#i feel like they should just dodge questions on romance entirely than to look so foolish because the story beats between carmy and syd:

[currymanganese]

WE WERE DEF CALLING OUT MR JAMES ALLEN WHITE BS!! 😡😡😡

This production crew is so deeply unserious with the way they're being I feel like they're approaching almost SPN level of fucking with fan's minds. Because if Carmy and Syd's level of emotional intimacy/ reliance on each other to fulfill deep-seated self-fulfillment goals is strictly PLATONIC, all I have to say to the writers/cast is:

[jeniffercheck]

red side of the moon

shivlina oneshot: canon divergence, shiv is sent to shanghai on the ceo tract and karolina is sent with as her handler. set in some combination of s1 & s2. no CWs, just good old rollercoaster of romance xx

words: 10k

read here or on ao3

A huge opportunity.

Karolina’s been repeating it to herself relentlessly, filling her head with those three simple words at every possible moment—scribbling them into the margins of notepads during meetings where she’s effectively useless, carving them into the steam coating her bathroom mirror on the mornings where she feels the dreaded thrum of regret pulse at her fingertips, tracing invisible letters across her thighs as her driver takes to her to and from the office—if for any reason than to stop herself from thinking any harder about it. It is a huge opportunity, and a good one at that. At least, that’s what Gerri had said.

It’s a test, Karolina. Pass it, and you’re well on your way.

She remembers asking Gerri why she had to pass a test like this at all, what part of her worth at a company like Waystar had anything to do with chasing Logan’s children around the world, couldn’t recall when in her nearly-two-decades of professional experience a promotion ever involved playdates with her CEO’s daughter, but she realizes now that those had been the wrong questions entirely. She should’ve asked Gerri if Waystar was worth it.

Currently, it seems entirely not worth it.

“How are we looking?” Shiv asks, briskly walking toward a packed conference room. Karolina trudges behind her, dodging random employees and underlings she’ll never learn the names of, and checks Shiv’s schedule on her phone. It’s a job that should be Sarah’s, but something about the Harvard Veritones and a summer showcase involving far too many shots in the Shanghai Pudong International Airport means that Sarah’s visa was denied, which also means that the roles are so muddied now that Karolina isn’t quite sure what her job is at all. Manager of Shiv Roy? Professional Adult Babysitter? Senior Grooming Advisor?

(I don’t quite understand what my role would be over there, sire,” she’d said, nervous hands clasped tightly in her lap.

“You’ll mold her, Karolina,” Logan said. “She needs guidance from someone who understands. You get it, don’t you? She needs a serious person.”)

“Two meetings left—and we have a tentative dinner with a tech reporter who has a layover in the city,” Karolina says.

“Who?”

“Freelancer,” Karolina says. “He has a history with a few A-List publications, but recent patterns suggest he’s likely looking to submit to Wall Street or The Post.”

“What’s his angle?” Shiv asks.

“Hard to say right now, but my best guess?”

Shiv pauses as they reach the door, her hand hovering over the handle.

“How America’s Politico Sweetheart has anything to do with Waystar’s recent tech grabs in China.”

“Prep some key messaging,” Shiv says. “Tell him I won’t be answering any questions about Kendall or Vaulter.”

“Okay,” Karolina says, glancing into the conference room. “You remember our goal for this meeting?”

Shiv winks. “Got my keys and wallet, too.”

—

“So,” Karolina said, cigarette burning loosely in her hand. She wasn’t expecting to find Shiv out here, hiding from the party like a wallflower. “Are the rumors true?”

“What rumors?”

“You know,” Karolina said. “The name on the front of the building. It’s gonna be yours.”

Shiv froze then, but there was a wistful look she couldn’t hide, a satisfied quirk of her lips and an all-too nonchalant of a shrug that all but confirmed it. He chose her.

“I’m just…observing,” Shiv said. “Getting to know the company.”

“Sure. Observing,” Karolina said. “Do you also like to sit at construction sites and watch concrete dry?”

“What, is your job not exciting enough? You need extra drama?” Shiv asked. “I’m sure Kendall will have you in a bind bright and early on Monday morning. What was it this time? Vape fluid?”

Karolina brought the cigarette to her lips. She couldn’t help but laugh as Shiv’s eyes turned toward her, bright.

“And candy.”

—

Karolina’s already entered the room by the time she realizes she shouldn’t have, news of the freelancer canceling their dinner sitting on the edge of her tongue as Shiv’s voice reverberates through their makeshift conference-room-turned-battle-station.

“This is ridiculous,” Shiv says, pacing in front of the large windows showcasing the city’s nightcap, phone glued to her ear. “You know that’s not it, Tom.” Tom. “Fine, yeah, I’ll just—keep rearranging deck chairs on the fucking Titanic, I guess.” Silence. “That is what I’m fucking doing.”

It’s then that Karolina makes her move, pulling open the door as if she’s just entered, louder this time, so that Shiv has no reason not to notice. She does, a sly glance in Karolina’s direction and Karolina walks over to her laptop still open on the table. She checks the time as she sits down. 6pm, which means it’s a heart 6am in Manhattan. If she remembers correctly, which she most certainly does, Tom has a division sync in just two hours. Regret threatens her once again, but not for any crucial matter—she just really wishes she could’ve seen the shit show that would’ve been Tom’s first few weeks of reign over ATN.

“Whatever, I have to go,” Shiv says. “Yeah. Love you.”

Karolina busies herself on her laptop as Shiv hangs up. It’s not like she has as much work as she wishes she did, it’s, so far, all felt like a colossal waste of both her time and talent, but she lets her fingers do her bidding before she gets too far ahead of herself. A huge opportunity. Huge.

Shiv sits down in her spot, only a few seats away, and they settle into a comfortable silence. It’s like this most days, working in quiet unless there’s a meeting to prep for, responding to email chains while five feet away from one another, Shiv sending lists of prospective investors and projects and Karolina sending page-long lists back of why it would be a terrible idea for Waystar to get involved with any of those companies.

It’s only when Karolina stops fake-typing that she realizes Shiv isn’t typing at all, and she looks over, Shiv lost in thought as she stares at her computer screen. Karolina’s done a lot of shit that’s been far above her pay grade the last few weeks, and she doesn’t think adding emotional labor to the list is going to help her growing resentment at all, but she knows firsthand how objectively awful this entire endeavor has been, so she humors Shiv.

“Are contactless computers our next great investment?” she asks. It’s a second before Shiv realizes she’s being spoken to, looking at Karolina with a tired kind of confusion.

“I just didn’t know if you were testing out some kind of eye-tracking software,” Karolina goes on. “I mean, knowing Waystar’s customer base, I don’t really think spyware is the direction to go in, but—what do I know?”

Shiv leans back in her chair and crosses her arms, glaringly unamused. She stares at Karolina for what feels like an eternity and then speaks, her question begging with sincerity.

“Do you think this is all bullshit?”

Karolina is briefly stunned, unused to Shiv speaking so plainly to her. Much to Karolina’s surprise, in the four months they’ve been working together it’s stayed strictly professional. Small talk, business talk, even the occasional serious talk—because that’s what Karolina’s there for, right?—but never real talk. And this, is real. It’s not Shiv asking Karolina to give the answer she wants to hear; she’s asking Karolina to give the answer that Karolina believes to be true. She’s asking if it’s worth it. She doesn’t have the heart to tell Shiv that that’s something she doesn’t quite know just yet, but she does know one thing.

“I think that it better not be.”

Because she’s given up things for her career before, weekends, bachelorette parties, first dates—dating—but this is a lot. Chasing some nepo-baby to China just because her dad dangled the proposition of a promotion in front of her was a big risk, and she’s not about to let it amount to nothing. Shiv’s jaw clenches then, at nobody in particular, and she looks up at Karolina, serious.

“Roman’s in the management training program,” she says. Karolina can’t help but interpret a small amount of worry in Shiv’s tone, a new emotion from the youngest Roy that she hadn’t yet discovered could be shown. Shiv says just as much then, a tired hand running through her hair. “Should I be concerned?”

Shiv looks at her like Karolina’s got all the answers in the world, and despite the fact that part of Karolina’s need-to-know briefing prior to coming to Shanghai was centered around Shiv entering the CEO tract, she still couldn’t guess Logan Roy’s plan of action with a loaded gun pointed to her head. All she knows is what’s in front of her. The facts.

“Roman’s never been to Shanghai,” she reasons.

“But he’s been to LA.”

“And then he was fired.”

“And now, he’s COO,” Shiv says. “And they just shipped him off to Management Training.”

“Look, Management Training is largely for on-the-ground suits who will never make it past regional management,” Karolina says. She should know, she led the campaign research. “It’s where executives go to die, Shiv.”

Still, it’s not enough to satisfy Shiv.

“Maybe for executives who don’t have a name on the building.”

