#hes the type to get out of the car to offer assistance to the vaguely person shaped lump in the middle of a dark empty road

[muchmossymess]

lings the kind of guy you would think would be the first to die in a horror movie, but actually he just fucking. lucks out the entire time and is the only to make it out unscathed

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Something There (Chapter 2)

7.1k words Roy Kent x Reader Warnings: Language, enemies-to-lovers, some sexual references, Roy still not being excited about women's sports, childish arguments between adults who clearly want each other

Series Masterlist

Roy threw his bag over his shoulder with a loud groan. Much to his annoyance, he had to start his day by parking on the far side of the lot; there were way more cars than he was used to, especially this early, and he didn’t recognize any of them. Whatever. Maybe Rebecca had some publicity event he’d forgotten about. Wouldn’t be the first time.

He walked into the Dog Track, only vaguely aware of the palatable excitement buzzing in the air as he went down the hall. It wasn’t unusual for him to only nod to people as he passed by instead of stopping to say hello, so that’s what he did, a bit creeped out by the wide smiles on people’s faces as they chattered in hushed tones. Weird.

The reason for the cars and the excitement finally smacked him in the face when he walked opened the door the changing room and found it full of women in sports bras, most of whom only offered him passing glances as they chattered animatedly to one another.

“Oh shit.”

Roy picked up his pace and hurried into his office, noticing its closed blinds and Nate very intentionally focusing on the white board by Roy’s desk. Without quite knowing why, Roy kept walking until he found himself standing in the Whippets’ office.

The American manager, dressed today in leggings and a Whippets jacket (still looking stupidly pretty, which Roy did his best to ignore), looked up from her heavy conversation with Lucas, eyebrow arched. “What’s up with you?”

Roy made a face, not enjoying the mocking tone in her voice. Or the fact that she was speaking to him at all. “Fuck d’you mean?”

Clearly stifling a giggle, she shrugged. “Well, you just charged into my office looking so red in the face it’s almost concerning. Do I need to call you a doctor or something?”

His eyebrows furrowed further. “There’s women changing in the- in the-”

“Changing room,” she finished for him, nodding emphatically. “That’s kind of what it’s for.”

“But it’s women.” Roy knew he sounded stupid as soon as the words left his mouth.

Her amused eyes darted to Lucas before refocusing on Roy. “Well, yeah. I manage a women’s team. Sorry if that wasn’t clear,” she snarked.

He blinked a few times, the warmth in his face growing from annoyance. “Well, you guys should fucking tell us when your team is using shit. Make a schedule or some shit. That way we know what the fuck’s going on.”

She stared at him coolly. “There is a schedule. Coach Beard made it.” Condescension dripped from her voice, letting Roy know she really didn’t have the patience for him.

Right. Roy had gotten a group email from Beard and had, of course, ignored it. He really needed to get his shit together.

When Roy didn’t respond, she continued, her expression completely icy now. “Huh. Every coach I’ve ever known has always made sure they knew what was going on in their club.” She turned to Lucas. “Is this a British thing?”

The assistant coach shrugged and pretended to start typing on his computer. He was staying the fuck out of whatever this was. Smart man.

Roy cleared his throat, feeling like he was losing a game he hadn’t signed up for. ““Well, I mean, I don’t want them to be uncom-”

 “Coach Kent, I have had mostly male coaches for most of my career. Wearing a sports bra in front of men is not a big deal to any of these women. Just like being shirtless in front of me isn’t a big deal to your guys.” She spoke slowly, as if to a child.

He fucking hated it. “Just don’t want my guys making them uncomfortable,” he mumbled, no longer able to look her in the eye.

Her eyes narrowed as she brought herself to her full height and closed the space between them, bringing her face close to his, so close that if he leaned forward just a centimeter their noses would touch. “If they’re planning on making my team uncomfortable, then that’s a Roy Kent problem. If you can’t keep your team in check and make sure they act right, then you need to figure your shit out. Lucas, you’ve shared changing rooms with women’s teams before. Ever seen it be a problem?”

The coach, who was clearly listening with great interest, kept his eyes on the computer screen. “Nope.”

“Didn’t think so.” She turned back to Roy. “I’ll go ahead and assume you weren’t the one who left the lovely little notes in the lockers for us then.”

“That was Isaac’s idea.” Coach Beard appeared in the door that led out to the hall. The door Roy wished he’d used that morning.

“Good morning, Coach,” she greeted, her voice suddenly pleasant. “Isaac… McAdoo, right? He’s your captain?”

Beard nodded. “He thought it would be nice to leave a little something, let the ladies know they’re very welcome here at Nelson Road.” He gave Roy a pointed look before continuing. “They stayed after practice yesterday to write the notes and tidy up the lockers. It was Sam’s idea to get the water bottles.”

The way her face lit up made Roy’s stupid heart skip a beat. “Oh! Those are great. Make sure to thank the guys for us.” She turned to Roy, all friendliness gone. “Your players got these for us.” She pointed to the blue water bottle on her desk, the Whippets’ logo prominent. “They’re pretty nice guys. Must’ve learned from Nate and Beard.”

Ouch. With a scoff, Roy rolled his eyes. “Well-”

She looked at the nonexistent watch on her wrist. “Oop, would you look at that. Time for the W.F.C. Richmond’s first ever practice.” She glared at Roy. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

Roy had to forcibly stop himself from watching her as she sauntered out of the offices, calling for her team to head out to the pitch.

Coach Lucas patted Roy on the shoulder as he followed suit. “There’s no winning against her once she gets going. Trust me,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

Roy grunted, mouth in a straight line, pretending like he wasn’t focusing on getting his heartrate back to normal. Coach Beard looked thoroughly amused as Roy stayed still as a statue, waiting to hear total silence from the changing room before sulking back to his own office, where Nate quickly pretended to look busy and not like he’d been eavesdropping.

Beard’s eyes remained on Roy. “Boy, she knows how to push your buttons,” he mused.

“Does not,” Roy grumbled, feeling a bit like a schoolboy being badgered by his friends. He dropped into his chair, giving it a little spin from side to side, arms crossed stubbornly. “I don’t have fucking buttons.”

~

Lucas and I stood shoulder to shoulder as we watched the Whippets scrimmage. Under my sunglasses, my eyes were wide with joy. They were good, so good. When we signed these women, we knew there was going to be a lot of talent on this squad. But we could only dream of the chemistry we were already seeing on day one.

“Shit, can you imagine once they’re actually used to each other?” As always, Lucas was reading my mind.

I nodded. “Un. Fucking. Stoppable.” We bumped fists and knocked our hips into each other, a gesture we’d started doing when he was my coach in college. A gesture I knew we’d be making a lot this season.

“Oi!”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out who was shouting and who they were shouting at. With a groan, I turned around. Sure enough, Roy Kent was heading towards Lucas and I, looking ready for a fight. At this point, I wasn’t sure his face was capable of any other expression.

“Yeah, Coach Kent?” I pulled down my sunglasses, glaring at him from over the top, not giving a shit about professionalism or sharing or any of the other things I had promised Rebecca I’d be totally capable of.

Now standing in front of us, he nodded towards my scrimmage. “We need the pitch.”                                   

I glanced at my phone. Sure enough, it was just past time for us to give up the field so the men could use it. Dammit.

Now, if it was Beard or Nate who had come out and asked us to give up the pitch, I would have gladly done so, and would have easily apologized. But because it was Roy Kent who was demanding that we move, my heels dug in all on their own.

“We’re almost done,” I answered breezily, as if he really didn’t matter to me. Which he didn’t.

“Oh no.” He stared at me indignantly. “You made a big fucking deal about there being a fucking schedule. I’m just following it.” He turned to the pitch, where my players continued their scrimmage. “Whistle!” A few women stopped, their faces perplexed. “Get off the fucking pitch!”

My vision went red. “Hey!” I grabbed his shoulder and turned him to face me. “You don’t fucking tell my team what to do!” I blew my whistle. “Keep going!” When play resumed, I looked back at Roy, whose face was nearly purple. “Roy Kent, don’t you ever tell my squad what to do, you fucking hear me?” My hands were balled into fists at my side. “If I were a man-”

Roy rolled his eyes. “Oh, fuck that. You and I both know that this has nothing to do with you being a woman and has everything to do with us needing the fucking pitch. So, knock off with your feminism for a fucking minute.”

He was right. I knew deep down that he was right. But something about the way he looked at me just lit a fire that I didn’t know if I could control. There was no way I could let him win.

I folded my arms and blew some loose hair out of my face. “You could try please,” I grumbled, knowing I looked like a pouting teenager and not a professional soccer coach.

His eyebrows flew up. “I’m sorry? You want me to say please? When it’s my turn on the pitch? Are you fucking joking?”

“Beard and Nate would have said please.”

His eyes narrowed, an unwilling acknowledgement that I was completely correct. “Fine.” He gritted his teeth. “Please.”

Every ounce of coldness returned to my body. “There, was that so hard?” I purred mockingly.

Before Roy could respond- probably something involving the word fuck- Lucas brought his whistle to his lips and blew it hard. “Alright ladies, let’s go! Bring it in!” He looked at the two of us, eyebrows raised. “If you two are still flirting, I’m going to take these gals to the weight room, cool?”

“Fuck off,” Roy and I scoffed in unison.

Once Lucas stopped laughing his ass off, we headed to the weight room and got our players started on their workouts. Finally, I turned to Lucas, who was still grinning.

“We weren’t flirting.” My tone was flat, blunt.

Lucas snorted. “Oh, you were totally flirting. So was he, to be fair.” He shrugged. “You could definitely do worse than Roy Kent, I’ll give you that. Man’s a legend. And still pretty hot.”

“Can’t stand that man,” I mumbled, wondering if I was trying to convince Lucas or myself. “He’s the fucking worst.”

“Then have some really passionate hate sex,” Lucas suggested, waggling his eyebrows. “Do something to take care of that tension between you two.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You know, in some cultures, this is sexual harassment.”

“And in some cultures,” Lucas countered, “the way you look at Roy Kent would mean you have to marry him.”

~

Roy sighed as he leaned back in the chair in Doctor Sharon’s office. It had been a full week of sharing Nelson Road with the fucking Whippets. Of sharing it with her. And Roy felt like he’d aged an entire decade in that time.

They glared at each other in place of a greeting. They had shouting matches on the pitch. They muttered swear words at each other in the weight room. They rolled their eyes whenever the other was mentioned. And on more than one occasion, they got in each other’s faces, noses almost touching, lips way too close for Roy’s comfort.

He knew better. He fucking knew better. He hadn’t spent all that time with Ronald fucking McDonald for nothing. He’d grown and changed and become a better man. He’d learned to control the rage that thundered in his chest and to use it constructively. He’d become friends with Jamie Tartt of all people. Fuck, he even met with Dr. Sharon once a month. And yet here was this Yank, with her leggings and red lipstick and cocky grin, coming in and undoing all of it.

Roy closed his eyes as he listened to Doctor Sharon settle at her desk after closing the door. There was no way she hadn’t heard about what was going on between the two managers; everyone at the Dog Track knew what was happening, despite the assistant coaches’ combined efforts to keep things under control. He was surprised they hadn’t gotten called into Rebecca’s office to be properly shouted at like the children they were.

“You seem tired, Roy.” Doctor Sharon’s gentle voice made his eyes snap open. “Everything alright?”

He grunted, crossing his arms. No use dancing around things. “It’s the new women’s team,” he grumbled. “Their manager and I….” He glanced up at the ceiling, as if it held the right words to describe the white-hot rage he felt every time he looked at her. “…. Don’t get along.”

Doctor Sharon nodded. “I’ve heard.”

She didn’t say anything else, so Roy went on. “She’s just really fucking infuriating, y’know? All cocky and full of herself. Acts entitled to the pitch and the weight room and the changing room. And of course, Beard and fucking Nate like her and the fellas all act like she’s God’s gift to football. Just because she’s won a couple of trophies.”

“Was all of this your first impression of her?” Doctor Sharon asked after a moment.

Roy squirmed a little. “Well, I mean I met her at a club actually,” he admitted. “Right before she started working here. And I didn’t know who she was. And I made a comment implying that she wanted to flirt with me for attention, because I’m, well, me.” Fuck, he felt insufferable saying that part out loud. “And then I came into work and- fuck- there she is. Fucking stuck up as hell.” He shrugged. “And she’s shit at sharing,” he mumbled.

“Hmm.” Doctor Sharon looked thoughtful for a moment. “Have you thought about what it’s like for her right now?”

Her voice always calmed him down. “How d’you mean?”

She looked him straight in the eye. He liked that about her. “Well, she’s just given up her entire life to move here, where she knows literally one person, and she’s got a lot of responsibility on her shoulders to lead a football team that doesn’t know her yet. Sounds a bit like someone else we know, hmm?”

Roy shook his head. “No. She’s nothing like him. She’s arrogant and conceited and cocky and-”

“That sounds like the way you describe yourself at that age,” Doctor Sharon mused. Roy simply grunted, so she continued. “And, like her, you know what it’s like to suddenly be away from home and everyone you love, don’t you?”

He thought way back, to when he was a child, his grandad dropping him off with his blankie. “I was a fucking kid,” he argued. “That was different.”

Doctor Sharon shook her head. “We don’t compare baggage, remember?”

Roy nodded in defeat. “Fuck. Sorry. I know.” He fiddled with the zipper on his jacket. “’m just really fucking annoyed about sharing Nelson Road,” he mumbled, hoping to change the topic a little.

Apparently, Doctor Sharon was going to let him. “Why is that?”

“Because it’s ours,” he said simply. “We finally got into a rhythm, you know? Lasso came in and turned everything upside down, turns me upside down, then he fucking left. And then Rebecca decides to put me in charge.” Roy shook his head. “And I get one fucking year to figure out how to be a manager before she brings in an entirely new team? It’s just a lot.”

Doctor Sharon nodded sympathetically. “That is a lot of change in a short time,” she affirmed. “How can we deal with that?”

Roy felt good as he walked out of Doctor Sharon’s office at the end of their hour. They’d discussed how Roy could cope with all the stress, about the things he could control to feel like he wasn’t helpless against all this change, and even some conflict resolution strategies she wanted him to try. Maybe he didn’t have to be an absolute prick about all this.

Of course, those thoughts went out the window when Roy turned a corner and saw George Willows. Everyone thought Roy had hated Trent Crimm, but George Willows was a whole other story. He was Roy’s least favorite journalist, to the point where the man didn’t even come to the Greyhounds’ press conferences due to the high chances of being screamed at.

And who should Willows be chatting with in a particularly friendly-looking manner, looking more like two flirting teenagers than professionals?

“Oi.” Roy furrowed his brow, keeping his eye on George, avoiding looking at a certain pretty American. “Fuck are you doing here?”

“We have an interview,” Coach Buck pipped up, scowling at Roy. “Did you need something, Coach Kent?”

She always sounded like she was spitting out his name.

Roy nodded. “Yeah. I need this prick-” He pointed to George. “-to get the fuck out of here before I escort him out myself.”

Before she could retort, George put his hands in front of himself defensively. “Hey, I’m not here for the Greyhounds, Roy. Just a little fluff piece on the Whippets and their new coach.” He smiled down at the manager when he mentioned her. “Help the people of Richmond know just how lucky they are to have her.”

The beaming smile on her face, aimed completely at George Willows, made Roy’s chest go painfully tight.

He rolled his eyes. “Oh fuck off,” he groaned. “Honestly, they couldn’t have sent literally anyone else? What, it’s so hard to find someone to yammer off questions and hold a fucking tape recorder?”

“They use phones now, Grandad,” Jamie Tartt teased as he passed by, hair still damp from his shower. He saluted. “G’night, Coach Buck.”

“Night, Jamie!” she called, smiling at the striker. Apparently, she had a smile for everyone but Roy. Indeed, it disappeared when she glared at him. “Coach Kent, can I help you with something?”

Roy’s mouth went dry. Why the fuck did he let this woman get to him?

Since Roy wasn’t talking, she turned to George Willows. “Why don’t you head on into my office? I’ll be there in a moment.” She pointed the way to her office, all friendliness. Her frown reappeared once he was gone. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“That guy fucking sucks,” Roy said plainly. “Seriously. All of the press sucks, that guy might actually be the fucking devil.”

Her eyeroll rivalled the ones Roy was known for. “Well, if Roy Kent hates him, he must be a lovely person. Maybe even the second coming of Jesus Christ. If there’s nothing else you need to bitch about, I’d love it if you kindly fucked off, Coach Kent. I have an interview.” With that, she turned and swaggered off, with Roy trying his best to avoid watching her receding figure and ignoring the warmth in his cheeks when he failed.

~

We were coming close to the start of the season, and I felt multitudes calmer than I thought I would. My team was fantastic, and they seemed to like me as much as I liked them. Lucas and I had been working hard on our plays and were constantly trying to figure out who our captain would be; with so many strong leaders, it was a fun problem to have.

“Excellent job today, ladies!” I called out as I strolled through the locker room. “See you all in the morning!”

The players called out their goodnights as they headed to their lockers or to the showers. I smiled when I walked into the offices and saw Nate and Beard at their desks.

Coach Beard had done a good job with the schedule, no matter how much Roy Kent bitched about it; each day, the teams rotated between either starting practice an hour early or ending an hour later, so we didn’t have too much overlap in the showers and locker room. Today was our day to end late. Rebecca had said this was temporary, that hopefully she’d eventually build us our own training facility and just use Nelson Road for games, but I didn’t mind the sharing. Not with the Greyhounds, who were gracious and kind and made sure my team felt welcome. Not with Beard and Nate, who were friendly and always offering help with anything we needed as our first match quickly approached. The only problem was- well, I didn’t need to think about him right now.

“Hello, Greyhounds,” I greeted politely. “You guys all done for the day?”

Nate smiled. “Yes, all done. And you guys? Er, gals?” He paused for a moment, his face scrunched in thought. “Ladies?”

I laughed. “Gals and ladies both work just fine,” I assured him. “And yeah, we’re wrapped up.” I paused, looking at Nate thoughtfully. “Hey, could I have Lucas run some plays by you? I’ve heard you’re something of a whiz with plays and strategy.” I shot a wink in Beard’s direction. “Some people told me you’re a real wonder kid.”

Nate’s smile widened. “Oh, yes, absolutely, I’d love to help.”

Beard gave me a nod of approval as Nate jumped up to go find Lucas in our office. “That was very nice of you.”

I shrugged, taking Roy’s empty chair, not caring if he walked in and saw me in it. “Nice has nothing to do with it. We’ll take any help we can get. If Nate’s as good as you’ve said- which I’m sure he is- I hope you all don’t mind sharing that brain of his from time to time.”

“I’m fine with it. And Nate would be thrilled to help you out. Just don’t let Roy hear about it,” Beard teased. “He’s not one for sharing.”

“Especially not with me,” I hummed with an eyeroll. I wondered if I was damaging my eyesight from doing that so much lately. “Has he always been like this?”

Coach Beard looked thoughtful for a moment. “Roy… is a tough cookie,” he said carefully. “He didn’t exactly love Ted and me when we first got here. But we broke through those walls, and honestly, we’re pretty close now. He was the best man at my wedding.” He tapped his pen against his desk. “I actually thought he’d have an easier time with this whole women’s team thing, if I’m being honest.”

“Great, so it’s me he hates, not women’s sports,” I joked, earning a sympathetic half-smile from Beard. My eyes landed on a photo hanging on the wall, one of the three Greyhound coaches and another mustached man, one I knew immediately even if we’d never met. “Bet you all miss him a lot,” I mused.

A small sigh escaped Beard’s lips. “You have no idea.” His voice was the softest I’d heard it. “He’d get you and Roy all sorted out, that’s for sure.”

The tip of my nose went warm, thinking about all the shit the other coaches had dealt with over the past few weeks. “I’m really sorry about-”

Beard shook his head. “Growing pains,” he said simply. “You’re both good coaches. Both passionate about the sport. Which makes you both a little hardheaded. You’ll figure it out.” He paused. “Or Rebecca’ll fire you both.”

Despite his serious face, I laughed. “Guess that’s a good motivation to stop calling him a fucking asshole in the hallways, huh?”

Coach Beard’s smile matched mine. “Whatever works.” His phone pinged, calling his attention to it. “Gotta head out. My wife made sushi for dinner for the first time so I should probably grab some stomach medicine.” He looked at me thoughtfully. “We’ll have you over sometime. If we invite Roy, we can have a four-way screaming contest.”

A little perplexed by what he meant by that, I nodded. “Sure, Coach. Enjoy your food poisoning. Maybe tell the missus that you had some weird English food for lunch so you can blame that.”

He tapped his head. “Smart. Love it.” With a wave, he turned and went through my office, offering quick goodbyes to Nate and Lucas.

After heaving myself out of Roy’s chair, I peeked into my office. Nate and Lucas were poring over our playbook, discussing how to adjust a particular play we’d been struggling with. Both men looked up at me expectantly.

“Hey Luke, I’m going to do some running before I head home. Need to start forming good habits again. Don’t worry about me if you guys finish, I’ll just take a cab home if you’re gone.”

Lucas nodded. “No problem. See you tomorrow, Bucky.”

“Goodnight, Coach!” Nate added, his smile wide.

I walked across the room to grab my workout bag. “Later, guys!” I hollered, waving over my shoulder as I left the office.

Once I’d changed into some shorts and sports bra, I whistled as I walked to the weight room. It was well past quitting time, with most offices empty and closed up, my remaining players straggling out of the locker room to head home for the night. As I approached the weight room, I grabbed my keys to unlock it, something Rebecca had assured me I was more than welcome to do anytime, but I found the door was already cracked open.

My eyes instinctively narrowed as I looked inside. The universe was truly cruel; a shirtless Roy Kent was on one of the two treadmills, gazing at the television on the wall above him, watching… Lust Conquers All? Jamie had mentioned the show to me, bashfully explaining that he’d been on it a few seasons back. Not what I expected to see the Greyhound’s manager watching as he jogged.

Deciding not to use my voice to alert him to my presence, I let the door close loudly behind me. Roy glanced over his shoulder, grunting when he saw me. Taking that as his way of saying he wasn’t interested in a fight, I continued into the room, heading towards the lone treadmill next to his. I quickly dropped my Whippets water bottle into the cupholder and jumped onto the treadmill, setting it to a light pace.

For a while, the only sounds in the room were our feet on the treadmills and the obnoxious voices of the Lust Conquers All contestants onscreen. Not knowing what came over me, I glanced to my left at Roy. I shouldn’t have been surprised to see that he had kept in shape post-retirement; after all, wasn’t I on the treadmill trying to do the same thing? But wow, the man looked good. My eyes couldn’t resist lingering on the thick hair covering his chest. It reminded me a bit of Sean Connery in the old James Bond movies my parents used watch; those movies had given me a great appreciation for views like the one before me. Some quiet voice in the back of my head considered that, if this man didn’t drive me crazy, I’d probably be into him.

Shaking my head to clear out the ridiculous intrusive thoughts that were quickly becoming steamy, I turned my eyes back to the screen, trying to figure out which contestant was trying to sleep with which. It was weirdly comforting to see that, even across an ocean, reality trash still remained. Over the past weeks, I had clung to anything that reminded me of home; maybe I’d have to start watching Lust Conquers All as a weird way to cope with homesickness. Lucas would surely get a kick out of that. Heck, I could probably get him to join me.

When the show went to commercial break, I felt the hair on my neck prickle, as if I were being watched. Sure enough, out of the corner of my eye, I could see Roy’s gaze on me, trailing slowly down my body as I jogged on the treadmill. A flush covered every inch of my skin where his eyes dawdled, my heart going faster than it normally did when I ran. There was something eerily familiar about the way he shook his head and looked back up at the television, as if a phone commercial was the most interesting thing in the world.

We ran in silence until the show ended. Once the trailer for the next episode began, Roy turned off his treadmill and climbed down. Our eyes met for a brief moment, the contact taking place of any cheerful “goodnights” most people would have exchanged. After he grabbed his own things, he silently placed the television remote on my treadmill, not quite looking at me.

The only other thing I heard was the sound of the door clicking closed behind him as he left.

~

“Hi Roy!”

Roy paused and turned around, hand poised to open the driver’s side door. “Keeley,” he greeted, letting his hand drop to his side.

The blonde practically skipped over to him looking particularly happy. “How’s it going?”

“Fine.” He frowned. He liked Keeley; they were friends, he’d venture to say good friends, bordering on best friends. But something glinted in her eye that made Roy uneasy. “You?”

“Great, great.” She paused a moment, swaying from side to side. “I have something really fun that I’ve been working on,” Keeley hummed.

Roy felt his antenna go up in suspicion. “Uh huh.”

Keeley’s expression was that of someone who was up to something. “And I could really use your help with it, Roy.”

There it was.

“Keeley,” he growled, raising his eyebrows at her. “Can you just tell me what you need?”

She offered Roy her best don’t-you-love-me smile, as if trying to remind him that they were friends. “A photoshoot. Featuring our fabulous Richmond coaches!”

Roy threw his head back. Keeley knew better. Roy hated this kind of shit. There was no way she’d ever ask if he wanted to- oh.

“I don’t have a fucking choice, do I?” he groaned.

Wrinkling her nose, Keeley shook her head. “D’you really think I’d ask you if you didn’t have to do it?” She shrugged. “Sorry, Roy. Rebecca’s orders. So come in tomorrow looking camera-ready, alright?”

Roy took “camera-ready” pretty loosely. He came in the next morning looking like himself, just a bit dressier: black button-down shirt, black slacks, beard, scowl. Keeley didn’t look too surprised when she saw him, just smiled and dragged him to the makeup artist. As he sat in the chair, begrudgingly letting the girl put exactly one layer of mascara on him, he coughed to get Keeley’s attention.

“Where’s Nate? Beard? Or are they pretty enough without makeup?”

“What?” Keeley looked up from her phone and shook her head. “Oh, no, they’re not doing this.” She bit her lip, the fear in her eyes telling Roy she did not want to say the next words that came out of her mouth. “It’s, er, just the managers.” Her voice became itty bitty. “So, you know, just you and Coach Bucky.”

Roy threw his head back so quickly he almost got poked in the eye with the mascara. “Fuuuuuuuuuuck,” he hissed. “So not only am I missing training, not only do I have to do a fucking photoshoot, but I have to do it with her?”

As if summoned like the demon she was, the American bounded into the office Keeley had commandeered as a staging room. Roy’s breath caught in his throat; he’d been working his ass off to get so many images out of his head: the little black dress she’d been wearing at the club, the red smirk she sported in her first press conference, the shorts she wore on the treadmill. But this had to be the fucking worst.

Not only was she wearing that red lipstick that he realized was probably her signature look at this point, but her hair was down- something he’d yet to see- and wavy and framing her face in that way Roy thought only models could accomplish. She was wearing full makeup, a natural look that accentuated her attractive features. Worse, she was wearing a fucking dress, one that hugged her curves and showed off her athletic figure. Roy hated the way his heart was pounding at the sight of her.

“Fuck you look sexy as hell!” Keeley squealed, giving the coach a once-over. “Doesn’t she look great, Roy?”

Before Roy could figure out an evasive response, laughter hit his ears.

“Oh, trust me. Coach Kent probably thinks I look like some young thing trying to trick him into dancing with me. Isn’t that right, Coach?”

Giggling, Keeley shoved the far-too-pretty manager. “Oh, leave him alone. Today’s rough enough for Roy. He doesn’t love this kind of thing.”

“Is it because vampires don’t show up on camera?”

“Oi!” Roy stood up, teeth bared. “Just because you love being the center of attention and having cameras on you and getting prickish journalists to giggle at your stupid jokes doesn’t mean everyone does. Not all of us have your fucking ego that needs to be fed constantly.”

Keeley cleared her throat. “Alright you two, why don’t we take this energy out to the pitch, hmm? Time to take some pretty pictures.”

The two managers grumbled in agreement and followed Keeley out of the room, avoiding looking at each other until they were outside. In the back of his head, Roy wondered if this was Buck’s first time on the main pitch; of course, he didn’t ask. That would require actually giving a shit.

Instead, he did his best to listen as Keeley introduced to two managers to the photographer, explaining that she and Rebecca thought these promo photos would be a great way to garner more interest in the Whippets and show the Greyhounds’ support for the women’s team, and that, if these came out well, they’d do photos of both teams as well.

“Right.” The photographer, an older man Roy had met against his will a handful of times, snapped his gum and studied the managers. “Let’s do this.”

Under Keeley’s anxious supervision, the photographer directed the two gaffers onto the grass, posing them as if they were dolls and clicking away before shifting poses, a pattern Roy knew well and hated. Roy’s stomach was in knots when the photographer instructed him to look down at the pretty, pretty coach.

“Like you admire her,” he suggested.

The American snorted. “Good luck with that one,” she mumbled.

Roy sucked in a breath through his teeth. This was already a long fucking day. This wasn’t the kind of shit he’d signed up for when he came back to Richmond after his retirement. But he reminded himself that this was for Keeley and Rebecca; he’d have to do his fucking best.

So, for once, he did as he was told. Roy knew the photographer meant admiration in a professional way, as a fellow coach. But instead, Roy let himself look at her the way he’d been avoiding since her first day at Nelson Road. He took in the sight of her unabashedly, resentfully admitting to himself that the view from up close was fucking nice when he wasn’t being screamed at.

When her eyes met his, Roy felt his brain fizz out and shut down. She was too close, too pretty, too annoying, too perfect.

“Great,” the photographer called, his camera clicking away. “Think you could get a smidge closer?”

Hating the stupid knots in his stupid stomach, Roy took a step away. “Really? Want me to hold her like we’re going to a fucking dance?” he barked.

“Roy,” Keeley warned gently, eyebrows raised.

“Just take the fucking photos, Kent,” came a grumbling voice from next to him.

Roy scoffed. “Yeah, you’d love that wouldn’t you?”

A sigh escaped those red lips. “And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He dug himself deeper, desperate to just be done with this shit already. “Just that you must be really fucking excited to have your pretty picture taken, yeah?”

