling too deep.

“Don’t play dumb, Brooke, we both know what I am trying to say. You can’t just disappear out of everyone’s lives without even saying goodbye, you can’t just…” A deep breath resounds on the other side of the line, making Brooke realize how serious Nina actually is. “She misses you, Brooke, she misses you, like, a lot.”

Brooke’s heavy heart sinks even further, turning to stone with each word punctuated by the other woman. “That sounds like her problem”, she mutters through clenched teeth, cautiously looking away from any feelings she still harbours for the Puerto Rican goddess. 

“Brooke Lynn Hytes.” Brooke could practically see Nina’s clenched fists and furrowed brows, nearly screaming at her from the other side of the line.

“Don’t call me that,” she exhales loudly, trying to ground her slightly shaken voice. She never intended to confess anything to Nina, her sinful nature was between her and God. 

“But - that’s your name!”

“Yeah, and I hate it when you say it like that. It sounds as if i killed an innocent puppy.” She doesn’t need to say it, Nina already knows. 

“It’s because you kind of did,” her best friend lets out a frustrated laugh. “Well, Brooke. What I am attempting to say is that whatever you may be going through, I am here for you. I just want to help you, sweetheart, I know you are beating yourself up about everything that has happened between the two of you.” Brooke wishes Nina would be at least condescending, reminding her of the God-loving daughter she could be. Yet all she receives is an everloving soul, a heart so big it can see past her mistakes, past her sins.

She can’t bear to hear it anymore, can’t take it. She bites at the skin around her nails, trying to distract herself from the desire to slam her fist against the table. 

“You haven’t seen me in weeks, Nina, how could you even know?”

“I can see your misery all the way from the States, that’s how bad you’ve gotten. Look, I know you are afraid of dealing with the conflict inside of you, but we both know the Bible doesn’t say anything about-” With every spoken word the fragile woman gasps for more air, drowning in a sea full of fear. Cold hands of truth wrapped around her delicate throat.

“Please, don’t, Nina,” she whimpers.

“Brooke…” A short moment of silence fills the air between the two friends. “There is no point in running away. You are just pushing away the people who love you for who you are,” a pleading voice doesn’t fully reach the woman in need. 

“Like you?”

“I actually meant Vanjie, but to be honest with you, it hurts me as well seeing you like this, I just…” On the other side of the line, Nina closes her eyes praying to God from the high above. “Just please come back. I miss you. Plastique misses you. We all miss you.”

“I can’t, Nina, I just can’t.” A single tear falls down her rigid face. “I am so sorry,” she mumbles before hanging up on her. The confidence she has build over the past weeks has been replaced by consuming guilt in a blink of an eye. With shaking fingers she slowly picks up the golden cross from the marble floor, its weight overwhelming her fastening heartbeat. She closes her eyes before fastening the chain around her throat again. Her heart still bounded by ice in a decaying chest. A spark of hope buried by self doubt. “One day,” she whispers to herself, “but not today.”

And as I fall from the person that I tried to be

Could You really love someone like me?

“Hey stranger - x” 

Narrowed eyes stare at a way too brightly lit screen, shaking hands grasping Vanessa’s phone like a nicotine addict holding their first cigarette in weeks. Waves crashing around her, tearing down all that has been and all that ever could be, drowning the brunette in a whirlwind of emotions. Just take a deep breath, Vanessa, a deep breath. A hollow voice, a reminder of her broken heart, screeches inside of her, warning the girl, urging her no to answer. The heartache she had to endure, infused by her favorite ice queen, could last her a lifetime. She had sworn herself that she wouldn’t let her in again, attempted to erase the blonde bombshell from her memory for weeks. Still embarrassed of the scene she had caused at work, her deeply lit fire burning down the spectacle around her. 

Yet just minutes later, her fingertips betray her overworked brain. They are typing a reply on their own accord, a way too heartfelt reply. Full of hatred and love and feeling of lost, pouring out the hurricane Brooke had ignited in her soul. 

She catches herself before she can hit the send button. Rational thoughts replace the emptiness in her brain as shaky hands delete a message never meant to be seen by the thunderstorm eyes. She silently decides that written words can’t express Vanessa’s heartache and won’t ever depict the reality and the range of emotions she had to endure. Not daring to give Brooke Lynn the satisfaction of acknowledging the mess of emotions she had reduced Vanessa to. 

The Latina takes a second look at her screen, her heart clenching at the written words. Strangers - that’s what they have become. She feels like she has been hit by the screen, awoken by a simple phrasing, causing disappointment to settle within her. In utter silence she chews up her lip as she can feel her heartbeat falter, missing a beat here and there. 

A light chuckle escapes her lips, amused by her own misery. 

How did she end up like this? 

Vanessa always fell hard, that wasn’t new to her. But it was nothing compared to the mixture of emotions that Brooke Lynn had left her with. Nothing compared to the fire in her soul, prepared to burn down a building in the process of fighting her longing for the ice queen.

“Can I call you?” 

Another flash of light that burns too brightly, Vanessa’s eyes twitching in return. Questions ring inside of her head, almost too urgent to ask them out loud. 

“Please - x”  

It’s the message that breaks her. Brooke Lynn was never the one to beg. Vanessa always had been so certain that nothing could bring the ice queen down to her knees. As she feels the garden of love-colored flowers being revived in her chest, feathery light fingertips type a response as if having gained a mind of their own. 

“We are not having this conversation over the phone.” She isn’t so sure if she even wants to have this conversation, too afraid of the burning fire in her soul, still wondering if this is all a dream.

“Okay” 

The reply is short, something she didn’t expect. Vanessa had assumed that after all the weeks of silence Brooke wouldn’t give up that easily. Maybe she was wrong. 

“Same place, same time? - x" 

Once upon a time

All I needed was his hand in mine

Two familiar figures sit on a bench in the park, full of stardust and broken promises, facing the night sky, searching for long lost answers in the muted celestial bodies pinned onto the firmament. The cold air is clouded with unspoken words hanging heavily between the strangers. The brunette is playing with the hem of her shirt, still unsure why she agreed to this meeting at all. The blonde holds her head high, as her stiffened body tries to maintain her regal posture, still unsure why she had proposed the idea in the first place.

No, she knows, she definitely knows why. A full cigarette package in her overflowing handbag reminds her of words yet to be brought to light. Though right now, her usually overworked mind is completely empty, leaving the ice cold beauty at a complete loss of words. Burned edges hide behind a layer of cold skin. Suffocating rose seeds in her chest as she is desperately scrambling for words, trying to find her voice. 

“Well, I think I owe you an explanation.” Brooke whispers as she stares longingly at the moon, avoiding Vanessa’s burning glare, the younger one’s neatly plucked brows bumped together in a scowl.

“Yes, you do, Mary. Also, you might add an apology if you’re feeling fancy,” Vanessa slurs through slightly gritted teeth, attempting to calm the flame blazing in her soul. Her flared nostrils still giving away her true emotions to the Canadian. 

Brooke couldn’t blame her for going up in flames and charring the Canadian’s sin stained fingertips in the process. 

“Okay, right, my explanation itself won’t be an apology, though, because nothing can ever justify hurting you. I just need to get this out, so you can see my side of the story and understand where I am coming from. I mean, I am sorry, truly sorry, don’t get me wrong, but what I am about to share shouldn’t be just an excuse for my actions and so-” rehearsed lines pour out of her dried out mouth, barely allowing her to gasp for air. 

“Don’t forget to breath. I’d rather not have you fainting on me, hoe.” For a short second Brooke’s lips twitch into a barely recognisable smile, a reminder of long gone summernights, before a hauntingly tight grasp around the stone she has for a heart throws her back into reality. 

“Yes, sorry.” Her body stiffens as the remark settles in. “Okay. So, I don’t know how to do this actually, I’ve never talked about any of this and yeah, serious stuff makes me tear up very easily… I’m sorry in advance and, yeah.” She takes a deep breath, clumsily attempting to gather her thoughts as she slightly dabbs around her already wet lash line. “I guess I just have to bite the bullet.”