She wonders if this simmering insecurity is something she’s missed, or if it’s a new development in the world of Shiv Roy. She’d always imagined there was some. She could always see it with Kendall, the validation seeking, the overbearing need to be involved, to have his voice heard—but Shiv, she’d always been the wild card. The prodigal daughter, the one who got away and built something for herself. She seemed sure. Even when Karolina had stepped down and made her way to the Shanghai office for the first time, Shiv hadn’t let a shred of her nerves show, but now—Karolina thinks she isn’t the only person who’s tired.

“He doesn’t have anything over you,” Karolina says.

“He has Gerri,” Shiv argues. “A fucking steel-rod in the Old Guard, and he has her wrapped around his fucking spiny finger. He has Gerri.”

“And you have me,” Karolina blurts it before she can stop herself.

Shiv gives her a once over, as if she hadn’t considered Karolina as anything of value yet. It’s funny, she’s probably no less of a pawn to Shiv than Shiv is to her, only Shiv hadn’t realized the stakes were even, didn’t know that the goalposts were shared.

“And what are you exactly?” Shiv asks.

“I’m your golden ticket,” Karolina says, not missing a beat.

Shiv’s lip quirks. “How’s that?”

Karolina leans forward. “Because, whether I like it or not, my career hinges on yours,” she says. “And truthfully, Shiv, I’m not wasting a year in Shanghai without getting my dues.”

—

It’s at night, when Karolina misses home the most.

The cracked asphalt and yellow cabs, college students littering her street with the butts of stale Newport Reds as their two-in-the-morning laughter echoes through her thin front windows on their way to the subway line that takes them back downtown, the subway, going to sleep knowing she’ll wake up and get to stop by her favorite cafe on the way to the office. She thinks she’s almost forgotten the smell of cigarettes mixed with some twenty-one-year-old’s lavender oat milk latte, not that she’d thought to savor it anyway. Stopping to smell the roses only works if you have time to notice there are any roses at all.

They left for China right after the New Year. She remembers her holiday bonus and an ultimatum. She doesn’t recall any roses.

  —

  “Media day?” Shiv asks, tense as her arms stiffly on the back of a chair in the conference room. Karolina looks up at her from across the table. “I thought you said this would blow over.”

This, also known as “The Shiv in Shanghai: America’s Politico Sweetheart and Her Grab for the Crown,” published in the New York Mag by the very reporter who’d skipped out on their planned dinner. It’s a lengthy think piece on the future of Waystar and the impending battle of the heirs, and it had been a nightmare to deal with twelve hours ahead of New York. Karolina thrums her fingers along the wood, trying to come up with the simplest explanation of their current predicament.

It’s simple, in her mind: the Roy siblings are cash cows for the American news machine, and even the smallest scent of a fight for the throne is much too intriguing to let pass without making it as big of a deal as possible. Unfortunately, Shiv entering Waystar’s payroll is a big deal, a very large, unprecedented, huge deal.

(“Say, Karolina,” Logan folded his arms across his desk. “Shiv’s in Shanghai, what’s our angle?”

“Well, we wouldn’t want to make Kendall look unfit—not when he’s still largely a face of the company,” Karolina said. “Bridging the gap, maybe. The youngest Roy bringing a new perspective to Waystar’s tech wing. It’s broad. Prepping for the future. Maybe we bring her…liberal politics, into it. Western expansion in the Asian market. Growth.”)

“Things are moving faster than we’d initially wanted, yes,” Karolina says, treading lightly. “But, it’s important that we’re the ones controlling the narrative surrounding your introduction into the company. Not caricature drawings on Page 6.”

“And, what—inviting a bunch of reporters into our international offices is supposed to show them that I’m just on some field trip? Shaking hands and making nice for shits and giggles?”

“If you want to put it that way, sure,” Karolina says, looking at her laptop. “It’s just what we need them to believe. That you’re an addition to the company’s roster. Not anyone’s replacement.”

“For the time being.”

“What?” Karolina’s eyes shoot back to Shiv.

“At a certain point, they’re gonna know,” Shiv argues. “We’re dancing around the inevitable here.”

“Shiv, your father—”

“Isn’t here,” she says. “He sent me off to China with a half-baked plan and a watchdog, and I’m just supposed to follow along?”

“It’s not half-baked, Shiv, it’s procedure.”

“But, you are a watchdog, then?” Shiv asks, a smug smile encroaching on her face.

Karolina exhales lightly. She’s unsure if the argument would be worth it at all, unsure if there even is anything to argue at all. The leash is taut on Karolina; she either succeeds, or she’s sent back to the pound.

“If that’s how you want to put it, then sure,” Karolina says. “I’m your personal watchdog. And right now, I’m watching you waste an entire prep slot complaining about an opportunity to show your father exactly why you should be CEO.”

Shiv’s posture stiffens, and Karolina knows she’s got her right back where she wants her. Karolina may be on a tight leash, but she needs to keep Shiv on an even tighter one.

“Fine, media day,” Shiv huffs, sitting down. “Lay it on me.”

—

Shiv is brilliant.

She’s warm smiles and schmoozes, floating through the office like she owns it—Karolina wonders if that helps, knowing in some way that she actually does—and it’s relieving, to know that beyond the complaints, beyond the bitterness behind closed doors and the pushback that feels all too personal at times, Shiv has been listening to her.

Karolina’s staying late, wrapping up a report on all of the follow-ups she’ll need to do after the weekend when Shiv enters the conference room, silently placing a paper coffee cup next to Karolina’s laptop as she sits down next to her.

“Do you ever leave this room?” Shiv asks, hands wrapped around her own cup of coffee.

“They still haven’t found an office for me to take over, so…” she drifts off, twisting the coffee cup around to look at the logo. It’s someplace down the street that they stop at occasionally on their way back from off-campus meetings. She quirks an eyebrow at Shiv as she picks it up.

“I made one of the IT guys go get them,” Shiv admits, and Karolina nods. Sounds right. “Sorry if it’s not hot enough, you were on a phone call earlier and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“It was Gerri,” Karolina offers. She sips the coffee, knowing she probably shouldn’t be having any caffeine this late in the evening, but her sleep schedule’s never been one to boast about, and, anyway, it could do her some good to get her work done, now that she actually has some to do.

“Yeah?” Shiv asks. “How’s the old Fairy Godmother?”

Which, not good. There are rumblings of a major leak surrounding cruises, not to mention Kendall’s pause from reality still causing blowback in the press, and Roman, well—Karolina’s just lucky she’s with Shiv.

“We were just catching up,” she says. “Hard to stay in touch when we’re twelve hours ahead.”

“Tell me about it,” Shiv sighs. “Tom and I are lucky if we get a conversation in every few days.”

“What does he think about all of this?” Karolina asks, then. She says it absentmindedly, like she would about the weather or a new restaurant, and maybe she is prodding, poking her head into things that don’t concern her, itching for a sense of normalcy within the throes of the upheaval of her life with the source of said upheaval as her cannon fodder, but Shiv doesn’t seem to back an eye. Maybe she’s searching for something normal, too.

“He’ll come around,” Shiv says, and it’s an admission of sorts, that Tom isn’t fully on board with the change.

“To which part?”

“Which part?” Shiv asks.

“The part where he’s not going to be CEO, or the part where you’re going to be.”

Shiv pauses, a dilemma she’s obviously thought of before by the way she bites the inside of her cheek. How could she not? Everyone knows Tom’s endgame. When Karolina read the presser for their wedding announcement she was surprised the venue was listed as Eastnor Castle and not One World Trade Center.

“I think…” Shiv trails off, ultimately shaking her head. “It’s too early for those kinds of conversations. Dad, he’s unpredictable.”

Something snaps in Karolina at the noncommittal statement. Like this is all just some side quest, a will-they-won’t-they between Shiv and the C-Suite.

“Shiv,” Karolina says, and Shiv’s eyes snap to hers. “Do you want this?”

Because she has to know. Karolina is wasting time and credibility if Shiv isn’t all in. Shiv hesitates, and Karolina can see the grips of the voices in her head, the Dads and the Toms and the Kendalls, and Karolina doesn’t want their satiation. Doesn’t want the Politico Sweetheart’s centrist neutrality. She wants honesty.

“You,” she adds. “Not them.”

Shiv’s brow furrows, a determined little movement that Karolina’s noticed only appears when things get serious. Real.

“I do,” Shiv says.

“Okay,” Karolina says, like an affirmation. I believe you. “Thanks for the coffee.”

She turns back to her laptop, but Shiv’s voice rings out again.

“Hey,” she says. “I mean—what’s in this for you? Being here.”

“It’s my job, Shiv,” Karolina says.

“Last time I checked, Waystar PR took place halfway across the globe. This couldn’t have been what you thought you were signing up for.”

It’s not, but there are only three words Karolina can think of. Well—the other three.

“It’s a test,” she says. “For you, and for me.”

Shiv’s face contorts in confusion.

“How is this a test for you?”

(“Now, Karolina. We’ll see how things fair over there, and if you’re successful, well. We can talk about what that means for you.”)

“You’re my test, Shiv,” Karolina says. “Your image, your progress. It’s on me.”