Her eyes narrowed. “That is the second time you’ve said shit like that to me today. Tell me what the fuck you mean by that.”

Their voices were rising as Keeley watched in utter frustration. She’d told Rebecca that this wasn’t the best idea. But the Amazon of a woman had insisted that the two would be able to put their issues aside for something as simple as a fucking photoshoot.

“Oi!” Keeley shook her head at the two red-faced managers. “Go to Rebecca’s office. I’m done with you two and whatever weird sexual thing you’ve got happening here.” She turned to the photographer. “I’m so sorry. Let me to grab a couple players, we can get some shots for the website or something.” She looked at the frozen coaches. “Fucking go!”

~

I’d been sent to the principal’s office plenty of times as a kid. Mostly for fighting with the boys when they refused to let me play with them, or when told me I played “like a girl” (as if it were an insult), or the time a particularly stupid classmate threw mud all over my Mia Hamm jersey and I decided to give him a bloody nose. Getting in trouble for fighting with idiots was nothing new to me.

But Rebecca Welton wasn’t going to give me a detention and call my parents.

“I am not losing this job because of you,” I informed Roy as we trudged through the hallways. “I was just trying to get things over with. But oh no, you with your fucking comments about me and pictures.” I shook my head. “It’s part of the job, Kent. You might not know this, what with playing for fucking Chelsea, but publicity matters for a new club. Especially a women’s club.”I stopped and faced Roy, who mirrored my pause. “So yeah, I had more to gain from that shoot than you did. But don’t you dare fucking judge me for that. You will never understand-”

“Oi!” Rebecca’s presence filled the hallway. “Lovebirds. In my office, now.”

Hoping Roy felt as childish as I did, I looked down as I walked into Rebecca’s office. She towered over her desk and pointed silently to the chairs, ordering us to sit down without a word. We did as we were told, both of us looking defeated with our shoulders slumped and heads down.

Roy tried first. “Rebecca, I-”

“Nope.” Rebecca crossed her arms, staring firmly at the two of us.

My turn. “We are so sor-”

Rebecca shook her head. “Don’t want to hear that either.” She rubbed her temples gingerly. “I don’t want to hear sorry, or it’s not my fault, or we’ll be better, or any of it.” She sighed. “I knew it would be an adjustment, starting a new team and having to share the Dog Track, but what the actual fuck, you two?” She threw her arms in the air. “What? Do we need to throw you in a boxing ring? Or get you a fucking hotel room?” She pointed at me. “You are a fucking Olympic champion. You think Mia fucking Hamm acts like this? You think this is what I hired you for? To set this example to the team and all the little girls who’ll be watching you?” She turned on Roy. “And you? Jesus Christ, Roy. I am trusting you with the most important thing in my life, with my family.” Her voice cracked. “Do not make me lose another manager,” she whispered.

Roy and I exchanged shamed glances, neither of us sure what to say.

Rebecca went on. “You are both incredible coaches. I see you on that pitch. When you’re not biting each other’s heads off, you’re doing great things with your teams. Your assistant coaches adore you when they’re not having to manage whatever-” She gestured between us in exasperation. “-this is. And I really think both of our teams can have a successful season, if we can get the two of you focused.”

We both nodded earnestly; fuck, I’d marry Roy Kent if it meant making Rebecca happy.

“So, pack your bags, make sure your pets are fed, because next weekend we are all going on a team-building retreat. Whippets and Greyhounds, first annual weekend of figuring out how to fucking get along and act like adults.”

There was panic in Roy Kent’s eyes as he leaned forward. “Rebecca, we are this fucking close to the start of the season, if we’re going to win our first match-”

Rebecca raised a cool eyebrow at him. “Roy Kent, you full well this team’s philosophy about where winning lands on our list of priorities.” Roy sat back, grumbling something about Ronald McDonald. “Your teams will have opportunities to train while we’re there. I do like having a winning team, after all,” she added quickly. Rebecca raised an eyebrow, waiting for us to protest some more. “Any more questions?”

We both shook our heads like obedient children.

“Right. I’ll have Higgins send you the details and you can let your teams know.” She put on a mocking smile. “It’ll be a grand old time. You, me, the teams, the woods, and conflict-resolution training.”

“I don’t think the Greyhounds and Whippets need much of that,” I found myself saying. “They get along great.”

Rebecca’s tight grin remained. “Oh, I know. I’m hoping the two of you can learn something from them.” She gestured towards the door. “Off with you then.”

Dismissed, Roy and I stood and made our way out the door, away from Rebecca’s scrutinizing gaze. Once we were far enough away that Rebecca wouldn’t hear us, we looked at each other, all anger gone for once.

“Going to be a miserable fucking weekend,” Roy mumbled.

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

Taglist: @callmecasey81 @ladygrey03 @puckyou-forpuckssake @royalestrellas @optimisticsandwichgladiator @reading-blogs @shineforever19 @rae4725 @burnafter-reading @her-fandom-sanctum @infinetlyforgotten @giggling-sewer-ginger @whataloadofmalarkey @agentstarkid @kingleahhh @tortilla-maria1 @geekgirl1996 @amatswimming @meg-ro @spicyraccoonlordking @spaghetti-dad187 @needlesthreadandbuttons @elissaaa @imsoluckyeverythingworksoutforme @reverieisaway @djskakakaksjsj-blog @thatonedogwithablog @allthetroubleiveseen @sunderland-6 @netflix-addict @paranormal-is-my-life @jill2629-blog @itsbuzzfeedbitch @pretzelactivist @amieinghigh @kashee-h

[truly-morgan]

[AA cross-over, JC moves to the US, befriend Edgeworth]

Jiang Cheng + Miles Edgeworth | Mo Dao Zu Shi Cross-over Ace Attorney + Modern AU 30-05-2022

[#mdzs #AceAttorney cross-over, #jiangcheng #milesedgeworth, modern sett.]

Jiang Cheng hadn't been surprised when he was basically shipped to America.

"We are expanding our company, I need someone to look over it in America" his father had said.

He knew very well this was all so he wouldn't be close to him all while not angering him too much his wife as he wasn't kicking him out.

But it was alright, he could roll with it, he would show them.

and with that Jiang Cheng had started to work even harder than before, ready to prove what he could do. He was pretty satisfied that the result he had were better than what anyone else had expected at first.

all this was achieved by him never really taking a break, working hard nearly every day without much care for his health.

All this to his assistant exasperation. The man had known him even before he started working at his father's company, caring about the younger man. This lead him to force him to take a break once everything was more stable and no one could really argue about the incredible job he did.

this is how Jiang Cheng ended up forced on a vacation for a weekend, driving himself to some kind of somewhat isolated retreat spa or something like this, he didn't really follow what his assistant said as he was only thinking about the work he would be missing out on ("the tickets are already bought! You have no choice but to go" he was told).

"Maybe some calm will help me" he had sighed at some point on his way there.

He did raise a brow when he saw a car speeding in the opposite direction, wondering why anyone would drive so fast away from somewhere that was meant to make you relax.

"Gumshoe, I swear your pay will be revised in the next evaluation" he heard mumbled as he got out of his car, finding a man on the side typing on his phone.

"Everything's good sir?" Jiang Cheng asked, unsure if he should really intervene with the angry-looking man.

"I am trying to call the man who dare call himself my friend, but I have no signal" the man sighed in frustration, "May I ask if you might have any?" he politely asked while joining him.

Jiang Cheng did take a look at his own phone, offering a sorry smile to the man. "No signal either" he replied, "I see I am not the only one being forced here".

The man looked a bit surprised by his word, before letting another frustrated sigh leave him. "Dare I assume it is also because you are 'working too much'?" the stranger asked.

This made Jiang Cheng chuckle a little, still a bit frustrated about it too. "Yes".

There was a silence afterwards, making Jiang Cheng a bit awkward, unsure of what to do from here. He was relieved when the man decided to extend a hand towards him, presenting himself "I am Miles Edgeworth, prosecutor".

Jiang Cheng was a little surprised. He had heard about the man more than once before, although not always presented in a good light. He did suppose it changed a bit in recent times.

"Jiang Cheng, COO of the Jiang Corp. branch in America" he said next.

Some recognition seemed to also pass on to the other man's face. He was still not used to people vaguely knowing who he was.

"Why don't we head inside?" suggested Jiang Cheng, "If we are to be stuck here, might as well settle down and have some tea".

Edgeworth seemed to think about it, before another sigh left him, this time looking resigned to stay here. "I suppose it couldn't do too much damage to take the weekend off" he admitted.

Like this they went inside, taking care of their reservation ("It must be fate, our rooms are next to each other" Jiang Cheng had joked a little when they were given their keys).

It was already getting late on a Friday night and so they decided to have dinner together. "I am sure having some company will make this trip a little bit better" Edgeworth commented.

And it did make the weekend pass by more quickly and in a less boring (and lonely) way than he first thought it would be. He dared to assume it was the same for the lawyer.

He never expected to connect so easily with the man, both borderline workaholics.

sure the treatments at the spa helped him relax, but having someone to talk about (or sometimes bitch about) work was nice and surprisingly therapeutic. He felt like he couldn't really do this with his assistant since he was still trying to keep a vague impression of professionalism between them.

After their little forced vacation, they decided to keep in contact, meeting only now and then at first, usually to have tea or dinner.

but soon their little rendez-vous became more frequent. It was their own little way to have a day away from work (before being forced to have one again) where they could talk about work without it technically really being work.

Edgeworth would complain about his cases and how bad the investigation would have gone while drinking his tea, sometimes exasperated despite something in him not complaining that justice had been done right.

"You complain about him quite a lot, but you seem to like him just as much" Jiang Cheng teased him after yet another trial where he was up against Wright. This did earn him a scoff.

"You don't see me mentioning you also enjoying a certain young master's visit more than you would let shown" the man had argued back, which man Jiang Cheng roll his eyes, not without a small smile on his lips.

Sometimes they'd be joined by Jiang Cheng's nephew as he came to visit him with his parents. The boy had been shy at first towards the other serious-looking man, but had slowly warmed up to him despite not understanding what he would say, his jiujiu needing to play translator for them.

"I sadly never learned Chinese" Edgeworth admitted with a small smile, "maybe it could be something I should pick up one day"

"I could help you if you ever need someone's help" Jiang Cheng offered with a laugh, a little a-ling also giggling with him despite not understanding what was happening before going back to his drawing.

They enjoyed sharing a good cup of tea every Saturday, talking and sometimes just sitting in silence, enjoying the time spent together. Maybe the reason they met wasn't one they enjoyed, but they weren't so mad to have find a good friend at the same time.

====

(I ran out of ideas here but maybe one day I'll pick up this cross-over, I dunno why, I just feel like I wanna see more of these two workaholic sarcastic men together)

Original

[canis-or-cannotis-lycaon]

Some Old-Fashioned Assistance

TIMING: Early May LOCATION: Ingeborg's House in Deersprings PARTIES: Ingeborg (@nightmaretist) and Gael (@lithium-argon-wo-l-f) SUMMARY: Trapped in her house because of an abyssal puddle, Inge enlists on fellow professor and neighbor down the street Gael for assistance. CONTENT WARNINGS: None!

The puddle was proving to be a significant problem to Inge’s ability to get to work dry. That in and of itself wasn’t the greatest problem – she was used to rain – but her boots demanded some respect and dirty gutter water? Well, that was hardly a respectful way of handling them. And yes, she could just swap her shoes or attempt to jump over the puddle, but somehow she’d managed to rope an allegedly handsome man into helping her out. Who was she to say no, right?

She waited patiently, enjoying the rays of spring sun as she fiddled with chipped polish on her nail, flakes falling down still when the other appeared. His mother had been right to call him handsome, she supposed, and she thought she recognised her colleague vaguely. The staff at UMWR was so large and ever growing, and it was hardly like she was often found in the hard science departments. She pushed herself off the doorframe, and offered a wave.

“Morning, morning. Are you the glittery knight?” As she adjusted the strap of her bookbag, she gave a bit of a smile, remaining standing on the step of her building, which remained dry. “Bit of a situation here, as you can see. Unfortunate puddle placement. I hope you’ve not been having too much trouble with them yourself?”  ______ Fortunately, the mystery woman was in the same neighborhood. Unfortunately, the puddles from the piping failure hadn’t been taken care of and the area still had a rather uncontrollable puddle problem. They didn’t bother Gael but apparently not everyone shared the sentiment that you just wear cheaper shoes until it was taken care of. He also supposed that wearing trash bags over your feet was embarrassing for people.

So he wasn’t too far away from where she pinned where she was - Gael was a little surprised that she hadn’t displayed any hesitance when giving a complete stranger her location but it’s a good thing he wasn’t one of those weird types. Just giving a coworker a hand and a ride to work, that’s all it was. In fact, he was more worried that she wouldn’t find him as attractive as he said he was online, but that was incredibly superficial. He pulled up in the street and parked his ice-blue mini-cooper, getting out and beholding a, dare he say, attractive woman he also vaguely recognized. She was fine arts, he was science - not a lot of overlap, he figured. “I am! Mornin,” Gael replied casually, returning the wave as he shut the door and went around to the passenger side to retrieve something. As he did, he glanced around at the situation… the puddle didn’t seem TOO deep, he figured he was literally just doing this to be chivalrous. “I haven’t had… too much trouble with them, no ma’am but who am I to deny a lady in need of assistance?” He asked as he made his way around the car and slowly up the sidewalk, making sure to avoid any puddles on his own and approaching the trapped woman.  ______ She could hardly believe that he had actually come, but then humans were sometimes so delightfully fanciful and full of whimsy — sometimes it almost made Inge envious, who felt her own mortal life had been so lacking in every department but mostly in excitement. But what did it matter? She had all the time to do things just for the sake of it now, with little tying her down. This town would be part of her past in a matter of time, her name changed and her life turned around again. 

Ingeborg knew how to move around puddles (she could, theoretically, maneuvre around them through the astral plane with little problem), the same way she knew not to use a vacuum on them. But she found a little enjoyment in asking pointless questions online and, through that, getting to know one of her eager colleagues a little better. A win-win, she thought. 

She let out a soft laugh, genuinely amused. It was kind of fun, wasn’t it, to play at being a damsel in distress? She did truly care about her boots, though, and the puddle seemed anything but inviting. “Very chivalrous of you. It’s good to know we’ve got such honorable men on staff.” She looked at what he brought with him with an expectant expression on her face. “If our students could see us now, partaking in such old school ways, they’d never stop calling us old. So, is that it? Your allegedly ruined jacket?” ______ She didn’t look a day over 30 but the chemistry professor certainly FELT old sometimes. “Ehhh I don’t think the kids have anything to lose by witnessing a little old-school tradition,” Gael paused. “The positive parts, at least.” He added with a small, one-sided shrug and he glanced down at the jacket - worn, well-loved, a patchy gray color though it was difficult to see as it endlessly glimmered and sparkled in the sunlight. “I wouldn’t call it ‘allegedly’ ruined as much as ‘actually’ ruined,” He said with melancholy tinging his tone as he carefully held the jacket up - as Gael did so, the incredibly fine glitter particles dripped almost as though the jacket were wet with water, showering onto the ground between them. It ceased, though it didn’t look like any of the dust had left the jacket material at all. He held his breath this time, leaning back. “This is what I’ve had to deal with for the weekend, just… on my floor, in my nose and on one arm of my couch.” He said, lowering it and glancing over at the woman. “I don’t suppose you’d want it? before I sacrifice it to the puddle lords?” He asked, raising one of his brows. “Some people online said it was very razzle-dazzle.” ______

She squinted, eyebrows creasing along with her eyes. It would be hypocritical to call chivalry a bad thing, considering she had asked the other here. Still, though, Ingeborg wanted to pointedly ask what kind of good parts there were. She was glad that most of those traditions had died. “And you ruining your jacket some more to save my boots is definitely positive.” She smiled, somewhat impishly. “For me.”

Her smile faded, if only because her colleague looked properly sad. “I only said allegedly because it seems a matter of opinion. I think it looks great.” But having glitter everywhere was a pain, that Inge knew from experience. “What did this again? A glitter bomb? Did you piss off some students?” For a moment she considered his suggestion, then shook her head. “Let’s sacrifice it to the puddle. Maybe afterwards we can save it. I am quite crafty, after all. And you know what, Gael, I do think it is very razzle-dazzle. Maybe you ought to introduce some more glitter into your life.”  ______ He had admittedly gotten lost in the memories he had for the jacket though he made sure not to get TOO lost; after all, he wasn’t alone to reminisce in the memories. Gael was here to be an old-fashioned gentleman to someone in need, even if it was for completely superficial reasons like not wanting to wear a different pair of shoes. Then again, considering the last time he had dealt with the puddles… “Glitter bomb, yeah,” He said absently, waiting for her answer on whether or not she wanted the newly-accursed thing. When she passed, offering to see if she could salvage it after it was used for its intended purpose, Gael couldn’t keep a peculiar expression from crossing his face. “I already got too much glitter in my life,” He laughed. “Okay, okay, I’m putting it down. Might wanna hold your breath.” He said rather dryly as he carefully spread the jacket out, giving it one last look before gulping and slowly placing it, with the worn, dark inside, facing up on the puddle. The glitter quickly started running off, turning the puddle into a sparkling surface and just like that, it was done. He could say goodbye to his favorite jacket. Gael looked at Ingeborg this time, holding out a hand for her to take and giving her a small, gentlemanly bow. “Milady?” He asked, raising a brow. ______ Her eyebrows raised, surprised and somewhat shocked. “Too much glitter? I wasn’t aware there was such a thing.” Sure, glitter was a bit gauche and extra, but the rest of the world was already dull enough: so many professors just wore shades of brown, gray and blue. That, in and of itself, Inge thought a nightmare. No wonder she’d made a corporate-hellscape sculpture once.

She watched the glitter take off and swirl around the puddle and there was almost something quaint and pretty about it. She laughed, though, when he bowed and called her by a title so outdated that she hoped he never used it in all seriousness. Inge stuck out one of her suede-boot-clad feet, as well as a hand, but the moment it hoovered above the jacket it disappeared. It seemed almost as if the puddle had swallowed the thing with a gulp, along with all the glitter that had come off it. 

“Um,” she began, staring at the clear-again puddle. “I think there’s no salvaging that jacket any more.” Inge wondered how deep the puddle was and whether this problem was bigger than she and the city had initially anticipated. She did like a little strange water activity. There had been a stretch in ‘98 where she’d done nothing but give people water-based nightmares. There was a moment of hesitation and then she pulled off a flower from the greenery at the front of the house, dropping it in the puddle. It didn’t sink, no: it was swallowed. “Yeah, I’m not stepping in that. Jacket or no jacket. No way.” She tried not to smile.  ______ “Too much glitter for my pansy eyes, at least.” Gael chuckled in spite of himself, anticipating shifting his weight for her but he didn’t get a chance to do that. Instead, as she began to take a step, the jacket all but disappeared, sucking it down into… well, Gael wasn’t sure. Jacket, material, glitter, all of it was gone in an instant and he couldn’t keep surprise from splashing his face. Gael recovered quickly though, or at least as well as he could’ve though he kept his dark eyes on the puddle, which had changed back to innocuous in as much time as it had to eat his jacket. “Uhm…” He faltered, tilting his head, his hand still out to take hers stupidly. She plucked a flower from one of her plants, dropping it and no sooner had it landed then the surface moved and it was also devoured. “Uhhh yeah. Okay yeah no, don’t step in that.” He suggested, nodding his head with uncertainty even though he also couldn’t keep himself from smiling bemusedly. “New plan,” He started, now trying to find a place for him to put his feet. “I’m just gonna… lift you over.” Gael glanced at Ingeborg. “Unless you want to jump and I can catch you.” Upset as he was about the jacket and incredibly confused about the puddle, he didn’t want to leave his coworker stranded in her home until it decided to dry up. He wasn’t even questioning it anymore, or at least right now. He was over these puddles. ______

The world was strange. Inge had lived in a fair amount of strange places over the course of her seven-decades-long life, but Wicked’s Rest sure was trying to win the prize for strangest. That might just be a byproduct of it being a hub filled with the supernatural, though. As she stared at the puddle, she smiled a little, as if intrigued. Part of her wanted to stick her hand in and reach down, see where it would take her. 

But across from her was a colleague and she did have a reputation to uphold if she wanted to keep her human-job and human-life afloat. She quite liked her position at the university, after all, and becoming deliriously excited by a puddle that ate objects might be a little off-putting. A red flag, one might say. “What do you reckon would happen if I did? Would I end up on the other side of the world, or somewhere in a hidden cave? Or another plane of existence altogether?” 

His suggestions were fun, at least. Inge beamed at him. She wanted to get to know this science professor better, she decided. “Alright. I’m going to jump.” Life without a little risk didn’t interest her anyway. She pulled off her bag and swung it towards him before letting go. When that was done, she nodded decisively. “Alright. On three.” She put one of her legs slightly back, “One, two … three!” And with that, Inge jumped. ______ When she asked about the mysterious properties of the puddle, the raised his eyebrows slightly - she had an imagination, he couldn’t deny that.“I couldn’t tell you but I’m here for your enthusiasm,” Gael replied, glancing down at the water. “All I know is that if it ate that jacket and you jumped in, you’d be swimming in glitter.” The thought made him shudder, the nightmare of being surrounded by glitter in the water where it was free to go wherever it wanted. “Okay, gonna jump, got it.” He nodded in affirmation, adjusting his posture and holding his arm out where he caught the bag, looping it around his shoulder. It was her turn next and Gael opted to plant one of his feet as an anchor. He held his other arm out now as well and regarded her with a small smile of his own. “On three.” She counted, and he found himself leaning just a little more to catch her. Strong hands found her waist and using his planted foot as a fulcrum, swiveled the two of them and placed her on her feet, the aroma of what smelled like floral perfume and… the hint of oils, like the ones people used on canvases, swirling around them. “Just like that!” Gael’s smile widened as he shrugged her bag from off his shoulder and offered it out to her. “It’s like dancing only I wasn’t terrible at it.” ______

There was something funny about it, right? Science and art meeting, faced with a mysterious puddle. “What do you make of it then, Mr Science?” Ingeborg had never been very good at such subjects. Besides, with all the existence of magic out there in the world, who was to say that the science taught in universities was even accurate any more? There was no mention of the astral plane. 

If this was a test of character he surely passed, going along with the idea of catching her. Inge appreciated a little spontaneity, especially in her colleagues. So many of them had gotten so stuck in routine and regulations, their minds as organized as their boring curriculum. Gael, even if he taught a subject that interested her little, at least got into action to catch her as she launched herself from the front steps of her house. A burst of laughter left her mouth, her amusement gleeful and simple. “That was wonderful, actually.” 

Hopping on her feet, she held out her hand for her bag. “Off to work, then? Did you come with your car, or?” She nodded at her own, parked out front. “I could drive us too. Would be a waste not to carpool.” ______ She laughed, always a nice sound to Gael’s sharp hearing and he smiled himself, happy that even though she didn’t seem fond of ‘old-fashioned’ behavior it seemed temporarily forgotten as the two engaged in something that frankly probably looked like it came out of a cheesy romance movie. In any case, he was also internally grateful for her improvisational manner and though he would be mourning that jacket for a while, in the grand scheme of things it wasn’t very important. After handing her her bag, Gael collected his own messenger bag again and he cast one more glance at the abyssal, misleading surface of the puddle. “I think it’s… an anomaly.” Gael shook his head slowly and looked away from the puddle; he still had questions, no doubt, but they weren’t pressing on his mind as much as they probably should’ve been. Surely there had to be some rational explanation for it, a small sinkhole or perhaps a pipe under the pavement that was pulling things in? He glanced sideways at Ingeborg before giving a tilt of his head to his ice-blue mini-cooper convertible that sat neatly against the curb. “I brought my own!” He said enthusiastically. “I can give you a ride or we can take our own cars and see each other at work.” Gael raised his eyebrows at the options. “It’s completely up to you, my lady.” ______ Calling things in Wicked’s Rest an anomaly was quite an endearing way to go about it, Ingeborg thought. There were so many words humans used to explain away strange phenomenon, but anomaly was one of the better ones. She assumed this puddle was something supernatural, after all, not thinking this a basic geographic occurrence. Admittedly, Inge wasn’t too good at geography. 

“It’s odd, that’s for certain,” she said, “Must have something to do with those damned mines.” But what did it matter now? Inge had avoided being swallowed by the puddle and on her way back, she could always just project herself into her house, as long as she came home after dark.

Gael was proving to be fun company, at least. She considered their options and Inge smiled, “Your car it is. I’d like to get to know my chivalrous colleague a little better, after all.” She saluted him with two outstretched fingers. “Sir.” ______ “Oh, it probably does.” Gael cast a glance in a vague direction as she mentioned the mines - he didn’t know where they were specifically in relation to where he and Ingeborg were but their smell seemed to permeate everything from his visits to Monty’s farm to even the Commons, on occasion. Digging under his skin, invading his sinuses, seeming to flare something up inside of him, something deep down. Something that he wasn’t gonna think about for now. For now, Gael casually got his keys from out of his pocket, pointed them over his shoulder to unlock it and gave Inge a smile. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to come out of today but he had the feeling that it wasn’t ‘helping a fellow professor leave her house by having her jump over a puddle that ate his jacket’. Wicked’s Rest had a lot of questions but not all of them needed answers immediately. “Sounds good!” Gael nodded before taking a small bow and allowing her to go first.

[karahalloway]

Max was standing in the kitchen, pulling homemade muffins out of the oven. “Good morning, Leo! Want a muffin? I made blueberry, cranberry, chocolate chip and banana nut. You can have one of each if you want!”

Haha agreed - if anyone is baking muffins in this group, it's Max! 🥰

Liam walked calmly out of the master bedroom and into the chaos completely unphased. He was immaculate, as always, perfectly pressed suit, every hair in place, briefcase firmly in hand.

🤣🤣🤣🤣 I am laughing bc again - you completely nailed this! In the chaos of the household, Liam somehow manages to look like he just stepped off a Valentino runway

Do you have a copy of my itinerary for the day?”

Max produced a laminated, bullet pointed list with face to face meetings highlighted in blue, zoom meetings in green and time sensitive tasks in yellow.

Did he just out-Madeleine Madeleine...? 🤣🤣🤣

“I wanted waffles!” Xander started to wail from his seat at the table. “Right here!” Max slid a plateful of waffles in front of him, complete with a smattering of blueberries and a dollop of whipped cream on top. “Waffles are gross! I want-“ A plateful of chocolate chip pancakes cut Ellie off mid-sentence.

Dying!! 🤣🤣🤣

“Drake, you want breakfast?” “No thanks.” “I have bacon-“ “No time, Max, I have to go!” Drake said as he filled his travel mug with coffee.

Again, spot on! 👌

“Riley! You forgot your lunch!” “Sorry, and thank you!” She told him. “I’m going to call you at one o’clock to make sure you remembered to eat!” Max said.

Jace was banging his sippy cup on his highchair tray as he babbled loudly. The corgis ran around the bottom of the hair chair, yipping and begging for more sausage to be dropped. Xander was singing at the top of his lungs about four little speckled frogs, Jax was making car noises as he pushed apple slices around his highchair tray and Ellie was yelling at Xander to shut up.

Omg I'd run and hide 😅🫣

“If there’s nothing you like, I can make you something.” Max offered as he gave Jace more scrambled eggs, which the toddler immediately tossed to the floor and squealed in delight as the dogs went crazy racing around to get to them.

Bahahahaha - typical 🤣🤣🤣🤣

“I know.” Max replied, “But it’s not the same. These muffins are made with love, Leo! Plus, most of that was sent up from the kitchen. I just plate it up and add the finishing touches, like Xander’s whipped cream and Ellie’s chocolate chip smiley face.”

“You had the bacon sent up just for Drake.” Leo sounded vaguely accusatory. Max’s eyes flicked to him as he responded, “Yeah. So?” “So what? You….like each other now?” Max looked up at Leo in surprise, “We’ve always liked each other! He’s my best friend roomie!”

I love how Max says this like it's the most obvious thing in the world!

It did sound just like Max though. Leo widened his eyes at Hudson as he hid his smile behind a coffee cup. He was gratified by the conspiratorial grin he got in return. Maybe the kid was warming up to him after all.

“Thanks, Leo! My organizational skills are second to none. Why do you think Riley hired me as her personal assistant and top advisor in the first place?” “Uh…” Leo’s eyes flitted over to Hudson then back to Max as he tried to water down his response, “To give you a valid reason to always be around without the press having a field day?”

Bahahahahahahhahahahahhahaha.... But yes 🤣

“Yeah, I get that.” Leo chuckled fondly, “But I never pegged you as the organized type.” “Really?” Max huffed, “Did you think that those epic, days long Beaumont bashes just threw themselves?”

“Uh…” “DJ’s just knew to show up? Caterers? All that fucking alcohol? People to assemble the champagne towers? Staff to clean up after the horses? The invitations put themselves in the mail? Customized placards on the doors?” Leo was stunned, “I just assumed Bert did all that!”

Leo's confusion 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Max scoffed, “Nannies can’t replace a loving parent, Leo. We prefer to be hands on.” “Yeah,” Hudson interrupted with his mouth full of bacon and waffles, “That sounds like something good parents do!” “I…” Leo’s eyes cut sidewise to Hudson. There went what little progress he’d made.

Besides, I like being home with the kids!” “Of course, you do!” Leo chortled, “You’re a big child yourself!” “Oh, so real men don’t fuck with their kids, is that what you’re saying?” Hudson had dropped his fork onto his plate to glare across the table at Leo.

“Can you show me around the palace today? I want to see everything!” Max’s eyes went to Leo, “Uh…sure, but your dad would be even better at that. He grew up here, you know.” Hudson’s shoulders slumped, “Fine. I’ll go get dressed.”

Oh no... Hudson has warmed to Max immediately, while Leo feels like a complete third wheel 😬 Hopefully Leo can patch things up!

“How the fuck does she do it?” Leo asked. “Do what?” He didn’t have to ask who she was; Leo was talking about Riley. “Bringing everyone together like that. Never in my life have I been able to maintain one real relationship!