The Puerto Rican keeps a close eye on Brooke Lynn, seeing her visibly shaken. The ever-so-cool Canadian suddenly fidgety, with shaky fingers resting in her lap and blown out pupils, biting her lips so hard, she must be drawing blood. Seeing the destruction the ice caused within her counterpart, Vanessa’s own flame starts to cool down. Finally able to see the ashes her blaze left behind. 

“As you may, or may not know, I grew up in a very Christian household. We went to church every Sunday, spoke a prayer before every meal and regularly went to confession.” She doesn’t know how much she could actually bare to say out loud - barely reliving the memories was painful enough. 

“So growing up as a child I was taught to believe many things that were tied to the Bible, one of them being a homosex-” the word gets stuck in her throat, memories of threatening dark voices screaming the word at the top of their lungs, spitting hatred at the feet of scared children, “- liking girls was a sin. At least once every few months it was brought up in service, fuelling everyone’s disgust for the celebration of this sin.” 

Brooke’s voice starts to shake ever so slightly as she pinches the skin around her nuckles to bring herself back to the present. 

“I mean, I never participated in any, you know, sinfully- I mean, any gay activities, but just the concept of it all still scared me shitless. So, you know, ehmm, until one day…” She takes in another deep shaky breath, preparing herself. “My mom once caught me kissing a girl. I was a child, I didn’t even know what kissing meant, and I just thought-” she stops herself. The memory too painful to conjure up in her mind. A warm steady hand sets on her shaking thigh, a single touch untangling her spiralling thoughts, keeping her grounded.

“So, I guess I was, I was just a girl lost among the teachings. All alone and scared.“ 

Silence fills the air, letting her confession linger in the space between the two broken women. Leftover, unspoken words deeply hidden at the back of her mind, tugging at her heart, causing her to lose her composure for a second. Another deep breath and the blonde dares to shily look up, only to find bright doe eyes, full of pitiful stars staring back at her.

"And then you came along.” She faces away from Vanessa again, not knowing what to say. Never having planned for a confession of her blooming feelings to be part of sharing her story. So used to carefully hiding away every fresh flower that had grown in her chest in a small casket at the back of her consciousness. She had thrown away the key to her deepest, darkest secret months ago, but all of a sudden its gates have been opened. Honest confessions dripping down her burning lips like sickly sweet honey from overflowing honeycombs.

“Meeting you was the most amazing, yet simultaneously horrifying moment in my entire life. I - you know - when you started flirting with me, I really tried to convince myself we could just be friends, good friends, like me and Nina.”

Vanessa’s fingers move from the Canadian’s thigh to her sweating palms, caressing them with ever so light touches.

“I wanted to be the God-loving daughter so badly, I wanted to make my family proud. But somehow, you were the one to unleash all of these feelings, all of those forbidden thoughts and I…” She looks to the ground for a moment, shame flickering across her face as she centers her breathing, tries to find the right words. “I didn’t know what to do. So I just ran. Away from you. Away from the deep roots of my sin.”

Bone crushing silence fills the space in their tiny bubble, making goosebumps cover Vanessa’s skin. 

“I shouldn’t have done that. I know that I should have said something, but I was so scared, Nessa. So scared. I didn’t want anybody to know, I was so ashamed of my feelings for you and…” She finally looks up again, regret pooling in her stormy eyes.

“So what happened?” Curiosity slowly replacing the burning heat in Vanessa’s soul, still taking in all what the wounded woman presents to her - trusts her with. 

“What do you mean?” Brooke asks with a breathy voice, slightly cocking her head and raising the arch of her perfectly painted brow.

“If you are so ashamed and didn’t want anybody to know, simply playing the fucking God obedient wife, than why are you here, Twinkle Toes?” Vanessa doesn’t hold back, having bottled up embering questions for way too long.

“Because- because if Nina could see past my sins, maybe so could I?" 

Vanessa’s visibly cringes at the blonde’s choice of words. Pain contorting her face, her soul drenching in pity. 

The vulnerable woman next to her seems like she doesn’t truly believe her spoken words either. Glassy eyes, a silent sniff - an attempt at finally putting her heart and mind at display.

"Baby, why do you keep calling your love for another woman a sin?” Vanessa’s soft words barely reach Brooke. 

“But isn’t that what it is?” Big grey eyes stare at their last string of hope. 

Brooke has never looked this young to the other woman as in this moment. Her lips pulled into a quivering pout, hands balled into anxious fists and her usually wavy, long bob resembling a bird nest due to her constantly raking her fingers through her hair. Putting her trust and vulnerability on display as her body fights against her. Lips continuously shaking with every word bubbling up from her tightened throat, needing a cough every few seconds to make her words come alive. Fingers drawing pictures in the air, questions her mind doesn’t dare to ask. 

“No, baby. No, it’s not. You are not a sinner. My momma always told me that the God you believe in loves you, unconditionally and shit like that. Those people who justify hating someone for who they love are abomi- abomina-, awful.” She grabs both of Brooke’s hands, squeezing them tightly. It’s as much closeness as Vanessa dares to initiate, yet not enough for her to evaporate every ounce of self doubt out of Brooke Lynn’s body. 

“It’s not that easy,” the blonde whispers, simply shaking her head and shifting her gaze to the night sky again.

“I know, but the bottom line is, Mami, Jesus preaches about love, not hatred. So fuck what evil people told you about your religion, because He was all about love, you know like ‘love thy neighbor’ and shit -” Vanessa’s heartfelt speech is interrupted by a quiet giggle from the woman desperately clutching at their intertwined hands, “- and that’s what matters the most.”

“I just don’t know. There must be a reason people preach against homosexuality so much.” Brooke’s eyes are harboring every homophobic prayer and countless lectures she had to endure, preaches of pain and the longing to heal, but also sing a song about her lack of courage to face her fears. At least on her own. 

“Baby, where in the Bible does it say homosexuality is a sin?” Vanessa’s usually harsh voice turns into a soft whimper as trained fingertips draw circles on Brooke Lynn’s skin.

“Ehh.” 

Both women know that Brooke’s loss for words isn’t just temporary, her counterpart simply outsmarted her - for once - fairly aware of the fact that there is no answer to this question. Brooke had to accept defeat, swallow her tongue and acknowledge that she can’t back up her internalized hatred. She closes her eyes for a short moment. A deep breath in and a deep breath out. 

Having to question her upbringing is a new cross she’ll have to bear. But she certainly won’t have to carry it on her own. 

"Exactly. I ain’t no preacher’s daughter, Mary, just a simple hoe, but even I know that faith should be about love and not hatred. You know what my mama always said?”

A long lost heart slowly finding her way back to the right path. Guided into a new direction. 

“Na-ah?” Brooke shakes her head as she can taste her heart beating in her dried up throat, whimpering as olive fingertips trace her cheekbones. 

“She always said: ‘no matter who you love Vanessa, you can always be a godly wife, even to your own wife’ - I mean, I am not about all of that religious life - but Brooke Lynn, I could show you that a life like this is possible." 

The Latina underlines her proposition with a flutter of her lashes and a cheeky kiss to Brooke’s blushed cheeks. 

"Vanessa,” barely a whisper escapes agape lips. 

“You don’t have to say anything right now, just think about it.” Vanessa gifts Brooke Lynn a soft smile, squeezes her hand before her soft lips brush against the blonde’s temple. Two hearts skipping a beat at the same time as young rose buds surround two lost figures sitting on a bench of mended promises under the night sky. 

Then I lost my way and

Now I know not what I do

The sweet melody of church bells fill the busy streets of the Hollywood Heights as kind-hearted strangers stroll down Franklin Avenue. Young birds sing songs of forgiveness, guiding lost souls to the place of worship. A short brunette is stood in front of the Hollywood United Methodist church, tightly squeezing one of the lost souls’ sweaty hand. She directs a big grin towards the shaking blonde, gifting her with wordless encouragement. Under a night sky full of broken hopes and dreams Vanessa had promised Brooke to find her a new godly home. So she had spent the past few weeks carefully skimming the gay-affirming churches in LA, the Methodist church just happened to be one of many in the area. Naturally, it had been a hassle to convince Brooke Lynn to give it a shot, explaining her that a Sunday Pride sermon would the most healing of them all. But puppy eyes, childlike pouts and lots of brief kisses finally convinced the weary woman.