“So, I am just a puppet,” Shiv says. “Your puppet.”

“You’re not,” Karolina says. She doesn’t say what she really thinks—that Shiv is a type of untamable beast. That she’ll do her best to shape and mold, but to what avail, she’s not so sure. “This is mutually beneficial. You fail, I fail.”

Shiv mulls it over, crosses her arms.

“And what happens if you fail?”

Karolina settles back into her chair.

“I don’t fail.”

—

Karolina would be lying if she said she didn’t notice the shift happen.

It’s subtle in the way something drastic can only be, like one night you go to sleep in New York and the next you’re in Shanghai. One night you can’t even figure out the remote control to the television and the next you’re rehashing three seasons worth of Chinese reality show drama into your weekly email to Gerri. One night, your apartment has never even seen another person, and the next, Shiv Roy is inside of it, two glasses of wine deep, sitting on your couch and talking like you’ve been friends for years.

“C’mon, you and Gerri have never done anything?”

It’s most likely the wine when Karolina almost blurts that Gerri has been far too busy with Shiv’s brother to ever notice her, but she keeps her composure, laughing slightly as she puts her glass down.

“I said you could ask one personal question, and this is what you’re stuck on?”

“Fine,” Shiv says. “Can I have a redo?”

“One,” Karolina says. “So ask wisely.”

She knows in the morning she’ll regret offering, thinks what was supposed to be a simple prep session for an on-screen interview later in the week turned into one episode of Karolina’s newest reality show binge, which then turned into one glass of wine, which turned into two, which led her here. Invasive probing into her personal life by none other than Shiv Roy.

“Aside from Gerri, anyone waiting for you at home?”

Karolina rolls her eyes at the added innuendo, but she finds it difficult to stay annoyed at the satisfied look Shiv throws her way, a realization that rolls around nervously in the pit of her stomach.

“No,” Karolina says, grasping onto her composure. “Married to the job, I guess.”

She doesn’t realize how sad it is until after she’s said it, the loneliness that hangs in the air in the aftermath of her words. Shiv, to her credit, doesn’t give away whether she’s surprised or not, only a lingering curiosity in the following quiet.

“The job,” Shiv repeats, slowly. “So. Why PR?”

Karolina shrugs, grateful for Shiv’s swift change in subjects.

“It’s what I’m good at.”

“Sure—” Shiv says, notably not disagreeing, “But what do you like about it?”

“I don’t know,” Karolina says, picking her glass back up. “I guess…I like problem solving. Crafting a narrative, watching the pieces fall into place.”

“Control?”

Shiv eyes her, the intensity of her gaze growing, and Karolina’s nerves return, unsure of Shiv’s endgame.

“Storytelling,” Karolina says. Shiv nods, seemingly satisfied enough, and she takes a sip of her wine.

“What’s my story?” she asks.

“You tell me.”

“No, come on,” Shiv says. “What narrative have you crafted for the infamous Siobhan Roy?”

Karolina sighs. She doesn’t know why she’s stalling. She’s worked on this relentlessly, time-stamped and color-coded, refined, and then refined again. Sleepless nights spent on this very couch, crafting the journey.

“You’re the future,” Karolina says. “Optimism, growth. A new era for Waystar with a sense of safety under the same Roy name.”

It loses some of its magic as she says it out loud, as if the entirety of the endeavor is only possible as long as it’s never spoken into existence, as long as nobody knows that the plan is real enough to be taken away. Shiv seems to notice as much, lightening up the mood with yet another thorn jammed into Karolina’s side.

“But I’m a registered Democrat,” Shiv says. “I don’t think shareholders want a filthy liberal leading their company.”

“Your husband is a registered Republican,” Karolina says. “You’re amenable to alternative viewpoints.”

Shiv laughs.

“What?”

“Tom’s a registered Democrat.”

“He—what?”

Shiv must be entertained by Karolina’s horror, because the shit-eating grin won’t leave her face as she continues. “He named his dog after Walter Mondale,” she says through a new fit of giggles. “How’s the strategy now?”

Karolina closes her eyes and rubs a hand across her face, mumbling to herself, “Fucking—Walter Mondale?”

“Relax.” Karolina opens her eyes as Shiv’s hand lightly hits her knee. “He’s voted Republican since 2008.”

Despite this, Karolina still makes a mental note to carve out some time to redraft phase four of Shiv’s ascension to account for her Nazi-elbow-rubbing husband apparently being a registered Democrat. Shiv’s laughter dies down slowly, and just as she’s about to speak again, her phone dings, her smile faltering with a light, Shit, as she reads whatever’s on the screen.

“Everything okay?” Karolina asks, noting the frown.

“Yeah, sorry,” Shiv says. “Tom—he thought we could try scheduling our phone calls and I missed one.”

“Oh,” Karolina says. “We can call it a night if you need to get back to him.”

“No,” Shiv says, with what seems like, if Karolina didn’t know any better, urgency, and she tosses her phone aside. “No, I mean—the last thing I need from him right now is a lecture.”

“I take it he still hasn’t come around?”

“He’s just—” Shiv cuts herself off, waving her hand around flippantly.

Karolina’s asking before she can stop herself, “Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Making excuses for him.”

Maybe it’s another thing that she can blame on the wine when it happens, but her stomach twists slightly as Shiv’s face falls, nerves replaced with something more somber as she notices a familiar tiredness display so clearly across Shiv’s features.

“He’s worked hard for it,” Shiv says. “We had a plan.”

“So have you. So do we.”

Shiv looks at her unsure.

“You can feel guilty,” Karolina continues, “but it doesn’t have to be the only thing that you feel.”

Shiv breaks the eye contact, “I know, I know.” She pauses as her gaze falls on the television. “You know, you weren’t this complimentary in the beginning.”

Karolina’s surprised by the assertion. She’d had been so caught up observing Shiv, she never thought that Shiv would be observing her right back.

“I was guarded, sure,” Karolina says. “This whole thing, I mean—I was weary.”

“Weren’t sure that the spoiled-runt of the Roy clan had it in her?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say you’re the runt.”

“Humor me,” Shiv says, though nothing currently feels warranting of a joke.

“I just didn’t want this to be a waste of my time,” Karolina admits. “Packing up and leaving for a new country without a clear result—it felt risky.”

(She’d done that once already, young and wide-eyed, suddenly stuck in a world that didn’t want her. It taught her how to adapt, sure, but she thinks somewhere inside of her it’s always left a gap. No place ever truly feels like home, no building or title or role. New York had become that—as much as it could be, and Waystar, well, it’s still a gamble.)

“And now that you’re here, four months into it?” Shiv asks.

“It feels less risky.” Risky all the same, but the payout is starting to look more likely.

“What changed?” Shiv asks.

There’s only one reasonable answer, one honest answer that she pretends to mull over. She keeps her eyes downcast as she says it, doesn’t need to look up to feel the intensity of the gaze that she knows is on her.

“You.”

—

Shiv starts to show more of herself, letting Karolina craft the story with all of the pieces, not just the ones that she wants people to see.

“Are you sure about this?” Shiv asks, smoothing her blazer.

“You’re ready,” Karolina says from behind, locking eyes through the mirror. “It’s a puff piece, nothing major.”

“It’s early.”

“It’s five months, Shiv.”

“You said six.”

It’s strange, being allowed to see Shiv like this, nervous and fussy, worried about making an impression.

“I said the timeline moved up,” Karolina reminds her. Shiv turns around, huffing out a deep breath.

“Can we go over everything one more time?”

“No,” Karolina says. “I want you to be organic, not rehearsed. You know this. It’s your life, Shiv. We’re having lunch with a reporter, and you’re just going to talk. You’ve done this before.”

“This one feels different,” Shiv says.

“Because you know what’s at stake,” Karolina says. “The reporter doesn’t.”

Shiv nods, taking another deep breath, and Karolina’s doing it before she realizes, her hand reaching up slightly to smooth out a stray strand of silky-red hair. Shiv just straightens her shoulders.

“I’ll be right there beside you,” Karolina assures her. “Just—enjoy it.”

“Enjoy it,” Shiv repeats to herself.

By the time they’re with the reporter, it’s as if Karolina isn’t even there at all.

—

“You know that’s not true.”

They’re in the car, speeding down the highway on their way to tour a potential partnering facility. It’s mostly for the press—shaking hands with VPs and laughing in front of the cameras with opposing executives. Karolina’s supposed to be giving Shiv the rundown on each of the high-ups they’ll be meeting with, but Shiv’s been on the phone with Tom the entire ride, leaving Karolina no choice but to eavesdrop as the conversation slowly devolves into an argument, Shiv’s agitated tone and Tom’s agitated voice the only sound filling the back of the car.

“I mean, what,” Shiv says. “Did you think I was just going to get bored and call it quits a couple of months into the job?” Silence. “A year, Tom. Six in Shanghai, and six in Europe, we’ve talked about this.”

(Just three months ago the entire prospect of seven more months of this seemed nauseating. Now, it seems exciting. When there are no meddling voices taking up her valuable prep time.)