You know what, THAT is Riley's superpower, right there! Not the sex, not the blacklist, not the manipulation, it's this! Bringing people together 🥰

He trailed off, unsure exactly how many relationships Riley had in addition to Liam and Max.

🤣🤣🤣🤣

“Speaking of relationships that didn’t work out…” Leo said. Max blinked, “Were we?”

Bahahhahahaha! His shock 🤣🤣🤣🤣

“Something about being in a group that tried to overthrow the government. I don’t know. But anyway, turns out Lucretia had a teenage daughter named Lilith. Liv is her guardian now.” “Wait, wait, wait, wait!” Leo exclaimed, “Miss I’m never having children because they’re evil little crotch goblins is raising a child?”

Crotch goblins will never cease to crack me up

“Well….see…last time I saw her, there was a…ah….disagreement and she…well, things were said, accusations were made, furniture was broken….I thought it was best to let her cool down for a while.”

Furniture breaks relatively frequenly in the BR universe, doesn't it...? 😆

Max snorted, “I’ll say! Remember the time you crashed that party on the Prime Minster of Japan’s yacht because you thought Liv was there with his cousin and-“ “I don’t want to talk about that Max! It almost caused an international incident!”

“Yeah, well, you chose to date a crazy woman.” Leo lifted a surprised eyebrow at that, “And you didn’t?” “Ok, fair enough. No wonder those two are BFF’s.”

“I didn’t know how to be a dad, Max. My own dad was a piece of shit. I thought the kid would be better off without me.” “You should tell him that.” “Why? It doesn’t excuse a goddamn thing.” “No. But it helps explain it a little. Hudson’s a good kid. Talk to him.”

Leo felt both dread and excitement shoot through him. If Leo Rys, the playboy prince, had ever truly loved a woman in his life, there was no doubt that woman had been Oliva Nevrakis. He just seemed incapable of making it stick, no matter how many times he’d tried.

I feel like he's definately going to try, though!

This was great! 🥰 I laughed so hard!! I miss the BR crew!! Can't wait for more / the rewrite whichever you end up getting to first 😆

Bad Parenting Chapter 2: Chaos for Breakfast

Series: Bad Parenting

Fandom: The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir

Pairings for series: (Riley x Liam x Max) + Riley x Drake

Featuring: Leo, Oliva, M!OC Hudson Rys and F!OC Lilith Nevrakis

Rating: PG

Warnings for this chapter: mild language

Word Count: 2,867

A/N: This chapter indulges my HC of Max as the domestic one of the group!

My other stuff: Master List.

Original series this spun off from: Bad Romance. More specifically Bad Romance Disney Adventure.

After the events in Disney Adventure, Leo finds himself in possession of his thirteen-year-old son Hudson for the summer. Unfortunately for him, Hudson isn’t that impressed with Leo’s newfound desire to be a father.

Being back in Cordonia stirs up old feelings for Leo and ignites new ones for Hudson. Leos strives to reignite an old flame, but Olivia is busy with her own parenting struggles as her aunt’s imprisonment made her the legal guardian to Lucretia’s daughter Lilith, who has plenty of Nevrakis attitude of her own.

Lilith Nevrakis is borrowed, and retrofitted as Olivia’s cousin rather than sibling, with loving permission from @harleybeaumont. She is also much younger here.

Leo woke to the smell of coffee and bacon and the sounds of dishes clattering, children laughing and people talking. He climbed out of bed, hurried through teeth brushing and the relieving of his bladder then wandered down the hallway and into the great room where the open floor plan meant that the living room, dining room and kitchen basically faded into each other.

Max was standing in the kitchen, pulling homemade muffins out of the oven. “Good morning, Leo! Want a muffin? I made blueberry, cranberry, chocolate chip and banana nut. You can have one of each if you want!”

The muffin tin in Max’s oven mitted hand clattered to one of the stone countertops as he lowered it onto a cooling rack.

The kitchen had exploded with activity. It was alive with noise and activity.

Liam walked calmly out of the master bedroom and into the chaos completely unphased. He was immaculate, as always, perfectly pressed suit, every hair in place, briefcase firmly in hand.

Max thrust a coffee mug into his hands, “Just the way you like it, babe. Your plate is ready, it’s on the table, next to Ellie.”

Liam gave Max a smile and quick peck on the lips as thanks before setting his briefcase down and taking his seat at the table with a smile. “Good morning, everyone!” He said brightly.

“Good morning, my love.” Riley was seated on the other side of Ellie, between her and Xander. She leaned around their daughter to kiss Liam good morning then gave both Ellie and Xander a flurry of kisses as she got up from the table, scooping the last of her food into her mouth as she walked to the sink to deposit her plate in it. She then hurried to both highchairs to kiss her little one’s goodbye before grabbing her glass off the table and walking back toward the sink.

She nodded at Leo from across the room, “Good morning!”

“Riley, I made you a lunch, don’t forget to take it!” Max thrust a paper bag in front of her face. “You can’t keep skipping meals!”

“I don’t skip meals!” She protested as she tipped her glass of orange juice up and drained it. She took the bag and sat it down on the counter as she rummaged around in her attaché case, “Do you have a copy of my itinerary for the day?”

Max produced a laminated, bullet pointed list with face to face meetings highlighted in blue, zoom meetings in green and time sensitive tasks in yellow.

“Thank you love bug!” Riley rewarded him with a kiss as she pulled the itinerary out of his hands.

“I wanted waffles!” Xander started to wail from his seat at the table.

“Right here!” Max slid a plateful of waffles in front of him, complete with a smattering of blueberries and a dollop of whipped cream on top.

“Waffles are gross! I want-“

A plateful of chocolate chip pancakes cut Ellie off mid-sentence. Her face lit up, “Thank you Poppa!”

“Drink your milk, Ellie!” Max said, then turned back to the adults as Drake stumbled into the room looking rushed because he’d woken up late, “Drake, you want breakfast?”

“No thanks.”

“I have bacon-“

“No time, Max, I have to go!” Drake said as he filled his travel mug with coffee.

Max immediately threw together a bacon, lettuce and cheddar sandwich with mayo as he asked, “Tomorrow’s your mom’s birthday, have you called her lately?”

“Max, stop trying to mother me!” Drake scolded, but he took the proffered sandwich as he kissed Riley goodbye. “Love you, babe.”

“Love you, cuddle bear.” She pulled away to shove papers into her attaché case.

Drake grabbed a muffin and balanced it on top of his sandwich.

“Don’t forget about your mom’s birthday!” Max called as Drake headed out the door.

“I’ll call her!” He promised as he stepped out into the palace hallway.

“Leo, grab a plate, there’s plenty of food!” Max said as he spooned yogurt into Jace’s opened mouth. 

“I’m not sure there’s room.” Leo protested.

“Here, take my seat!” Liam said as he rose, “I have to get going.”

Liam made the rounds, kissing children and Max and Riley before retrieving his briefcase.

“Max, can you call down to housekeeping today and tell them to use just a tad less starch in my casual business shirts? I felt like a fucking statue they were so stiff this last time! Oh, and could you order me some more socks? I swear, every pair I pulled out of the drawer today had holes in them!” Liam said as he leaned over to kiss him goodbye.

“Yes, and here, take some coffee with you!” Max shoved a thermos at him.

Riley was right behind Liam as he opened the door when Max caught up with them, “Riley! You forgot your lunch!”

“Sorry, and thank you!” She told him.

“I’m going to call you at one o’clock to make sure you remembered to eat!” Max said.

“Okay, okay! Love you, bye!”

Hudson wandered into the kitchen rubbing his eyes, “What’s for breakfast?”

“What do you like kid?” Max asked as he cut up more French toast for Jax.

Jace was banging his sippy cup on his highchair tray as he babbled loudly. The corgis ran around the bottom of the hair chair, yipping and begging for more sausage to be dropped.

Xander was singing at the top of his lungs about four little speckled frogs, Jax was making car noises as he pushed apple slices around his highchair tray and Ellie was yelling at Xander to shut up.

“Uh…” Hudson’s eyes widened as he took in all the food. There were waffles, pancakes and French toast, bacon, sausage and ham, fried and scrambled eggs, toast and muffins, cereal boxes stood open next to the sink, milk, coffee, and carafes of both apple and orange juice littered the counter.

“If there’s nothing you like, I can make you something.” Max offered as he gave Jace more scrambled eggs, which the toddler immediately tossed to the floor and squealed in delight as the dogs went crazy racing around to get to them.

“No, that’s cool uncle Max, there’s plenty here, I can get it myself.” Hudson replied as he started loading food onto a plate.

Max started clearing away the dishes. He rinsed them in the sink then loaded them into the dishwasher.

“Ellie, if you’re done, wash your hands and put your plate in the sink. Your tutor will be here shortly.” Max said.

Ellie grumbled as she put her plate in the sink. She washed her hands.

“You too, Xan.”

Xander followed Ellie to the sink and placed his plate in it. Max supervised his hand washing and drying then he sat about cleaning up the little boys. He wiped hands and faces, removed highchair trays and placed them on the counter to be cleaned before removing bibs and pulling each boy out his respective highchair. Max then wiped down the highchair seats.

“Max, have you eaten anything?” Leo asked.

“Oh, I eat plenty while I’m cooking and getting it ready.”

“You know the palace has a kitchen, and a dining room, you could all eat in there, or have whatever you want sent up…”

“I know.” Max replied, “But it’s not the same. These muffins are made with love, Leo! Plus, most of that was sent up from the kitchen. I just plate it up and add the finishing touches, like Xander’s whipped cream and Ellie’s chocolate chip smiley face.”

“I just watched you make Drake a fucking breakfast sandwich!”

Max shrugged, “I just assembled it.”

“You had the bacon sent up just for Drake.” Leo sounded vaguely accusatory.

Max’s eyes flicked to him as he responded, “Yeah. So?”

“So what? You….like each other now?”

Max looked up at Leo in surprise, “We’ve always liked each other! He’s my best friend roomie!”

“I….” Leo’s eyes met Hudson’s and they both suppressed a smile. Hudson might be new to everyone, but a day had been long enough for him to recognize just how unlike Drake that statement sounded.

It did sound just like Max though. Leo widened his eyes at Hudson as he hid his smile behind a coffee cup. He was gratified by the conspiratorial grin he got in return. Maybe the kid was warming up to him after all.

Max whipped out his phone and tapped furiously away, “There! Socks are ordered, housekeeping has been advised about the starch issue and Martha has been told to remind Riley to eat lunch!”

“Who’s Martha?”

“Riley’s office manager.”

“Damn, Max! You’re on top of everything!”

“Thanks, Leo! My organizational skills are second to none. Why do you think Riley hired me as her personal assistant and top advisor in the first place?”

“Uh…” Leo’s eyes flitted over to Hudson then back to Max as he tried to water down his response, “To give you a valid reason to always be around without the press having a field day?”

Max gave him a wounded look, “Wow, really? I mean, yes, that was part of it, but I have always had superior organizational skills and Riley needs that, she’s total chaos most days.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Leo chuckled fondly, “But I never pegged you as the organized type.”

“Really?” Max huffed, “Did you think that those epic, days long Beaumont bashes just threw themselves?”

“Uh…”

“DJ’s just knew to show up? Caterers? All that fucking alcohol? People to assemble the champagne towers? Staff to clean up after the horses? The invitations put themselves in the mail? Customized placards on the doors?”

Leo was stunned, “I just assumed Bert did all that!”

“Ha!” Max barked out, “My brother? Mr. Stick in the mud himself? You thought Bertrand made sure the swords were sharpened for the champagne sabering? You thought Bertrand knows where the strobe lights are stored? You thought Bertrand-“

“Ok, ok!” Leo laughed, throwing his hands up in the air, “I get it!

“Personal assistant is still my job. I just work from home now so I can be here for the kids.”

Leo raised an eyebrow, “Don’t you guys have nannies for that?”

Max scoffed, “Nannies can’t replace a loving parent, Leo. We prefer to be hands on.”

“Yeah,” Hudson interrupted with his mouth full of bacon and waffles, “That sounds like something good parents do!”

“I…” Leo’s eyes cut sidewise to Hudson. There went what little progress he’d made. “I’m just saying, Max seems to be doing all the heavy lifting in that department!”

“Nah.” Max replied as he threw a piece of chocolate chip muffin in the air then caught it in his mouth, “Liam and Riley have a whole country to run, and Drake has the queen’s guard. My job provides the most flexibility. I can run Riley’s staff and juggle her schedule in my sleep at this point. Besides, I like being home with the kids!”

“Of course, you do!” Leo chortled, “You’re a big child yourself!”

“Oh, so real men don’t fuck with their kids, is that what you’re saying?” Hudson had dropped his fork onto his plate to glare across the table at Leo.

“What? No! I didn’t mean….I just meant….” Leo’s head swung around to take in Max, the kids running amuck, the food still strewn across the counters, “You know what? I can admit when I’m wrong. Max had to have been up before everyone else to get all this food ready and make sure everyone else’s day got off to a good start. It’s not a frivolous thing. It’s work. I’m sorry, Max.”

“It’s ok, Leo. You haven’t been around in a while. Things change. People change, they grow and mature and move into different stages of life.” Max said as he put the cereal away in the pantry and the milk and juice back into the fridge.

“I see that.” Leo admitted.

“Uncle, Max?”

“Yeah, Hudson?” Max answered.

“Can you show me around the palace today? I want to see everything!”

Max’s eyes went to Leo, “Uh…sure, but your dad would be even better at that. He grew up here, you know.”

Hudson’s shoulders slumped, “Fine. I’ll go get dressed.”

The two men watched him leave. Leo turned to Max and asked, “Maybe you could help me out with this parenting thing? You seem to have it down.”

“We’ll all help you, Leo. We’re family.”

“You really consider me family, Max?”

“Of course, I do! You’re Liam’s brother! Listen, I know you make fun of all of…this.” Max gestured around vaguely at everything. “But Liam is my husband in every way that matters. We’ve been together for over a decade now. We’re not just playing around and even though the official, legal marriage is between Riley and Liam, we all love each other, deeply! I’m not just a plaything to them, Leo. They both love me as much as I love them, and we are a family!”

“How the fuck does she do it?” Leo asked.

“Do what?” He didn’t have to ask who she was; Leo was talking about Riley.

“Bringing everyone together like that. Never in my life have I been able to maintain one real relationship! You and Liam juggle two each and Riley….” He trailed off, unsure exactly how many relationships Riley had in addition to Liam and Max. Drake, of course. But over the years he’d had his suspicions about Rashad.

“Well, she’s just fucking amazing, that’s how!” Max responded. He knew he and Liam would never have become a thing without her intervention. He was as grateful for that as he was for the woman herself. His life was perfect. Close to eleven years in and he was still just as stupidly in love with both of them as he had ever been. Not that it had been smooth sailing in the beginning. Anything but, actually.

“Speaking of relationships that didn’t work out…” Leo said.

Max blinked, “Were we?”

“What’s Liv up to these days?” Leo asked carefully.

Max laughed, “You’re not subtle dude. Liv is fine. You know Lucretia went to prison in Hidar?”

“What?”

“Something about being in a group that tried to overthrow the government. I don’t know. But anyway, turns out Lucretia had a teenage daughter named Lilith. Liv is her guardian now.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait!” Leo exclaimed, “Miss I’m never having children because they’re evil little crotch goblins is raising a child?”

“Yep. For about a year now.” Max confirmed.

“I should call her!”

“Are you telling me you haven’t spoken to her in a year?”

“Well….see…last time I saw her, there was a…ah….disagreement and she…well, things were said, accusations were made, furniture was broken….I thought it was best to let her cool down for a while.”

“A while? It’s been a year! Jesus Leo! No wonder you can’t maintain a relationship!”

“Liv and I….we go all the way back, to like the age of six, ok? And things between us are…complicated.”

Max snorted, “I’ll say! Remember the time you crashed that party on the Prime Minster of Japan’s yacht because you thought Liv was there with his cousin and-“

“I don’t want to talk about that Max! It almost caused an international incident!”

“Yeah, I remember. Constantine was sooooo pissed!” Max chortled.

“It wasn’t funny! She lied to me about where she was that night, she wasn’t even on the damn yacht!”

“Yeah, well, you chose to date a crazy woman.”

Leo lifted a surprised eyebrow at that, “And you didn’t?”

“Ok, fair enough. No wonder those two are BFF’s.”

Xander and Jax ran through the room shrieking with laughter as Hudson chased them. Max laughed out loud, “Look at them bonding!”

Leo sighed heavily, “Now if I could only get him to bond with me.”

“Have you tried apologizing to the kid?”

“What?” Leo blinked at him.

“For not being around? He’s mad, Leo and he has a right to be.”

“I didn’t know how to be a dad, Max. My own dad was a piece of shit. I thought the kid would be better off without me.”

“You should tell him that.”

“Why? It doesn’t excuse a goddamn thing.”

“No. But it helps explain it a little. Hudson’s a good kid. Talk to him.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

There was a knock on the door. “Okay, that’s the tutor for Ellie and Xander. I usually give Jax and Jace a bath while the big kids are occupied. Do you want to have lunch later? I was thinking we could meet in the private family dining room and have lunch with Regina, so she can meet Hudson.”

“Sure, Max. That actually sounds good.”

“Oh, one more thing.” Max told him as he let the tutor in, “We’re having a dinner party tomorrow night and Liv will be there.”

Leo felt both dread and excitement shoot through him. If Leo Rys, the playboy prince, had ever truly loved a woman in his life, there was no doubt that woman had been Oliva Nevrakis. He just seemed incapable of making it stick, no matter how many times he’d tried.

But he was nothing if not persistent.

[bigmoneypastelhalloween]

"And everyone listening in" thats me in there

0 hr 1: cute etsy sponsor

0 hr 3: fanart business

0 hr 6: oasis shout out

0 hr 7: this is not a cult or propaganda, this is an audioblog

0 hr 8: the show is not to brainwash or indoctrinate anyone, audience in the 1000s or of himself, its just his thought purger

0 hr 8: some views expressed may be pessimistic, some may be unorthodox

0 hr 9: exercise critical thinking wrt the show. On it boss

0 hr 10: "point of the show, its kind of funny, is that there really isnt a point, its just a place for me to sit here and talk" divine

0 hr 11: energy crisis talk. Changes to the show.

0 hr 12: "this is vorw". His tiredness is increasing but maybe it'll make him concise, he's feeling clearheaded.

0 hr 13: two important bad newses with the show. "I like addressing things."

0 hr 14: 2 related issues, price and accessibility of energy.

0 hr 15: regardless of what u think abt Ukraine (gives several sample takes) youve noticed the energy shortage

0 hr 17: classic "there are no statistics with shortwave"

0 hr 18: its amazing to break even on shortwave, people who most make use of the format have a limited ability to financially assist or float a station

0 hr 19: email from utah station owner

0 hr 20: no more utah am broadcast

0 hr 21: the shortwave he reaches europe and asia with broadcasts out of austria, stations solid as a rock

0 hr 22: bbc and tons of other big names use this austrian tower and its expensive but its worth every penny because it reaches a worldwide and very engaged audience

0 hr 24: the signal reaches western europe, all of russia, ukraine, the middle east, central asia, china, mongolia

0 hr 24: the frequency used is a state broadcast chan in the dprk and johnboy is positive he's got listeners there, pretty cool

0 hr 25: he found this out a month ago

0 hr 28: he's got a new year rate increase coming

0 hr 32: possibility of cutting back to a monthly show if the rate goes over 250/hr

0 hr 33: farewell radio Luxembourg

0 hr 36: mailbag

0 hr 38: 11am is bedtime

0 hr 42: if youre listening to the show and dont like it thats your own fault for listening. I love this part.

0 hr 44: its hard being a people-pleaser

0 hr 45: reiterating that your choice to listen is on you

0 hr 47: pessimism content warning

0 hr 49: there's 31 emails in the vorw inbox

0 hr 50: fanmail from someone whose dead friend is a johnppelganger

0 hr 51: condolences, "death is a part of life"

0 hr 52: doesnt believe in the stages of grief

0 hr 52: "i suffered a loss 5 years ago at this point" vague

0 hr 54: discussing the pain of loss

0 hr 55: listener question about why he stopped doing reviews in the car

0 hr 56: its the gawkers

0 hr 57: real-introvert-hours, oh yeah they call me the recluse

0 hr 59: he's stopping traffic doing these public reviews

1 hr: the only solution is to remove himself from public view

1 hr 1: answering question about custom suits; its the second pronunciation of bespoke. Its the word of the day in jenny nicholsons new vid

1 hr 2: feels indecent if not wearing formalwear

1 hr 3: ethos of mainstream menswear n/a

1 hr 5: brooks brothers sux now, their new releases are all flops to johnboy

1 hr 6: total disregard for modern fashion

1 hr 8: sample pic of suit that doesnt hide the body enough, we're looking for a "formless silhouette"

1 hr 11: jackets that show ass are out of the question

1 hr 14: notes about always wearing a vest now

1 hr 15: coat talk

1 hr 16: the frock coat

1 hr 17: sample modern suit 2

1 hr 19: letter from sri lanka about why dont you do sponsorships. John very sweetly asks how everything is in sri lanka

1 hr 20: watch the 18 min video about this

1 hr 21: summarizing his stance on sponsorships anyway

1 hr 24: the types of sponsorship offers he gets

1 hr 28: burger review req email

1 hr 29: quest to figure out what the hell the email is talking about

1 hr 30: papa bowls email

1 hr 31: "i think you have some of the poweres that be, and they could just be rich ceos or whatever...they want to, or just enjoy, degrading people" he sees a trough feed in those bowls, he sees ceos laughing at the people who say its good. "When you open your eyes and you see this stuff how can you not see it as a joke"

1 hr 33: papajohns can get wrecked. taco bell tried to censor him a couple years ago, disney tried to censor him a couple years ago

1 hr 35: email from someone whose reality is that the parasocial relationship they have with lorde is getting stressful and its lorde running vorw

1 hr 36: email request to review 711 nitro cold brew. Request is not addressed but "thank you for writing in"

1 hr 37: fanart submission of a.i. generated pics

1 hr 38: starting in on the topic of a.i.

[Part 2, part 3]

[ushidoux]

Power Struggle - Ushijima x Reader

Summary: You’re set up on a blind date with a man who might just be your match.  (~5.1k words)

Warnings: fem pronouns, fem!reader, blind date, exhibitionism, public sex

A/N: Part of @cherrytenko​’s CEO collab! Surprisingly this is possibly the longest fic I’ve written as a oneshot and it’s a little softer than I expected it to be but please enjoy!

---

It’s about half past 6pm when you add the final touch to your makeup, a smear of matte lipstick (Rouge Hermes #48, to be exact), to your lips.

It’s not often that you’re able to leave work early but your mother and father had called you from overseas in the late afternoon, interrupting their own third honeymoon, to remind you of your final meeting for the day - 

A date.

“I know you hate these things, but just go! You might like what you see,” your mother insisted over video chat, her voice muffled by the sound of wind whipping past her as she and your father cruised along on a shaky speedboat they’d purchased just for the day. You weren’t completely sure where they were, only vaguely aware that they were somewhere around Jeju Island, and not exactly sure why they still had phone service, but you weren’t going to ask too many questions.

“No obligation!” Your father adds, just out of view and yelling slightly. 

Sure, never any obligations.

As you smack your lips in the mirror to smooth out the lip color, giving yourself a brief once-over to decide whether or not you feel the need to adjust your hair or if you will wear falsies or not, you frown ever so slightly, then let out a sigh.

You hate this. 

This is the third “meeting” they’ve arranged for you this month, and they’d been at this for almost six months overall by now. This search for a ‘suitable husband’ was getting stale -  not to mention, time-consuming - and you weren’t sure you would be willing to appease your parents any longer.

In fact, you weren’t exactly sure you were interested in a partner anymore. The clock would hit thirty any moment now, and the math of falling in love, getting married, having kids, and still heading a successful company no longer seemed to be adding up. You didn’t know how exactly to tell your sweet parents who were the picture of domestic bliss that they’d probably have to give up on the idea of grandchildren, and consider raising puppies instead.

Regardless, for the time being, you could still bother to meet this stranger for dinner.

There’s a clasp seal envelope atop your dresser - a portfolio that had been left on your desk by your father’s assistant at the beginning of the week - that still seems entirely too formal for the process. This is matchmaking, not a job application, was the first thought that came to mind once you realized the envelope held a set of photos, a resume and an admittedly curt but formally written statement reminiscent of a cover letter.

Ushijima Wakatoshi, the signature at the bottom of the letter read in an extremely neat script. He must be particularly organized and detail-oriented.

There were two pictures, one that looked almost like a passport photo and the other much more relaxed, where he was dressed casually in a t-shirt and pressed jeans, standing with his arms crossed beside a redheaded man whose smile was wide and infectious, his arm around his neck. You wondered if he picked those photos himself. 

You’d perused the first photo much more carefully because you could see more of his face. He’s quite handsome, you’d admitted, the faintest warmth in your cheeks, but he seemed awfully uptight. For one, the look on his face was very neutral, not bothering to smile. He was clean shaven and his hair was close cropped at the edges, a woody brown that paired well with serious olive eyes. You wondered if he ever laughed out loud, and what he looked like when he did.

The taxi driver is prompt and waiting outside of the high-rise in which you live by the time you make your way down the elevator. The click of your heels is loud on the tile as you make your way past the revolving doors. As you slip into the back of the car, you wonder if you’re dressed too professionally. You may have forgone the women’s pantsuit, but you’re still wearing a feminine pantsuit-esque ensemble in a creamy beige - pink would have seemed too ditzy, white would have seemed a bit too innocent (not to mention risky) and yellow too juvenile.

You’re not sure why you’re thinking so hard about this, but really years of paying attention to your appearance in public, not being taken seriously because you’re pretty and young and your personality is more bubbly than bossy puts you on your guard, especially when it comes to first impressions.

The location appears to be an upscale sushi restaurant, the type that you have to call ahead for months to get a reservation unless you have some kind of special arrangement with the owner. A staff member checks you in and brings you to the back to a private room, and as you pass through the dimly lit hallway, clutching your purse a little too securely, a scene from a yakuza movie comes to mind.

“Your room, madam,” the young man nods and motions you to enter a room that is brightly lit enough that it is almost blinding, large and round as though you were in a fishbowl yourself. You look up and notice that even the ceiling is curved. Elaborate paintings hang off the wall. 

He’s not here.

You glance at the attendant and he raises his eyebrows as though he is expecting you to say something. You must look surprised, and continue to look so as you remove your shoes to sit at one of the thin mattresses set before the low table.

You wish you’d worn stockings perhaps, tucking your bare feet beneath you in a casual seiza position. You can’t recall the last time you’ve been this traditional/formal, and the thought of a man you barely know already knowing what your feet look like bare bothers you just a bit. 

The attendant pours water and then tea for two wordlessly and slips out of the room. 

Your heart pounds once you’re finally alone. Why is this so intense? 

You fidget nervously with the thin silver necklace you are wearing, looking for a menu. There is none so far. Just square plates, both chopsticks and forks (odd for sushi, you think), and a steaming cup of tea set right next to a sweltering crystal glass of ice cold water. Opposites.

For a fleeting moment, you actually wonder for once if this man will like you. 

“My apologies, Ms. ___.”

You’re startled by a rich voice, a tiny gasp revealing that you’re more spooked than you realize, and your eyes shift towards the direction of the sound to see what looks like your date finally arriving in a hurry. 

You instinctively readjust yourself onto your knees to look formal, then realize you should probably stand instead, but before you can get up he waves you to sit back down, now settling down himself across from you.

“I had intended to arrive early but quite a few things happened at the company to make that unfeasible.”

He said this while removing a suit jacket in a way that was in no way intended to be sexy, not at all, then let out what sounded like a single, semi-nervous chuckle. 

Wordlessly, you replied with a nod, transfixed as you compared photography to reality. The photos didn’t do him justice, not at all. The suit jacket was picked up quickly by a waiter who you had forgotten was still in the room.

Ushijima extended an arm to you across the table, intending to shake your hand.

“Did you wait long?” He asks as you shakily take his hand for a handshake that consumes your hand almost entirely in his large one.

You shake your head, then embarrassed when you realize you aren’t using your voice, and add, “No, I didn’t wait long...”

“Are you hungry?” He replies, quickly. Your instinct is to say no, no you didn’t need anything, especially not from him, but you are pretty sure your stomach would growl loudly any minute now, and you’d only look like a fool. 

Ushijima glances at the waiter, who finally hands the two of you menus.

“Please order anything you like.”

You look down, swallowing hard again, and for a moment it is difficult to focus on the unnecessarily elaborate handwriting on the menu.

Something about him already grates on your nerves and you couldn’t exactly pinpoint what. You could forgive people for being late, and you were used to people being a little forward, but something about the way he was both familiar and unfamiliar in the way he spoke to you seemed to veer into patronizing behavior. 

Why wasn’t he nervous? Every man you’d sat across from in the past half a year had just a little waver in their voice when they spoke to you at some point, even those who had started off boasting their fancy degrees and their villas and their large bank accounts. 

But he sits perfectly still, all broad shoulders, gently wafting cologne, and a gaze that is both disconcerting and impartial, so you don’t know what to think. 

When you look up from the menu to him, his eyes are still heavily focused on you, and you can’t really fault him. There’s nothing else to look at in this room, after all.

You take this opportunity to tease him. No man has ever intimidated you before and this one is no different.

“Are you going to order anything? I barely saw you look at the menu.” Your voice is light and coquettish and it implies, all you’re doing is staring at me.

“I already know my order. I’ve been here enough times,” he replies, immune to the playfulness in your voice. You watch him roll up his sleeves as he answers, and take note of the shape of his hands as he takes a sip of tea.

Maybe you’re the one staring.

“Would you like a recommendation?” He offers as he sets the cup down. 

You shake your head no, and wonder again why you’re making gestures instead of talking. He smiles as though he can read your mind.