Vanessa wouldn’t consider herself to be religious per se, however she understood that faith has always been a big part of Brooke Lynn’s life, and she would never in a million years take that away from the woman she loved. The night she had first heard her story, the strong woman collapsing into her arms, she had sworn to do whatever she could to help Brooke settle her internal struggle between faith and sexuality. Even if that meant tackling her own fears and diving head first into the deep unknown, just so that she could protect the Canadian from her self-destructive behaviour, showing her the love and safety she deserves. So here she was, a not so religious Latina dragging her love, whose entire body was trembling at the sheer sight of a church, to a Sunday morning sermon at the Hollywood campus.

Brooke Lynn had initially agreed to Vanessa’s plan, tears streaming out of her otherwise empty eyes, as she recognized this as her last chance, her last hope. Momentarily she was excited about the possibility of finally being free, her heart tightly gripping at a spark of faith. Vanessa’s words seeming like a cure to her curse. Yet the promise of a new beginning was soon overshadowed by violent memories intruding her newly calm mind. 

Terrified eyes stare down the big red ribbon adorning the otherwise plain, yet regal exterior of the church. A thunderstorm takes place inside of Brooke Lynn, shaking her up. Her spiralling mind denying the Canadian the hope of salvation as shaky fingers grasp at a steady figure by her side, regretting ever agreeing to this mad idea. Each fingernail digs deeper into tan skin with every painfully sharp breath the lost woman inhales. The blonde’s pulse quickens with every step she forces herself to take towards the building, conjuring up judging faces in the shadows of the church, deep black claws holding her back.

The last time she had visited a place of worship she had come to face all of her sins, called them by their names, begged for forgiveness and desperately waited for her salvation. Still, she was never cleansed of her sins, never was saved by God’s good grace. Her soul still deeply stained with blood-red roses, giving into promises of a not so lonely future. 

Yet deep down she still fears the consequences of giving into the temptation of Eden, fears being at God’s mercy. But Vanessa had sown a seed of hope into Brooke’s rotted mind, set a spark to the possibility of tasting a fruit that doesn’t bring down the heavenly garden. A believe she desperately wants to uphold, but isn’t so certain of anymore. The last time she prayed to her God, she was desperate for forgiveness of her sins. Her motivations remain the same this time around, but now she is just begging God for a different kind of forgiveness.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Vanessa,” she finally speaks up, voice trembling as she turns to her comfort blanket, her stepping stone, who attempts to calm the turmoil in her soul with just one look. 

In no way she is ready to face her fears which drown her in self-doubt at night, wake her up screaming at the top of her lungs and leave her emotionless during the rest of the day. But would she ever be ready? Could she ever repair her splitted soul? 

“You don’t have to go to the service, Brooke.” Sympathy radiates from Vanessa’s eyes as her pout pulls up into a comforting smile, “But I can assure that if you do, everything will be alright. I’ve visited this church with my mama before, and it’s the most welcoming church I’ve ever been to.” 

The brunette wasn’t necessarily lying to her, more so leaving out the part of her falling asleep during the sermon, but Brooke doesn’t need to know that.

“But what if -” the blonde’s voice sounds wobbly with fear as she attempts to put her concerns into words. Bars behind her eyes holding the ever so strong woman captivated, anxiety is ruining her hopeful mind, tainting her will to be free at last. Worst case scenarios running wild as she chips off the leftovers of her nude nail polish.

“We’ve been over this, boo”, Vanessa cuts of the squirming woman by her side, not needing to hear Brooke voicing her fears out lot, already knowing what she is going to say. She silently instructs the blonde to take a deep breath, reviving her suffocating lungs, as Vanessa gives her hand a solidarity squeeze. 

“This church celebrates diversity. No one will be judgemen-, judgement-, no one will judge you, Mami.” The brunette still struggling to gain Brooke’s trust every now and then.

Doubt still clouds the Canadian’s eyes. A heavy fog, slowly dissolving as the brunette punctuates each whispered word with as kiss to her cheek and jaw, “I’ll be right by your side, Mami, and hunt down everyone who even dares to look at you the wrong way.“

Olive skinned arms slowly wrap around a navy sundress, holding the blonde before she can fall apart. Soft fingertips drawing circles into exposed skin as a frantic heartbreak regains its normal rhythm. 

In their intertwined state, the pair catches a glimpse of two men, both in their late thirties, walking into the church, one hand holding each other, the other gripping their children’s hands. Their laughter illuminating the entrance of the holy building. Contrasting with the image of the church Brooke Lynn had painted in her mind.

As Brooke’s erratic breathing slowly calms down due to Vanesa soothingly whispering nonsense into her ear, she can untangle herself from the shorter one without feeling dizziness clouding her vision. Silently tugging at the brunette’s hand as she finally dares to walk through the gates of the church, following the footsteps of the family of four who wordlessly touched her ever so guarded heart. The red ribbon hanging above them turns into a symbol of a comforting blessing instead of a curse.

Two quiet figures, lost in their own thoughts, walk down the aisle of a barely packed church. They take a seat on a wooden bench engraved with roses at the back of the hall, hidden from noisy eyes. Brooke Lynn carefully views the faces of the visitors, her mind scanning her surroundings for potential danger, looking out for disapproving frowns, waiting to hear slurs thrown in her direction. Yet all she can find is people as diverse and colourful as Vanessa promised them to be. 

The pair made it just in time before the service starts to begin. A tanned hand on Brooke’s upper thigh, keeping her spirit in the present, hindering her mind from spiralling. The blonde attempts to focus on the sensation of Vanessa’s fingertips against her cotton dress, lightly caressing her thigh, as her muscles relax beneath the brunette’s touch. Goosebumps covering every inch Vanessa touches. Meanwhile, Brooke chooses to ignore the bottle of memories, a dangerous barrel about to explode at the back of her mind. 

The service starts with a greeting and an opening prayer by a man in his fifties, one that Brooke Lynn doesn’t dare to look in the face directly. Her eyes burning holes into the wooden bench right in front of her, just focusing on the static voice of the pastor. An old habit that had protected her at home, had kept her panic attacks at church to a minimum. Holy words fill the air around her, stinging her sensitive skin, not fully reaching the woman in need just yet.

The moment sin free fingertips open up the Holy Bible, lovingly caressing the leather cover, and the reading of the scripture begins, Brooke’s lungs forget how to carry breath at last. Her body stiffens as her throat starts caving in, thorns piercing holes in her sensitive thorax. A punch in her gut is added to her panicked state and the world around her just goes blanc. She can’t see or hear anything besides her own frantic attempt at trying to get enough oxygen into her system. She feels all too much and simultaneously doesn’t exactly know what she is feeling. Teary eyes shut close and try to unsee the cross right above her head.

”Please forgive me,“ she whimpers, as her voice painfully breaks.

Long fingernails dig deep into the softest part of her palm, drawing blood, as she tries to overhear the loud pulsing of blood in her hears. She is fully aware that oxygen is reaching her brain and flooding her system, yet she still feels like she is dying inside. Brooke seems to be the only passenger on a sinking Titanic. All alone in the ocean, screaming so loud, yet no one can hear.

Soft hands grasp at her tightened jaw, softly turning her head, before olive fingertips caress her red stained cheeks, wiping away any stray tears. The Canadian’s head rolls to the side, falling into Vanessa’s embrace. A deep sigh escapes her chewed up lips between muffled sobs.

"Shh, love, everything is alright,” Vanessa whispers, or at least as much as the woman with a truck driver voice can whisper. But she tries, for her. Keeping a low volume as she hums calming affirmations to the woman by her side.

Soft kisses are planted across still firmly shut eyelids as Brooke Lynn quietly thanks her past self for taking a seat at the back of the church, hopefully being able to slightly hide her still ongoing meltdown.