“I don’t know, London, Berlin? Does it matter?” Shiv’s silent for longer than expected, and then she laughs, coldly. “I’m sorry you’re stuck in your en-suite at Headquarters getting chauffeured three blocks to work every day. It must be stressful for you.”

Whatever it is that Tom says on the other end must not be good, because it’s enough for Shiv to hang out the phone without another word. Karolina steals a glance in her direction, Shiv’s gaze firmly set out the opposite window.

“Wanna talk about it?” Karolina asks. It’s not her business, not really, but it feels wrong not to offer. Shiv’s silent for a while, Karolina just listening to the drone of the car’s tires speeding down the highway when Shiv does speak.

“Do you really think I can do this?” she asks, teary eyes turning toward Karolina. “Like, actually win the seat?”

Karolina doesn’t even have to think before saying it.

“Yes.” She clutches the papers in her hand. “What did he say to you?”

“It’s not what anyone says to me.” Shiv turns away again. “It’s what they’re not saying.”

“What are they not saying?”

“That they think I can do it.”

Karolina can’t imagine how unbearably lonely it must feel to be going after something so huge and to be made to feel so small for it. The people closest to Shiv are all of her direct competitors. Hell, even her own husband is vying for the very same spot.

“You can, Shiv,” Karolina says. “You can do it.” She does it before she has a chance to stop herself, reaching out to grab Shiv’s hand across the seat. She squeezes it lightly, Shiv’s eyes stuck on the window.

“Yeah,” Shiv breathes out. She squeezes Karolina’s hand back, once, and lets go. “Thanks, Karolina.”

And because she doesn’t want to leave the mood so heavy before sending Shiv off to smile and wave for three hours, “Does Tom really take a car three blocks to work every morning?”

Shiv laughs slightly, and Karolina bites back a small smile at the win.

“He says it’s for safety.”

“From what, the fucking rats?”

—

One meeting.

One meeting is all that’s left and Shiv will have closed her first deal. It’s monumental. Karolina heads to her usual spot in the corner of the conference room, ready to send a play-by-play to Gerri as the proceedings begin, but Shiv stops her.

“Sit here.” Shiv taps the chair next to her. She hadn’t requested Karolina for the meetings earlier that day, or earlier that week, or, ever, but then she sees the jerky pen and the stiff posture and Karolina realizes—Shiv is nervous. She’s nervous and she wants Karolina.

So, Karolina sits there diligently. In an attempt of brevity, she slides a post-it in Shiv’s direction right before the acquisition target walks in, a swirly enjoy it in ballpoint-black that Shiv palms with a small smile before anyone else can see it. When it begins, Karolina takes notes, offers calm, affirming nods when Shiv says something, and glances in her direction. It’s going well. Until the client gets cold feet. Karolina holds her breath.

We’re just not sure we’re ready for this kind of move. We have to think about our shareholders.

But Shiv is quick on her feet.

“Forget acquisitions for just a moment,” she says. Eyes around the table look nervous as soon as the word forget tumbled out of her mouth, but she keeps going. “With our partnership, well—the integrations we can offer through our movie studios and amusement parks alone bring impressions into the millions. That’s not even factoring in our cruise lines and ATN—I mean, we get one actor on your app and the hits will be rolling in. Profits doubled within the year.”

And it’s missing something, but Shiv already knows that. She looks down at the papers in front of her. Frowns.

“Of course, with losses in the US market for five quarters straight, that’s not exactly difficult to achieve. Truthfully, if we’re talking Hollywood, that’s about as good as dead.”

(Karolina thinks she’ll savor that look forever, the gawking eyes of the men across from her as the target realized that Shiv backed them into an inescapable corner. Karolina knows the intensity of that gaze, has to wonder if she herself is moving somewhere she’ll never get out. Can’t decide if escaping is something she’d even want to do.)

—

They’re not late yet.

In ten minutes they’ll be five minutes away from being late, and it’s Karolina’s job to count, so she’s counting, but they’re not late yet. She knocks on the green room door again. No answer.

“Shiv?” she calls out, her voice met with silence. She knows Shiv’s in there. It’s the last place she’s checking and Shiv wouldn’t have just left. She tugs on the handle, and it’s unlocked. Because why shouldn’t that be the very first thing she checks?

She opens the door slowly, unsure of what could possibly be holding Shiv up other than some sort of wardrobe malfunction, but what she finds isn’t anything she had in mind. Shiv is sitting in silence, staring at herself in the mirror. Her gaze is steeled, and Karolina can see large inhales and exhales as her chest rises and falls. She steps into the room and closes the door.

“What do you want?” Shiv asks.

Karolina looks into the mirror, finding an unflinching sort of anger in Shiv’s eyes.

“They need you in the studio.”

Shiv’s first interview with a live audience. Celebrating her win. But why does it feel like there’s nothing to celebrate?

“I need a second,” Shiv says, and Karolina nods, a soft, Okay, escaping her lips.

Karolina busies herself on her phone, refreshing her email about twenty different times. This trip has been the driest her inbox has been in years. She’d have almost called it a sabbatical if it weren’t for—

“What do you normally say to Kendall?” Shiv’s voice pipes up. “When you used to prep him, what did you tell him?”

Karolina looks up again, Shiv’s eyes softer, now. Karolina isn’t sure what exactly Shiv’s getting at, what she hopes to achieve from Karolina’s response, but Karolina says it nonetheless.

“To remember what I told him.”

“Did he?”

Karolina pauses and locks her phone. She takes a tentative step closer. “Not usually.”

“Do you think I—” Shiv’s voice catches, and she has to take another deep breath. “You always tell me to—”

“Enjoy it,” Karolina finishes before her.

Shiv continues to stare straight ahead.

“This place fucking sucks.”

“I know it does,” Karolina says quietly.

Shiv looks down then, one deep breath, and then she’s back, shaking off her tears, steadying her lungs. She’d fool Karolina if she didn’t know her so well, couldn’t see the slight shake in her hands as clamoring fingers rub roughly across her wedding ring before pulling off forcefully. She stands and drops it onto the vanity in front of her, fixing her hair one last time in the mirror.

“Send that back,” Shiv says. “Don’t include a return address.”

Karolina nods, swiping it off the counter. Shiv seems to stand straighter, as if the weight of the ring itself was the very thing dragging her down.

“You ready?” Karolina asks.

“What’s it gonna be today?” Shiv asks.

“Just do what you’re here to do,” Karolina says. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“…and what we really want at Waystar is for the people to enjoy it—to come on this journey with us, so that we might look back on this time as one of growth, of innovation, and of cultivation. To know that we are all the future of the Royco family.”

And Shiv looks directly into the crowd as she says it, enjoy it, and it’s as if she’s staring right at Karolina, piercing her with those eyes, saying her words back to her exactly as they’d practiced, and that feeling returns, right in the pit of Karolina’s stomach and she knows that she’s trapped. That she’s entered the space that she cannot get out of, and that feeling follows her all the way back to the green room until the door is shut and Shiv’s drunk with applause and a few glasses of whiskey and Karolina is cornered, her back against the vanity and Shiv flush against her front.

She can’t remember how they got here. One moment they were laughing on the couch and the next they were touching. One moment Karolina was moving away and the next she was standing still. One moment Shiv was across the room and the next she wasn’t.

“Shiv,” Karolina whispers, lips hovering unbearably close to hers. She can feel every breath Shiv takes, the slight movement as Shiv moves her glass to the vanity. Shiv looks onward, unphased, staring at Karolina as if they’re both exactly where they should be, and it’s a flaw, that gnawing thought that Karolina isn’t so sure where she belongs ever, but she doesn’t have to say anything. Shiv is already searching, already reading between the script that Karolina’s building in her mind.

“Why not?” Shiv asks. As if it’s meant to happen, as if Karolina’s pushing against something that shouldn’t be fought, even though she’s desperately aware that it should be.

“You know why,” she says. Still, she doesn’t move.

“But I don’t care.”

Karolina brings her hands up to Shiv’s shoulders, feels Shiv’s wedding ring dig into her thighs through the loose fabric of her pocket, and then she lightly pushes Shiv away.

“Not now,” she says. “Not like this.”

—

She thinks about it in the moments she shouldn’t, in meetings sitting right across from Shiv, wondering what might’ve happened if she’d said yes. In press interviews, watching the way Shiv’s lips curl around the words that Karolina feeds her, the words Karolina spends hours writing down, meticulously picking them out, imagining just how Shiv is going to say them. She thinks about it at night, imagines those lips on hers as she lays in an empty apartment no more barren than the one back home, and wonders what all of this is worth, what she expects to come out of it.

(“Then when, Karolina?”

The ring, buried deep in her pocket—“Shiv—”)

—

Logan, in all of his spite, chooses Berlin.

“—God forbid he sends me to the country where I have citizenship,” Shiv says. “Or where anyone speaks fucking English.”