Once the waiter takes your orders and leaves the room, you’re left in silence, facing your would-be partner. It’s a stalemate of sorts and you lose, asking the first personal question.

But you ask it semi-clinically, refusing to lose the upper hand. You’re not sure why there’s an upper hand, but there is, and it will be yours.

“I read a little about your company before arriving. You gave me quite a few details, which I appreciated,” you state, turning your head to the side politely to take a sip of tea yourself. “You’ve done very well for yourself as CEO,” you add.

His eyes don’t crinkle from the flattery. “My employees do great work at all levels so it’s only natural that there would be positive growth,” he replies matter-of-factly.

You smile politely, but this answer doesn’t give you very much information about him. He’s shifting the success away from him, you remark, however he accepts the compliment as though expected. Is this genuine humility or arrogance?

You lean very slightly forward, just enough to see if he’ll take the opportunity to glance down your blouse, as other suitors have invariably done. He doesn’t, and you proceed to ask the next question.

“What do you do outside of work?”

His eyebrows raise, and you wonder if it’s because he realizes you are pretending you didn’t read that section on his application, but he answers anyway.

“I don’t have very much free time, as you are probably aware, but I garden and paint. And of course, I like to keep fit through team sports.”

A quick look at him makes that last part quite clear. You clear your throat slightly and then it is silent again. It’s not exactly an uncomfortable silence, but it’s not comfortable either.

Just as you wonder why he isn’t asking you any questions, he suddenly speaks up.

“Pardon me if this sounds inappropriate, but you’re beautiful. Why would you need a matchmaking service?”

You’re taken aback, and while your brain is scrambling for understanding of what his intentions are, he adjusts his sitting position so that he’s cross-legged with both hands on his knees and lets out a sigh before continuing.

“You’re also accomplished and clearly articulate. I don’t imagine you’d have trouble finding a partner through more organic means.”

It seems like there are a million butterflies that suddenly inhabit the small space in the pit of your stomach. Again, you’re at a loss for words, something that is rare for someone as opinionated and cordially fierce as you.

Should you be offended? It’s almost as though he’s asking what’s wrong with you?

He asks frankly, “Why a blind date?”

You want to ask him the same question, but you hear the waiter return and you fall silent, letting the butterflies in your stomach die down.

---

“I-is this the first time - ah - you’ve done this?”

You’re no longer laid out on the tatami like you were just an hour earlier, Ushijima nibbling on your lower lip and your collarbones instead of the overpriced, high-quality fish that sat atop your table, but now laid under him, spread eagle save for the hands you use to hold on to his shoulders as he slowly and deliberately thrusts inside you. 

Your voice is breathy and catches in your throat every time he moves, but you have to know. How often has he ended up like this?

The heat that fills your whole body now isn’t just from the shame of letting a stranger fondle your body in an upscale restaurant, it’s because Ushijima somehow knows exactly where and how to touch you, as though he’s always known. His fingers have traveled your body like a hiker on a well-beaten path, from the softness behind your earlobes to your squishy center and back, and now have settled into a hold that is firm yet gentle on your hips. 

When he replies “no” with immense honesty, his mouth sinks into the crook of your neck and he goes just deep enough that you don’t have time to factor this new information into your impression of him.

So instead you savor the thickness that fills you and the strength that holds you close, the soft grunts that fill your ears before they get drowned out by your equally loud whimpers and moans.

---

You don’t spend the night, partially out of shame that Ushijima bedded you so quickly and partially because you have a full schedule for the next morning. The parting of ways is brief and awkward and you seem to feel it more acutely than he does.

“I enjoyed our time, Miss ___,” he offers. You’ve dressed up faster than he has so you find yourself unwittingly ogling at the expanse of his sculpted chest and the flex of his muscles as he redresses. You’re almost sad to see him cover up.

You nod and walk out of the room, trying your best to hide the fact that your legs feel far too wobbly to be walking on these heels.

---

“Miss ____?”

Your eyes widen as you realize you’ve been daydreaming through a meeting with the board of trustees and now the wrinkled old men who hated the fact that your father thrust you into leadership you “didn’t deserve” are staring at you with disgruntled expressions.

“Oh, um,” you think quickly, recalling where the presentation left off and glancing quickly at the notes you’d jotted down on a notepad before wondering why Ushijima hadn’t called or texted since you met two weeks ago.

“Um?” The most senior of the group repeats, and your stomach turns for a moment before you steel yourself. He bares his teeth every time he’s displeased with you and you get the impression of an ancient and disgruntled wolf. 

You clear your throat loudly, and settle back in your chair, crossing your legs and your arms over your chest.

“I have some disagreements with the current approach, but I’ll start with the pertinent positives,” you start.

---

“Was the sex at least good?”

Your best friend from high school glances at you briefly, as you face forward on the Peloton you are riding side by side with her. She’s much less out of shape than you are given that she also is your personal trainer and thus rides hers effortlessly, taking some time to wait for you to respond.

You begrudgingly say yes.

“Wow, for once someone dropped you before you could drop them!” She teases in a sing-song voice. You would slap her on the shoulder if she was close enough and if you weren’t out of breath. It stings just a little bit that you’ve heard nothing from him nor the matchmaking company and don’t have a good response to tell your parents aside from I guess we didn’t click.

“He’s missing out, though.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you huff, and cycle faster. No hard feelings.

---

Scratch that, there were absolutely going to be hard feelings now that he was not just fucking with you but also with your livelihood.

Admittedly, it was strange that despite the fact that your companies had never crossed paths until now despite working in the same consumer domain but this was unacceptable.

You’d opened an email that had just slipped into your peripheral vision as you worked on reviewing a couple of interns’ executive summaries, only to find that Ushijima might have just royally fucked you over.

A curt email from a crucial business partner read,

We apologize but we’ve decided to move forward with Ushijima Industries instead. I understand that this is last minute, but we believe that it will be mutually beneficial to discontinue our relationship at this point in time.

Your blood boiled. What the fuck was this?

Your phone rang, one of your team leaders calling immediately and likely looking at the email at the same time you were. He apologized profusely.

“What happened?”

“It seems like they just showed up and offered twice as much as we offered them last minute.”

This bastard. Then in a moment of horror, you wondered if this was your fault, if you had blabbed a little while slightly tipsy off of sake, and revealed that you had this acquisition in the works.

Voice smaller now, you asked, “So we can’t do anything to woo them back?”

“No, I don’t think so. I just have to make sure our other deal doesn’t fall through,” the slightly frantic man answered, the sounds of keyboard keys clicking rapidly heard in the background of the call. 

“Okay, thank you for your hard work,” you stated. “I’ll see what I can do,” you replied with a click. 

Maybe calling someone who’d ghosted you as you drove home, fuming and irritated, wasn’t the best idea, but you needed to confront him somehow. The idea of being bested in more ways than one was too much to bear.

The phone rang once, twice, then three times, and you were getting angrier with every tone through the car speaker. You hung up in frustration.

How embarrassing.

You made it home still irritated, indulging yourself in a relaxing bath to quell your anger. By the time you had soaked for close to an hour, you were mad at yourself for reacting impulsively and now having your number in his phone as a missed call… if he recognized it anyway.

It turns out he did.

“Ms. ___, did you call me earlier? I wasn’t able to make it to the phone in time.”

His voice was even lower on the phone, a slightly gravelly quality making you wonder if he’d actually been napping or just had a smoke. You couldn’t imagine him doing either of these things.

“What kind of game are you playing, Mr. Ushijima?”

There was a bit of hesitation on the phone, and you let out a sardonic laugh once he replied, as expected, “What?”

“How did you know about that deal other than what I told you?”

He paused again, and you too, stood still, a towel wrapped around your still dripping body.

“I assure you, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he then said, carefully. “I, uh… assume you were calling about something else.”

You grit your teeth. What the fuck else? The fact that he sounded genuinely confused only served to aggravate you further.

“Did you or did you not use the information I gave you to intercept my deal with MNY?”

Finally the lightbulb went on.

“Oh, that was you. Hm.”

If you’d been talking in person, you probably would have slapped him at this point. Or at least considered it.

“I didn’t know you were our competitor in that aspect. I… probably would have reconsidered if I had known.”

“Excuse me?”

That tone of over-familiarity, patronizing… the care when you’re not supposed to care was back and you realized you regretted this phone call. 

“How would it be any different? Are you implying that you’d let me win?”

“No, of course not, I…” He trailed off. “Would you like to come over to my apartment and talk? I can give you my address, I would rather talk in person.”

Why? So I can get over there and end up fucking you again?

“I respectfully decline,” you answered curtly, and hung up, tossing your phone onto your bed and letting out an aggravated sigh. 

---

The next morning, you leave an early executive meeting only to find that your office had been overrun with flowers between the hours of 7 to 8 am.

There are yellow roses, stating admiration, spilling out of an oversized bouquet on your desk and a separate bouquet of light red carnations and white camellias that imply that he finds you ‘adorable’. A white card is placed in the yellow bouquet, and on it is written Ushijima’s neat script - you realize it’s from him before you even finish reading the note.

I would like to see you again. Please accept my call around 6 pm.

Respectfully, 

Ushijima Wakatoshi

Your hands hover over the wastebasket in your room with the flowers in your arms, but instead you sigh, and stuff them behind you on your shelf. At least you won’t have to see them while you work, but they’re pretty. They’re clearly bought from a floral shop, but you recall that he had said he gardened in his free time.

Ushijima calls promptly at 6 pm and you let it ring twice before deciding to block his number just as he’s calling. Something about the action is satisfying. 

You can’t be won over with a couple of flowers and kind words. Women aren’t as easily swayed as he may think.

---

It’s another Friday, and surprisingly you haven’t been contacted for a blind date, whether it’s by your parents or the matchmaking service they’ve subscribed you to.

Maybe they’d gotten the message after you’d been ghosted that you were tired of this game. Maybe they were giving you a break. Maybe they’d run out of potential suitors. You were surprised, but not upset.

Ushijima had truly gotten under your skin.

After blocking his call, there were no more attempts at contact for the rest of the week. The only thing left to consider was that if you ever crossed paths in your careers, you would pay him back for snatching your investor. 

And snatching your dignity in the process.

It was about 4 pm and most of the employees were wrapping up their tasks for the day. You usually aimed to have everyone out by 5, especially on Friday so this was boding well. 

“Hey, Madam President, are you okay with an add-on?” You hear your secretary call from outside your door.

“Oh, I mean, I guess but-”

She’s already letting Ushijima through the door.

You smile sweetly, maintaining professional behavior as best you can, while your secretary leads him to an armchair across from you, up until she exits, your expression souring the moment she closes the door.

“Mr. Ushijima, what are you doing in my office?”

He’s settled into the chair so comfortably that it feels as though you’re in his office, not your own. He’s dressed more casually than he was at the restaurant, no suit jacket, just a brown V-neck sweater over a dress shirt that almost seems too tight and a pair of chinos. He’s also wearing a pair of glasses, which is new. 

You hate that he looks good.

“Apologizing and requesting your company.”

He looks at you sincerely, his hands clasped together in his lap. You narrow your eyes.

“Please leave.”

He actually frowns, and the small action actually surprises you. 

“Do you actually want me to leave or are you still upset about the investor? Because if it’s that, we can make an arrangement-”

“No, I’m upset because you did that after not following up after our one night stand!” You finally blurt out, then bite your lip realizing you might have said too much.

“I… got busy.”

“Busy screwing me over?” You quip.

He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture.

“I didn’t call because I thought you didn’t like me.”

You’re a little stunned by this reply, then decide you don’t believe him. What was there not to like? At least at that point he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Why would you think that?”

His hands leave his hair again and rest on his knees. You notice it seems like a default position for him. 

“I’ve been referred to as ‘stiff’. It’s great at work but not great for relationships.”

Ushijima’s brutal honesty is again sending you for a loop. You raise an eyebrow, bidding him to continue. Your arms uncross and you rest your elbows on the table.

“So…?”

“So usually by the time I’ve had sex with someone, it’s all they’re after. And since you didn’t call, I assumed even the sex wasn’t good.”

You unwittingly burst into laughter. Here was this successful, attractive man with a perfect pedigree who was insecure about how good he was in bed?

His eyebrows furrow, and you recollect yourself, realizing that this is a bit cruel.

“You could have sent a text,” you murmur.

“I’m bad at starting conversations.”

You stifle another laugh. “So you just don’t?” You tease. It’s gently mocking but mostly incredulous. It seems that he’s the opposite of the confident man he appears to be.

“That’s why I got excited when you called but then you were upset.”

You purse your lips.

“I promise I didn’t intend to put you in a bad situation,” Ushijima insists.

You sigh, then offer him a small smile. “Are you normally this persistent?”

He glances at the flowers that are only partially hidden from view, which makes your face warm up bashfully, and then looks right back at you.

“No. I just like you.”

Again with the directness, a confidence that is effortless, even when he’s not confident at all.

You don’t want to melt but you do. So instead you rise and clear your desk, stuffing a few items into your handbag as you prepare to leave. He watches, unsure of what you’re up to, sitting still as you walk around towards him and place your hand lightly on his shoulder.

Your body faces the door, but you turn to the side to look at him and grin.

“I’m done with work for today. Take me out.”

---

A couple months later...

“Fuck, you’re - ah - they’re gonna know, I-” Your voice morphs into a mewl instead once his ring finger reaches just the right spot; you’re squirming as much as possible under his touch but he has you laid back on your work desk with both ankles rested on his shoulders and his weight leaning onto you to essentially keep you in place.

“Move your hands,” Ushijima whispers in a hushed tone, leaning in to kiss between your breasts as he readjusts your legs atop him. His pants are down and his cock is already up and ready, the base and swollen balls rubbing against your wet cunt that you are desperately trying to protect from his intrusion. You know there’s absolutely no way you’ll stay quiet when he’s pounding the shit out of you, he likes it entirely too rough, and the walls are thin. You don’t listen, continuing to reach for his hands to swat them away from you.

There’s a part of you that is almost certain that at the very least your secretary knows that every time Ushijima comes for a ‘meeting’, it really is just to fuck the shit out of you before you leave together for the evening, or to relax you right before you once again have to defend your dad’s establishment of you as Company President.

This isn’t a good look.

“I-I can’t…” you whine.

“You can,” he assures you.

He gently kisses your face before prying your hands out of the way and keeping them pinned up against you with one hand and guiding his trajectory with the other before sinking inside of you. You moan at the breach of your privates and he quickly presses his lips to yours to swallow the sound.

Once he’s bottomed out, he rolls his hips, and soon you start to see white once you climax, clenching and cumming around him.

“T-Toshi!” You moan his name, and he clasps a large hand around your mouth before continuing, picking up the pace as he fucks you through your orgasm. He can’t deny that he likes the fact that you’re noisy, that the fact that the heavy desk he’s fucking you against is making a squeaky noise that suggests he’s really putting some force behind these strokes, and that if anyone could see the two of you now, it could be an issue for both of your corporations. Misconduct, they would call it.

He doesn’t care and while you act like you do, you don’t really care either. 

When he lets go of your wrists to use the edge of the desk as leverage and tilts backwards, you scream in pleasure, a terribly obvious sound, and it’s enough to have him tip over and spill into you with a groan. He collapses onto you and the two of you almost slip onto the floor, but don’t; you wrap your arms around him. 

Your hair is disheveled and so is his, and your legs are sticky with sweat and cum. You sigh, letting him soften inside you and stroke his hair.

“You’re getting me in trouble,” you murmur, and he lets out a breathy laugh.

“We don’t really have to answer to anyone, do we?” He replies with a smirk, and pecks you one more time on the lips.

He’s right - only you two are a match for each other.

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Synopsis: You go on a date with Fuegoleon, a man, who dresses smart, but is being vague about a lot of things. Like he can’t tell you something. Through an event, you learn that he is a leader of a biker gang, and is using the money he’s making with his company to fund it. But. He can’t mix these two worlds. Too much at least. Perhaps you are the one to entice this mysterious, gentlemanly and alluring man.  

Pairing: Fuegoleon Vermillion x f!reader

Type: Biker!AU mini series

Warnings: eventual smut, suggestive themes, sexual themes, otherwise general/angst/fluff at a canon typical level; smut chapter, minors DNI, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink (?), assertive reader, creampie, I do consider this as somewhat heavy smut so read accordingly

Chapter length: ~3,7k

A/N: it’s a long chapter but I didn’t want to cut it, so... um... enjoy~

Tag list: @spark-gem @just-a-fuegoleon-fangirl @hybridanafrost​

Chapter 4: Passion

It’s been a week since I saw him; since he picked me up after my car had broken down. I haven’t heard of him since. Though, I’m not sure if I can blame him.

It was a weird evening. And there was a lot to think about. But I didn’t see a reason to talk about it to anyone. Because it was his secret, and everyone has secrets.

I sit back in my chair at home, sipping a drink as I get a text.

“Can I come over? -Fuegoleon” It says.

I have to think about it for a while. Because it’s… it doesn’t seem straight forward. But then again, what really is? Plus, he is intriguing, kind, and gentle… He’s helpful. In a lot of ways, he’s much better than anyone I’ve had in my life.

“Sure” I text back. And I wait.

After a while there’s the sound of an engine, the familiar, low, beast -like growl, and a knock.

I open the door and welcome him in.

His helmet is placed on a table in the hallway, and his boots are left at the entrance. This time, too, I offer him a drink, which he takes. And then we just stand there. The kitchen counter is between us as silence lingers.

“I…” he begins. “I didn’t mean to… seem like I was trying to be dishonest with you,” he tells me. “But I … made this choice, to try and keep my work life and private life separate, because it’d be rather… counterproductive for the company image to have a CEO who’s also a leader of a motorcycle gang.”

“Then why have a gang?” I ask. It’s a fair question.

He sighs, and his shoulders hunch forward. “Because it’s… as ludicrous as it seems, it’s a way to help. There’s a lot of terrible things happening out there, and there’s always not anyone coming to help. So, I thought that I wanted to play a more… concrete hand in assisting the good in the world.”

So, the stories are true, and the rumours are just rumours…

“I know just how insane it sounds-“

“It doesn’t.”

He looks at me, as if he’s evaluating how honest I’m being with him.

“It’s…” I utter, looking up as I try to choose the words. “There are stories, going around, about the deeds of your gang. And they’re largely good. The good outweighs the bad, by far, actually,” I admit. “So, I…”

“You’re saying that you believe me?” He asks, and I… I hesitate.

Not because I wouldn’t believe him, but because I don’t exactly know why I believe him. Maybe because I want to believe him, since he did a good, kind… heroic thing for me. Maybe. Maybe, I just want to believe him.

“Yeah,” I reply, finally, after a short pause. But I look him in the eye as I do so.

There’s another pause, and he looks like he wants to ask a question. But he’s not sure if he should ask it.

However, the thing is… he needs to.

“There’s just… Some time back, I had a … I confided to someone with both sides of my life. Because I wanted to be honest with her. And the next day I found that she had sold the story to a magazine. Of course, it was taken as just a rumour and died down in the long run. Especially because we separated the very same day, it was taken as her just wanting to be … malicious, but it… umm…”

I stay quiet for a while as he talks, waiting if he still needs to continue.

But as he doesn’t, I do. “So, you find it hard to trust people with it.”

He nods. Just once but he does. “My question is: why didn’t you?” He looks at me. His gaze is sincere and inquiring. He really wants to know.

“Because I…” I try to think of a reason. But the statement that comes to mind is just that it’s something one doesn’t do. So, my reply is genuine. “Because it’d be a shitty thing to do.”

My answer isn’t eloquent. I can be eloquent if I want to, but none of the words I can think of on the spot, other than the ones I uttered, seem to carry enough meaning and emotion. And my answer makes him chuckle.

“Look…” I begin again. “I like you. I like you a lot, and I …” I wonder how should I continue that statement. Because it’s just that. I like him. Simple as that.

“And you want to see where this goes?” He asks with an undertone that carries hope with it.

I take a moment, a couple of seconds before I look back at him. “Yes.”

Simple as that. I do want to see where this goes. He had his reasons to try and keep his personal life private, to not reveal everything about himself right off the bat; because he’s gotten hurt. And it’s not like I revealed everything about myself instantly either. That’s just how it is.

But. I am intrigued. And. I like him.

His curious, expecting expression melts away, and his lips tug up into a smile as he circles around the counter.

“I’m… glad… to hear that…”

He’s now standing right in front of me.

I straighten my back, and that makes his eyes widen.

“I’m sorry, I’m being too frank and-“ he tries to take a step back, but I take a hold of his hand.

“Maybe… maybe a bit,” I admit, because I didn’t expect him to come so close. But… I can’t say that the longing… yearning for closeness… to be held and cared for… would be unfamiliar for me. “But I… don’t mind.”

His gaze cascades over me, full of adoration. His steps are no longer trying to carry him further away from me, but instead he’s leaning closer. It’s as if he’s seeing something tender, something rare and divine right before him, and he can’t, for the life of him, pull away.

And I don’t want him. I don’t want him to pull away.

So, I lean closer.

He smells like lavender, leather and machine oil… And he’s warm… so very warm… I place my hands onto his broad… strong chest… and let my palms slide up onto his shoulders. The tips of my fingers push away strands of his silken hair.

I didn’t think they’d be so soft… But they are. And they glide over my skin so easily.

I close my eyes and tilt my head up, little by little trying to inch closer to his face.

My right hand keeps climbing up, and brushes a strand of his hair behind his ear as his hand settle onto my waist. I crack my eyelids open just enough to see his lips.

They’re right there, like a forbidden berry. Something I ought not have.

Why I shouldn’t have, is something I don’t know. I just know that I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t… for some reason I’m not even sure that matters.

But his mouth keeps hovering over mine, and his arms keep me in place. The hold is strong and secure. And I remember… I remember the ride home from the other night. I remember how his bike vibrated between my legs, sending waves through me. I remember the cool night air, mixing together with that familiar scent of lavender. And I remember how my body was pressed against him.

It was so warm then too, but now it’s like it’s blazing.

For a moment I have to wonder if I’m like a moth being drawn to a flame, an open fire. But I don’t care. I want the burn. I yearn it. I carve it.

I need it.

And that is when I faint whimper leaves my lips as I breath in his scent again.

The sound makes his hold tighten, and he presses his mouth against mine. His tongue licks my lips, asking to be let in. And as I try to gasp for air, I welcome him.

His tongue swirls together with mine in the space that connects our mouths as I sink my fingers into his hair. And I lean into him. Press myself against him.

Which is a mistake of the very best kind.

Because I can feel his already thick, long, hard cock through the fabric of his pants. And it makes me grind against him with the entire length of my body, moaning into the kiss.

His lips turn into a smirk. And it’s delicious. The taste is decadent, sultry… sweet like caramel. Which makes me push him, nudge him closer to the nearest arm chair.

He moves, going along with the pushes and nudges of my much smaller form with that smile. The backs of his legs hit against the edge of the seat, and he half sits, half falls onto it, so that he’s now looking up at me.

And I look at him.

His jacket is open, revealing his white t-shirt. And now, as he’s laid in front of me, I can see his long member that’s still hidden within the confines of his pants, which makes me salivate. It makes a wave of warmth course through me, settling between my legs; my folds throb and my core twists, like it’s trying to hold onto him already.

“Need a ride… Sir?” I ask, tilting my head; biting my lip, as I let my gaze travel up and down his form.

He chuckles, the amusement reaching his eyes as he gives me a smile that tastes like a smirk. “I do,” he purrs while staying in his seat, not even attempting to get up.

But he doesn’t need to.

“Take off your jacket,” I tell him with a nudge of my head, my eyes cascading over him with hunger; like I’m starving. Like I am a beast, and only his kisses, passion and desire can satisfy me.

“My jacket?” He quirks an eyebrow through his smirk as he leans forward just enough to slip the garment off of him, and he looks at me, from under his brow. There’s a question in that gaze, as well as amusement.

“Mhm,” I hum as I take a swaying step closer to him and take off my shirt.

His shirt hugs his muscles, leaving very little to the imagination. The outline of his chest… his arms… the only thing that I’m left guessing, waist up, is his pecks. But I know they must be there. They must…

He looks at me eyes full of hunger and adoration. His eyes, deep purple, and soft, like velvet, admire me, like he doesn’t mind being under me, because it grants him a full view.

I climb on top of me, sitting on his lap, facing him, and I press my lips against his in a hungry, starving kiss as I grind my hips against his. The bulge… it seems to grow, or then it quivers in anticipation, maybe both.

Maybe both…

Yes both…

Yes… yes, yes… yesss…

I can feel the fabric of my own panties, now soaked through.

His hands, on my waist, trail down onto my ass, and he gives a squeeze. He presses his fingers into my skin, through the fabric of my skirt, and grinds his hips in return.

I bend my head back, and he immediately goes for my neck, lips dancing over my skin with passion, desire and lust… like I was air and he was drowning.

“My knight in a leather jacket…” I half purr, half moan before pressing a kiss onto his forehead, and I can feel his smile widen.

His left hand trails up, onto the clasp of my braw.

“No longer in a leather jacket,” he murmurs against my skin, right before there’s a snap, as the clasp opens up.

And I toss the bra away.

His hand circles around my body, and he clasps my nipple between his fingers as his lips claim mine again.

I moan into the kiss again in an effort to relief some of the burning, licking, engulfing sensation of my own desire.

But I can’t. And so, my hand trails down and I lift my hips just enough to undo his pants.

He lets go of me, just long enough to aid me in my endeavours. But our mouths don’t separate. Not until his pants are lowered to his thighs, and he’s holding onto his own cock, as I push my panties away, revealing my already dripping folds.

And I lower down.

The tips, the succulent, thick, tip of his cock presses against my entrance, and I look at him with half lidded eyes.

His gaze flickers between mine, and my hand; how my clit peeks from under my skirt.

My lips part, and I continue my descend.

He stretches my walls apart, inch by inch. And it feels too good to tell. Too good to describe. It’s like he’s filling me up, but at the same time he fits perfectly in.

By the time our hips are again connected, I have to arch my back, because he’s pressing against my cervix, as if he’s giving me a deep, hungry kiss down there as well.

His hands grasp onto me, and he growls, clenching his teeth as he’s trying to keep himself from pounding into me.

But that growl is … it takes a hold of me, making my insides squeeze him, because I do want him. I want him to pound into me. I want his cock to hit against my cervix. I want him to pour his thick, hot semen right into me, inside me, until I can’t hold any more inside, and I overflow.

I want him…

I want… so I rock my hips against him, with a grinding motion. The fabric of my skirt presses against my clit, rubbing it, adding pressure.

My eyes are closed as I bite my molars together, and I keep rocking into him. My pace keeps growing and growing, and his hold of me intensifies. His hands are holding onto my hips, as if he’s trying to beg me to stay there, right where his cock can reach me.

His forearms press against my thighs, like he’s trying to press me harder against him.

And I don’t mind. No… I want him. I want him to press me harder against him. I want him to slam his hips up as I hit mine down. I want to hear our skins slapping together through the rushing of blood in my ears.

I moan in my gasp, and I can feel my core trying to grasp onto him. My hips… they begin slamming into him, as my jaw clenches.

“Fuck me!” I tell him, eyes closed as I dance over him, around him.

And he… he does as I tell him.

His told, already secure, increases. His hands on my hips, forearms along the length of my thighs, hold onto me. And then he slams his hips up. Just like I wanted to.

He thrusts up, hitting against my cervix in a way I didn’t anticipate. It’s as if he’s trying to throw me off his lap, but his hands keep me there. And I gasp. I gasp because he’s taking my breath away. I gasp because my head is feeling light.

And he keeps pounding into me. He keeps thrusting. Into me.

Inside. So deep. And I…

I… can’t think.

Anything else but how I want it.

“Inside…” I tell him through my slipping senses. “Fill me up…”

Another growl leaves him, and his pace picks up a notch. A notch… I didn’t… think was… possible, and I-

I swallow… and my eyes… roll back as I try to gasp for air. My walls still grasp onto him, trying to squeeze every drop and he-

He pushes up. Right against my cervix and I-,

I come undone. Right on top of him.

I slump forward, trying to get a hold of my breath. And he catches me in his strong arms. He holds me close.

His chest heaves, and I feel him still pulsating inside of me, trying to pump a few more drops in.

He wraps his left arm around me, and his right… moves to stroke my hair.

“Now that was… one hell of a ride…” he whispers with a low, sultry voice right next to my ear.

I giggle with his words, as my senses come back to me. And I start craving for seconds. Even if I should not have too much of a good thing… or so I’ve been told. But then again… if he’s not just ‘good’, what if he’s perfect? Can one never have too much of a perfect thing?

“Glad you liked it,” I purr and push myself apart just enough to look at him in the eye. “Care for another round?”

There’s a smile on his lips, and a chuckle leaves him. “Oh my,” he utters.

“Maybe this time we can make it to the bedroom…”

“Perhaps…”

“Mhm…” I hum while getting up, and starting to make my way towards the bedroom door. My hands find the top of my skirt, the zipper, and I let the skirt fall onto the floor as I turn back to look at him. “Coming?”

“I just did,” he smirks, getting up and letting his pants hit the floor. And that’s when I see it, in full length, erected, pulsating… as if it’s doing a little happy dance for me.

“Well, so did I,” I smirk back, and turn my head back towards my bedroom, taking slow steps as I make my way there.

I can hear the ruffling of clothes; a shirt being tossed onto the floor…

I barely make it through the door, into the room, as his arms wrap around me. His face is next to mine… hot breath gliding over my skin as his hands roam around my body.

“Exquisite…” he whispers as his right hand begins the trail the top seam of my panties.

And I smile, the corners of my lips are tugged as up as they can be.

“What if we take these off for round two...?”

“Hmm… Sounds like a plan,” I giggle as he pushes the garment down, onto the floor.

I push my hips back with a grinding motion, rubbing his member as I do so.

He takes a step forward, pushing me closer to the bed, which I take. Then another step, and another and another, until we’re standing right by it.

His fingers trace my jaw, guiding me to look at him; and as I do, he lowers his head down to place another kiss onto my lips. And the taste… it’s like a caressing, adoring… sweet… soft embrace right over my tongue. But somehow the sensation extends right into my very soul.