A deep breath, Brooke Lynn, a deep breath. The excruciating pain in her abdomen starts to fade with each stroke across her thigh, as honey runs down her throat, coating the thorns in her chest, protecting her lungs from ever lasting self-destruction. Another minute passes before she manages to crack her eyes open again. A face of an angel faces the wreck of a woman, shielding her from the service. Her saviour softly strokes the blonde’s beetlejuice red cheeks, fixing her heartache with a bandaid of change.

The voice of a woman, ever so calm and static, slowly enters the bubble Vanessa had created around the Canadian. The ongoing selmon, preached by a woman in her late forties, focuses on the importance of diversity in the church and the representation of LGBT+ individuals, reflecting love on Pride Sunday. As soon as the words reach the suffering woman, her head snaps back to the front, properly focusing on the selmon this time around. Her breath is still a bit heavy in her throat as her hand tightly grasps Vanessa for support, cautiously listening to the words spoken. She was so used to her body working on auto pilot during the mass, her mind usually circling around any mundane activity she could think off, trying to escape the preached words nagging at her soul. Yet all she ever needed was kind and wise words carefully unfolding the tangles of Brooke’s misery, breaking down the walls she had built up all those years ago. Hearing a member of a Christian church speak so lovingly about a commonly hated community was a better salvation than meaningless repentance could ever give her. The sight of the wooden cross above her head losing its power over her with each passing second and each kind word spoken. 

“But today, in the fifth chapter of Roman, Paul says that we rejoice not only in the glory of God but also in our sufferings. The message is not that Paul and his readers rejoice because they are suffering, but rather that they rejoice in the midst of suffering. Part of the human condition is to experience good times and difficult ones. The Bible is full of stories of people who faced immense suffering, and remained faithful to our loving God in spite of the difficulties of their own lives. Paul says that suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us. Because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us. We must never lose infinite hope. Progress in our society could have not come to be if suffering were an impediment for future movement. Think about that in our own context today, think about all the movements that have taken place in our society, those that have challenged discrimination. Especially on this Pride Sunday. Each triumph allows for progress to be identified, and each setback creates energy for us to keep on, because hope does not disappoint. Amen.” 

“Amen,” the crowd answers. Brooklyn whispering along, hiding her freshly shed tears behind a mask of devotion to her heavenly father. She feels a ghost of a hand hovering beneath her heart, holding it up for the world to see. Sensing an indescribable presence supporting her very being. 

The monotone, yet soul saving salmon cracks Brooke’s carefully placed walls. Her mind spins like a merry-go-round, tightly holding onto each word inspired by a scripture that had burned scars into her skin just months ago. She never thought that her suffering could not be a punishment, always had assumed the torment she had to endure was of God’s will. But with Vanessa by her side, she starts to believe every word, feels the knot in her stomach unfolding as she mouths the words - hope does not disappoint. 

The service ends with a worship tune, one that the Canadian had heard way too often during her time as a young altar servant. As the last notes vanish into thin air, Brooke slowly comes back to her senses. Her muscles begin to relax and her breathing comes out a lot smoother, slowly realizing that she just survived another mass. The blonde has witnessed a service filled with love and admiration for her kind of people with a companion by her side, showing her the way and guiding her through it. Her body completely relaxes for the first time this morning, almost utterly calm as she silently celebrates her victory of not bursting into flames the moment she had set a foot on the holy soil. 

The blonde crawls out of their bench, her legs slightly shaking after all the babel her head had to withstand, ready to leave her first experience with a gay affirming church behind, as Vanessa grabs her hand, pulling her back into her embrace. Two heavy chests collide as Vanessa’s face forms into a shit eating grin. Two women stare at each other in the middle of a filled aisle, getting lost in each other’s eyes. A small smile settles on the taller one’s lips.

“I told you so,” the short one laughs out loud before playfully groping the Canadian’s ass, receiving a high pitched shriek in return. 

“Not at church, Vanessa,” Brooke hisses as she scans the room for people who could have seen her inappropriate gesture, at least inappropriate for the place they are in. 

“I just couldn’t help myself, Mami,” Vanessa professes as she flutters her lashes seductively before she gets forcefully dragged outside by her lover. Deep laughter bounces of the walls as two not-so-broken souls make their way home.

I bow my head and turn to You

The Candian’s clean-cut apartment overlooks the busy streets of LA, traffic being an ever present white noise, one that recharges Vanessa, making her more giddy and jittery than in any other environment. Cheerful radiotunes flow through Brooke Lynn’s light blue kitchen walls and bounce off her white tiles surrounding the stove, as she hums along to a catchy pop song while finally doing the dishes. Simultaneously she tries to listen to Vanessa’s commentary to ‘The Office’ with an amused smile, as she shimmies along to the soft bass filling the air. Muted voices reach the kitchen every once in awhile, spilling over from the running TV in the living room as Vanessa’s voice mixes in, keeping Brooke’s mind from running in circles. 

Vanessa had immediately taken a seat next to Apollo and Henry on the black leather couch, both of them snuggling up to the Latina after the two emotionally exhausted women had returned from the service, starting a re-watch of their favourite show as soon as Vanessa got a hold of the TV remote. One that she had originally forced Brooke to join. Just half an hour in, the blonde excused herself, violent thoughts ruining the peaceful mind, and took on any chore that would help repairing the shattered glasshouse in her soul. One that obviously isn’t fixable with cellotape.

"Booooo, you can’t possibly know what’s going on if you’re in the kitchen,” Vanessa whines, not even five minutes after Brooke left her side to polish the dishes. 

“Nessa, the volume is high enough that even our neighbors will know what’s going on between Jim and Pam,” Brooke replies matter of factly while drying off one of the last plates. 

"But it’s not the same if you can’t see what’s happening." 

Vanessa doesn’t get a reply this time around. Dishes simply clattering in the distance.

"Broookiiieee,” the Latina whines again, dragging out each syllable.

Brooke can practically see the brunette’s plump pout quivering and her bright puppy eyes begging her to come over through the wall and decides to throw away her towel on her spotless kitchen counter with a sigh, making her way over to the needy brunette again - not able to resist her.

Vanessa greets her with grabby hands and another whine as Brooke settles by her side, hesitantly wrapping an arm around Vanessa’s waist. 

“You are unbearable,” Brooke Lynn mumbles into the Latina’s curly hair before placing a shy kiss on her vanilla scented forehead. With a content hum she lays her heavy and still foggy head on Vanessa’s shoulder, while bringing her attention back to the TV. Giving her mind some space, allowing herself to just not think - embracing the emptiness. Simply enjoying being close to her ‘favourite human’ - calling her lover a more adequate name was simply too soon.

A welcoming warmth spreads through Vanessa’s body as goosebumps grace her skin wherever the Canadian’s touch reaches. With a peaceful sigh she happily receives any loving gesture Brooke might have to offer, appreciates every brush of skin against hers. A rush of serotonin flooding her system with each sweet word whispered into her ear and chaste kiss planted on her cheek. Vanessa knows that the older woman still isn’t used to showing her affection for the brunette freely, so she considers every small moment that expressed more than words could say a victory. 

The two sit together, entangled with each other, focusing on the ongoing TV show with Vanessa throwing in an obnoxiously loud comment every now and then. But soon her focus shifts to the beauty next to her, as the setting sun illuminates the living room through the large windows, making the blonde glow from within. The Latina quietly observes how the TV screen reflects in her stormy eyes, and the way her long lashes cast a soft shadow on her high cheekbones. Carefully, she traces the dried up tear tracks on the blonde’s cheek, getting her full attention within a second. Her stomach twists at the blank expression she receives.

“Do you maybe wanna talk about the service today, Mami?” Vanessa asks with the softest version of her voice, as she twirls a blond strand of hair around her finger.

“Ohh, it was nice you know,” the Canadian offhandedly comments, not brave enough to face the younger one yet, and simply straightens her posture as her eyes fixate on the TV screen in front of her, “the woman holding the selmon was a bit boring, tho’.” 