Karolina watches Shiv pace back and forth in her living room, hand in her hair and a warm mug of tea propped on her lap. She realizes she’s lost track of what Shiv’s saying when Shiv’s suddenly stopped moving, arm on her hip as she looks at Karolina expectantly.

“What the fuck are you smirking about?”

Karolina bites her lip, not having realized that’s what she was doing.

“He’s sending you to Berlin because business is notoriously more difficult there,” Karolina explains.

(She leaves out that she’d made the same exact complaint to Gerri just hours before Shiv barged through her door.)

“He’s happy with your performance,” Karolina adds, and Shiv stills, her brows furrowing.

“Really?”

Karolina feels it this time as she smiles at the innocence of the question. Really? Like a kid in a toy store, tantrums and all.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he trusts you.”

“Trust is a strong word,” Shiv says, moving toward the couch. “This is another one of his fucking tests, isn’t it?”

“Look who’s finally catching on,” Karolina says, playfully knocking her shoulder.

“Whatever,” Shiv scoffs, getting comfortable on the couch. She leans across Karolina to grab the remote, and the proximity sends a jolt of nerves through her gut. “I’m not leaving the country until we finish this show.”

  Later—after the wine’s been poured, and poured, and the television show is complete, they sit in a comfortable silence as Karolina surfs the channels.

“This apartment is a shoebox,” Shiv says, an observation made about four months too late, considering Karolina’s going to be moving out in less than two weeks. Besides the fact that it’s not, but—

“Someone else took the penthouse,” Karolina says pointedly. Shiv ignores the dig, placing a hand over Karolina’s on the remote.

“What’s that?”

Karolina knows this one. “A bunch of celebrities get sent out into a foreign country without their personal assistants,” Karolina says. Shiv quirks an eyebrow. Sound familiar?

“It’s not that hard.”

“Sure,” Karolina says. The couch shakes as Shiv turns fully toward Karolina, resting her head on the back of the couch.

“You know they asked Kendall to be on The Surreal Life?”

Karolina laughs at the reminder. That shit show.

“They pitched a season with Lori Petty and Fabio.”

“Wait—you were there?” Shiv asks, surprised. “How long have you been at this fucking company?”

Too long.

“It was when I had just gotten hired,” Karolina says. “The PR head at the time wanted them to go for it. Thought it could make him more sympathetic to the public if he had some heartfelt moment on national television.”

“So?” Shiv says. “Why didn’t he go all Simple Life?”

Karolina shrugs. “Anyone with half a brain could figure out that Kendall shouldn’t be monitored by cameras twenty-four-seven.”

“Fair enough,” Shiv mumbles.

Karolina looks over then, Shiv still leaning on the couch lazily. Her cheeks are whiskey-flushed, glassy eyes stuck on Karolina.

“What are you doing here?” Shiv asks.

“You’re in my apartment, Shiv.”

“No,” Shiv shakes her head. “Here. In Shanghai.”

“I told you, your father is—”

“Fuck that,” Shiv says softly. “With a resumé like yours, you could go to any firm in the world. Why take a grunt position after fifteen years with a company?”

It strikes her then, that Shiv knows exactly how long Karolina has been working for Waystar. How long she’s been working up to this.

“You know why.”

“Say it,” Shiv says. “I just want to hear it from you.”

Karolina grabs her wine glass, taking a sip before answering.

“Because I want the success story,” she says. Though, no, not quite. “I-I want your success story. To be a part of it.”

Shiv tilts her head.

“It’s more than that.”

Karolina knows it is. Knows the ugly part of her ambition has been rearing its head for the last six months, knows exactly why she’s willing to sacrifice so much for what could possibly garner nothing in return.

“I don’t want the glory, Shiv,” she says. “I just want—”

But how does she explain it? That she’s happiest in the wings? Watching her plans come to fruition, hearing her words coming out of Shiv’s mouth?

“Control?” Shiv asks.

Karolina realizes how close Shiv is now.

“Power?” Shiv tries again, leaning in closer.

“Shiv—” It’s a weak attempt, but Shiv is close now, and Karolina doesn’t think she wants to push her away.

“You’re always telling me to go for the things that I want,” Shiv whispers. “To understand what it is that I deserve.”

Karolina swallows, frozen to her spot. Trapped.

“What do you think you deserve right now?” she asks.

Shiv pauses, inches away from Karolina’s lips. They lock eyes.

“What do you think I deserve?”

Karolina’s fucked.

“Anything you want.”

—

For a brief moment in time, she feels unstoppable.

Whoever said not to mix business with pleasure certainly never experienced what this feels like. Like every time they walk into a crowded room everything slows down, the attention shifts, and the moment is theirs. Every time she locks eyes with Shiv she can feel power surge, like the city only sleeps when they’re no longer in it. Every brush of the fingers in their daily sync, every sly look during a conference call, every stolen kiss behind closed doors because the arschlochs in Berlin actually bothered to give Karolina an office, affirms that she’d made the right choice all of those moons ago.

That worth, should never have been in question at all.

  —

  It’s vicious, the way things seem to fall apart just when they’re coming together.

“Are you serious?” Shiv asks, voice immediately loud in the privacy of her apartment. “I don’t give a fuck if Kendall’s run off into the fucking Siberian Forest or wherever the fuck they think he’s run off to, I n—you can’t just go, Karolina.”

“Shiv, please don’t make this any harder than it needs to be,” Karolina says. “It’s a few weeks, tops. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“But you’re mine,” Shiv says. “That’s like, the whole fucking point of you.”

It’s a stark reminder, those few words, how complicated simple things can be. There are two parts of her, clawing at each other. One is Shiv’s. Her coach, glorified babysitter, scriptwriter, pep talker—all things that grew out of a role that hadn’t yet existed, a role neither of them knew she was going to fill. The other half, the more frightening half, is herself. A side to her that she can’t qualify into small little sections. The part of her that would give everything up to follow her heart, to follow Shiv.

“Yeah?” Karolina asks. “I’m just another name on your father’s payroll. Here to do your bidding, right?”

“My keynote is tomorrow, Karolina,” Shiv says, voice growing louder. “You couldn’t have asked Dad for one fucking day?”

And it’s funny, ironic in a sadistic sort of way, maybe, that the side that belongs to Shiv, is the side that forces her to leave.

“You don’t think I did?” Karolina asks. “He said you’d be fine. That if I’ve done my job correctly, you won’t even need me there. Don’t you get it? It’s a test.”

“I don’t give a shit about your stupid tests, Karolina,” Shiv says. “Fail the fucking test!”

Karolina scoffs. “This isn’t a game, Shiv. This is my life. My career.”

“Exactly. So fucking do something for yourself. For once in your life—”

“It’s not just about me,” Karolina snaps. “Leaving is for the both of us. It’s for you. I mean, Christ, Shiv—everything I fucking do it for you. Everything.”

Shiv’s nostrils flare. Maybe it’s something she can’t admit, or something that, if she admits right now, will break her—Karolina is her anchor.

“If you go—” Shiv crosses her arms, her voice rigid. “My father’s payroll, is the last payroll you’ll ever be on at Waystar.”

It’s a make-it-or-break-it, the last ultimatum she might ever receive from a hot-headed Roy, but the choice is clear to her. If she stays, Shiv fails the test. Karolina loses either way. So, she chooses Shiv, whether Shiv wants to believe it or not.

“I guess I’ll start counting my days, then,” Karolina says softly. “Good luck at the keynote. Don’t expect me at the coronation.”

—

She attempts to watch the keynote while on the road, unsure of what rainy-mountainous European countryside they’ve dragged her off to this time, but the service gets spottier the farther out into the hills they go. Instead, she picks up Kendall, cleans up his bloody nose and straightens his blazer, all while pretending she isn’t thinking about Shiv, imagining she’s sending her off for the big presentation— smoothing her hair just one more time, fingers always hovering over places they shouldn’t be; not dressing up Logan’s second eldest like a newly unboxed Lobotomy Ken.

It’s not fun. There’s no joy in it. She feeds him the script and she prays that he remembers, clutches her coffee that’s gone cold and tries not to think about the waning Berlin sun and which version of the closing paragraph Shiv had chosen to go with as thunder claps off in the distance outside the sound studio.

“I saw their plan, and my dad’s plan was better.”

It used to feel good, her words on national television. Her publicity plans making or breaking business deals, her work paying off as if it was worth something, but it’s missing something now.

(Later, under the covers, the keynote in 1080p on her hotel’s high-speed Wi-Fi—her words.

It feels like it did, before she left. As if it meant something when Shiv read her script, because it did. Because they were being said by someone who cares. And when she closes her eyes and listens as the crowd applauds, it feels like that applause is for her. Like she can take pride in this thing that she’d created. Like she passed a test. But when she opens them and sees her face, watches a smile that doesn’t quite stretch as far as she knows it can, the feeling fades. The light dims.

But it’s better this way. That’s what she’ll tell herself.)

—

“It’s bullshit.”