Which doesn’t make me want him any less. If anything, it makes me want him more. So, I bend forward, and look at him over my shoulder. “Fill me up, to the brim…” I purr, and he flashes me that smirk of his again. That damned, devilishly… gorgeous smirk.

He runs the tips of his fingers up my spine, light as a feather. “Whatever the lady desires,” he whispers with a low growl, as if he’s savouring the moment, the idea, the sight in front of him.

His cock slides between my legs, coating itself with my wetness. Then he places the tip right at my entrance, as if teasing me… taunting me… His hands find their way to my hips just as th-

He pushes in.

All. The. Way. In~

My back arches again and I draw in breath with a gasp. Because he’s hitting a spot I didn’t know existed.

“Is it good?” He asks, pulling away, and slamming back in, and I moan in reply.

I can only moan, as no coherent thoughts run through me.

“I take it as a yes…” he purrs, rocking into me.

His hips pump into me, as if preparing. It’s as if he’s warming up.

By the gods how is he not tired after the first round. It’s like he’s only warmed up by it. It’s as if he… the King of Fire, has only been lit on fire. And through him I’m about to be branded, marked, kissed by the very same flame as he is.

He slams against me, and our skins make a slapping sound with the impact. And he does it again. And again, again, again, againagainagain-

I can feel his balls slamming against my clit with the rocking motion. As if they, too, are just teasing me, while my walls clench, pleasure keeps building up and I can’t-

He slams one more time.

And I see stars again.

My legs tremble, and strength seems to leave my body as pleasure washes over me. But there are again those strong, muscular arms to scoop me up, and onto the bed.

My body trembles and my chest heaves. And by the sound of it, he’s out of breath too. But still he manages to pull us both onto the bed, over the soft, silken covers and hold me close.

His fingers draw circles onto my skin, as if to assure me that he’s still there. His breathing rings in my ear, in the best possible way, so tender and adoring.

I didn’t know someone who… looks so rough, and strong, could be so very gentle.

“Are you alright?” He asks with a murmur, as his fingers still draw circles onto my skin.

“Better than alright,” I tell him with a smile.

I can feel his smile again, right on my skin.

“I’m glad,” he replies.

And I think… I think I know what that means. I think it means that neither of us needs to be alone anymore, ever. I think it’s… that this is the start of something bigger, something grand and beautiful. That this is a new start for us both, together.

[alphamales-rp]

"Do that and I'll be the one that starts hurting you," Leo joked with a light tone of concern in his voice, "Yeah, but still," he shook his head. "You sell yourself way too short, B," he sighed, "You got plenty of skills and skills is what people are looking for. You know how many people who did graduate don't know how to do anything?" he pointed out. He couldn't help but smile as a few quick memories of the fun they'd had in his office before flashed through his head, "There's plenty of positions I'd like to put you in and you're pretty skilled at quite a few types of jobs- but, if we're talking about work then that's something different..." he joked, lightly pushing the other.

This was the first time Bryce seemed to actually show any type of interest in the offer, albeit behind the gaze of a joke and vague curiosity, "I know the boys in accounting are always begging for fresh bodies," he pointed out, "We could get you in as an assistant accountant to start, but- I've seen how you are with numbers and I'd be willing to bet anything they'll offer you a better position before your starting period is even up," he cocked his head to the side, "And accounting pays well," he added with a shrug, "Really well ... and the nice bonus is that nobody has to beat anyone up for it," he teased.

"I didn't know you liked that," he said genuinely, "I'll keep that in mind for the next one," he added casually with a nod. He rolled his eyes, "Because every time you come over, B-" which, at this point was a couple times a week now, "-you make a wise-crack comment that I don't have any real snacks, only "fancy shit" so I got 'em for you so you could shut up." He tossed the other his pants, "Yeah, I thought as much," he smiled, pulling out his phone and looking down at it, without lifting his head he nonchalantly said, "Oh, and I got you a couple other things while I was at it, but you'll see when we get there." He texted his driver to collect them from Bryce's address and then slipped the phone back into his pocket. By the time Bryce was dressed - and after Leo had decided to steal a couple heated kisses - his driver arrived and they headed out, Leo holding the car door open for the other as he always naturally did and, as always, he rested a hand on the shorter male's thigh as the car pulled off.

"Fuck yeah I am," Bryce said with a grin and a slight chuckle. He had no illusions what this was. Leo was a great guy. Guys like Leo didn't get serious with guys like Bryce. Fact of life. Not the Bryce was hung up on that or anything. He didn't have feelings.

"I can stop telling you when I get hurt?" He suggested "But seriously. Was nothing. Barely even bruised from it." Bryce rolled his eyes "Yeah cuz 'Highschool dropout and bookie' is a great fucking resume," he scoffed. Sure he was smart, a whiz with numbers and all that. But not the sort of smart that mattered to anyone cuz he didn't get a stupid slip of paper. "What would I even do? Besides get fucked over your desk?" he chuckled softly.

"Hey you could get me some of that fancier beer or something," he pointed out. Not that he actually needed it. He didn't need any gifts from Leo but... was nice. No one ever bothered with that sort of stuff. He paused in confusion "Why would you have my favorite snacks? You can't stand 'em," he said confused. Still he took a final drag and then followed suit and stubbing out his cigarette. "Let's head to yours. You have the better shower." The better most things.

[fukurodanni]

love for the rich and emotionally stunted: a comprehensive guide

ch. 2/7 -- prev. -- next. pairing: jumin han x f!reader warnings: n/a series summary: in the months following the incident with his father's most recent paramour, glam choi, the corporate heir of C&R finds himself discovering exactly what it is that makes a person in love so blind. ao3 link

note: sticking a read more right at the beginning. u kno how it is. thank you for sticking around i'll try my best to keep updates within a week or so!

(weeks prior.)

Jumin Han has entered the chatroom.

Jumin Han

She talked to me today.

ZEN

??

Who?

707

She??

There’s a she?!

Jumin Han

Oh.

I must have neglected to mention it.

ZEN

????

Last time there was a “she”...

Jumin Han

… No.

There’s a woman at my office.

Jaehee Kang

Does she work for you?

Jumin Han

Yes

707

That took an awfully long time for you to type lolol

Are you sure~~

Jumin Han

Yes. She wears a lanyard.

Jaehee Kang

Do you not know her name??

Jumin Han

I should think it would seem impolite after… all that.

Jaehee Kang

???

ZEN

?????

All that WHAT?

Jumin Han

I only caught a glimpse of her lanyard. I don’t know.

ZEN

Dodged my question… T_T

Jaehee Kang

Is this that woman you see in the mornings?

Jumin Han

How did you ....

ZEN

?!?!

707

Is our Jumin finally getting some?!

I’m so proud. Haha T_T

Jumin Han

Getting some… what?

Jaehee Kang

I can look into her.

For research purposes. Of course^^

Jumin Han

;;;

I only just started seeing her this month.

At the door. Seeing her at the door.

707

Seeing her OTL

Maybe she’s your future lover come to save you^^

Jumin Han

I doubt that.

ZEN

Yeah lolol

I doubt it too

And right after the Choi thing?? No way.

707

T_T

Ur right

There’s no way...

-

“Do you play video games, Mr Han?”

That’s a new one. “Where would I find the time?” He asks, thinking of Yoosung. “It’s a useless hobby.”

“That was a quick answer,” you reply. “Who hurt you?”

Jumin raises a brow, inquisitive. “No one.”

“Okay,” you say, the beginnings of a grin playing on your lips. “Who ruined video games for you?”

He thinks of the dark smudges under Yoosung’s eyes, the awful typos and the messages at 3am. It’s only a little funny. The door closes behind them. “No one in particular.”

“You’re smiling, Mr Han. Just a little.” You smile too at this, tilting your head in that curious way of yours. When you reach the lobby and then your separate ways, Jumin spares a glance at you.

He wants to say something more, something lodged very deep in his throat that comes out dry breath. He’s never been too good at small-talk, not with colleagues, not with business outside of work. He wants to be, just a little.

He’s not quite sure how that came to be.

-

It’s beyond embarrassing the way he comes up to you in the cafeteria. “You work here,” he says, a very belated realization.

You blink a few times, as if processing. “Yes,” you say slowly. “I have a lanyard.” You wave the offending item around and Jumin finally, finally catches a glimpse of your name.

“I see,” Jumin says, because that’s all he really can say. “Work hard.”

He consults his phone right away, willing the heat from his face and opening the messenger app. It goes as well as expected when he mentions it so vaguely-- Hyun rags on him for his lack of conversational skills and Yoosung drops a line or two about his own miserable love life. In any case, Assistant Kang’s information on you had only reached him earlier today and in a way he’s still coping. It had been baffling to say the least, finally having everything in front of him rather than scattered in the bits and pieces of your dialogue.

You work, technically, in the same position Assistant Kang does. Only in the fashion department, of which Jumin had strategically ignored after Echo Girl and the Chois. It really isn’t his fault he hadn’t noticed you-- not since before this month when you began arriving so consistently.

“Something on your mind?” Assistant Kang asks, looking up from where she’s shuffling through a stack of papers. It isn’t unusual for her to break the silence with a quip-- she’s always been good at easing into a mode of conversation that takes the edge off. As a good assistant and employee should, of course. Jumin wonders if he should relay this to her.

“Nothing,” he says instead, because surely she already knows. “Is it polite to bring gifts for someone you’re sure you will be seeing every morning?”

She raises a thin brow. “Who-- that woman at the fashion department?”

Jumin deigns not to answer right away, looking down at the state of his nails and the tick of his wristwatch. “Surely there must be some etiquette about that.”

-

Jaehee Kang

Buy her coffee.

ZEN

Get her a promotion lol

707

A new car!!!

Yoosung★

Maybr a nicce pen

??

-

“Any favorite TV shows?” You ask one morning. “Personally, I’m fond of office romances.”

Jumin lags for a moment, waiting to catch up. It isn’t an unusual occurrence. “Is that an innuendo?”

You smile, a little flushed-looking, and wave a hand. “Nope. Not at all.” When you look at the second coffee in his hand, though, it seems you need a second to catch up yourself. You’d mentioned offhandedly how you take your coffee the day before, and today something had stopped him at the threshold of the coffee shop he stops at every morning. Funny how things work like that.

“This is for you,” he says determinedly, and you smile a little but there’s still an edge.

“You dodged my question.” You state simply. Jumin does not know what to say.

He thinks about it for a moment, really thinks about it. The only thing that really comes to mind are the Sunday morning programs, and he doesn’t really know them off the top of his head. Maybe the morning news. “No TV shows. Next question.”

“Okay then,” you say, “Any pet peeves?”

Jumin smiles a little. It isn’t really conscious, but he’s finally figured out a way to respond and he just hopes it takes well. “Women who stop me at the door in the morning.”

“Oh,” you say, taking a sip of your coffee. You hum appreciatively. He feels strangely, indirectly accomplished. “Shame. Mine’s men who give me three word responses when I ask them things.”

He scoffs, although it isn’t as hard as it usually comes out. “I answered that in a sentence.” He says, very assuredly. When he looks back at you there’s a softer smile at your lips, rounded at the corners and not quite so mischievous as he’s seen it look before. It looks fond.

“I know,” you reply. He feels a little warmer now, turning the corner where you two part ways. You offer him a two-fingered salute, a “See you in the morning!” and a final turn.

And then you’re gone.

-

The next time the conversation lingers long past the lobby it’s because you’ve coaxed him into talking about Elizabeth III. There’s a point where you’ve reached the elevator and he’s talking to you about her care routine and the minutiae of what it takes to keep her fur so soft and pristine (much of it is her own work and her natural beauty-- of course) and he’s only barely aware of how long he’s been going on, but he pauses to look at you. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, between Jaehee’s hesitancy and Luciel’s rabid praise and Hyun’s outright disgust--

But there’s something about the way you’re looking at him when he’s finished, curiouser and half-curved into a smile. And he’s been on the receiving end of that before-- his father’s lovers, interviewers and subordinates-- but none of them have ever seemed so affectionate.

He’s seen the same look before when it’s Jaehee with a new photocard, the way Yoosung danced around Rika. It’s the glint in Luciel’s glasses when he gets to working and it’s something, something.

You look like you’ve seen something beautiful.

Which is understandable to him, really, having just shown you pictures of his Elizabeth III. What he understands less is the way you’re looking at him and not the open phone, caught up in a silence that seems way too heavy for a conversation about his cat. Even when the elevator dings it’s with some trepidation that you leave first, a memory, a discovery pulled taut between you two.

“I hope I get to meet her sometime,” you say.

Jumin nods, wordless. The delight on your face at such a simple gesture fixates itself in the forefront of his mind until he returns home to Elizabeth, flickering like hell and unbidden and unexpected but not exactly unwelcome. It’s just as confusing to him as it sounds on paper.

-

Somehow Jaehee gets to you first.

For all the time he’s spent working with Jaehee, working around her and in her general proximity, he doesn’t actually know what time she gets into the building. She seems like an inevitability, something constant and fixed and always there.

So when he holds the door open for two women, Jumin is feeling like he had seen something he wasn’t supposed to. Especially since the two of you seem to be chatting so jovially, shaking her hand with both of yours when you go to part.

There’s another something clogging his throat, a cloying want and a halfhearted desire to draw that same laugh from you, that same open brightness. He hasn’t let himself feel so much about one person-- one particular and fixed point in his life. Jumin feels like he’s chasing-- some feeling, some unnamed ball of fire-- a meteor, blazing and brilliant and too much to be real.

It’s too much to be compared to anything else, not when Sarah Choi was an unlit match next to what a beaming bonfire you are. Suddenly Jumin feels more tightly wound than he usually does.

And really, truly, it feels like a lot to handle, so he turns on his heel after silently handing you the coffee and begins to march. It feels like karmic debt for not having experienced these things as a schoolboy, and then only once as an adult. He doesn’t even know if the one time counted.

“Mr Han--” you say, and it happens at the same time he holds his breath to turn again. Just to look, to see if you appeared as off kilter as he felt. Maybe the world had rotated wrong today.

You stop there in your tracks and he really does believe for a moment that the world has gone astray-- because then it would explain the way air isn’t getting to his lungs right. He inhales just to make sure and before any other dialogue comes from your lips he asks, “Walk with me?”

You both take the elevator then.

-

Jaehee Kang

She’s a very nice woman.

Yoosung★

Huh?

707

U met her?!?!!

Tell me everything

-

It makes your mornings longer, the introduction of the elevator route. He isn’t sure how it became mutual agreement and routine, the same way the cup of coffee steams in your hands and the way you ask after Elizabeth III. The way the door gets held open.

Jumin isn’t sure how many mornings go by, how many of them are spent dreading the chime of the elevator, but one of them brings a much quieter you. And you’re usually such a whirlwind of life, pulling him toward and towards you-- he’d be lying to himself more than usual if he said he wasn’t worried.

You look like you’re steeling yourself too, and you’ve never done that-- there isn’t a thing you’ve said to him that was measured or prepared. You’re kind of like an overexcited puppy, and he’s never been too fond of dogs.

He feels something slide out of place, something like a realization that’s far grander than he knows, hovering at the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t know what it is yet, not really. He’s barely out of his head, ready to ask if you’re alright--

And you cut him off. Like you did that first morning, knocking the breath from his lungs and everything else out of place. Jumin likes things neat and tidy, likes things where they should be, where he’s used to seeing them. You aren’t too good for him, he thinks.

Then you ask, “Would you want to go out sometime?” And he has no reference materials and no forewarning and no prepared response. The odds are against him.

So against all odds and every simmering nerve in his body he says, “Yes.”

tags: @vandysgf @mrs-han

[writingsbychlo]

starry night | chris beck

word count; 9241

summary; chris beck delivers flowers to you five times.

notes; this was originally called ‘candy cane lane’, but I changed it up a little.

warnings; none!

When Chris had started working in a flower shop, it was to pay his way through college. He was getting a degree in medicine and it wasn't cheap, and he needed a simple and easy way to make cash that wouldn't take too much out of him. He wasn’t big on anything social, and so working in a bar or restaurant didn’t seem like the best fit, and unfortunately for him, all the library jobs had been snapped up at the beginning of the year. Supermarkets were a no go, he hated the people that came through and how rude some of them could be, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to get a job in a coffee shop.

Working those machines might as well be rocket science.

The little flower store on the end of his campus road had been hiring, and eventually, he’d become desperate. It wasn’t his usual gig, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it, to begin with, but it offered decent money, reasonably flexible hours, and the boss actually let him study on shift when it was quiet, and so it actually gave him more free time than he had before getting a job.

Then, he’d started to warm up to it. It was always cool in the summer and warmer in the winter, keeping it temperate for the plants, and it always smelt good. He made friends with a man named Mark who came in every so often to buy new plants to study, he was becoming a botanist, and they bonded over the serene quietness of flower shops for studying and bad jokes.

Little old ladies pinched his cheeks, the tips were good, and it helped him clear his thoughts to be able to do menial tasks like spray the flowers with water every other hour to keep them wet enough, and to sit behind the cash registers. It was a simple Christmas present from said botanist friend that really inspired his passion, though. More of a gag gift, he was sure that was its intention, but he’d started to take it seriously. Chapter after chapter on the meanings of flowers, how to send hidden messages through plants, and something about the way of communicating in ways other than words had spoken to him.

After that, he’d been able to offer a service of sending messages through flowers. He’d become a more popular salesperson, and he’s shifts had increased, and he loved doing it. He loved the physical way that a message could be conveyed, beautiful explosions of colour to mean ‘I love you’ or ‘Happy Anniversary’, and so he’d started to invest his time in that. Nobody had been all that surprised when the older man who ran the shop had left it to him when he passed, not even Chris himself, and so he’d finished up his degree and started working at the flower shop full time.

Mark had taken on a part-time job there, as well as his internship in a clinical research lab, and they’d hired an extra hand at the register. It made him happy.

Less so, when he had an influx of orders overnight, and instead had to focus on building bouquets to be shipped instead of the garden expansion he was making, but happy nonetheless.

He was twenty-seven custom orders in, Mark already out running the standard bouquets for delivery, and he was stacking them by the garage door, wrapped in ribs and pretty vase-boxes, all ready to go. Licking the tip of his finger to flick the paper over, he let out a sigh, two sets of flowers on one page, his rows raising. It wasn’t unusual for there to be multiple sets on one order form, but as his eyes scanned over the list of preferences, scents and colours, as well as the messages they were wishing to convey, one of his brows rose up.

One request for the pretty set of pink roses and lilies that he’d loving crafted himself, a collection of flowers that signified an apology, and he was always happy to offer advice to any guys who came into the store to buy that set. It was usually a guy fresh to a relationship, messed something up by refusing to unfollow another girl on Instagram, or just saying the wrong thing in front of his friends, introducing a girl as his friend, that one always made him giggle. The second was curious, though, and it made his lips quirk up in a slight smirk at the insinuation of it. Red roses and tulips, a darker and more seductive bunch; new beginnings and early love, and he was willing to place his last dollar on it being an affair.

It felt even more sure when he noticed that the delivery address was that of an office block, and not a home address, a man’s name instead of a woman’s. In the personal notes section, there were no names, and so that was an option ruled out for getting to the bottom of the situation, but he wrote out gift cards, one with swirling writing for a heartfelt apology and the other with a sickly-sweet pick-up line and what he assumed to be an inside joke.

Curled ribbons and plastic wrapping, and the two bouquet were standing side by side for delivery, the van chugging as it was pulled back into the driveway, reversed up, and his blond-haired friend rounding the vehicle, looking utterly worn out, and it was only halfway through the day.

“You’d think it was Valentine’s Day, or something. This is crazy, it’s November!”

He took off his cap, running a hand over his hair and scratching lightly at his scalp, before placing the embroidered garment with the company logo back onto his head. “I’ve got something that’ll cheer you up!”

“Oh, yeah? Is it the rest of the day off?”

“Uh, no.” He deadpanned, his friend laughing as he came to stand by him, and he motioned towards the collection. “However, it is a rather exciting combination. These two-” He tapped at the boxes holding them firm at the base. “-are going to the same place.”

“And that is exciting why, exactly?”

“Because one is supposed to symbolise asking for forgiveness and all that, and the other symbolises new love and beginnings and all that. They’re being delivered to an office block, not a home address.” It took Mark a minute to process it, and Chris watched the gears turn in his friend’s head, before his jaw was dropping, and he let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Oh, and you think it’s a.. y’know.” He only nodded, and he began to load up the other orders into the van, a printout sheet of new addresses and order numbers on the tags, the delivery sheets loaded onto a clipboard to be signed for at each location. The empty van was once again teeming with bright flowers and artfully arranged bundles. Securing them all down and making sure they wouldn't tip over or get crushed during the ride there, he was confident they were ready to go, almost all of them set up, before he was staring at the two he’d recently made once again, his curiosity getting the better of him. “You want me to try and find out while I’m there?”

He almost agreed, it would have been so easy, a simple way to put his questions to rest, but he was invested in it now, and so he already knew what was coming. “No, I’ll deliver these ones myself.

Mark only nodded, slamming and locking the back of the van doors, double-checking the hatches for fresh air were open to stop them from wilting in transit, and then he was back up into the main cabin. The loud sounds of disco music exploding from the van radio as he started it back up, reversing from the driveway and setting off on his next round of deliveries.

Scooping up the first set in his arms, Chris patted down his pockets in search for his keys, finding them in his left side back pocket, unlocking his car with a click of a button, and setting the first batch on the passenger seat. The second soon followed, and he used the seatbelt to secure them in place, rolling the windows down as he set off, programming the address into his SatNav.

It was a short drive, twenty minutes maximum, even with traffic, the tall and shining office building one that he was vaguely familiar with towards the inside of the city, harsh rays of winter sun reflecting off of clean glass windows, all the way up to the top floor, and it was so tall that as he stared at it, he swore the building was swaying. With a bouquet in each arm and the clipboard tucked under one, he backed his way through the polished glass doors, a company insignia printed onto the glass, and he almost wanted to check his shoes for traces of at the appearance of the clean white lobby.

Large tiles of marble flooring, specks of grey flickering throughout them, and white leather couches along some of the walls on one side of the lobby, a waiting room. The other had various coffee and tea machines, recyclable cups and sugar packets, as well as a range of fruits and muffins, and he wanted to scoff a little at the ostentatious nature of it all. The desk was empty as he finally approached, though he could hear chatter in the background, behind reflective glass panels that he couldn’t see through, one-way glass he assumed, and as he balanced the bouquets up on the counter, an older woman, approaching her fifties he presumed, came out, a wide smile on her face as she brushed down the material of her skirt.

“My, my, aren’t those beautiful? Unfortunately, I don’t think they’re for me.”

“Well, ma’am, unless you’re a ‘Mr Robert McKinley’, I’d have to agree.” She chuckled, nodding her head as she looked at them before picking up the phone, and typing in an extension. Lifting it to her ear, she balanced it there against her shoulder, smiling at him once again.

“I’ll just have his assistant come down to collect them and sign for them for you, lovely.” He nodded his head, turning away to be polite as she chatted away on the phone for only a moment, confirming that there was a package to be sorted out, and he twisted back to look at her as she put the phone down. Manicured nails tapped at the desk for only as second, an awkward silence forming, and one of the elevators let out a small ‘dinging’ sound as it was clicked into use, the numbers on the screen above the floor counting down, coming all the way from the twenty-eighth floor. “Would you like a candy?”

He jumped a little, turning back to look at the woman who had now sat down a little distance from him, behind the computer at the desk, and she turned to him, raising up a bowl of neatly wrapped candies, and placing it up on the glass counter for him to reach. He didn’t, but she was staring at him expectantly, and so he plucked the first one from the bowl, offering her a simple nod of his head, and tucking it into the pocket on his shirt.

When a chime sounded throughout the lobby, the sound echoing off of every hard surface, Chris’ attention was drawn to the clicking of heels on the smooth stone flooring. A pretty blouse that looked like it cost more than his entire outfit and a fitted pencil skirt that was sitting just below your knees, your were a professional vision. Except, your hair was a little messy, and there was a wide grin on your face as you typed rapidly on your phone, not even needing to look up to do the walk, but your expression made you look much more approachable than the usual businesswoman.

You clicked off your phone only a few feet away from him, looking up as your gaze went straight to the flowers at his side instead of him, but it gave Chris the chance to take you in just for a moment, and fully observe you, Up close, you were even prettier, soft skin and pretty hair that shined under the lights, and whatever the shade of lipstick was that you were wearing was perfect, because it suited you like it had been made for you.

You reached out, straight past him for a second, and the receptionist gasped, reaching for the bowl of candy, but you were quicker, your hand scooping up a little collection of the sweets and pulling them back, a sound of victory sounding from you, and she mumbled under her breath playfully, rolling her eyes and threatening to start hiding the treats before she ran out, but you only chuckled, unwrapping one and placing it against your tongue, lips brushing your fingers as you turned to him, and he forced his eyes away from your mouth, a blush on his cheeks.

“Oh, wow. Check these out.” You turned to the receptionist, motioning to them, and she only nodded her head, the sounds of a printer firing up in the back room, and she disappeared to collect the sheets, leaving the pair of you alone. “For Mr McKinley?”

You leaned over the counter, snatching up a pen from the other side, and he only nodded, producing the collection sheet, and pointing out the spot that needed singing, the scraping of the pen on paper filling the silence as you signed in both boxes, handing it back to him and tucking the pen behind your ear. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Fire away.” You grinned, unwrapping another candy, leaving the wrapper on the glass alongside the other one, a cheeky move he was sure you’d get reprimanded for by the receptionist who kept a beautifully organised and clean desk and foyer.

“There are two bouquets here, both with flowers that have very different meanings. Can I ask why?”

You hummed, staring at him for a minute as you chewed slowly, before swallowing the sweet in your mouth and smirking slightly. “I’ll answer your question, but only if you answer mine first; what do the flowers mean?”

Chris grinned, unable to hold it in, because he loved getting to talk about his passions, especially when he could show off a little in front of a pretty lady, and he nodded his head. “Pink roses and lilies are an apology, but red roses with tulips are for new love.”

“And do you have any theories?”

“Just the one, but I’m waiting for it to be confirmed.” He chuckled a little at the devious look that flashed over your features as you pulled the red roses bundle toward you, nose pressed into them for a second as you inhaled deeply, a little sigh leaving you afterwards.

“I’m trusting you here, but you’re cute, so I’ll tell you.” Heat rushed to his cheeks, head ducking for just a second, before he was looking back up to catch your gaze, brows raised as he waited excitedly, leaning in to meet you as though a scandalous secret was about to be told, and he supposed that’s exactly what it was. “There’s another receptionist, and intern back in there, fresh out of college, just a year below me, and he’s definitely fucking her.” You tapped a finger against the red roses, before your gaze was flicking to the second bunch, still by his arm as he leaned on the counter. “However, a couple of days ago he had a lunch date scheduled with his wife, and he missed it. I couldn’t find him anywhere, and I couldn’t find the intern either. Not hard to connect the dots.”

“Oh, so he’s covering both of his bases?”

“For sure.” You grinned, backing up a little bit to grab the second bundle, and adjusting them in your arms for balance. “Angie had probably realised too, and dashed in there to tell the girl that she’s got flowers coming.”

You were making your way over to the elevators, and he followed after you, pressing the button to summon the lift, and it hummed to life behind closed metal doors. “You know, since we just became partners in crime, maybe I should get to know your name?”

“Well, that was smooth.” You laughed, the doors opening up, and you stepped inside, placing one bouquet on the floor at your feet and holding onto the other. You caved, giving him your name as he placed his hand over the door to stop them from closing, ad he repeated the name to you, testing it on his tongue as he learnt it. He gave you his own in return when he asked, and when you said it back, his smile widened, already liking the way his name sounded coming for you.

You typed a code into the pad on the wall of the elevator, the screen flashing green as your programming was accepted, and he stepped back, grinning as you waved your fingers at him, the doors closing as you disappeared from view. He snatched up his clipboard on the way out, unable to contain the smile on his face.

Chris Beck hated making deliveries, but this one hadn't been so bad.

There was a genuine smile on his face as he stepped through the glass doors of the lobby, smaller and simpler bouquets this time, both matching and nothing special, but he’d tasked himself with delivering them personally because he’d recognised the name and address immediately, his encounter with the cute assistant he’d met only two weeks prior flashing through his mind as he’d insisted on delivering this order himself, Mark smirking and helping him gather the flowers as soon as he’d spilled all about you.

Now, he had two sets of pretty pink flowers in different shades, and a single red rose in a sleek plastic wrapping, all wraith ribbons wrapped around them were bundled in one arm, the other holding onto his clipboard, and the desk was once again empty as he approached. A bell, sleek and shining silver, and it was a new addition, definitely not present last time, and he eyes it suspiciously for a moment, before pressing a finger against the top lightly, just twice, a little ringing sounding out around the lobby.

A head of curly hair popped out from around the glass, much younger than the previous assistant, and wearing a much tighter skirt, and she grinned widely as she stepped forwards. He couldn’t deny that she was beautiful, fiery red hair and a wide smile, lips painted with red lipstick, and she seemed sweet, but far too intimidating for him to ever consider. Her heels were so tall that he wondered how she even walked in them, long and thin points creating the stilettos.

“Flowers?”

There was an eager tone to her voice, and he put the pieces of the puzzle together, assuming this to be the intern, his eyes flicking down to her name badge for a second, reading it as ‘Clara’. “For Mr McKinley. Is his assistant free tom come and sign for them?”

The woman paused, rolling her lips a little and nodding her head, a coy look on her features before sitting down in the chair and spinning in it to face the phone, lifting it up to her ear and dialling a short connection number. He didn’t seem to need to wait long, before she was summoning you, a ‘flower delivery’ to be claimed, and she was far too excited, only confirming his doubts that this was definitely the mistress. “She’ll be right down.”