The show is slowly losing its appeal, Brooke’s darkened eyes now flick across the room, trying to find something she can focus on without losing track of what she is sharing with the woman by her side. An attempt to close off her heart once again.

All of a sudden, a warm hand appears on her shaking thigh, a reminder that she can’t fool the woman who already knows her darkest thoughts without speaking them into existence. Numb grey eyes watch olive fingertips draw circles on her leg, wondering if the silent spell imprinted on her skin could ever keep away the demons in her mind.

“Don’t get me wrong, the message was really nice, nearly brought me to tears, but she really can’t preach. She definitely should apply for a seminar or something like that…” she trails off, still not able to face the loving figure right by her side. Her sweating palms ball into loose fists. A brave soldier fighting her own mind on the battleground of the shared love.

Both women are completely aware of the unspoken words hanging in the air between them, thighs brushing as heavy breathing fills the silence between them. The Canadian’s mind desperately tries to suppress the events of the morning, clings to the present as if it was her last lifeline. Focuses on the pounding in her ears and her heartbeat increasing with each soft fingertip caressing her skin, coaxing her shattered soul.

“Brooke,” Vanessa speaks up again, softly placing her hand above Brooke Lynn’s fidgeting fingers. Her heart breaks at the sight next to her.

“She is probably a nice woman, you know, just not that well spoken and all-” her nervous rambling sets in, trying to restrain the words she really wants to say out loud, bubbling up in her throat.

“Brooke, are we really going to ignore the elephant in the room?”

The blonde finally really looks at Vanessa again, pity painting a compassionate picture on her flawless face. A shameful head hangs low, staring at the Latina through heavy eyelids, her mouth agape as she searches for the right words. Her heart heavy in her chest, she slowly shakes her dizzy head. No, she couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room. 

Silence falls between the two women, as the older one freezes like a deer caught in the headlights. Her eyes fixated on the space between Vanessa’s eyes - staring - trying to find her words, trying to clear her messy mind. A deep breath, hold it in, exhale slowly. Repeat. 

“I just, I don’t know what came over me. I really thought you being there with me - I -” a lump in her throat hindering her from spilling the truth like an overflowing sink.

“If you don’t wanna talk about it it’s fine, Mami. But it might help to figure it all out and shit,” Vanessa interferes Brooke’s rambling, interlocking their fingers - attempts to give her some comfort while reassuring the Canadian that she’s not alone.

Vanessa’s never been good at serious conversations. She is always the one to loosen up a tense moment or overly emotional situation with a joke or two, prefers seeing a loved one laugh because of the Puerto Rican woman stumbling over her own words,than seeing them cry. But what Vanessa had witnessed this morning had startled her, left her a bit shaken up. It wasn’t just a friend crying over a fuckboy or accidentally deleting their bachelor’s thesis. This was a silent and heart wrenching cry for help which she couldn’t brush off. The state she had seen her in was heartbreaking to say the least. An event she couldn’t simply forget, couldn’t leave unspoken about.

“It’s just that the moment they started reading from the scripture I was suddenly back in my old church, waiting to hear homophobic slurs fall from pastor’s lips, and it somehow felt like the walls kept caving in and all,” she whispers out loud, eyes closed, hands tightly gripping at Vanessa’s figure.

Breath in, breath out.

“I lost it today. I genuinely lost it. Looking back at it, it doesn’t seem to bad. I keep telling myself that people have it worse, that I am not that fucked up. But I genuinely thought I would go up in flames, die from my sins and so on.” Another deep breath, an attempt to calm her shaking voice, an attempt to buy her some time. “But even though I might have had to endure one of my worst days today, I don’t wanna give up just yet, Nessa.”

Pleading eyes stare into concerned doe ones framed by furrowed brows. Each hand squeeze and each calming word are like medicine for her sick soul. A lost soul finding her way back home, as she hopes to find her saving grace within the love and compassion the brunette so freely gives to her.

As Vanessa silently tucks a strand of blonde stray hair behind her ear and studies her, like she wants unravel her soul and love her entire being, Brooke just knows it’s her - it’s always been Vanessa.

She is the one.

“I can’t give up now. You know that God used to be such a big part of my life, and I wanna find my way back to him, eventually. The service today truly wasn’t the best I’ve ever visited, and I kinda miss a lot of our old traditions we had at church, which I obviously got accustomed to. Just the vibe in general was so different, something that really threw me off.”

Another pause. A healing woman too distracted by olive toned fingertips temptingly caressing her sides, wandering south without the owner’s intention. 

“Yet despite all of this, the selmon somehow ignited a spark in me, reminded me where I truly belong - in God’s arms - and I don’t wanna let it die just yet,” Brooke attempts to explain, not being able to express what she is truly feeling through the limited space within mundane words.

“So you wanna go back?” The Latina lifts a perfectly painted brow, hands settle by her side as her lips fall agape into an O-shape while asking her question. 

“No. Not at all.” She firmly shakes her head, a slight shiver running down her porcelain skin just at the thought of having to go there again. “But maybe we could take a look at St Thomas? It’s an epostical church. Only if you would come with me, though…” Brooke timidly voices her plan after a small pause, biting the skin around her nails again.

“Why this one?”

“You know, Nina said some of her les-, lesbian friends go there. It’s apparently a bit more traditional, which in hindsight could trigger another panic attack, but it’s still affirming,” she sighs deeply, realising she doesn’t even know what she actually wants just yet, “I don’t know what to do, Nessa. I just know that I don’t wanna give up just yet. I guess I finally found a point of convergence, so I can’t let either go. But that doesn’t mean I can’t prioritize one over the other currently.”

“And what exactly would you prior- priority-, shit, pick over the other, Mami?” The brunette softly asks, one brow raised as she nervously chews up her bottom lip. Her mouth runs dry, causing her to swallow hard. What if her love chooses her faith over Vanessa? Would she let her go? Fight for her to stay or just accept defeat? 

Tiny poisonous bugs crawl in her veins, a threat to the blooming garden of affection in her heart. Her skin itching as electricity shoots through her limbs and her leg shaking as she anxiously anticipates an answer.

“You.” 

One cut clear word makes Vanessa’s world stand still for a second, before it goes back to spinning at twice its original speed. Brows raised high as she stares at the blonde beauty wide eyed in disbelief.

“Pinch me, bitch.” A dead serious face reduces the blonde to a giggling mess right in front of her, biting her lip to smile along with her contagious laugh, before a tiny whisper in her head extinguishes every ounce of doubt. Maybe she really loves her back. The brunette’s lips raise into a smug grin, her heart beating at a record speed.

“There’s no need for that, sweetheart,” she interferes with another heartfelt laughter. “I think I really love you, Vanessa, and even though I didn’t really wanna admit it, I have to face the truth.” She gives herself another second before continuing, takes in all of the different emotions playing out on Vanessa’s face. Joy, fear, and at last - love. 

“I have enough time to figure out my struggle with religion, but I don’t wanna lose any time I’ve got with you over an internal battle I can’t win,” the shaking in her voice intensifies with each word until she can barely pronounce anything at all properly. Her mind feverishly taking in all sensations, a spark of electricity shooting through her bones the moment Vanessa’s slim arms wrap around her with a loud yelp.

Fireworks have been ignited in the brunnette, joy buzzing through her veins as she climbs into the older woman’s lap. Her cheeks burning from a straining smile stretched across her face. Skin on skin, transmitting heat to the other, simply feeling alive as Vanessa carefully listens to Brooke Lynn’s increasing heartbeat.

A small tear settles at the Canadian’s lash line. A tear full of hope, love, and the prospect of a wonderful future ahead. Shaking fingertips dab at the wet spot, grey eyes looking up to the ceiling. The lost woman only just realizing that her home is in the tiny Latina’s arms, finally accepting that Vanessa never brought her off the right path, but that she was the right way all along. The path that could lead her to self-acceptance and to God.

“Don’t make me cry, boo,” the brunette replies as she stifles a small sob as well, softly biting down on a knuckle, pinching herself. 