Karolina watches as Roman paces throughout Gerri’s office. He’d barged in without a spare glance, not that she and Gerri were in the middle of any sort of thrilling conversation—not that they’d been in any sort of conversation at all, Karolina perched on the couch in the corner of Gerri’s office as her last remaining salvation from the hordes of new underlings barging through her own door every few minutes. Still, she finds a quiet kind of amusement in the way she goes from slightly unnoticed to forgotten in a split second, a fly on the wall to Roman Roy’s first tantrum of the day. She discreetly marks a tally in her planner. This is the fourth one she’s been privy to this month alone.

“It’s business,” Gerri replies, a tired kind of sternness taking up her voice. Roman doesn’t seem to notice.

“No,” he says, like a child trying to correct their parent. “It’s bullshit. She doesn’t work here, a-and she doesn’t even want to. She’s just—showing her fucking dick.”

Gerri’s eyes move past him towards Karolina, and Karolina looks down. This is Gerri’s mess.

“She’s just coming back to shadow, Roman,” Gerri says, as if that should somehow pacify him. “You and Kendall—”

“Me and Kendall worked for this,” Roman argues. “She’s just walking back in here like she’s owed the place.”

Karolina has to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing at the prospect of Roman and Kendall having worked for anything at all. An entire media conglomerate at the tips of their fingers, only shielded from them by the silver plate itself. She also has to stop herself from shouting out in a rage that Shiv has worked for this. Probably more than Roman ever has—

“Roman, if you have a problem—”

“Take it up with the big man,” Roman says, waving her off. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Whatever.”

He turns around then, finally spotting Karolina. She smiles awkwardly over her laptop.

“Oh,” Roman says. “Hey, Karolina.”

“Hi, Roman.”

“Congrats on the new title.”

She’d returned to her own office and a new plaque. Head of Public Relations and Communications. It hadn’t felt like winning.

“Thank you, Roman.”

He stops in front of her, eyebrows scrunched and arms crossed.

“This doesn’t really change anything, right?” Roman says, feigning interest. “You still have to run around and tell all those press people how many sugars Dad takes in his coffee?”

Karolina shifts in her seat. Not that a squeaky twink in a two-piece is any match for her resolve, but it’s a Thursday and her patience is wearing thin, and those press people forgot the correct amount of sugar in Logan’s coffee the day before, so yeah. Maybe he hit a sore spot.

“That’s not really—”

“Now that you have some staying power, could you tell them to stop referring to me as Logan Roy’s middle child?” Roman interrupts. “I’d prefer something more debonaire like, I don’t know, C-O-O?”

“I’ll run it up the chain,” Karolina nods, not letting her smile slip.

He shrugs. “Wait—” It hits. “They sent you to Shanghai. Shiv’s in Management Training now?” He laughs. “I mean, what’s your take here? Aren’t these optics, like, a major fuckhole?”

Fuckholes aside—“It’s an exciting time for the company,” Karolina says. “That’s what I’d say.”

“God, you people are—”

—

Logan dies.

It’s drastically subtle, how she’s learning most things tend to be. One moment she’s dreading traveling halfway across the world, and the next she doesn’t want to leave. One night the only conversation she’s ever had with Shiv Roy was a brief chat on a smoke break and the next she’s leaving Shiv’s wedding ring on Tom’s desk in a plastic sandwich bag. One day Logan is alive, and the next he isn’t.

Pronounced dead in fucking Bergen County. Humiliating, really.

Karolina drafts the statement. Perfunctory, complimentary, assuring—everything the public needs to hear in all this PR nightmare’s glory, and then they don’t need it. She watches Shiv’s statement to the press from her office, the building’s floors more quiet than she’s ever heard them in all fifteen years, and it’s perfect. Everything she wrote and more, with a little bit more heart. It’s a feeling she can’t quite place, not at all like she’s passed the test—maybe someone like she’s failed it—but even still, it’s like her work is done.

It’s how she knows Shiv is going to win the seat.

(She goes to the funeral. It’s her first time seeing Shiv since Berlin. She looks older, like the six months they’d spent apart were enough to change them into entirely new people. Tom’s not at the funeral, but Karolina notices the ring. The ring that she never mailed but brought back with her, and left on Tom’s desk without a return address. She dodges Shiv at the repast, hides behind Gerri’s questioning glares and distracts them all with interim CEO gossip.

And then it's like she was never there at all.)

—

Gerri is interim CEO for one month when Shiv returns, and then it’s hers.

Nobody thinks it’s going to happen. The office buzzes in the days leading up—Kendall this, Shiv that—but then the board convenes. Logan’s last order of business—a merger with some Swedish tech outfit, and Karolina hears the rumors from the room as they come. Shiv just spent the last year crafting relationships with big tech in China. She just did a successful keynote on the future of entertainment tech in Europe. It’s hers. America’s Politico Sweetheart turned Sweet-talker of Tech. The board wants her and her shiny new relationships. She wins.

Karolina goes to the coronation. She doesn’t think she’d be able to live with herself if she didn’t. She watches from the corner as Shiv signs the dotted line, smiles for the photos, shakes hands and earns their blessing. A year ago, she wouldn’t have been ready. She most likely still isn’t ready—who could be—but it’s not the same Shiv that it would’ve been. It’s the confident Shiv. The one who believes in herself. The one who isn’t asking if she can do it anymore. The one who is doing it.

After, she goes back to her office. She thinks about packing her things, abandoning the office that she’d only gotten to use for the better part of a few months. Shiv had said it clearly, and it’s not that simple, legally, but Karolina knew the terms. She knew it could come to this. She starts a “Where I Left Off” document for Hugo—though it pains her to imagine him besting her in the end—or whoever. She hopes it’s some shiny new suit, one of those millennial consulting firms that Shiv doesn’t have to get close to.

Then Shiv shows up at her door. The air is rife with tension.

“You came,” Shiv says, breaking the ice.

Karolina sits stiffly behind her desk. “Would’ve looked bad for you if I didn’t,” she says. “The board should know you have the V-Suite’s support.” Shiv nods. That’s all it was, optics.

“I got your flowers.”

“I thought a call would’ve been unwelcome,” Karolina says. Shiv shrugs. Moves closer. That’s when Karolina notices—

“Where’s your ring?”

Shiv looks down at her hand, as if she’s just noticed it was bare. She hesitates.

“I only put it on for the cameras,” Shiv says.

“Why?” Karolina asks.

“Well—divorce is too dangerous for the brand-new, inexperienced CEO,” Shiv says.

Karolina keeps a still face. Divorce. “Who told you that?”

Shiv shrugs, walks further into the office. “It’s what I imagined you’d say,” Shiv says. “Shareholders need stability right now, Shiv. It’s not like you have to be with him. Just pretend.”

Karolina bites her lip as Shiv mocks her PR voice.

“So that’s it?” she asks.

“I mean, he’s gonna fight it,” Shiv says. “Figure out some way to say I broke the terms of the prenup. Say he sacrificed progress in his career for me to have this. It’ll be public. Ugly.”

“He won’t win,” Karolina says, immediately.

The shift is subtle. Drastic.

“I know.”

Karolina raises her eyebrows.

“He can’t,” Shiv says. Then, she looks nervous. “Not with you on my side.”

Karolina attempts to hide her surprise.

“Thought you were firing me,” Karolina replies.

Shiv shrugs.

“And I thought you weren’t coming,” she says, and Karolina wonders if Shiv understands. Understands that there’s no world where Karolina wouldn’t show up for her. Shiv leans forward in her seat. “So. How’s CCO sound?”

Karolina’s mind blanks.

“Are you serious?”

Shiv leans back, “Sure, yeah, Shiv, I’d love to be Chief Communications Officer of a female-led Fortune 500. Thanks for the offer.”

“I mean—of course, I’d love to,” Karolina’s speechless. “Is this real?”

“It’s my company, Karolina,” Shiv says. “I want you in it. I do.”

Karolina bites back the tears coming to the surface, looking down if only so that she doesn’t have to look at Shiv.

“Shiv—”

“Not now,” she says softly. “Look, I—I owe you a lot.”

Karolina nods, eyes still glued to her desk, waiting to see where this is going to go.

“And—” There’s a movement out of the corner of her eye, Shiv’s hands, playing with the empty space on her ring finger, “There are things I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Things,” Karolina repeats, letting the word move around in her mouth. Karolina looks up again. Shiv is nervous.

“Dinner. This week?”

Karolina wonders if it’s worth it, if saying yes is some sort of destructive self-entrapment that she’d missed the first time around, but Shiv standing here now, in Karolina’s office, both having achieved everything that Karolina bet they would—she can’t find it in herself to say no.

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I—that would be nice.”

Shiv nods to herself, that self-satisfied small smirk Karolina hadn’t realized she missed this much until it’s gone once again, and Shiv stands, looking at her watch.

“Transition meetings all day,” she says. “I think you’re scheduled for a few.”

“I am.”

“Great,” Shiv smiles, a small smile. “I’ll see you around then.

There’s more to say, they both know it, but Karolina nods and Shiv heads for the door, pausing as her hand reaches the handle.