“Fantastic.” He wasn’t sure she even processed his words, before her eyes were closing in on the flowers, and he ignored it, turning back to look at the elevator, waiting for the number on the twenty-eighth floor to light up, a number flashing over the screen. It paused on its descent this time, stopping at the eighteenth floor, and then again at the twelfth, and he assumed that somebody else had joined the journey for a short while.

When the doors finally opened, you weren’t built typing away this time, a grin on your face as your eyes swept over the entrance for him, and he waved his fingers again, straightening up from the desk.

“It’s my partner in crime, back again.”

“Missed you too much, just had to return.”

“Of course, you did, because I’m awesome.” You came to a stop before him, peering up at him through bright eyes, and he swallowed thickly, a little nervous but very excited, and he tried to remember any of what Mark had taught him, his friend being far better with the women than he was, and everything from the last-minute crash course he’d been given upon leaving the shop forty-five minutes ago seemed to have gone blank. “So, what really brings you here today?”

You gasped a little as he shifted to show you the collection, sliding the clipboard closer, and you were presented with a pen from him, floral patterning woven along the body, your thumb clicking it on to sign for them. When you passed it back, you shared a look with him, both of your glances flicking over to the intern who was still admiring the flowers, completely oblivious.

“Hey, Clara?” Her head snapped up, pale skin heating with colour as she flushed, and he suppressed a chuckle. “Mr McKinley is in meetings all afternoon, but he’ll want to approve these flowers. Can you put them in water, and I’ll call to have them sent up when he’s ready?”

She only nodded, more than happy to take a gift that she knew one of was for her into the back, hands reaching over to gather them all up. He almost missed it, watching as all of the flowers were taken, too busy watching the way you rolled your eyes at her when she looked away, fond but still a little cool, and he bit at the inside of his cheek to contain his amusement. It was just as she was leaving that his mind cleared, and he cleared his throat.

“Wait, wait, hold on!” She turned back, brows raised, and he reached over, letting her take a step forwards so that he could reach, plucking the single rose from where it was laying over the top of the two. “This, uh, this is actually for you.”

He presented it to you, your eyes widening a little, and you looked between him and the flower several times. His heart was in his throat, worry you were going to reject it, before you were giving him a different smile than he had seen yet, something softer and more endearing, and you plucked it from his hands, bringing it to your nose. “You’re just a big flirt, huh, Chris?” Your eyes fluttered for a moment, before you were looking back up to him through your lashes. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, honestly. I own the shop, the least I can do is give my partner in crime a pretty flower.”

You scoffed, but it was out of friendship and playfulness, not judgement or rejection, and silence fell between you both once again. The plastic in your hands wrinkled as you twirled it, wrapping the curled ribbon around your finger for a second, and letting it jump back into place when you let it go. “You busy? Got a packed store to run back to?”

Your question caught him off-guard, and he struggled to find words for a second, before clearing his throat and shaking his head. “No, uh, no. Clear day, actually. This was the last order.”

“So, you’re free for an hour or so?” Chris nodded his head, licking at his lips as he became a little nervous once again. “Well, why don’t I give you a tour? We’ve got some pretty cool stuff here, and I’ll fix you up with a drink from the coffee bar before you go.���

“This building has a coffee bar?”

“You bet it does.” You teased, turning on your heel as you took his question as acceptance, and he scooped up the clipboard, following after you as you made your way to the elevator, and this time when it opened, he stepped inside with you. As soon as the keypad lit up, prompting you to enter your four-digit authorisation code and make a floor selection, and you paused, finger hovering over the electronic selections. “What do you wanna’ see first, then?”

“You got an office?”

“I sure do.” You grinned, tapping for the twenty-eighth floor, and the machinery soon hummed into life, gears jerking smoothly into motion and soft music playing over the speakers in the background.

The ride was quiet, and he twisted his head as though the walls were interesting, just to take them in and hide the expression on his face as he watched you twirl the rose he’d given you between your fingers. There was a tag, one that he hadn't yet seen you read, and while all it contained was his number and a sign of his name, he was still a little nervous for your reaction to it, so he was glad to watch you place it onto your desk to be returned to later as you showed him around.

The building truly was impressive, large floor to ceiling glass windows on one wall of your office, staring out at the city below and giving a view so stunning and far that he could see all the way out to where the concrete faded away into greenery along the horizon, and he was a little taken aback by it all. Dipping the rose into a mug of water from the office kitchen, you promised to transfer it to a vase when you got home that evening, and you showed him all around.

Up and down on the elevator, proudly showing him every aspect of your workplace, and somewhere between the in-house gym and the coffee bar you’d boasted of in the staff food courts, you’d made him promise a tour of the flower shop sometime.

Way over an hour had passed in total, and he would’ve been more than happy to let that go on and on, for the rest of the day until the sun was setting, just to sit on the stools at the high tables at the coffee bar, getting refills on his coffee as he watched you drink herbals teas and chat about everything you got up to in the day, but your boss was paging you again to ask where you were, and he had his own job to return to at some point. You seemed hesitant at first, but had eventually divulged him with a guest security code for the elevator, logging him under your name, so that in future, he would be able to bring the flowers straight upstairs to you, and come and see you whenever he stopped by.

With a to-go cup in hand that had your number written on the cardboard holder, you’d escorted him all the way back to the lobby, pressing a friendly kiss to his cheek as he stepped between the doors, waving a little with what he knew was a goofy smile, waiting until he could no longer see you as the metal doors slid shut to reflect his image back at him, before he was bidding the two women at the reception desk a goodbye, and pretending not to know that they were eavesdropping, because he was floating far too high to care right now.

Chris hadn't been surprised at all when the next batch of flowers had come through, because you’d told him days prior that he could be expecting another batch of apology flowers to come through. Your work had been busy lately, you’d told him so yourself the few weeks that had slid past since you’d exchanged numbers had been filled with an abundance of texts.

Sharing texts had rapidly become phone calls in downtime, exchanging social media and sending one another dumb jokes and funny pictures throughout your workdays. He knew that your job had been getting harder lately, the run down to Christmas making everything a little more difficult, and that you’d been swept off of your feet because your boss had been, too. Eight-hour shifts had become twelve, day through to night, never seeing the light of a winter day unless it was through the windows of your office as you worked, and he had a sympathetic guilt twisting in his gut.

Two bouquets to make up for the lack of time that your boss had been able to spare for either of the women in his life and you’d looked positively exhausted as you came out of your office to greet him at the top of the elevator. You had a frown on your face that barely lifted into a smile as you saw him, even though he knew you were happy to catch sight of him. The usual shade of lipstick that projected boldness and power was gone, your face free of makeup entirely, and styled hair now just pulled up into a bun.

He wondered how long it had been since you’d had a full night’s sleep.

“Hey, sweetheart. How’re you feeling?” You only shook your head, sniffling a little as you suppressed a yawn, before taking one of the bouquets from his arms, and inspecting it carefully.

“These are beautiful.”

“I put a little extra ribbon on them, just for you.” He winked, and that had earned him a little chuckle, glancing at him over your shoulder as he followed you through to your office, and placing them down on the cabinet near the doorway to be distributed when your boss had a free second to look at them. Chris felt his own eyes widen in shock as he looked around, the stacks of paperwork littered around the surfaces were astonishing, and there was other mess scattered among that.

Stationary littered the desk, clearly trying to get everything sorted, and almost every draw in the room was half-open, your heels kicked off by the edge of the desk and there was a clear spot against one of the walls where you’d been sitting, a patch clear with papers spread out around you, wording and statements on them that made his head spin as he looked at them. Business definitely wasn’t his forte.

You rubbed a hand over your forehead, cursing a little as you tried to find a pen that wasn't a highlighter, and he didn’t miss the crack in your voice as you scoured the paper stacks. Leaning down to pick one up from the dropped pen pot on the floor, and offering it to you. A little sigh passed your lips, before you were taking it from him, clicking it into action and signing your name on both of the forms to confirm the delivery, a simple ritual of habit by this stage, as he knew that even if you didn’t he wasn’t risking any legal action from you.

You rubbed a hand over your forehead afterwards, rolling your shoulders and shaking yourself down as you tried to hit that reset button on your mood, but it wasn't working, it didn’t take a genius to see it, and so he reached out, placing a comforting squeeze to your forearm, fingers slipping a little lower to latch onto your wrist loosely.

“Okay, you’re a little overwhelmed in here, huh?” You let out a weak laugh, glancing around yourself and nodding. “It’s time for a break. Take your lunch break now, we’re getting out of here.”

“I can’t leave, I have too much to do. I’ll just get something from the food courts, a sandwich, maybe.” You slumped down into your desk chairs, the wheels on it carrying you backwards slightly, and he placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head at you.

“You have to go. It’s doctor’s orders.”

“Which doctor?” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him, and he gasped a little, hands finding your own and pulling you to your feet, despite the whine that you let out.

“This doctor. I went to medical school, I get to give the orders. You, my dear, need one hour of rest and relaxation from your workplace, stat.” You started up at him for a second, seeming to weigh it out in your mind, but he wasn’t backing down, and he swore he saw that realisation click within your eyes, because you caved.

Slipping your heels on and grabbing your jacket from the back of the door, you logged your timeout of the building in the lobby with Angie, who cooed at you a little as she watched you go, a pitiful look on her face as she knew just how hard you were working too, before his hand was settling on your lower back.

A ten-minute walk, finding a table in a small pizzeria on the corner of a street, one that he’d been dying to try for months now, and a quick order, and you were slumping down tiredly against the table. The workload always increased at Christmas, sales shot through the roof, all the expansions of your company were filing for Christmas bonuses, parties, annual reports and then, of course, there were the usual rises and falls in statistics over the year that needed to be dealt with.

It was chaotic, to say the least.

Over a hot and freshly baked pizza, your selection of toppings, and a soda that made you wrinkle your nose from the fizziness within, you looked like there was a little more life within you when you’d been leaving.

You spilled it all to him, telling him every struggle you’d been facing, and while he didn't understand half of what you were saying, he was more than happy to just to listen. He couldn't offer much advice, or anything of the sort that might be helpful, but it seemed that just being able to talk to someone had made the day a little brighter.

The chill in the air and the biting winds had made you wrap your coat around yourself even tighter on the walk back to your work, but there was more of a pep in your step and a lighter tone to your voice, a little more chipper and slightly less drained as you began to make your way back across the carpark. His arm was sitting around your waist, keeping you pulled up to his side against the cold of the winter. Instead of guiding you over to the door, though, his first stop was his car, ensuring that you couldn't see what he had placed on the passenger seat until he was ready for you to see it.

Leaning yo back against the cold metal, he unlocked the car, making you promise to cover your eyes, and while making a few jokes about how you were sure this was how friendly guys would kidnap a girl, you did as he’d asked. You gasped a little at the rustling of fabric in the wind and under his hands, seeming to guess what it was before ever seeing the gift, because a wide smile spread over your features.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Depends, what do you think it is?” He teased, making you wait a little longer, and you dragged your lower lip through your teeth, a hopefully look spreading over what half of your face he could actually see.

“Flowers, maybe?”

“Then you would be correct!” Your hand fell away from your eyes, taking a second to blink back into adjustment of the rays the winter sun gave off, before you were brightening up even further at the bundle he was holding in his hands.

Soft petals in different shades of yellow, some duller and some standing out to shine like the sun, but it was a stunning bunch all over, and he’d been sure to pick the freshest and best-looking plants from each pot as he built the bouquet especially for you before leaving for his delivery. He let you stare at them for a second, running a finger over some of the petals, sniffling the collection carefully, and admiring each individual plant, before finally looking back up to him, a brow raising as you waited for an explanation on the plants.

“I just thought yellow was a bright colour. Nothing particularly special about these ones, I wanted to cheer you up.”

He scratched nervously at the back of his neck, and you hummed happily, bringing them up to admire once again, before letting out a happy little sound from the back of your throat, one that made his cheeks flush with embarrassed warmth, bringing a pink tinge to the pale skin. “Don’t yellow roses mean friendship?”

His stomach dropped a little, but he swallowed thickly, and nodded. He was impressed that you knew that, a random fact to know, but he almost felt like he was being friend-zoned by the statement, even though he was the one who’d given you the flowers. It was only a few days ago that he’d realised he might have feelings that weren’t going away any time soon, the original fascination and infatuation was becoming something a little deeper, he often found himself thinking of you when he was at work and filling or orders, or at home cooking, or even letting his morning coffee. You seemed to be on his mind a lot nowadays, and he was beginning to regret the yellow rose choice, worried he’d sent the wrong message. How ironic.

“Well, I’m really glad you consider us friends, Chris. I think you’re great, and I hope we’re friends for a long time.”

He tried to contain his disappointment, nodding his head as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. Walking you up to the front door, both of the receptionists made a point of fawning dramatically over the flowers in your arms as you signed back in, exactly an hour later and perfectly on time for the end of your lunch break, but with a lot more joy and a rejuvenation for the work you were doing, enough to carry you through the rest of your day.

Standing at the elevator and waiting for it to arrive, his cheeks were warm enough as it was, the attention you were getting front he not-so-discreet spying of the receptionists making him even more nervous, but if Angie and Clara were watching then that's their choice, because he didn’t have much left to lose, now.

Cupping your cheeks in his hands, he made sure that you were looking at him, a soft and shy smile on your lips as he thumbs smoothed over your skin, trying to reassure you without using words. “Chin up, sweetheart. You’re gonna’ be just fine, okay?”

“Okay, Chris.” You nodded your head, words whispered as you agreed with him, and when he pulled you a little closer, you tipped your head to meet him, his lips pressing to your forehead in a tender kiss, his heart leaping in his chest as you did. The elevator dinged, and he snapped away from you, both of you lingering for a moment longer, something unspoken laying between you, but it was broken as a colleague stepped out of the box, excusing himself as he squeezed past you, and the moment was over.

Waving goodbye, he wiggled his fingers in response to you, and he took a moment to himself to steady his racing heart once the doors had closed with you inside. He bid his farewell to the two women ogling him with wide eyes from behind the desk, trying not to let his nervousness show, to be confident like Mark had taught him to be, and it lasted all the way to the car, before he broke it with a ragged sigh and a little cheer to himself, immediately dialling his best friend on the car’s phone as he pulled out of the parking lot.

It was the kind eyes of Angie that met him as he stepped into the building, palms sweating a little and a shake to his breath, and the flowers in his arms were practically vibrating with nerves as he approached the front desk. Placing them down on the glass surface, she admired them quietly, taking a look at them all before he was being offered the candy dish that she usually had hidden, and he took a peppermint gratefully, red and green swirls along it through the clear wrapping, the festive theme of the late December days was shining through.

“Only the one bouquet this time?”

“They, uh, they aren’t for Mr McKinley.” He mumbled, unwrapping the hard sweet and shoving it wrapped into his pocket, placing the treat on his tongue and sucking on it lightly for something to do, sweetened mint flavours exploding over his senses.

“Oh, so these are a pretty bouquet for our lovely (Y/N), then?”

He could only nod, wondering absently whether or not sweat was beginning to physically show through his shirt, and just how fast his heart was going, because he felt like he was about to pass out. “I think she’s in a meeting right now, but I can get them sent up for her, if that works for you, my dear?”

“Can I just go and drop them off in her office? It’ll make a nice surprise for her to come back to.”

She considered it for a moment, mulling over the security risk and all other options, and he was ready to give up, before she eventually agreed. “Alright, but only if you tell me about the flowers. She’s been telling me all about the pretty bouquet you make with meanings, even showed me your website.”

“She did? She does?”

Pride flushed through his system at that knowledge, and Angie seemed to pick up on it, her face cracking in an even wider smile. “Yes, and they were all beautiful, but I don’t remember this set on there.”

“It’s new, I made it. It’s a personal one, I suppose.”

“It got a name, yet?” He mulled it over, staring down at the pretty bunch in his hands. Dark shades of blue and black, splashes of purple that were speckled with white, and he decided it resembled the night sky rather nicely.

“What do you think of ‘Starry Night’?”

“Very fitting.” She confirmed, and his heart managed to slow a little in his chest as at least one thing on his to-do list became sorted. “So, blue roses, but what are the rest?”

“They would be black pansies and gypsophila.” She hummed, continuing to fix him with that curious gaze, and he knew that wasn't going to cut it. “The blue roses are for mystery, and gaining the impossible. I dye them myself. Black pansies mean broken love, which, I guess isn’t totally suitable here, but combined with the gypsophila, it’s more like the chance of a new beginning, and not necessarily unrequited feelings.”

“You really like her, huh?”

“That obvious?” He grinned, knowing that his feelings may as well be lit up with a neon sign above his head. “You’ll get them to her after her meeting, then?”

“Of course, I will.” She took them over the desk, writing down a memo on her notepad so that she didn't forget, and he watched as the pretty bundle was carried away. “Did you leave a card, or do you want to write a note?”

“Just tell her to text me if she likes them?” She beamed, nodding her head, and he backed away, turning on his heel, a little disappointed that he didn’t get to give them to you himself, but simultaneously relieved at the fact, because he could feel his pulse racing right to the tips of his fingers with how intense it was.

You’d clearly had a busy day, because it wasn’t until Chris was shutting up shop that he finally felt his phone buzz, doing his last check over of all the systems and machines, when a text from you came in, diverting every ounce of attention that he had.

[stardust 🌌 ✨] so, do these flowers have a hidden meaning, or did you just put them together because they look good?

He grinned at his phone, shaking his head slightly as a laugh left his lips, and he leaned on the wall, fingers hovering over the keyboard as he thought out his response.

> a little bit of both.

It was a few minutes before you replied, this time, a photograph coming through, of you carrying your flower out of the building, setting off towards the elevators from your office, if he was depicting the background correctly.

[stardust 🌌 ✨] gonna tell me what it is, or do I have to google it?

He paused, not quite having got that far, and the relief of not having to explain his feelings or you before had drowned out the fact that he’d have to tell you at some point, and his heart was leaping into his throat.

He gave himself a minute, checking over the locks and windows to make sure everything was sealed up, setting the thermostat and setting the alarm, not yet activating it, but making sure that everything was done, right down to holding his keys for the main door in his hands. Locking up the building, he sealed down the metal guard, triple checking the padlock, and making his way to the car.

Engine on, heaters up, his lights being the last to flood the parking lot as he tried to man up, before finally bringing back up the unopened message, taking the notifications and opening his texts.

> long story short, I’m trying to ask you out. using flowers, because words normally fail me in times of importance.

He let out a slow breath, running a hand over his face and just hoping that it was acceptable, his phone buzzing before he’d even managed to start up the car property for his journey home. His hand hovered over where it was laying on the passenger seat, considering whether or not to pick it up, before forcing down his nerves and reaching for it.

[stardust 🌌 ✨] friday night work for you?

He stared at the message for a few seconds, confirming that they were real, and he wasn’t just making it up because it’s what he wanted to read, before letting out a loud and victorious set of cheers for only him to ever know about.

> I’ll pick you up from your work at 5.

Chris was sitting in one of the white leather chairs that had been scattered around the lobby, shifting slightly awkwardly, nerves getting the best of him. He knew you wouldn't stand him up, but as the clock ticked over past 5:10 PM, he worried a little that you were trying to find a way to let him down, having decided that you’d changed your mind on wanting to go out with him, and he tried to steady his nerves.

Brushing over the flowers in his hands, he adjusted his grip on them a little, not wanting the plastic to become damp with his sweaty palms, and swallowing thickly again. Finally, the elevator doors chimed, and he let out a nervous sigh, taking a deep breath and sliding his eyes shut as he calmed himself down, certain that his heart no longer had a rhythm and was just beating erratically and rapidly like the seismograph in a disaster movie.

Twisting his head a little, he let out a deep breath, watching as you came toward him, looking far more casual than he had ever seen you ever had before. Jeans and jumper, a striped scarf that looked suspiciously handmade in the sweetest of ways, and sneakers on your feet instead of heels, dropping your height down by a few inches, and he was so used to looking straight at you, never needing to look down, that it caught him a little by surprise.

“I’m sorry I’m late!” You looked a little flushed, sounded slightly out of breath, and he realised you must’ve been rushing, not stalling, and he felt a little calmer at that thought. Placing down the flowers on the chairs, he stood up properly, letting out a slow breath.

“Don’t worry about it. You look beautiful.”

“I thought I’d change, heels and pencil skirts are great for work, but not so comfy for a first date.” There was a bag on your arm, which he assumed your business-wear was stuffed in, and he gave himself a moment to take you in. He liked you better this way, you looked more like yourself, the version of you that he knew you to be from hours of late-night calls and texting, weeks of getting to know one another, both in-person and via messages, and the formal outfits he was so used to seeing you in were just a cover for the real you.

He realised he’d been staring too long, jumping slightly in his panic, before turning away and grabbing the bundle that he’d brought with him. “I brought you flowers. Not as special as normal guys, since I own the flower shop and it's not the first time, but I did create this bouquet design just for you.”

“I think it’s pretty special.” Your words were whispered, taking the bundle of flowers and bringing them into yourself to admire delicately, a combination of red and white roses, with green bells peppered throughout. “Okay, so, let me guess on this one.”

He only nodded his head, watching as you considered the bundle, licking over your lower lip and taking it hostage between your teeth as your thoughts whirled before his very eyes.

“White roses are innocence, right? Seems fitting for a first date. Red roses are romance, of course.” You smirked a little then, glancing up at him through your lashes, and he grinned, feeling totally at ease now that he was under your gaze. “What about the green ones?”

“Green bells. They’re for good luck.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll need any luck, you’ve pretty much already got me wrapped around your little finger, Chris Beck.” You adjusted the flowers in your arms, taking his hand with your other one, and lacing your fingers together, and he squeezed back in security as heat flooded over his face in a warm blush. “However, I do think it’s sweet, so I’ll accept it.”

“I wanted to do something Christmassy for you, but I didn’t want to go with any of the typical ones. Holly, mistletoe, poinsettia, they didn’t feel unique enough.”

“I don’t know, I think mistletoe can be good.” You leaned in a little, his brows raising slightly as your wide smile dimmed down, the humour of the moment changing, and his free hand found your waist, fingers playing with yours on the other, and he pulled you a little closer, taking the hint that you were laying down.

“Maybe just this once.” He teased, nose bumping against your own, and he could still taste the sweet honey on your breath from the herbal teas you were always concocting, warm breath shared between you. As your head twisted to close the gap, he became acutely aware of the lingering feeling of not being alone, the both of you jumping and snapping apart a little when the loud crashing of a mug on the floor sounded out loudly.

Two sets of voices cursing followed it, Angie’s and Clara’s heads both ducking down behind the desk as they looked at the mess on the floor, and his jaw dropped as he released the two had been watching on eagerly this whole time, and he’d been so wrapped up in you that he hadn't realised there’d been an audience all along.

He would’ve been embarrassed, had it not been for the way your face pressed into his shoulder as you tried to contain your laughs, and he found the amusement in it too, his arm slipping around your waist as he matched your laugher, shaking his head as he watched the two women try and clear up the split coffee and smashed mug.

“Hey, ladies, I’ll see you Monday!”

The popped back up, sheepish looks on their faces as they nodded, and he gave them both a little wave, letting you tug him along by the hand that was still connected to your own, towards the open doorway of the building, a chill rolling in. As you stepped out, a chill took over, and his hand slipped from yours to sliding around your waist instead, pulling you closer to him, and you guided him over to where your car was parked, and he was more than happy to simply follow.

“So, what do you have planned?”

“I thought something a little more relaxed would be fun. How do you feel about a tree lighting ceremony, and some street food?” You curled into him a little more, a happy sigh leaving you.

“Sounds perfect to me.”

Unlocking the car, he let you go, long enough to put your back in the trunk and lay your flowers out on the front seat, locking it back up as you deemed yourself ready to go. “Ready to go?”

“Yes, but just one thing, first. Something I’ve been waiting weeks for.”

His brows raised, lips parting to ask you waist it was, but your hand latched onto the front of his shirt, tugging him forward as you leaned up, and he groaned a little, a soft sound but vibrating through him as your mouth closed over his, soft and warm, lips pressing together, and a shock ran along his entire body. His hand slipped to your waist, one cupping your cheek as he pulled you a little closer, pressing you back into the car as your bodies came flush up together, and he felt like his legs were going to give out underneath him as you sighed out against his mouth, a breathy moan carried with it.

Twisting his head to the side, he barely pulled back for breath before he was diving right back into you, more confident and passionate this time with his movements. He took control, feeling the way you sagged into his hands as he did, lips working with yours in an intimate dance of their own making, slow and teasing movements, before finally he was pulling away, just far enough to press his forehead to your own as the two of you panted lightly, trying to catch your breath.

“Worth the wait?” He mused, feeling your breathless giggle wash over his lips, before you were leaning up just enough to peck his lips once more, and his lips were still pouted, chasing after you as you backed away for a second, before he was licking over them and cracking his eyes open to look at the adoring expression on your face.

“Definitely worth the wait.”

[the-writing-mill]

assassin au with the "making a deal to save the other" and jangobi?

Okay, this one’s actually even a bit longer than the other one, so it’s going under a read more lol

Jango is a merc/bounty hunter/assassin guy, Obi-Wan is an information broker with an editing cover job and a “rental property” to embezzle money

These two have never met, and have no idea about each other’s identities beyond knowing their underground reputations, until Jango is hired to assassinate Obi-Wan’s little brother, Anakin

Obi-Wan is visiting Anakin for the weekend on the day of the planned assassination, and notices things are a little off, setting off all of his learned criminal world/underground alarms

(Anakin, btw, is a part time mechanic, part time engineering student. Obi-Wan has very carefully kept the boy out of his world since becoming Anakin’s official guardian after their adoptive father, Qui-Gon Jinn, died in an accident)

Obi-Wan gets paranoid enough after spending an evening with Anakin that he fakes a pillow body in the guest room and sets himself up in the living room to guard

This is somewhat fortunate for him when an apparent burglar (who moves much too professionally and dangerously) breaks in through a window near silently

Jango barely has half a second of realizing something’s up before being side tackled

The fight is pretty intense, if odd for being so quiet, since they both coincidentally don’t want Anakin to wake up (at some point Obi-Wan manages to get Jango’s ski mask off)

In the end, Obi-Wan ends up pinned under Jango, hands restrained above his head, knife against his throat, straddled

Jango grumbles sardonically about how Obi-Wan couldn’t make Jango’s job easier and just sleep through the night and call the police in the morning, tipping Obi-Wan off to the man being there for Anakin instead of him

Obi-Wan is, of course, a self-sacrificing idiot and gets Jango’s attention by wondering out loud about what a small-time mechanic going through school could have done to get a high-level assassin sent after him

(Jango’s plan, as Obi-Wan has figured out, was to stage a break in/burglary and wake Anakin up and kill him in the resulting “fight” to make it look like the burglar had killed Anakin in the heat of the moment)

With the man under him clearly having figured out too much, Jango decides he’ll have to kill him too, but first thinks it’s worth learning what gave him away

There’s a bit of back and forth until Obi-Wan is able to piece together who exactly Jango is (should his assassin name be Mythosaur? I think that would be fun and the “myth” bit can refer to his work being so subtle and Jango being such an unknown outside of his assassin rep)

Now, someone figuring out exactly who Jango is an even bigger no-no, so Jango goes right for the kill

Jango doesn’t manage to kill Obi-Wan before Obi-Wan offers a deal (didn’t think I’d take “making a deal to save the other” this way, did you?)

Jango’s pressing a blade into Obi-Wan’s neck enough to draw blood but finds himself intrigued enough to let the man talk for another few seconds (Obi-Wan really is quite the negotiator)

Obi-Wan offers free information for life, basically, and to be support for a set number of missions a year. In exchange, Jango won’t kill Anakin and will let Obi-Wan find Jango’s client and kill the client to nullify the contract (and prevent Jango’s rep from being tarnished)

It’s an utterly absurd proposal but also clearly made with knowledge of the underground, so Jango of course asks who Obi-Wan thinks he is to make that kind of offer

Jango finds himself reluctantly impressed by Obi-Wan’s identity (I have no idea what his underworld identity is, but I don’t it to be “The Negotiator”) and finds himself considering the deal, which Obi-Wan catches onto and he manages to convince Jango

(Part of the final deal includes the fact that Jango technically has two more months per his contract to carry out the hit. If Obi-Wan can’t find the client by then, Jango will kill Anakin anyways. Obi-Wan is desperately confident that he can do it, despite Jango having basically zero info beyond the contract and a clearly shell company in Hong Kong to wire the money to)

Jango gets Obi-Wan to give him a glut of information over the next few weeks, to the point of them spending a few hours in a private booth/room in a very private club so Obi-Wan can safely give it all to him. Obi-Wan is both desperate to meet expectations and tries his best; and is also very annoyed at getting pulled away from hunting down who’s trying to kill Anakin and therefore sasses Jango quite a bit.