“It’s just that there is still a long road of self-acceptance ahead of me. Hurdles to overcome - like my family’s reaction to all of this.“ The Canadian gestures between the two of them with sadness tainted smile burdening her otherwise happy complexion. “But I still wanna tackle live by your side and keep taking baby steps from now. ”

Brooke punctuates her heartfelt speech by grabbing Vanessa’s hand and soothingly caressing the flesh she had just pinned between her teeth. Bright stormy eyes, as calm as the brunette had ever seen, stare into sparkling doe ones, toothy grins falling into place.

“I know I’ll find my way back to religion one day, might even become the ‘godly wife’ you deserve,” she says with a small giggle referring to her mother’s words, giving Vanessa’s soft hands a small squeeze, accompanied by a kiss to her dry knuckles, “but right now I just wanna focus on you - giving us a shot. And I would be very grateful if you would take my hand along the way.”

Brooke pulls the wide eyed brunette as close as humanly possible, wanting to feel every inch of her, giving their souls a chance to grow an everlasting bond. Cats snuggle closer to the two intertwined lovers and Vanessa let’s her love-clouded head fall onto Brooke’s shoulder. A deep content sigh escapes the Puerto Rican’s lips. 

As the blonde beauty places a lingering kiss at the corner of Vanessa’s mouth, the brunnette still finds an ounce of doubt lingering behind the stormy eyes. Everything was turning out all too well. The younger one should have known this couldn’t be real. 

“Do you really want this?” Vanessa barely whispers, too afraid of the answer she might receive. Fear leaking out of her desperate eyes with each second passing in silence as the tiny woman squirms in Brooke’s lap. A cold hand steadies her shaking thighs, keeping her in place.

Brooke Lynn knows that she wants all of it. She wants a little house with a white picket fence, giddy children, and cats roaming her own heavenly garden. Vanessa and herself - hand in hand - building a family. She wants to be a godly wife to this stunning goddess. No, Brooke doesn’t only simply want it, she craves it deep down. A seed of love sown into her chest the moment she had meet the Latina. It scares her. But she knows that it’s a good kind of fear. One that wraps you up slowly, constricting your whole essence, until you accept your fate. Turning the lingering fear into a comfort blanket of hope, embracing it.

She wants to say all of that and even more, scream her love for the brunette at the top of her lungs, yet simply answers with “Yes,” as she longingly stares at Vanessa’s lips.

Doe eyes light up at the simple word and peach painted lips crash into hers. Soft lips slightly brushing against each other, luring out a slight hum from the Latina. Teeth gracefully tugging at her bottom lip, making her eyes flutter shut as a shiver runs down the brunette’s spine. Bodies curving into each other, hands roaming, and noses bumping into each other as giggles fill the space between their lips. Two lovesick woman desperately trying to hold onto the other, fearing their dream to disappear. Cheeks flushing and sparks flying as two souls intertwine, dancing to the song of love. 

And as the two women find their loving home within each other, droplets of heavenly water baptize God’s lost daughters’ souls, finalizing their bond. A spell that cannot be broken.

[ineffablecolors]

THE WIFE [8/?]

The Wife || Ch 8 ~ 4.7 k || Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 || FF.NET&AO3 Summary: No one knows all that Emma has been through and certainly no one knows all that Killian has been through and being husband and wife doesn’t make them any less unknown to each other. And really, how can you help someone heal when you don’t even know how hurt they are? A/N: People in this chapter are going at it. Our guys... are becoming pros at hand-holding. :D Also haaave you seen these beauties X and X by @marcella2727 and X by @spartanguard ❤ 

“She doesn’t paint like anyone I’ve seen.”

Killian snorts – a mix of pride and fond exasperation as clear in the sound as the sky above them.

“Alice doesn’t do anything like anyone else.”

Granny told them it will be the last truly sunny day of the year. Alice promptly carried her easel and half the blankets in the house on the green grass outside. Emma is supposedly working on the garden, Killian is supposedly going over the accounts from a ship that made port a couple of days ago. In truth, they are lying in the shade, a respectable amount of space between them that Emma has been slowly – and, hopefully, covertly – eradicating as the minutes tick by.

“She has never been one for realistic detail either.”

Emma’s eyes slant to the side and find Killian looking for something among the branches above them. He has one leg bent at the knee and the other stretched out before him, his prosthetic hand cautioning his head from the bark of the tree he is leaning against, while his right one twirls a fallen leaf round and round. His white shirt and windswept hair give him an additionally carefree and dreamlike quality.

It is quite possibly the most relaxed she has ever seen her husband. She likes it.

“It looks like it’s just…,” she inclines her head to the side and looks more carefully at the artwork in the making – Alice seemingly completely oblivious to Emma’s attempts to put her strong and fluid strokes into words. “Made of light.”

She smiles a little and nods to herself. There is hardly a recognizable shape on the canvas but the clusters of light seem to almost shimmer in the autumn sun.

“Hmmm.”

Killian is watching her with a temptingly unreadable expression on his face. There is something lively and almost gratified in his gaze but his features are much too soft for her to call it mischief. And Emma has always been curious to a fault but she has found herself growing even more so in the company of her husband.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just that… Nothing is only light or only shadow – each needs the other to exist. So it’s just the person looking at it that decides what to perceive, I suppose.”

She looks back at the picture. Of course, now she can hardly believe she didn’t see it. For the clusters of light to come to life there is a shadowy background to it all. But, long as she stares at it, it doesn’t come to the forefront and Emma exhales with a little of both relief and pleased surprise.

“Maybe it’s all about the day you look at it.”

“The day?”

She feels the blush in the roots of her hair. Emma has never been one for philosophical discussions and ideas – she doesn’t have the background and education for it, nor has she ever received invitation or encouragement to participate in such conversations – but the warm light and the scent of Killian’s coat rolled up under her head and the way he is quietly, curiously, waiting for her to elaborate her point seem to loosen her tongue.

However, none of that makes it much easier for her to put her thoughts into words right away.

“It’s just that… yes, here I am seeing light but… I’m sure, on another day, I should’ve seen little but the darkness trying to consume it.”

Killian nods along as if her words make perfect sense and wastes no time in turning them into a proper argument.

“So you don’t think the interpretation has so much to do with the character of the observer but rather with their state of mind.”

It takes her a beat or two but his questioning look doesn’t grow impatient. She nods and, when Killian seems to lose himself in his thoughts, she doesn’t know if she feels bad for appearing to disagree and argue with him or rather proud that the statement he proposed does sound sensible and as good an argument as his own.

“I suppose there is a fair bit of truth to that. And it certainly makes it all look much more hopeful,” he concludes, his gaze now as intently focused on Alice’s work as Emma’s is on him.

She decides she doesn’t half mind attempting to put her notions into words in front of him.

“Oh, would you stop it? How is a woman to let her brush flow with so much pointed attention weighing it down.”

Always willing to gratify his daughter’s wishes, Killian just chuckles and languidly rises to his feet. Emma is still debating who she should keep company – and mostly where it will be more appreciated – when his palm appears in her line of sight, palm up.

“How do you feel about giving Buttercup a little exercise, love?”

*****

“Everyone is positively buzzing with anticipation.”

Admiral Liam Jones looks up from the letter he is composing to admire the satisfaction that sits perfectly on his wife’s exquisite features. Anyone who doesn’t know Mrs Liam Jones well enough would think her barely interested in the particulars of her own ball but to Admiral Jones her simmering excitement has been clear for days now.

“Your new sister-in-law is quite the ambiguous figure. And thus, a source of great attraction.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

In all honesty, Liam Jones is still rather perplexed and not entirely convinced of the wisdom of his bother’s choice of wife. Then again, it might be the burden of responsibility that makes him weigh every impression and bit of information so carefully, seeing as he was the man who brought the story of Miss Emma to Killian’s ears.

Of course, when he did so, his intension was nothing more than to share his confusion and general frustration with the way families go about marrying off their female members these days. He certainly didn’t mean to arouse Killian’s sympathy for the girl, let alone his affection. And now he still doesn’t know how much of that – if any – his brother holds for his new wife and, it just might be, that Admiral Jones is as eager to see Mrs Killian Jones at the ball as any other guest.