“Hey, Karolina?”

Karolina looks up expectantly.

What?”

Shiv smiles, an easy glint in her eye.

“Enjoy it."

[iliveiloveiwrite]

I find myself travelling back to you // Simon Basset

Request: Could you possibly write a Simon Basset fic where maybe the reader is like a childhood friend and he bumps into them and they talk and catch up with maybe some romance or something - anon

A/N: My first Simon fic! I am a little uncertain of this as I am not sure whether I have Simon’s character down yet. I hope you all like! Thank you for requesting, I hope I have done it justice.

Pairing: Simon Basset x Fem!Reader

Warnings: childhood friends, pining, mutual pining, fluff, some angst, she/her pronouns, female reader.

Word count: 3.8k

There was not a cloud in the sky as you made your way through Mayfair after having turned down a carriage. Instead, you chose to walk away the morning, happy to feel the warmth of the sun through the layers of your dress.

The streets had started out as quiet; a few souls here and there, but they soon grew busier and busier as routines were started. Dodging bodies here and there, you found it hard to be annoyed at the crowds – the weather too perfect for your mood to be sullied.

A flash of deep red amongst the crowd has your eyes and body on alert; the sound of a deep voice has your ears pricking. “Simon?” You call out, eyebrows furrowing as you spy a familiar head of hair making their way through the crowds.

“(Y/N)?” The man in question answers, eyes wide as he takes in your form.

“It’s been so long,” You whisper, staring into his brown eyes. “I suppose I should call you ‘Your Grace’ now. I was sorry to hear of the passing of your father,” You comment softly, not overly sorry for the death of the man who had mistreated his son so poorly but offering your condolences as a form of social etiquette.

Nodding his head, Simon smiles at you. “Thank you,” He gestures to the elderly lady on his arm, “I am sure you remember Lady Danbury.”

You smile widely at the elderly lady as she grins back at you. “Of course I do,” You laugh, “We meet at least once a week to have tea.”

If possible, Simon’s eyes grow wider to the point where Lady Danbury snorts. “Really now, Simon. Did you expect us ladies to go our separate ways when you left the country?”

“Of course not,” Simon drawls, amused by the elder. “I just didn’t realise you had a close relationship.”

“Well we do. That reminds me,” Lady Danbury pipes up, “I will not be able to make our tea appointment this week, dear (Y/N). My grandson, Gareth, is visiting.”

“Of course, Lady Danbury. We can always rearrange to the following week.”

“Nonsense,” She declares, slamming her cane onto the ground, “Simon will meet with you.”

Casting your gaze to the tall gentleman, it is not hard to miss to the surprise in his eyes. Shaking your head, you state, “I am sure the Duke has more pressing issues than tea with an old friend.”

Lady Danbury opens her mouth to protest your point but is beaten by the Duke. “I have nothing so pressing that cannot be rearranged. I shall meet you tomorrow, I assume Lady Danbury knows the spot.”

With a nod of your head, Simon smiles. He reaches out, grabbing your gloved hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. “Until tomorrow then,” He promises, stepping away from you with Lady Danbury in tow.

“Until tomorrow,” You whisper, watching the strong figure of your childhood friend walk away from you.

Glancing up at the still cloudless sky, you wonder how it is possible that the world keeps spinning when your own has changed so much. Simon left the country years ago, and even then, contact with the man was few and far between. He had left for school and seemingly left you behind. The very fact that he was happy to have tea with you sent shockwaves through your body; not a word for so many years and then this out of the blue.

Now glaring at the sky, you wonder whether there wasn’t a larger game afoot. One that had you reuniting with the childhood love that had left you a bereft teenager; it had you hoping you would not be left a heartbroken adult.

------

The pleasant weather was to continue, you thought to yourself as you sat down in the drawing room. Despite the calmness of the room; the sweet sound birdsong outside of your window, your stomach would not calm. Instead, it was threatening to make a mockery of your breakfast. A missive had arrived late yesterday evening from Lady Danbury explaining that Simon would indeed be calling on you for the promised tea.

Smoothing out your pale blue skirts, you wish desperately that you had brought something to keep you occupied as you wait for his imminent arrival. You curse the fact that you left your latest cross-stitch upstairs in your room, having worked on it late into the night. You could have used it to the pass the time to keep your mind busy.

“The Duke of Hastings,” The butler announces, startling you slightly, stepping aside for Simon to stride into the room.

Simon smiles widely as he spots you standing by the table; he rushes over to you, reaching for your hand, placing a lingering kiss to the back of it before straightening. “(Y/N),” He greets, breathless as if he had rushed all the way over here.

“Simon,” You answer, smiling just as widely.

Following his lead, you take a seat at the table, waiting for the tea service to be brought up.

“How is Lady Danbury?” You question, trying to fill the time for the service to arrive.

Simon laughs. “It seems she is on the warpath. Her grandson, Gareth, arrived this morning still out of sorts from the previous night.”

“No!” You gasp, “He’s barely of age!”

“That is what dear Lady Danbury was reminding poor Gareth as she swung her cane at him. I thought I better leave before her attention and her cane turned to me.”

“A good decision to have made.”

“Definitely,” Simon agrees, “As I was leaving, Gareth was promising his grandmother not to touch another drop of alcohol again though I doubt that promise will stick.”

“Poor Gareth,” You lament, thinking of the times you had been on receiving end of a lecture from Lady Danbury. “She does love him so though.”

“She does,” Simon states, “I remember his birth. It feels so long ago.”

You hum in agreement; wondering how quick time had flown by. Gareth was to be part of the next generation of society; he was to bring it into its future, especially if his grandmother had anything to say about it.

“How long have you been home?” You ask, pouring the both of you some tea now that it had arrived.

“I travelled to Clyvedon to settle things there before journeying down to London. I’ve been back in England just short of a month.”

“Oh,” You murmur, trying your best not to feel hurt that he hadn’t actively sought you out. After all, it had been years since you had last spoken. No correspondence had been exchanged throughout the duration of his travels; Lady Danbury had been the one to update you on where Simon was in the world. He hadn’t written you a single letter despite the long friendship that you still held dear. Instead, it had been an utter coincidence, a meeting in the streets that had proved to you he was still alive and breathing.

“I wanted to come see you,” Simon states, feeling bad about the broken sound that had left your mouth just now. He wasn’t one to talk so openly about his feelings, but he found himself needing to explain to you that he hadn’t stopped thinking of you since he stepped foot on English soil.

“Did you?” You question, sounding very much as if you did not believe a word leaving his mouth. By the unimpressed expression on your face, Simon knew you did not believe him.

“I did, but I got so busy. There were estates to manage, ledgers to balance and announcements to be made. By the time I landed in London, I was so thoroughly exhausted that I simply wandered to Lady Danbury’s home and fell asleep on her chaise-lounge. She wasn’t impressed.”

You snort before realising the impropriety, “I can imagine.”

Simon laughs entertained by the thought of Lady Danbury’s face when she found him snoring away on her chair. “As punishment, she made me accompany her on a walk… where we ran into you.”

“What a punishment,” You drawl.

Simon rolls his eyes at your tone. “I like to think of it as a happy coincidence.”

“Then I shall look at it in the same manner.”

There was something different about the man sitting across from you. Was it how he held his spoon? How he stirred his tea? Had the years abroad moulded him into a new person, one you could barely recognise?

Simon held himself entirely different to how he would when he was younger. His posture, perfect. His stance, brimming with confidence. It takes you aback somewhat as you take in the changes the years away at school and abroad have placed on his body.

Would your friendship still stand after so long apart? Is Simon simply placating Lady Danbury by having him meet you for tea? He talks such pretty words; can form sentences that leaves your mind in a spin, but this is the same man that had left the country without so much as a goodbye in your direction.

Reaching for your tea, you distract yourself from such intrusive thoughts. The tea clears your mind; letting you form a blank slate in your mind. “Enough talk of the past, no matter how recent,” You declare, “You left so long ago and came back a new person. It seems I need to get to know the new one.”

Simon smiles at you from his place across the table. “The same could be said for you too.”

You smile though it doesn’t reach your eyes. You don’t mention how you had spent the last few years turning down every marriage proposal offered to you due to your heart belonging to another even in its broken state. “Time is a marvellous thing,” You offer instead, grabbing a small cake from the stand.

“Indeed,” Simon murmurs, eyes following the cake from the plate to your mouth. Despite the time that had passed, his feelings had not changed. They had grown stronger instead. By now, Simon truly understood the meaning of absence making the heart grow fonder. All through his travels, he had cursed himself for not asking you to join him. Through every country, principality and dominion, Simon wondered how it would be for you to be there with him, experiencing the wonders of it all.

“Where was your favourite place to travel?” You ask, leaning forward slightly, “I’ve never travelled further than France.”