Obi-Wan is really having trouble figuring out who wants to kill Anakin, finally giving in and starting from the other end, Anakin himself. Why would someone want to kill Anakin? Specifically why would the sort of person who can find and hire Jango want to kill Anakin? This is in some ways even harder to figure out, but Obi-Wan has many more leads and information to access

After a few weeks of this dynamic, the first change is when Jango and Obi-Wan end up complaining about a mutual acquaintance during an info drop off, which leads to more mutual bitching

Then Jango drags Obi-Wan across the country (we’re just going to assume we were in like… NYC or Chicago before) to assist him in another assassination in LA

Obi-Wan is somewhat tempted to get Jango caught, since that would be an easy way to save Anakin, but decides against it for multiple reasons (including a few that he will not yet acknowledge, including developing fondness for Jango and, even worse, the first few seeds of trust)

So instead of going to prison, Jango returns from a smooth assassination to an already half-drunk Obi-Wan, shirt very scandalously unbuttoned halfway down

The have a nice night of just drinking and relaxing and then wake up the next morning curled around each other in bed (they didn’t have sex, as the lack of certain types of soreness and their clean, still on, pants from the night before prove. But they still have the knowledge and a few sensations of sleeping together with their guards down)

When they get back, things are a little awkward, but it’s fine, they’re professionals, so they’ll keep meeting to keep up their deal. Obi-Wan keeps giving Jango any info he wants, and they keep accidentally falling back into their habits of doing things like complaining about mutual acquaintances who annoy them

Obi-Wan is also making some headway with investigating who wants to kill Anakin, finding many questionable decisions on Anakin’s part, especially regarding friends/social circle, but not anyone who would be able to hire Jango that would dislike Anakin

With about a week and a half left, and leads running out, Obi-Wan starts to freak out a little, which Jango notices, which in turn makes Jango realize that he doesn’t like Obi-Wan being stressed out and afraid and tense and looking at Jango like he’s a cat about to pounce on a wounded canary

But Jango also puts work before all else so when he has another job (coincidentally in the same city), Jango drags Obi-Wan with him, unfortunately making the mistake to literally bring Obi-Wan with him

When Jango starts cursing about the job going to hell part way through a shoot-out, Obi-Wan casually comments that it’s not even that bad, prompting a sass battle between the two of them while they’re still fighting their actual opponents where Jango realizes that Obi-Wan, as brilliant as he is, has the worst on-the-ground luck ever

In the end, they win, with a very damaged, limping vehicle that they, for handwavey reasons, need to get to some spot that the car won’t make it to as is. Thus, they have to go slide into the mechanic shop Anakin’s working the graveyard shift for

Obi-Wan really does hate, in many ways, finally having his two worlds collide, bringing Jango and the shot-out car directly to Anakin, and is almost distracted from how bad he feels about it when Jango tries to comfort him

Jango is, thankfully, a very good actor, and Anakin is a bit oblivious. He very easily starts clumsily probing Jango about what Obi-Wan and Jango quickly figure out Anakin thinks is a romantic relationship between them (and, to be fair, Obi-Wan has been acting strange, and spending much more time “with a friend” in the past two months or so)

At some point, Obi-Wan gets so uncomfortable with the idea that he and Jango are in a romantic relationship that he makes what is, to him and Jango, a mistake, and draws attention to the bullet holes again

Jango vaguely looks like he wants to kill Obi-Wan while Anakin casually explains it’s not that big of a deal, although he might have to find a better patch if this sort of thing keeps happening

This stops any murder plans Jango was making, and any counter plans Obi-Wan was making in favor of carefully probing Anakin to figure out when else he had fixed a bullet ridden car

Anakin reveals pretty easily that his engineering school’s dean, Sidney Palpatine (Sidney=Sid-=Sidious lol) had dropped in about two and a half months ago with a car in similar condition. As well as a few other people that Anakin describes well enough for Jango and Obi-Wan to identify as members of a local crime organization and a private army (like Blackwater/Academi), as well as mention a weird package in the trunk

This is clearly the who and why for Jango getting hired to assassinate Anakin, but they both play it cool until Anakin’s done and they can go on their way to drop off the vehicle

Cue Obi-Wan having a panic attack, which freaks Jango out quite a bit, since he’s so used to Obi-Wan being very calm and controlled and not showing vulnerability. Obi-Wan even gets outwardly angry

Cue Jango’s “oh. Oh.” moment

Jango basically drags a near catatonic Obi-Wan back to the apartment he’s been staying in and drugs him to sleep (in Jango’s mind, if Obi-Wan was too out of it to notice a drugged drink, then he clearly had no more business staying awake)

By the time Obi-Wan wakes up and starts panicking, less than yesterday (thanks to a good night’s sleep), Jango has some basic information on the legal and illegal lives of Palpatine, and a few half-formed assassination plans

Jango also has toast. Which he makes Obi-Wan eat. Obi-Wan grumps about not having been forced to eat breakfast since he was a teen. Cue a small sassy back and forth that further calms Obi-Wan down

Jango offers to kill Palpatine for free, which startles Obi-Wan because that is not how the criminal underworld works. Jango half-heartedly puts forth some logic about how Obi-Wan succeeding with their deal means that Jango gets to keep the best information broker on his side. Obi-Wan can tell that that isn’t all, and recognizes that Jango is probably being kind, but won’t outright admit it

They eventually decide on a plan where Anakin will bring Obi-Wan with him to go visit dean Palpatine who he’s friends with, and that Obi-Wan will bring some poisoned tea in a travel to mug to share. Anakin will refuse the tea, being Anakin, and Obi-Wan and Palpatine will both drink the poison. Obi-Wan will have the antidote (either disguised as something innocuous or to be taken during a bathroom break) and cure himself before there are any symptoms, leaving Palpatine to die of what will look like a natural heart attack

The plan goes awry, due to Kenobi luck, when Anakin accidentally has them barge in while Palpatine is meeting with another criminal. Cue a fight in the office, a secret passage, and more criminals to fight while Jango scrambles to get to the new location to help

Obi-Wan manages to actually word his way into delaying their defeats and deaths until Jango gets there. Jango manages to take out about half of the enemies before he gets defeated/captured as well

At this point Obi-Wan tries to make a deal again, to save Anakin and Jango. It seems to work/Palpatine seems interested, only for him to pull the rug out and basically say he’ll be either killing all three or making them wish they were dead, including some conjecture about Obi-Wan’s looks (aka sexual slavery)

Cue Jango getting incensed enough to break free again and start fighting again. He gets to Obi-Wan, frees him, and thus ensues a battle couple take down from the cheesiest of action flicks

In the end, Palpatine is the last one standing. Before either of them (or Anakin, who is beginning to get over his shock) can kill Palpatine, he runs away. Jango, Obi-Wan, and a confused Anakin give chase, stopping at the end of an alley as they realize that Palpatine has been hit by a bus

Jango and Obi-Wan drag Anakin through a convoluted path back to Obi-Wan’s apartment and confirm that, yes, Palpatine died. Jango and Obi-Wan quickly confirm that there’s nothing linking them to the crime scene (Palpatine had told his secretary that Anakin and Obi-Wan had left out the back when he realized he was going to have to kill them, giving them an alibi)

Obi-Wan and Jango tell Anakin a mostly true story and prod Anakin to decide to go back to [insert some place here] and live with some half-distant bio relatives (the Lars family), maybe finish his degree online

Cut to a few months later, Obi-Wan is reading an update text from Anakin before Jango comes into the room. Obi-Wan gives him a good luck kiss before sending Jango out to his job, reminding him that “I’ve always got your back”, Jango responds in kind, Obi-Wan accepts this/informs Jango that he knows before letting Jango drag him into another kiss

[anika-ann]

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.11

Persona

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2)   x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (past?)    Word count: 3400

Summary: Arrival to NYC is not what neither the Winchesters nor you expected. Like… not even in your wildest dreams.

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood and death, amnesia, swearing... that’s enough, I think, oh and confused Moose and Squirell (it’s a... reference)

Story masterlist

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Natasha slept like a baby – or like a dead. Sam didn’t find either of those options comforting. He couldn’t say he wasn’t glad Rowena had assisted them – but he would also be lying if he claimed to be happy about their particular ‘ally’ on this case.

While Dean’s eyes were glued to the road, Sam’s kept flickering between Natasha’s torso, always making sure she was still breathing, and his tablet, where he had started a search. Manhattan was surely a smaller place than the whole world, but it still had over million and half residents and finding Natasha’s soulmate wouldn’t be easy in the slightest.

He was still searching police databases for missing person cases and for house fires and gas explosions. The only problem was, he had no time frame to search – with Dean, it took three months for him to be resurrected and while his particular case had rather different circumstances (with angels having to fight their way through literal Hell and the whole Righteous Man versus apocalypse thing), Sam had no clue when exactly Natasha died.

It could have been the same day Castiel had brought her to them as well as months ago, years even. It wasn’t helping they still didn’t have her name and didn’t know the circumstances.

In other words, they didn’t have jack squat. Then again, Natasha believed her soulmate was a man, probably around her age – that would narrow down the search then. If they failed, they could always try to create her a tinder account and see who would super-like her.

Sam huffed in irritation and amusement, happy that Dean was pulling over. His legs might have been dying for the past few minutes.

“Where are we?” he hummed, cracking his neck.

Dean tuned down the volume before answering – and really, if the loud music hadn’t woken up Natasha, something must have been seriously wrong, Rowena’s magic messing her up on a level eleven on a ten points scale.

“Harrison, New Jersey. About an hour drive to Manhattan. Figured we would be no good in the overpriced hotels in the city, especially with her like this. Plus, I’m hungry,” Dean replied honestly and Sam raised one corner of his lips in a half-grin.

“Fair enough.” Dean opened the door, climbing up. Sam looked around, confused, not seeing any hotel, only a diner, and it got him get out of the car with an exasperated whisper-yell. “Where do you think you’re going? We can’t just leave her here!”

“Oh, we don’t. You’re staying, I’m getting food,” Dean grinned at him cockily, earning Sam’s famous ‘I’m-so-done-with-you-jerk’ face. “I might get you something too, Sammy.”

“Get something to Natasha too, in case she wakes up any time soon,” Sam growled, but obediently folded his long legs back to the car, casting a glance over his shoulder at their last passenger. “Jerk, isn’t he?”

Naturally, Natasha didn’t even stir, let alone reply.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

She didn’t regain consciousness until late night. When she did, she seemed to be convinced this was what hangover felt like – neither of the brothers opposed her. She ate two good portions of dinner, drank a litre of water and passed out again, absolutely exhausted.

“I don’t even wanna know what she would have looked like if Rowena drained her as much as she wanted to,” Dean noted darkly and Sam silently agreed, ready to hit the hay too.  

“You think she’s safe to be left on her own?”

“You mean if she dies in her sleep? I wouldn’t worry about that now,” Dean shrugged light-heartedly, patting her calf that slipped out from between the covers. She didn’t seem to mind – or notice for that matter. “We might leave the bathroom light on so she wouldn’t crash into something when waking up groggy like before, but I think she’s good now. Get some sleep.”

Sam casted a glance at Natasha’s peaceful face, watching her form moving ever so slightly as her chest was rising and falling regularly. He sighed and made his way to the bathroom, humming in vague agreement. He was still going to set an alarm for every two hours to check up on her.

Funnily enough, Dean’s phone woke him up sooner as they had got the same idea. Sam snorted in amusement as Dean seemed ashamed for being caught caring for their protégé.

The next time Sam woke up, it was only due to his alarm at four a.m. About an hour later, he was snapped from his dreams by Natasha’s loud cursing as her shin met the nightstand; they had forgotten to leave the light in the bathroom on.

Well. At least she was alive and clearly alright enough to walk and talk.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

“So… what happens now?” Natasha asked the burning question as she finished her croissant and fruit.

Sam had been the one to go grocery shopping this time, adding apples to the cart. Dean had been mockingly disgusted, but Natasha seemed ecstatic, discovering she liked red apples better then green ones. It was adorable and Sam felt an uncomfortable pang near his heart when he realized what a little thing like this meant to her, an amnesiac.

He truly wished he had better news for her in a form of some masterplan. The true was they weren’t sure about their next step.

“Now we go to explore the island of Manhattan,” Dean shrugged, causing Natasha to tilt her head and squint.

“Okay…? How is that going to help?”

Dean made a face. “You women are so hard to please sometimes…”

Sam snorted, but quickly fixed his expression when Natasha’s eyes fell on him. He smiled at her tightly with a bit of guilt.

“We’re not sure how to proceed to be honest. Police station is an option, but I searched their databases – they probably won’t have any more luck than I did.”

“Oh,” she said only, her voice sad, her hopeful expression falling. “Can’t you like… eh, post my face on the internet or something? Could that help?”

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, the one ridiculous idea popping up in his head again. He glanced at the woman, her eyes full of steadfast trust in them.

Sam cleared his throat, uneasy sensation in his stomach.

“Well… I actually thought of creating you a Tinder account-“

“Dude!” Dean cried out, exasperated. “You don’t mean that!”

“I’m sorry, you have a better idea?” Sam demanded, irritated as he spun on his chair to face his brother.

Sam was aware it was a lame-ass plan, but there were kind of out of options.

“…what’s a Tinder?” Natasha asked cautiously and Dean answered her swiftly with the ominous words.

“It’s a fuck-app.”

“I’m sorry?”

Sam beat his brother to speaking this time. “It’s a form of a dating site – or better, a dating app for your phone. You create a profile and-“

“So it’s a dating side. Basically. What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s known for finding a quick lay,” Sam explained bluntly, making her eyes widen, blood rushing into her cheeks.

“Oh.”

Dean gestured towards her wildly as if wanting to scream ‘see?!’ when a mixture of emotions played on her face. Sam rolled his eyes and huffed.

Natasha, seeing their exchange, worried her teeth over her lower lip.

“Well… how about we have a trip to the city and if we don’t come up with anything better, we give this a go?” she offered, causing both brothers to look at her as if she had grown a second head. Frankly, Sam was pleased too, though.

“Seriously?” Dean questioned in disbelief.

“We don’t have a better plan, do we? Desperate times. Besides… I have two bodyguards if someone lures me out under false pretences, don’t I?” she asked innocently, an honest smile lighting up her face, her unshakable trust in them showing again.

It made Sam’s stomach flip and his heart melt like hot butter. His lips spread in a smile as well unwittingly and he exchanged a look with Dean, who shrugged.

“You got balls. Let’s go then.”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

It took them an hour to get to the city and find a spot and neither of them had a better plan. Which meant they wandered the streets – earning strange looks for some reason –, postponing the inevitable until they found a small homey café.

Sam gulped. “Well, looks like this is it. We’re gonna dive into the Tinder jungle…”

Dean scoffed as he entered the café, looking around for a free table in the friendly space. It was clear that this wasn’t a franchise type of thing and Sam couldn’t tell he minded.

What he did mind were several pairs of eyes falling on them – and few of them growing wide, having their owners nudge their mates and whisper.

The taller hunter glanced at his companions who seemed equally uncomfortable under the glares. Good, Sam wasn’t getting paranoid then.

The moment only lasted few second though, then an orange-haired barista making rounds approached them with a smile, pointing them towards the counter, breaking the spell.

“Welcome to MDDC. Order at the counter, please. Oh and I recommend our caramel latté. It’s known to be magical,” she winked at them and Sam winced, mentally pleading for no more magic.

Squinting at her nametag, he thanked her for the recommendation anyway.

“Thank you… Terri.”

She threw another wink over her shoulder as she spun on her heels and headed the same direction. Unlike some of the patrons she seemed unfazed by their presence as she should. Yet, Sam still caught some people watching them with interest and shuffled, uncomfortable in his own skin.

“Am I like… famous? Or are they staring at you?” Natasha whispered, cautiously walking to the line of customers.

“They are staring, aren’t they?” Sam agreed, his mind racing. Was it a good thing? What did it mean? Could Natasha be famous?

“Maybe they think we’re all in poly.”

“Dean,” Sam snapped instantly, not amused as much as his brother clearly was, judging by his smirk.

“What? They could,” Dean offered innocently, earning a curious glance from Natasha, followed by a shake of her head.

“I’m not even gonna ask.” Good choice. “Grab me the caramel latté, please? Maybe it won’t taste like coffee too much. I’m… ugh, I’m gonna…” she pointed towards the ladies room and Sam just nodded.

A quick scan of the room confirmed his suspicion – there were eyes following her. Whatever this was, it was about her, not them.

Good news: no one was about to call the police, recognizing them as criminals. Good news no.2: finding information about Natasha might not be as hard as they had thought. Might.

“So, what are we thinking?”

Dean joined him in the line, losing his carefree attitude. “I think it’s worth asking. This ain’t coincidence. I just don’t get it – if she is famous, how did you not find a match?”

Sam grimaced, wondering about the same thing.

“Maybe it’s her family – or her soulmate. They could be annoyed with people, wanting to have their peace. How much it can cost to have someone cover the digital trail? Or maybe they sued someone and it resulted in that.”

“Or we could be wrong and they’re just looking at her ‘cause she an eye-candy,” Dean hummed, sounding perfectly serious. Sam hoped that the look he sent him spoke volumes. “What? She’s cute, we’re both thinking it.”

Sam rolled his eyes , but didn’t protest. “Let’s hope that it’s not the case, otherwise we’re about to sign her up for a ‘fuck-app’.”

This time it was Dean who glared mocked murder. Sam grinned.

“So, guys, what can I get you?” Terri asked them cheerily, genuine smile on her face. It somehow made Sam smile back automatically.

“Flat white, medium for me. Americano, no sugar for him. Tall? Yeah. And one of those caramel lattés,” Sam ordered.

“Here or to go?”

“Here. Add one of those… cheesecakes or whatever it’s called,” Dean requested. Before Sam could ask, he explained. “She liked trying new stuff. And Rowena said she should eat a lot.”

“That’s surprisingly thoughtful of you,” Sam blurted out, not watching his mouth. It earned them a giggle from their barista.

“Shut up, Samantha. You’re paying.”

Sam snorted as his brother aimed for a free table in the back and he pulled out the cash.

“He looks like a piece of work,” Terri commented lightly. Sam silently agreed. “I’ll bring your order to the table, okay?”

“Thanks.”

The boot in a quiet corner was a good choice, though Sam felt a little sorry for Natasha, who would have to walk through the whole café and face the strangely curious eyes.

“Here we go. Enjoy,” the barista landed their coffees and dessert.

“Thank you. Uhm… Terri? Can I ask you something?” Sam asked and straightened in his seat, which earned him a suspicious look from the woman.

“I have a boyfriend.”

“What a shame for the rest of us…” Dean sighed, shooting Sam an amused look when he noticed how flustered he grew.

“Huh? No, that wasn’t what I was-! I mean, not that you weren’t- uh, I mean-“ Sam stuttered, horrified she came to such conclusion.

It was when she giggled, her eyes sparkling. “I’m messing with you. What is it?”

Sam huffed, but couldn’t help but sigh in relief. He even charmed a little smile, trying not to look too self-important and showing he was okay with her teasing him.

“This might sound strange but… I think… people are kinda staring? At our friend? Do you have any idea why?”

“Well… if I could take a guess… it’s… it’s just that she looks so much like her,” she said slowly, glancing around. No one paid them any mind as they lowered their voices.

Jackpot. Sam’s eyebrows jumped and he leaned in, intrigued. With the corner of his eye, he registered Dean doing the same.

“Like who?”

“Cap’s girl,” Terri said simply, her expression darkening and softening at the same time. “God give him strength and let her rest in peace.”

Millions of questions popped up in Sam’s head, mostly whirling about what, who, why, when. A tragedy had struck, that was nothing new, they expected as much, but not an event of public manner.  

“Cap?” Sam questioned, confused. What kind of a nickname-

“Do you live under a rock?” Terri asked with a strange expression on her face. She seemed… surprised and weirded out, honestly. Sam couldn’t help but be offended at such blunt and mean question. “Sorry. Not much of a patriot then? Not from around here?”

“Wait, you mean Cap as… Captain America?” Dean whispered, sounding excited and Sam felt his heart skip a beat.

No way. Sam wasn’t very patriotic, never felt it, but even he knew who Captain America was and what role he had played in history – and present. But… she had to be shitting them, right?

“Well… yeah.”

Apparently not.

“Captain America? The Avenger?” Sam checked, making sure there was no confusion between them.

“Sure thing.” Terri shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“And she looks like his-…?“ Sam hinted her, trying to mask his impatience and excitement, probably failing epically.

“Soulmate, yeah.”

“That’s…” The younger hunter jerked his head, exchanging a meaningful look with Dean. “…interesting. Can we find her picture online? What’s her name? You know… celebrity look alike game and all that…? They do say my brother here looks like Bradley James.”

Oh yeah, Sam was totally making this up as he went. Dean was going to murder him for that comparison, but sacrifices needed to be made in the name of their rescue case. Terri tilted her head to side, examining Dean’s face, her smile growing wider.

“Huh. You kinda do,” she concluded and smirked. “I always was a sucker for Arthur and Merlin bromance.”

Sam snorted. They had watched an episode of Merlin. Dean had been horrified.

“I hate you. But yeah, do tell us.”

“Sure. But you can just check out the church on West 59th Street,” their barista confided them in – except neither of the brother understand what it meant. Dean was the one to ask.

“Why?”

“It’s the closest church to the Tower,” Terri announced, seemingly bewildered as she looked between the two of them. “How did you miss all this? It was all over the news.”

“We’ve been… travelling a lot.”

“Oh. Okay. You can just check it out. Light a candle for her. She died so a lot of others could live,” Terri explained them softly, clearly about to make her leave.

Sam had one last question though – well, among like million others.

Light a candle for her? What the hell?

“Thanks. Just… how long has it been?”

“Not too long. Few weeks.”

The moment their barista was out of hearing rage, Sam turned to Dean, whose shocked expression matched his own, and started whispering hastily.

“What the hell?!”

“Yeah, I’m right there with you. But it sounds legit. You check it out?“

Sam glanced around before pulling out his tablet. He liked this option better than the Tinder one, but an anxious knot was tying up his stomach as Natasha still didn’t find them at their table. She sure was taking her time. Sam hoped she was okay and wasn’t having a panic attack or something. And that there were no windows she could climb through – because if she was Captain freaking America’s soulmate, she might as well be a superhero just like him.

Seriously – what the hell.

The amount of results for ‘Captain America soulmate’ search was ridiculous, climbing to astronomic numbers. Links to articles, pictures, videos… and lots of the links had only the headline and nothing more to it – they had been deleted.

Sam wasn’t surprised anymore. Once again, if Natasha – which wasn’t her name at all, of course, as he found out – was the one for the supersoldier, there was no wonder someone would want to protect her privacy.

Sam roamed through the links, finally finding a photo – a photo of an altar, a picture of what clearly was a woman of Natasha’s hair colour, though blurred via filter, surrounded by teddy bears, flowers and candles.

The younger hunter gulped, satisfaction at possibly solving the mystery mixing with nervousness and compassion.

“Got something,” he hummed, passing the device to Dean.

“Well, that’s not creepy at all. Found any picture of her that actually shows her?”

Sam glared at his brother. “I’m trying,” he hissed, returning to his search.

He clicked on several videos – it was no surprise they had all been removed. He grunted in frustration, trying out what could be twentieth link, some no-name person Tumblr blog who had reposted it about three minutes ago.

Bingo!

The blurry picture moved a little, showing a blond man standing up from a bed in a plain room, crackling sound in the background. Sam froze the frame, attaching headphones and pressed play again.

The camera finally cleared and… the frame split in two. In the other frame, a woman strapped to a chair appeared, causing Sam’s heart stop along with his breathing.

Holy shit.

Holy.

Shit.

“Dean, you have to see this,” Sam choked out, a lump growing in his throat as he pushed the tablet to sit at the table between them and passed one headphone to his brother. Dean’s eyes went wide upon seeing the people in the video.

“Life is full of hard choices, isn’t it, Captain?” a scratchy male voice mocked the desperate man in the picture and Sam’s shoulders tensed when he realized just how hard choice the soldier was given; two bombs showed in the frame.

Well, shit.

“Steve?” Oh yeah. This was definitely Natasha’s voice. This was hundred percent Natasha. Who wasn’t Natasha, but whatever. “It’s… it’s okay. Go. Go save lives. I… I knew I’d have to share you with the world. Frankly, I didn’t imagine it would be like this, but— you go and be hero. My life is nothing compared to thousands and we both know that.”

“Is that really-“ Dean questioned incredulously, eyes glued to the screen.

“Yeah. I… I think it is.”

They spoke no more, watching the video as if it was the most suspenseful thriller they had even seen. Which it was, because the plot was very much real and they had the main character in the near bathroom. Risen from death.

Someone should probably check up on her, but Sam couldn’t tear his gaze away. It was like watching a train wreck to happen; they knew how it must have ended. Thousands of people Nat in the video had mentioned got to live; because Captain’s soulmate was about to blow up.

Both brothers still winced when the explosion did end the video.

Christ.

Dean slowly pulled out the earplug and gulped, glancing at Sam.

“Well… son of a bitch.”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 12

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Thank you for reading!

(I’m sorry for that GIF use, I had to)

I hope it’s clear enough now that there’s a slight time shift between reader chapters and Steve/Nat/Sam/Bucky chapters (theirs are earlier, while reader had been resurrected a few weeks after her death, about after Steve’s drinking night.) 

 P.S. – I couldn’t resist that little cameo :D If you know who I mean the better, if not, don’t worry about it, Terri is one of my OFCs ;)

[monstaxdesires]

The Arrangement (Chapter Two)

(Chapter One)

The phone felt heavy in your hand as you pressed the numbers in the right order. You let out a shaky breath closing your eyes as you pressed dial. The line rang three times before he answered.

“Hello?”

You were quiet, your voice was stolen from you.

“Hello? Anyone there?” His deep voice filled your head and you fought down the familiar feeling it gave you whenever he came into the store.

“It’s me,” you say gently, nails digging into your thigh as you sit on the edge of your chair. “I wanted to talk to you about your offer.”

You didn’t have to see him to know he had that ever-charming smirk on his face. You could hear it in his tone as he spoke again.

“What changed?”

“Something I would rather not discuss right now,” you raise your shaking hand to your hair, pulling it over one shoulder nervously. “Is the offer still on the table?”

“I don’t know,” he mused and you heard a deep chuckle from him. “Depends. What are you doing tonight?”

“Nothing.”

“Come to dinner with me.”

You bite your lip before counting to three and trying to make yourself relax. You could do this, dinner was easy. It was this or use your savings while you hunt down a second job which was still an option even if you went to dinner with him.

“Why?”

He clears his throat, your question taking him by surprise. “To discuss the offer. My offer was very vague if you remember and I want you to know all the facts before you continue any further.” He pauses and you hear a faint noise like glass clinking in the background. “I honestly didn’t expect you to call Beautiful. You have surprised me again.”

“Chalk it up to curiosity.”

“Then this dinner is perfect. You have a nice cocktail dress right?”

“Sure,” you answer.

Your thoughts shifting to the little black dress in the back of your closet. It had been a birthday gift from your coworkers. It belonged to the designer you worked for but had been severely marked down so they pitched in and bought it for you so you would have something nice to wear when they took you out to celebrate.

“Perfect. I will send a car for you at 7 pm sharp. Text me your address,” he instructs, his voice softer now. You shiver, the change in his tone making you feel like you were wrapped up in silk. “Oh, and Beautiful?” He says catching your attention before you can hang up.

“Yes?”

“Relax. We will discuss the offer and you will meet a few friends at a dinner party.”

“Okay.”

You hang up and send your address before you drop the phone in the chair as you march to dig the dress out of your closet.

———————————

He entered the store and you moved to greet him like usual. The dark-haired woman on his arm flashing a smile at you. You had not seen her before. She was a new one.

“Good afternoon,” you say, folding your hands in front of you and your face not giving away what you knew. He smirks at you, his eyes dragging over you like they always do before he turns to his companion. “How can I help you today?” You direct your attention to her knowing exactly how to handle him after so many encounters.

“I need a new wardrobe,” she says, her gaze glued to him now. “It is a birthday treat.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. It always was.

“No limit,” he says to both of you before he releases her arm. “Go ahead, Sweetheart.”

You turn to signal the team that was waiting off to the side that it was time to assist and they move forward and guide her to begin the afternoon-long process of picking items out to try on and let everyone admire her. They were well versed in this part of the job. It happened at least once a week, not always with him, but a group of them frequented enough that it was down to a science among all employees.

“Thank you,” he says to you but he is watching her. “Your staff never disappoints and neither do you.” He turns his gaze to you and smiles. “How are you? It has been a few weeks.”

“I am well.” You reply. He had been your first experience when you started a little over seven months ago. It had been a shock to your system but even then you had regained your composure and proceeded how you were directed to.

You liked to keep your information limited with all clientele, especially this particular type of clientele. They did the same, it was a mutual understanding. You knew his name, or the name he chose to go by, but you never learned the women’s names. Only referring to them as Miss when necessary. 

“And you?”

“Well,” he agrees. His eyes are back on his birthday girl. “She’s lovely isn’t she?”

“Very.”

He flashes his perfect teeth in a genuine smile before starting to move towards his usual seat.

“The usual?” You ask softly.

“Yes, thank you.”

You go behind your desk to grab his favorite bottle of dark liquor and a glass tumbler to pour it in. You glance at him to see him unbutton his jacket before taking a seat so he could watch her enjoy her time in the store.

“Want me to take it instead?” Your coworker, Ann, asks as she moves to your side.

She noticed you seemed a little more on edge this time and you weren’t sure why, nothing was different. But something in his eyes had you a little more wary. You shake your head. He preferred things to be kept the same as always.

“He favors you, you know.” She says. You look at her with a confused expression. “You could always be her instead.”

“No,” you cut her off. “He has never and would never even dare. And I have the job I want right now. It’s enough to teach me and help me with saving for my ultimate goal. That is all I need.”

She shrugs walking away and you glance to check on him but he is staring at you. His gaze is unwavering. You inhale a breath steadying your nerves before going to him. You place the tumbler on the table beside him before handing him the usual leather-bound portfolio. You kept it for the clients that would come in and brought their significant others who needed something to occupy themselves while they waited. It was a catalog of the recent men’s designs and included a tablet for their pleasure.

“You know where I am should you need me,” you murmur your usual sentence and begin to turn on the ball of your foot to go back to your post. He reaches out, his fingers folding around your wrist in a gentle but firm grip.

“Sit with me for a moment.”

Your lips part in surprise and you glance to see his companion immersed in the staff’s presentation of the first round of clothing.

“Only a moment,” he says casually.

You take the seat beside him and fold your hands in your lap now that he has released you.

“This is for you.” He murmurs and holds it out for you.

You take it, the matte finish on it showing how expensive his taste was. It was thicker than a normal business card and much simpler. His name scrawled across the front, Wonho. He watches you flip it over and see his cell the only thing on the back. You look up at him, confused. The store had his information on file why you were you being given this. He picks up on your confusion.

“That is for your personal use.”

“Sorry?” Your usual demeanor dropping and he grins at the little peek he gets of your normal demeanor.

“I like you. You are different.”

“Different?” You ask, scrambling to get the situation back under control.