But he is, of course, much better at concealing such infantile curiosity.

“And what does our captain have to say about her?”

“Killian and I write about matters of business and leave matters of the heart for the rare evening of rum and cigars.”

“Then you believe his marriage to be of the latter’s persuasion now? Because I could have sworn it started out as the former.”

“And I could have sworn my wife was above common gossip.”

“It is hardly gossip when I’m asking my husband about his dear brother. And it is hardly common when said brother has abstained from any engagements of the heart for so long.”

“But you know perfectly well how obtuse we gentlemen are on those topics. I should be completely helpless and wait for you to have an interview with the new Mrs Jones and bring me some insight into my brother’s household. Seeing as you have forbidden me to pay him a visit.”

“Oh, try not to be so melodramatic, Liam. I’ve forbidden nothing, I merely suggested that we should allow them that period of time that most couple reserve for courtship before the actual nuptials.”

“And, as always, I deferred to your wisdom. But I am glad I will get to see some more of my niece. Perhaps you can write to Alice and ask her to stay for a day or two after the dance. It should further promote your scheme of courtship for married ladies and gentlemen.”

Elsa’s eyeroll makes him smile and reach for her hand, pulling her closer so he can slip his arm around her waist.

“You mustn’t expect too much from Killian, my dear. I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out that he has spoken to her half a dozen times in the last month.”

“Oh, I have no expectations of your brother. Just the hope that the timidity of that wife of him might have started to wear off by now.”

Liam shakes his head and lets his eyes run over the words he wrote one more time even as his hand slips lower to caress his wife’s thigh. He marvels at her ability to see into people’s souls without exposing any of her own. He himself rarely reveals much but, in consequence, rarely finds much out as well.

But, as is his habit, it is his brother he worries about. For Killian has always been good at reading people but always at the cost of leaving himself open to be read and cheated in turn.

*****

“I see you have broken the sole rule my daughter imposed on you.”

Emma comes to a stop two steps above him. The curls on either side of her face slowly settle and stop their swaying motion as well. He steels himself and doesn’t allow his gaze to slip lower and ascertain whether her breasts – both confined and accentuated by her corset – have seized their own bouncing movements.

Until this moment Killian hadn’t seen his wife in a gown quite like this one. It is certainly more fashionable and well-fitted than the one Alice picked for their wedding and much more adorned and flattering than anything she wears during the day, whether she goes into town or sits curled up in a chair in the library all day.

He likes the deep green colour, the way it makes her eyes impossibly brighter and lets her painted lips stand out even more, but frankly, he finds the tightness around her already slim waist and the generous push to her bosom rather unnecessary, and the light rouge on her cheeks feels like cheating, especially since he can tell how cold and pale she is underneath it all.

And even so, he would be the most shameless liar, if he claimed that she doesn’t look enchanting – like a forest nymph dressed up for a night of human fun, ready to play havoc on all men’s hearts. He will blame that image for the way his mouth has gone a bit dry and for the fact that he finds himself incapable of reassuring her even when he can see that she has taken his jest to heart.

*****

Rule? What rule was that? Of course, it stands to reason that she has blundered this already.

Emma hasn’t attended a ball in near two years and, as much as she enjoyed bringing Alice pleasure by letting her do her hair and colour her cheeks, she is afraid they should have consulted with someone better informed and more well-versed in the art of ball preparation.

“It’s just that you were not supposed to outshine the hostess, I believe.”

It takes her an embarrassing amount of time to decipher his comment and find the compliment inside, by which point Killian looks just as uncertain as she feels.

“I merely meant that—”

“Oh, I understand. I— Yes, well… thank you.”

He nods and holds his right hand out to her in a gesture that is becoming more and more familiar and Emma takes the last two steps and allows herself the comfort of his rough skin under her soft fingertips. Whether she does that too quickly or whether Killian is a second too late in stepping back is unclear to her but the result is that they are brought much closer to each other than either seems to have intended – so much so that, given the time – since she is sure she has the patience – Emma could count each shot of ginger and thread of white in his beard.

It is just as she decides that she has studied the barely visible indents on his lips long enough and prepares to lift her gaze above them and meet his own to judge if he is entertaining thoughts similar to her own that Ruby rushes into the room.

“Miss Alice says she will be just a minute.”

“Miss Alice has no notion of how long a minute lasts,” Killian replies immediately, even though his voice is a touch more choked than usual.

Then again, that might well be Emma’s imagination at play, her own reflexes seem sluggish and delayed and have left her staring at his profile once again.

“O you of little faith.”

This time she manages to react timely and look up the stairs to see Alice in her pretty blue gown, pretending to be mortally wounded by her father’s pointed remark.

“One swallow does not a summer make, darling,” he shoots back.

Alice waves her hand in a clear dismissal of her usual tardiness and rushes down the stairs – a hurricane of lace and tulle and pearl-white ribbons. She skitters to a stop beside Killian and loops her arm around his free left one, looking up at him expectantly.

“Shall we?”

“By all means.”

*****

Emma can hardly stop the little gasp that passes her lips as Killian hands her down from their carriage. Admiral Liam Jones’s estate bears no small resemblance to a modestly sized castle made of white marble. It fits perfectly with what she has seen of the regal Mrs Liam Jones but, for the life of her, Emma cannot image ever feeling at home in a place like this and she tries not to shudder a little at the sheer vastness of it.

“I imagine you would be rather unwilling to go back now that you’ve seen the superior Jones household.”

Killian’s tone is light enough but behind it she can tell that he truly believes she might covet a house as grand and awe-inspiring as the one before them. So Emma seizes the moment when Alice skips impatiently toward the entrance and steps closer to her husband, raising a little on her toes so her mouth ends up just under his ear, her nose barely brushing his warm skin.

“I should like to go back right away if I wasn’t afraid of ruining the superior Mrs Jones’s ball.”

Killian’s arm tightens around hers as he leads them after his daughter and Emma would’ve wondered how her comment might have been received, if it wasn’t for the sidelong glance he gives her – it is part genuine surprise and part mock consternation and Emma bites the inside of her cheek and does her best to remain perfectly composed and not enter Admiral Jones’s home like a giggling girl on her debutante ball.

Instead she throws herself into expressing her gratitude to Elsa as soon as she makes her way to them.

“I’m certain Captain Jones has been all too candid about my affinity for balls at which I’m not expected to dance but only entertain,” Elsa says with an elegantly careless gesture and a benevolent smile as she takes Emma’s arm and leads her away. “It is terribly liberating to host your own ball instead of attending others’s.”

Emma thinks all the expenditure, planning and preparation beforehand might compensate for the supposed freedom of the evening itself but she keeps that to herself and instead takes her time to admire the magical atmosphere and splendor of the ballroom that has been revealed to her. If it wasn’t for all the people milling about and surreptitiously stealing glances at her, Emma thinks she might have almost enjoyed this.

“Now, a few people have already expressed their desire to be introduced to the new Mrs Jones,” Elsa’s voice is almost placating but it doesn’t do much for Emma’s nerves.

“Oh, I—“

“Not to worry. I shall feed them to you in small doses so you can digest them as easily as possible. But if there is anyone that you wish to meet—“

“Thank you, I doubt— That is I’d rather just…”

She manages to stop herself but her treacherous eyes slip away in search of Killian and Alice without permission. The latter is nowhere to be seen, already lost in the depths of the brilliant ballroom, but her husband is just a few paces away, conversing with his brother.

Looking at them, side by side, Emma can hardly believe she ever thought Admiral Jones equal – let alone superior – to Killian in any way. Then again, she cannot point out the exact features and mannerisms that make the younger brother appear so much more handsome and appealing to her, just that when he laughs a little at some remark of the admiral’s she feels the flutter of it all the way in her chest.

“Well, then.”

She turns back to Elsa in time to see her putting away whatever expression left the twinkle in her piercing eyes and Emma does her best not to feel like she has been caught doing something wrong. Certainly, it isn’t wrong of her to look at her husband and to delight a little in the fact that he is wearing a red vest that stands out among all the white and black of the gentleman all around and which, according to Alice – if put on, means he is actually willing to dance tonight.