“Different,” he repeats before looking down at the portfolio resting on his lap. “I know you are aware of the situation,” he says gesturing between the girl and himself. “It is not what you may think, but it is a version of it. I can help. I like to help. The card is for you should you need my help.”

“Oh,” you bite your lip, cheeks warming with slight embarrassment. You had never meant to incline that you wanted his help. “That’s not-”

“I know,” he says opening the portfolio without looking at you. “But I want you to have the card. You do not have to do anything with if you do not wish to.” He looks at you again when you do not reply. “That is all.”

You stand, mind still racing to try and wrap itself around the situation. “I apologize if I insulted you.” You quickly try to repair any damage. You knew that their business was vital to the survival of the company and you would not let it be your fault if it was lost.

“You have not insulted me Beautiful. I have debated on giving you that card since the first time we met. Let’s leave it at that for now, yes?”

“Yes,” you reply before going back to your desk. His card pressing into your palm as you grip it tightly.

Hours later you had regained your composure and done your job well for the rest of their visit. She had wrapped up her shopping and your staff would package it all up and deliver it to the address he was now writing on a card. He placed it in the usual envelope before passing it to you without a word. You took it from him as she thanked the staff a few feet away.

“Our secret, understood?” He asks. You look at him, tipping your head to the side before eyes widen slightly.

“Understood.”

He grins. “Call me if you change your mind.”

Before you can respond she is now by his side thanking you before they leave together. He does not look back and you feel your shoulders drop as the staff all beam at one another. They scurry to your desk inquiring about the tip he had left. You open the envelope before passing the address to Ann. The delivery side was her responsibility. She accepts it with glee and reads the address. It was never his, always hers, but still, it was fun to see where they lived.

“How much?” She peaks over the counter to your hands. You finish counting before looking up at them.

“$2,000.”

They cheer in excitement and you grin. The biggest tip yet and another deposit into your savings account.

“Including the delivery team that means we each get an extra $200 on our paychecks next week. Well done team.”

They all grin and hug one another before being dismissed back to their duties. One of the accounting clerks is already waiting to take the tip. You pass it off and write down the information for your records and the department's records.

———————————

The car arrived right on time and now you were being taken to what you knew would be a lavish event. You knew the driver, it was his driver, and that helped calm your nerves some. He had greeted you without judgment and you had been thankful.

You squeezed your hands together as he turned onto a stone drive that had a soft glow from little twinkle lights intertwined in the lush green trees lining the drive.

“You look lovely,” Luke speaks and you blush ducking your head. “Mr. Wonho likes you. You will have a wonderful evening I am sure.”

“Thank you, Luke.”

“Anytime,” he smiles before pulling the car to a stop at the entrance. Your door opens and a hand is offered to help you. You grasp it as you step outside of the car to see Wonho smiling at you. He looked dashing in a fitted black tux. You had picked that tux out months ago and it warmed your heart a little to see him using it.

“You look stunning,” he says admiring you at arm's length.

“You look handsome as always,” you return and he flashes a bright smile that makes you smile a little. “If I remember correctly I suggested this particular tuxedo.”

“You did,” he confirms. You both enter the venue before he delicately plucks two champagne flutes from a platter that a passing server is carrying.

He offers you one and you take it. His free hand falls to the small of your back. The warmth radiating from his palm making you blush the slightest bit.

“A few things about tonight,” he starts as you take in everything around you. “Almost all of the gentlemen and a few of the beautiful women here tonight are similar to me. You will see some of the clients you service. Reframe from talking to them if possible,” he says turning you to face him.

He stares at you, his dark eyes warm. His hand lifts to your face. His knuckles brushing your cheek.

“Tonight you are my beautiful and stunning guest and not the girl who handles all of our affairs for your company. Tonight is a test, I have no concern about how you will do, but I want to be honest with you. If you do as well as I think you will then we will discuss how I can help you further.”

“Understood.”

“Ask any question you want and stay by my side unless you need to be excused to the ladies' room.” He tips his head admiring you before winking which makes your heart race a little. “If you are ready I would like to begin introducing you to some of my friends.”

“I would,” you say, knowing he wants to show you off. “But I think you should know that I am not a drinker other than a glass of wine when life calls for it.”

He chuckles. “Me either, but it makes everyone feel a little better if everyone appears to be drinking.”

“Ah,” you smile clueing in and keeping your flute in your grip instead of discarding it.

“Once dinner begins I will make sure you have water or wine if you desire.”

“Thank you Wonho.”

“Now, I would like for you to meet Hyungwon first.” He gestures to a tall man with slightly longer dark hair a few feet away. 

You noted the blonde on his arm and the Givenchy gown she wore. It fit her like a glove and you knew she had been his companion for longer than usual. The giveaways being the gown and how he admired her when she spoke to those standing around him. 

“He is in love,” Wonho says softly in your ear. “You can tell from here can’t you Beautiful?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl,” he pats your hip. “I knew you would do well.”

You blush before peaking at him to see that charming smile on his face again. You were doing well so far.

(Chapter Three)

[norabrice1701]

An Offer Received - Part II

A Jaguar Villain Tom Hiddleston Character (Thomas Conrad) fanfic

Pairing: Thomas Conrad x Fem!reader

Summary: Part II - Mr. Conrad plays five steps ahead of you, baiting his trap, planting his seed...of change, that is. 

Rating: Part II - an F-bomb or two, controlling behavior 

Previously: Part I - 5 Minutes 

A/N: Thank you for all the Part I love! This work of fiction is intentionally free of any direct country references. Conrad’s sights are set bigger than any one nation. 

GIF credit to the original poster via the Tumblr search! 

Part II - 5 Weeks 

The news sent shock waves through the corporation. Even five weeks later, the rumors still hadn’t died down.

The most common theory was that you fucked him for the position. Sure, you didn’t wear the shortest skirts or the tightest blouses, but you were pretty enough and still a woman – and he was just a man. It was an obvious, frustrating assumption. The second prevailing theory was that you just plain fucked up. Why else would someone move from department head to a glorified office assistant?

Of course, no one ever said anything to your face. Your presence brought too much undeniable authority for anyone to make a direct snide remark. But you didn't buy-in to the gossip about Conrad before, and you didn’t buy-in to the theories now. Everyone could speculate on the limits of your ambition, but you held your head high, secure in the truth that you hadn't sacrificed your integrity to get the position. Hell, it wasn't even something you asked for. 

But with each week that passed, the noise became easier to drown out as your knowledge of the corporation’s inner workings expanded exponentially. As Head of Production, you had a limited purview – but now, nothing was off-limits. Civil service initiatives. Defense contracts. Private buyer agreements. All in addition to the main consumer technology ‘gadget’ market.

It proved endlessly fascinating. The corporation had branched into so many different industrial and municipal strata that it was no wonder LOKI continued to post record-topping revenue each quarter during Conrad’s reign.

It made you wonder. Had Conrad been the architect of all this? Somehow, you doubted the former CEO had left this grand vision for Conrad to execute. The old guard – largely symbolized by Mrs. Brunhilde – was a thing of the past, and Conrad plainly had eyes for the future.

True to his word, you took very few of his calls and managed very little of his schedule. You knew it, of course, and had turned plenty of people away who hoped to just ‘drop in on him’. You’d note names, numbers and topics, adding them to your list of talking points for your daily meeting with him.

Those meetings proved unforgiving on a good day, and brutal if any fires burned. You had to ace it – an ever-changing status to condense the daily workings of a multi-faceted corporation into a few minutes’ time. But Conrad never missed anything – his questions cut to the chase, distilled issues down to their core, and always looked five moves ahead.

Of course, he had to look flawless all the while. You’d never once seen him with his tie loose or sleeves rolled up. His suit jacket came and went, but it wasn't a tell of his mood. He maintained a professional, even keel and nothing ever seemed to fluster him. Even when production numbers took a dip during the transition – even though you would begrudgingly admit that Jeremy Barton was doing a decent job – and even when a lucrative acquisition contract with Hong Kong fell through, you never saw the man break a sweat.

You sighed, forcing yourself back to focus, thumping another file folder onto the stack, this one named Operation ‘Lily Pad’. Oddly enough, the corporate-level initiatives had the most unprofessional and vague names.You’d received word late in the day that Conrad planned to lead a meeting with the corporate investing committee tomorrow. He hadn’t shared the objective, but he had requested four slides of investment figures and activities from each department, highlighting the corporate-level initiatives.

So, here you were at 7:46 pm on a Wednesday night, reading and typing away. At least, you weren’t alone. Not that you were counting, but Conrad hadn’t emerged from his office in over three hours. And he didn’t really have to – with a private washroom, and probably a hidden kitchenette in the wall paneling, why would he?

Perhaps you would look at getting a mini-fridge for your desk if these late-night tasks continued. Your stomach rumbled again with hunger as you reached for the next folder.

Operation ‘Blue Sea’. By far the largest in the company, and the biggest consumer of resources with little to show for profitability. Of all the initiatives in the portfolio, it did look the oddest, but admittedly, you were still coming up to speed on federally-funded projects. You poured over the funding update, trying to condense the information for the slide.  

“I thought you might be hungry.”

You looked up, startled by the sudden mellifluous tone. How had you not heard him exit his office and walk to your desk?

“I…,” you shook your head clear, “I am, sir, but I should really finish this. You have your investing committee meeting up first tomorrow.”

“I do, indeed. And the night is far from over,” he paused, the corner of his mouth lifting as if in regret, “but needs must.”

You eyed him warily, unable to tell if he was making a joke. Had you ever seen him eat? Yes, he’d sipped from coffee mugs, teacups and to-go cups – but you didn’t think you’d ever seen the man ingest food.

“Come on,” he nodded for the suite door, “I know the perfect place.”

His tone told you that he wouldn’t take no for an answer, so you rose, grabbing your purse and scarf. Early autumn had brought a touch of chill to the daily breeze, but not enough to require a coat. Of course, Conrad was all buttoned-up in his perpetual state of perfection. 

Following him into the elevator, riding in companionable silence with the knowledge that you two were actually leaving together, getting food together…part of you wasn't convinced that this wasn’t a hunger-induced hallucination, while the schoolgirl part of you was giddy with the prospect of a public outing with such a man.

Not that this was anywhere near a date.

“This way.” He turned in the parking garage, dulcet tones echoing off the concrete surfaces.

Dutifully, you followed, just resisting an eye-roll as he strolled up to a gleaming white car. A Jaguar from the markings. 

Of course. Of course, a man in his position would drive such a flashy, sleek, sexy vehicle. He held open the passenger door without further ado, and you didn’t make a fuss about his show of chivalry. As with all things, you knew when to pick your battles. And accepting his dinner not-quite-invitation, sitting in his car, going to a place of his choosing – you knew better to let it play out for now.

He slid with fluid grace into the driver’s seat, closing the door behind him as the car roared to life. The buttery leather of your seat rumbled with the silky purr of the engine for the briefest second before the gears shifted and the car shot out into the night.

One big, seductive power play. How many other women had he poured into this same seat who just opened their legs at the sight of him at the wheel? Admittedly, it was an extremely appealing sight – the effortless ease with which he handled the tightly coiled power and navigated the city traffic. Faint piano music filled the interior, just audible over the engine’s steady growl.

It took you a few measures, but then you recognized it. Your piano teacher would be so proud. “Beethoven,” you glanced over at him with a small smile, “if I’m not mistaken.”

He nodded. “Very good.” The music stretched a little further between you. “Are you a classical music fan, or do you play?”

“A little of both, I suppose. I enjoy a good symphony when I can spare the time. And I took piano lessons through school. Sacrificed it to pursue a more practical career.”

“A shame, really. The world can always use more talented artists.”

You held back a snort. “I wouldn’t say I was a talented artist.”

“Perhaps not, but you’re not the type to accept failure.”

You licked your lips, suddenly uncertain. “And what of yourself? Classical music fan, or do you play?”

“Yes, to both.”

Your gaze dropped to his hands on the steering wheel. Such long, elegant, strong fingers. Perfect pianist’s hands. A blush rose on your cheeks as you turned to look out the windshield. “Well, they do say there’s a correlation between engineering and music.”

“Of course.” He sounded almost bored. “Most of my senior staff are amateur musicians of some kind.”

The thought made you pause. Did he already know that you played piano before asking you? How could he possibly know that? There was no official record of all those years you sat on Mrs. Campbell’s bench with her metronome and stern instructions in your ear. Was there?

Suddenly, the interior felt suffocating and your sense of unease grew. Just what sort of man was Conrad? You knew he was powerful within the walls of LOKI…but just how far did that power extend outside those walls?

He turned off the main street, gliding down a narrow lane that teemed with store and restaurant fronts. You squinted at the passing names, not sure if you’d heard of any of them. Just where exactly were you? 

The car rolled to a stop in front of an unassuming building. Unassuming, but not inelegant. Burgundy lacquer coated the front and swooping gold script simply read Sora’s. Conrad exited the vehicle and you closely followed, not giving him the opportunity to come around for your door again. He did, however, hold the restaurant door open for you to pass through first. 

Couples sat at the majority of tables as servers bustled about. The air was rich with aromas of spices and savory ramen flavors that made your mouth water. A warm, steady hand ghosted the small of your back and you caught a sudden hint of subtle, woodsy cologne. You chased the scent, taking a deep breath. Conrad brushed by you just as quick as he had stepped close - leaving you reeling in his wake. What was wrong with you? One minute you were drooling over the restaurant smells, and the next, wanting only to smell your boss’ cologne. 

God, you needed food. And wine, probably. Lots of wine. 

Conrad stepped up to the host, a smile lighting his face as he was obviously recognized. The host smiled wide, speaking in a smooth Japanese dialect as he gestured at your boss. Conrad returned the man’s greeting, Japanese syllables rolling effortlessly off his tongue. The host handed over a menu and Conrad took it with grace. 

“Here,” he handed it to you, “choose anything you’d like.” 

You skimmed the selections. “What would you recommend?” 

He indicated a couple, and it wasn’t a hard choice. Once he relayed your order to the host, and the host scurried off towards the kitchen, you couldn’t hold back, looking to Conrad with a small smile. “I didn’t know you spoke Japanese.” 

He looked over with a quirked brow, as if surprised at your boldness. “You haven’t needed to know.”

“Did you learn after becoming CEO? Or was this a skill you brought to the position?” 

“You don’t ask such trite questions. I suggest you don’t start now.” 

You froze on the sharp remark. What had changed between the conversation in the car, the touch to your back, and right now to warrant such a response? Perhaps he was uncomfortable in a public setting, talking about himself. Perhaps when you got him alone in the car again, you could...no, there would be no could.

In surprisingly short order, a server rushed to the front with a carry-out bag as the host motioned Conrad forward. 

“Sir,” you called after him, “please let me pay for my dinner.” 

He ignored you, accepting the bag with a nod and parting words that you didn’t understand. Without any further exchange, he turned, easily side-stepping you and holding open the restaurant door in silent expectation. 

You didn’t hold back your glare as you brushed by him. All at once, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d played you. That he’d orchestrated the entire outing to his exact specifications. It was the only explanation why the food had arrived so quick after placing the order and why he didn't pay in person.

You sighed as you settled back into the passenger seat. “Let me see if I understand this right,” you said as Beethoven’s gentle strains resumed, “you called ahead and paid in advance. Of course, you placed your order over the phone, but as far as my food…how did you know what I would choose?”

The corner of his mouth lifted in the passing streetlight. “It’s commonplace for first-timers to ask a regular for their recommendation. Knowing what I would recommend for you helped narrow the selection so the kitchen could plan in advance.”

“But there was still no guarantee that I would pick from your recommendations.”

“There’s very few guarantees on anything, but there's one predictable truth of humanity – the truth that you crave subjugation. You had the freedom of choice, and yet you chose to defer to my direction, instead.”

“Predictable truth of humanity?” You arched a brow in disbelief, offense prickling along your spine. Who did Conrad think he was? “Is that true of you, too, sir?” 

Nothing about Conrad’s demeanor suggested that he enjoyed surrendering control. In fact, he seemed much more the type to enact subjugation than surrender to it. 

Nothing about that thought was comforting.

You turned to glare out the window as he offered no answer to your question. A throng of people had gathered outside of a large building – you couldn’t tell what. Some people held signs for peace, equality; others held hands, small candles, offered prayers and songs; each protesting the injustice that ran rampant and the need for a changed world. 

Conrad’s voice carried softly. “They say we live in the most developed, advanced civilization in all of human history. Yet society rots around us. Global injustice of those still judged for their race, nationality, gender, creed. The superpowers of the world crumble under the very weight of their titles - divided, conflicted - and fail to learn the lessons from history. The Romans proved that military might is not enough to survive. Internal divisions, squabbles – failure at administrating peace – ate the Persian and Mongol empires from within. Focus cannot just be on one strength with the rest ignored; nor, is it worth the risk of burnout from fortifying all fronts at once as the British Empire once did.”

You turned towards him, brow furrowed in the low light. Where was he going with this?

His gaze focused out the windshield, but there was no mistaking the serene conviction on his face. “With each protest, each bombing, each hungry mouth that starves to death – we are witnessing the decline of the modern age as we know it. The leaders of this world, this realm, have been blind too long to acknowledge the problem. And their arrogant, blind ignorance will be their downfall.”

You swallowed, taking in everything he said. It was certainly an unexpected turn of conversation. “You’ve clearly spent a lot of time thinking about this. It’s almost a wonder you aren’t in politics.”

“Their games are meaningless drivel. Their false promises and continual inability to affect global change drive us further into decay.”

“Then…then what are you suggesting? Yes, I agree – change is needed. But you…you do recognize the throne from which you preach?” You couldn’t help a small scoff of disbelief. “You sneer at powerful people on high, making decisions for the world – but how are you any different? Sitting atop the throne of the largest tech giant in the world? One could argue that almost gives you a more powerful platform. At least, everyone knows that you’re just out to make money for the company.”

“Do not mistake me for a robber baron.” His voice lost none of its clipped calm, despite your words. “The opportunities afforded by this position will be made clear to the world soon enough. As will the knowledge that with the right support, the right drive to succeed – change can be realized. For the good of all.”

You had to admit it was a nice thought. A world for the good of all, not just those who the powerful decided it was for. You turned to the window, not entirely sure what to make of the conversation. It surprised you, honestly. You’d never given Conrad enough credit to consider others beyond himself. Yet here he was…sympathetic to the need for global change.

Maybe, just maybe…you could agree with him. You nodded slowly. “For the good of all.”

Up Next: Part III.1 - 5 Months

[bigmafluff]

Unreal Love Story “Henry Cavill” chapters 1-3

Sequel To My Story “Tom Hiddleston”

Summery

“ Tom Dear ! She is gone!” His mother says when her son barges thru her front door. Diana Hands a sobbing Charlie to His Stunned father Leading  them into the house to a computer sitting @ her kitchen table with a flash drive in it.    Just as Tom is about to say something . His Mom hush's them both and starts the video.   I start with calming Charlie through the computer.  “ Hello Little one . I'm am sorry I have to leave you so. But You are a strong young man . Sometimes even stronger than your father at times. Just know that I love you dear one and will always be your special friend . Now dry those tears and Go see Nanna . So Your dad and I can talk.” I said to Charlie thru the computer. Tom Knew after that our relationship was over maybe had been over for a while.

Chapter 1 

Numbness,& NASCAR

I couldn't Stay in London. It hurt too much all I saw was pain. I couldn't go home yet still felt like I failed myself some how so home wouldn't work. So I numbed myself out in Cali.   I did what I swore I wouldn't. I went full Party Girl. Between the parties ,clubs, Bars I was wasted most of the time.  But I knew that being In Love Like this before then Losing love has it's down side . Tom and I had been it for 3 years. But towards the end I was more His son's nanny than his girlfriend . Most of his friends warned me this was one sided . He never got over Sophia Di Marino ,Charlie's Mom. The split was Mutual. I'm Not mad to be truthful. Annoyed really that I let it go on this long ..

So California I went , to numb the hurt. I don't give a rat's ass what they say about better to have Loved crap ! It still hurt's dammit!  So Party Shannon I became. I still wrote my stories without impairment. By day I was the mildly hungover writer coffee in hand . Luca was still Daydreaming so I was still writing. But @ night Let's just say in the great words of Bill & Ted .” Party on Dudes” So I did. Shaking my ass Beer in hand in a club in south beach !  Rockin' out to Pink. I am vaguely aware I am Jamming with a rather large Englishmen Go Figure ! He has a familiar tone I can't place ,frankly all I see is curls ,beard & muscle , Cause I'm too drunk and don't care but he was hot and can grind Like no other. But even though I was no lady ,he was a gentleman And at the end of the night I was in my Hotel room clothes and dignity intact.

Woke the next morning with another hangover that I never use to get when I was younger. They still Suck! UGH! I'm about to start typing when I get a feed from TMZ. “TWH PROPOSES TO SDM!” I switch on my TV and sure enough The rock on her finger is massive and Charlie Looks so Happy .   The numbness lifts along with the pain . I can see the sun again so I finally pack my stuff .

But not for England . I head home. I decide I need time with my son . So Arkansas, Hot Springs that is.  Although when I get there I find out my son is in Florida . In Daytona Beach. At the Racetrack!  My nephew Christian and his wife Kiki took Lucas to a NASCAR race and Somehow Lucas Landed a job as head mechanic for Carlos Contreras's race team. Shocked as I was,  I get on a flight to Florida it is a good shocked but WOW.  I got a Hotel room and then went to the track . Took me a little convincing to get in  . Security walked me to the Pit where I found my baby boy covered in grease. Under a car . When Lucas jumped up and hugged me they left us alone . test moment's in a parent's life is seeing your child seceded at something he loves. This was Lucas's dream !Like writing is for me. It was his turn. Lucas Introduced me to Carlos with sparkles in his eyes . Carlos seemed to Like what My  Son does. Even tells me that Because of my Boy, Carlos has won 8 races. How more proud can I get I am in tears.  While I was here I went to a few races and Lucas and I raided the theme parks. Then one night Lucas had a grown up moment and told me I had to go back to the U.K.. He said I write my best stuff there and I need to make peace with Myself. How did my Autistic Son get so smart. Then he tells me. He is a big Guy now and He didn't need his Mom to hover.

Chapter 2

Something New

So once I'm back in London. I dust off My flat that Luke made sure I got despite me moving in with Tom. Besides writing, a few friend's gave me the intro to the London night life and I found a outlet to unwind . But I didn't drown myself like in Cali. But I still maintained my Party Mama status. Also I am exercising regularly, to compensate for the Night life . But I found that I have way's now that I am Back to make exercising fun. I do the Gym of course. But I also like rollerskating in Hyde or St. James park, when it's sunny. I found a Ice Skating rink that is 7 day's a week.  And there is a indoor pool at the Gym I go to. .

But I realized some things while I was home in the states. I can't ever forget where I came from . So I pay it forward to 4 special organizations for charity and I never write them off my taxes . I went back to church I actually found a Nazarene church in the U.K. Honestly Church is what keeps me semi sober in the clubs on Friday and Saturday. No hangovers in Gods house .So I have been busy. By maintaining the order of my life like I did way before when My soul purpose was being a MOM. God, Family Friends career is a new addition but not that high on the list.  

I found a way to keep myself going .My heart has even healed to a point and I am actually making good friends with “ The Hiddleston “ I can't even comprehend The fact that Sophia took Tom's name . I didn't think her agent's would let her do that. Any how I Am officially Aunty Shannon to Charlie and he even still talks to Lucas and they talk cars regularly according to Tom. As for right now though I'm actually doing more than writing I am at The Harold Pinter theater in London as a Producer and assistant to Kenneth Branaugh the director of a play Based on one of my fan fiction stories .  It's a Vampire Love story with a family twist.  No Not Twilight no blood sucking fairies here. But what has me excited is the cast . Tom is in it along a whole bunch of my fave idol's Including Henry Cavill as the male lead. . OK! I fibbed Kenny doesn't need me the whole time so I am writing when I am not teaching Charlie Who is acting for the first time. Tom is One Proud Papa! I will tell you what. And Charlie Looks like he is having a wonderful time despite playing a Girl demon!

also I do have a little Mystery of my own I am trying to solve. Every morning when I get to work. Yes I'm getting paid for this production. I go to my seat and drink my coffee but I find a different colored long stem lily in the seat . I asked Tom. If Charlie was doing it and I even ask Ken. None said It was them. Both even offered to investigate with me . Saying they have a little experience because they played P.I.'s

I was actually flattered I had an admirer. I just hope I won't regret taking the Lily more seriously. Anyway The play is gearing up for opening night I called Lucas's aide Reed to Se if He will be able to be in London for my Play . Which If it does well it will head to the States and go on Broadway.  Now tell me if that ain't totally awesome. I.K.R.  We as far as my Book's are concerned Luca start's Middle School. So Social interaction and puberty mixes in with his amazing world which should make for a wild ride for our readers. My honorary nephew is even reading them which make's my heart sing  Oh! So I don't leave it out my lily was Aquamarine and silk today not real but it had a pink bow and it sparkled . He-he! Who ever this is knows I like things that sparkle. It makes me giddy.

Opening Night!!!!

My Lucas is here . Looking Just Like he did Prom Night When he took my god daughter to the prom. My boy is So handsome. Lucas has been working out so My lucas is Tall and Jacked thanks to His Buddy Phillip Hull. We get to ride in a Limo It will be Lucas's first time in one. Me! I'm In all Red  Long red hair with a touch of gray at the temple and proud of it. A Long Jessica rabbit dress that sparkles in the light. Red flat's I ain't that crazy . It's gonna be a long night and I am in my 50's   Heels are not in the program. I had red cloves and a red silk Shaw. I felt amazing and all my boy could say is Wow mama Look Pretty! LOL! I am also excited not only for the play but according to the Little note I got with My Red Rose that was sitting in my seat on the last day of practice. I get to meet my admirer tonight too

So Lucas and I are off Lucas is Like a school boy Looking around and he is also a little nervous. I can tell he Keeps Playing with his collar and tie. I made sure Luke had a pair of ear buds and his fave music in a MP3. And sunglasses to help with Lucas's experience. Plus so he doesn't have to deal with the red carpet stuff Reed is here so Lucas will be with me only for a few pictures then Reed  will take him inside while I deal with the popularity this sold out play has caused . New York here we come!!!!!!

  Lucas went inside as planned. And Luke is by my side in his place as my escort. Luke felt I shouldn't be alone. Because of the split and Tom's marriage. Even though Tom and I are cool talking about and he is even here with Taylor so I'm cool. I was having lot's of fun taking little interview's and pictures and such. Luke always said I was surprisingly  easy going in the lime light and it shows tonight. `Sophia , Ken and I had some fun with the photo people and Kissed Each side of Tom's cheeks while he was trying to pic up Kenneth, then we Bent down to Kiss Ken's cheeks when Tom dropped him on his butt ,our booties where purposely in the air.  Let's Just say we made Kenny's night! I was all in good fun  Tom told me that Charlie was inside with new Hot wheels car's to show Lucas cause they are NASCAR ones.

Finishing up the pictures and fixing to go inside I was about to give up hope on there being an admirer. When I went to take one last. Picture, Henry Cavill came to Join me in the picture and whispered in my ear to Look down, as he grabbed my waist for the picture . I did. And their was a pink Lily and a white rose in his hand tied in a pink bow. Let's Just say that pic had my mouth hanging open and Henry laughing as we went in to the theater.  Let the new dance begin.

Lois Lane never Got Superman this way Ha! 

Chapter 3

Don't jump! One moment @ a Time.

As far as the play went it was as major success. I couldn't pay attention at all . I was staring at Henry the whole time In awe of all of this.As far as I was concerned it was like I had never tasted this before . I won't lie, it scares the shit out of me .  I was a ball of nerves the whole play . It was Thomas all over again. @ least that was what I thought. Until Henry asked if I would sign a book for is Nephews Daughter who has Down syndrome. I was politely surprised . He then introduced himself to my Son. Which Lucas can recognize any actor who has ever played a Superhero or villain . Henry was one of our faves. He asked if we wanted to grab a bite to eat . Lucas always could eat. Even in his 30's endless Belly! Can you see 3 adult's in fancy dress in Mc. Donald's. I Loved it Because Henry took the liberty to date Lucas first. To me that Mc. Donald's was 5 stars. The Limo dropped 2 very full and sleepy men at My son's Hotel.  I was sparkling in happiness. We pulled up in front of my flat but Henry wouldn't let me out yet. I think he wants to talk . So naturally I listened. 

fore I could even say anything He Quieted me and held my hand .  Baby Blues connected. Then he spoke. “ Shannon I know what you went through with Hiddleston. I grilled him after meeting you . Actually I'm kinda surprised he didn't rat me out. Story for another time. Now that you understand my intent. I want time. Time to know you. Also before you get nervous, will it help If I got permission from Lucas to date you and Charlie Hiddleston second's the permission. I'm normally a prideful Man But Shannon something inside Tell's me I am supposed to started something new with You. I want get to know you Date you proper. If anything let's see where it goes. Even if we don't connect more personally . We can at least catch a grind to a tune and groove like buddies”.

My breath hitch because I just realize that dude I was grinding with in California at that club. The English Dude. That was Henry!!!!! He notices my blush and Shakes his head showing me the bracelet. I smack his shoulder Laughing my Blush off. Then I told him I am willing to try and if all else fails Partying in New York won't get boring . Then he kissed my Palm and let me out . I gave him my # and told him to give me a call when he was ready to try. The Limo waited till I was Inside. But instead of Leaving The door opened and Henry came running up to me . Grabbed my waist, pulled me close and Kissed me.  We exploded!!!!

Hand in Hand at JFK airport Henry and I go straight to the Hotel .  No Not for that .  We came early so Henry  could as he says Court me proper. LOL!   There is nothing I'd rather do the then run all over NYC for the first time with Henry. I have jumped in fully no comparing to any other love . This is true Eros and I'm going with the flow. That was our agreement for each  other  the next morning after the Play. To Just Love & enjoy till the fluffy lady quits singing.

I exploded because of SuperMan!

{None of this story is real the pic are from Googles images !!!!!!!!!!!!}