*****

For all the lightness of her satin slippers, Emma’s feet are already starting to ache. Her face feels uncomfortably flushed while the rest of her is familiarly cold and the vibrations and odours of the bodies all around her feel inescapably suffocating. She has forgotten how tiresome and stuffy balls can feel. She also keeps forgetting all names as soon as she has heard them and just prays that Elsa Jones is truly as omnipotent as she appears and won’t make the mistake of introducing her to someone twice, for Emma surely won’t be able to correct her.

“May I have this dance, Mrs Jones?”

The question – the voice – sends the first pleasant thrill of the evening through her. She looks up into the blue eyes of her husband and exhales in relief – glad for an interaction that doesn’t call on her to contract her face into shapes that don’t come naturally.

“We would be the most impertinent couple on the dancefloor, if I were to accept.”

“Would we now?”

“Indeed. I just refused a Mr Humbert on the pretext that I did not feel like dancing this one and you are being rather peculiar, asking your own wife.”

She thinks it is the first time she has referred to herself in that way and that is the source of a second satisfying little thrill.

“And is that the truth?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“That you do not feel like dancing?”

The question is completely matter-of-fact and, for some reason, the way he is looking across the room as they talk irritates some small vanity Emma didn’t know she possessed.

“I would dance with you.”

Her reply has the desired effect and, much to her satisfaction, Killian’s attention is now solely her own as he narrows his eyes a little and tries to suppress his smile in the face of her own challenging one.

“Then I suppose we should make our peace with being impertinent.”

*****

“It never ceases to amaze me how you arrange everything just so.”

“Everyone seems pleased, do they not?” Elsa looks around at her guests and lets her satisfaction show in throwing her shoulders back a little more than usual. “Even if your brother is being quite bothersome, paying all that attention to his wife.”

“I think you should count it as a victory to have him dancing at all. And, not to make myself into Mrs Jones’s champion, but you have been running that girl to exhaustion.”

“It is not my fault that her grandmother kept her so out of society that half the town doesn’t know her. Not shying away from all the attention is by far the best move now.”

Elsa takes few wifely duties as seriously as that of being well-acquainted with all who may have occasion to do business with one’s husband and, in the case of the brothers Jones, that includes most of anyone important. But she can almost forgive Emma for the neglect of her social obligations, if just for the way she smiles at Killian every time they come together during their dance.

“Frankly, my dear, knowing what a tree your brother can be, I really didn’t expect him to charm her so quickly.”

“So you find her charmed?”

“Oh, Liam,” she pats her husband’s arm and goes to check on how supper is coming along.

*****

After seeing Alice twirling joyfully in the middle of the ballroom, answering all of Elsa’s demands for her attention and forced pleasantness, conversing with Admiral Jones long enough to gain the impression that his brother may be the only person more prominent in his heart than his wife, and spending a dance in Killian’s arms, Emma is more than ready for the evening to be over. If it was, she could label it as a tiring but somewhat successful affair.

Unfortunately, the exquisite supper Elsa is sure to have planned for them is only the half-way mark.

So Mr Booth sees her into the supper-room and promptly takes a seat beside her. His conversation is not particularly unpleasant or disrespectful in an obvious way but Emma’s nerves are too tightly strung out already and with every course she finds herself growing more and more uncomfortable with his familiar attitude and cavalier way of speaking to her.

“I’m sure, just like our hostess, you are so very accomplished as to put us all to shame and in awe of you.”

“And I can assure you I am not. I neither draw, nor sew particularly well and I’m completely ignorant of all instruments and foreign languages.”

“Oh, but surely you’ve seen and done a great deal.”

Emma watches her knuckles stand out sharply where she is clutching her knife and doesn’t reply.

“And surely you ride?”

She swallows and forces her eyes back to his, lifting her chin a little higher.

“I do. My husband recently bought me my first horse.”

“Your first? Of course, a lady looks her best on a dancefloor and on a horse,” his smile is like a freezing little trickle down her spine. “I’m partial to the beasts myself. I believe you know my horse dealer, Mr Cassidy?”

Her stomach turns over and the fork clatters against her plate. She is sure no amount of rouge can bring the colour back to her face.

The presence of this man and all that he is now associated with is enough to keep her every muscle tensed but it is the memory of Neal telling her that the only place she would look better than on his horse is in his bed that steals any response she could have made and Emma bears the last course in silence before she excuses herself and rushes to the cloak-room to gather herself.

That proves to be her biggest mistake of the night. The maid she finds presses in a corner by an overeager valet is just on the right side of too young and uncertain to throw her further into memories that make the cold sweat now collect at the small of her back.

And Emma thinks she could’ve made it through the rest of the night, if there was anything to look forward to but all she can foresee is Elsa arranging her perfect dances by making Killian accompany some other smiling redhead on the dancefloor and bringing more people for Emma to be agreeable to. But it’s the thought of an invitation to dance coming from Booth’s leering face that makes up her mind.

Her main worry becomes verbalizing a proper excuse when she finds Killian in conversation with two older gentlemen but whatever expression is painted on her face seems to negate the need for words as he quickly excuses himself and leads her to the side.

“Is something the matter, love?”

She opens her dry mouth but no sound comes out.

“Emma?”

He approaches her the way she has seen people approach dogs that cower away from the slightest movement. If she could scoff, she would, but she is afraid it will turn into a sob before they make it out of the door.

She tenses a little when Killian’s hand settles on her arm and he removes it before she can tell herself to relax.

“Do you wish me to find Alice or Elsa?”

She shakes her head quickly and tries to apologize with her eyes as she makes herself ask.

“Can we leave?”

She is not truly worried that he will be angry or upset but she certainly expects some reluctance or confusion, not the ready acceptance on Killian’s face.

“Of course. Could you wait for me to make our excuses to Elsa?”

She nods and offers to fetch Alice.

“That won’t be necessary. She will be staying with her aunt and uncle for a couple of days.”

Minutes later, as Killian helps her into her coat and then into the carriage, Emma feels grateful Alice is not around as she seems to have spent all her smiles and what little warmth she brought with her from home.

Killian settles across from her in the carriage and she tries not to see this as a reproach of any sort. Instead she clasps her hands together, wets her lips and tries to bring some levity into her shaky voice.

“Well, aren’t I entertaining? You never know when I will make you rush off in the middle of a ball with half-formed excuses.”

In truth, she gave no excuse at all and the outward silliness of her behavior comes to her gradually with every bit of road they cover. Yet, she knows she should’ve been quite incapable of dancing with the way her hands and legs are still shaking a little and cannot make herself regret whatever actions brought her into the comfort and safety of the carriage and Killian’s sole company.

“I assure you, you will never hear me complain about leaving a dance early.”

Killian’s tone is light as well but his gaze is heavy and intent on her and his hand twitches restlessly on his knee. He seems tense and imposing and a better woman might have wished to spare him the turmoil but Emma just breathes deeply and treasures feeling guarded rather than threatened.

“Emma—”

She wouldn’t have minded finding out what he was about to say but as it is, leaving the noise and pressure of the evening behind and finding some measure of peace and comfort by moving clumsily across and sitting beside him is more important to her in that particular moment.

Killian shuffles a little to the side to make space for her and, for a little while, Emma thinks she can settle back into herself by staring out of the window and getting lost in the stars and dark clouds as her hand clutches his own. But the light drizzle that is washing the world outside only makes her more acutely aware of how cold and stark and unforgiving the world can be so she turns around to hide her face in his shoulder instead and, this time, when Killian’s arm goes around her, she only leans closer.

She leans into the warmth and scent of him, into the space between his neck and shoulder that feels scorching hot against her cheek, into the safety of his even breathing and his right hand entwined with hers, into the steady beat of his heart against hers and the tenderness of his mouth against the crown of her head.

It takes most of their journey home but Emma feels her own heart settle back securely in her chest as the rocking motion of the roads lull her to sleep and, just before she slips away, she notes with shockingly little surprise that she is warm all over.

She also notes that she is quite possibly in love.

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