Simon nods, remembering your trip abroad with the same pang of sadness he felt back then. He knew logically that you were sat across from him, yet the longing in his body did nothing to help repress the urge to reach out for your hand across the table – to touch you so he would know that you were there, and this wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

“I think my favourite place to visit was Greece. I stayed on the mainland for a while before eventually making my way around the islands. Each island had its own charms, but there was one that had me questioning whether I could live there for the rest of my life. It was so calm, so quiet. Not even the thoughts in my head could distract me from its serenity.”

“Do you miss it?”

“The island?”

“The travelling.”

Simon sighs, staring out of the window as he thinks of over his answer. Eventually, he says, “I miss the sights and the people. I miss the smells and the food. However, I do not miss the time zones. There were moments where I didn’t know what time it was, let alone what day it was.”

“It sounds as if you had a magical time,” You sigh, trying your best not to think of Simon in the desperate heat of the Mediterranean.

“It had its moments,” Simon admits, thinking of the hours he had spent in markets, trying local delicacies and drinking traditionally made coffee. He had adored every second of his travels; he hadn’t minded the odd illness that came along with a new environment when there was so much to learn and so much to experience.

“Will you be travelling again soon?”

“It depends,” Simon answers.

“On?”

“On whether I find anything to keep me here.”

Silence falls over you both as you take in his words, trying to find the meaning of them. Taking a sip of your tea, you wonder whether your friendship with the Duke would be enough to keep him grounded at home for longer than a few weeks at a time. Your heart skips a beat at thought that you might not be enough; your feelings for the Duke had never surprised you. They had not surprised Lady Danbury when you showed up on her doorstep in floods of tears after Simon had left for the continent; she had simply welcomed you into her home with words of comfort and reassurances.

“Will you be attending Lady Danbury’s ball later this week?” You ask, needing to take your mind off that terrible evening.

Simon chuckles, placing his teacup on its saucer. “I shall be in attendance. I find it hard to turn down Lady Danbury. Will you be there?”

You nod, thinking of the dress you had made special. “I will. I’m quite excited if I’m to be honest.”

“Why is that?”

You shrug, “The theme, the music, the company. Lady Danbury never fails with her balls.”

“She does not,” Simon agrees, remembering the grandiosity of such events before he left to travel.

“So I shall see you there?” You ask, your voice hopeful as if daring to wonder whether Simon would attend before no doubt leaving the country once more.

“You shall. Would you save me a dance perhaps?” Simon asks, his usual mischief alight in his eyes.

You smile widely, “Always.”

--------

The rest of the week is spent in anticipation; desperate for the hours to quicken so you could walk through the home of Lady Danbury to find Simon already waiting for you. A hopeless dream, but a dream, nonetheless.

The Duke of Hastings remains on your mind for the rest of the week. One chance meeting and one organised tea and it seems that the man had made his home in your mind and brought to life the feelings you were certain were dormant.

With those feelings in mind, you prepare for Lady Danbury’s ball knowing full well you were about to spend the evening in the presence of Simon, but also watching the mothers of London’s available fawn over him as if he was a prize to be won. It was enough to make your blood boil.

Ridding yourself of such anger, you enter the home of Lady Danbury.

Lady Danbury never spared any expense when it came her to time to host the event of the season. She knew that it would be reported on, that it would be spoken about. She also knew that there was a chance that many matches could be made that night; so no expense could be spared in the battle for love matches among the ton.

The sight of the ballroom takes your breath away as you enter. Lady Danbury had chosen the theme of the moon, stars and sun – asking her guests to dress in colours relating to either. Your navy blue skirts swish together the further you walk into the room, distracted by the moon and star decorations hanging from the high vaulted ceilings.

You’re so enraptured by the scenery that you do not hear the footsteps approaching or the whispers of the women beside you. It isn’t until you hear him call your name that you turn your gaze from the silver decorations.

“Simon,” You greet with a smile, “How have you been?”

“Very well,” He replies, “And yourself?”

“I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

“You look wonderful,” Simon compliments; eyes raking up and down your body.

Your skin heats at his rapt attention; flashes of heat soaring through you as your mind begins to think of all sorts of scenarios where you could keep his eyes on you for much longer. “Thank you,” You answer, voice breathy, “You look very handsome too.”

“Would you do me the honour of dancing with me?” Simon asks, voice quiet in the loud room.

Nodding your head, you take his outstretched hand and allow him to lead you onto the dancefloor where many other couples are gathering.

Simon’s hand is soft on the small of your back; soft but insistent as it brings you closer to his own body. Wrapped up entirely in him, you find it hard to concentrate on the steps of the dance, easily being led around the dancefloor by the man who had captured your heart before you had even known the meaning of the word.

A large smile spreads over his face as he spins you out and brings you back. A surprised laugh leaves your lips as Simon spins you once more; the delight settling deep within your bones, melding to become a memory that would always be with you. Simon’s own laughter soons join yours and before long, neither of you are paying much attention and custom – the both of you having far too much fun in each other’s arms to be aware of the looks and glances being sent your way.

As the music fades into silence, Simon’s grip on you loosens reluctantly. He doesn’t want to let go of you; doesn’t know when the next time he can hold you this close will be. If he could, he would steal you away right now, but etiquette and his title demands he be a gentleman.

With a strained smile, Simon bows at you once before turning away without a word. So deep in his thoughts, he doesn’t see you escape to the gardens before it is too late.

------

The gardens at Lady Danbury’s home had always been spectacular, but in the night, they were even more magnificent. Despite the shadows of night, you were not scared as you walked down the paths, fingers absently brushing over the flowers of delicately blooming flora.

Rather, your mind was occupied by the one man who had returned into your life after such a sizeable absence. Simon had danced with you tonight, and every aspect felt so perfect. The way his hand covered yours; the way his palm felt pressed against the small of your back. Bringing your hand to your mouth, you hide the smile on your face as you think of the way he had laughed with you as he spun you across the floor. He had looked so young; so carefree, as if he hadn’t the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“I wondered where you had wandered off to,” A voice sounds from behind you, startling you.

“Simon!” You gasp, clutching your chest, “You scared me!”

He chuckles, holding his hands up in surrender as he steps closer to you. “That was not my intention,” He promises, his smile wide.

“What was your intention then?” You ask, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

“I wanted to ask you a question should you allow it.”

“We are alone,” You remind him, “We should move inside.”

“Please,” Simon pleads, “It won’t take long.”

You pause your steps. The cool night air settles around you as you wait for Simon to ask his question.

“Why did you never marry?” Simon demands; his eyes blazing with the need to know. “I know you had proposals; Lady Danbury even told me so.”

“There was never anyone good enough,” You confess, fisting your hands in the skirts of your dress to keep yourself from reaching out for him. “I tried. I really tried, but I always found myself thinking of you or wondering about you. Even though you never wrote, I still fell in love with you.”

Simon inhales sharply; not expecting your confession. You hadn’t expected to be so honest, but your heart was in control of your mouth; your mind taking a backseat on this one. Your heart had yearned after this man since you had learned the very definition of the word ‘love’.

“Why did you never write?” You ask, finally verbalising the question that had plagued your mind since the moment he had left.

He remains silent, so you repeat your question with a firmer voice. “Why did you never write, Simon?”

“If I had written to you, I would have come home.”

“Would that have been so bad?”

“I needed to get away, I had to leave. To do that, I had to cut strings with you, or I never would have become the man I am today. I never would have become worthy of you.”

“It is for me to decide whether you are worthy of me, Simon Basset. I have found you worthy of my love since you were ten years old and getting caught hiding a fish in the footmen’s bed if you must know.”

“For that long?” He asks; his voice a mere hoarse gasp as he battles with this new information.

“For that long,” You affirm.

“I always found myself travelling back to you,” Simon admits, “I would be in the furthest corner of the world and my mind would question why you were never by my side. On my last trip, I found myself packing my belongings with you on my mind before I had even made the decision to return home. My father was part of it, I’ll admit. But you… you were the whole reason why I returned to London.”

“What does this mean?” You ask, confused and emotional over the night’s confessions.

“It means I no longer want to travel the world if you are not by my side. It means I want to court you and follow the traditions of society. I have two loves in my life: travel and you.”

“You love me?”

He nods, “I have since I was a teenager.”

“I love you too,” You respond honestly, seeing no reason to lie in a moment like this.

“So,” Simon sighs as your words settle over him like a balm over an open wound, “Shall we do this properly? Courting and the like.”

“I think I would. I think we could start right now,” You whisper, stepping closer to the man who you felt certain was the love of your life.

“Right now?”

You nod you head, smiling widely as you reach for the lapels of his jacket. “I think we could start this very moment with a kiss. What do you think?”

Simon glances from side to side, checking for witnesses, “Only if you promise not to kiss another.”

“I don’t think that would be an issue,” You admit happily, “Kiss me, Simon.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

*******

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox @aspiringsloth20 @wallwriterstuff @magicalxdaydream @darkestbeforethedawn16 @gryffindors-weasley

[nat-20s]

Part 5 of Wonderful! Au. *boyband voice* banter’s back alright!

Also on AO3

~*~

Jon: Hello everyone, and welcome back to our regular format. If my husband being horribly soppy-

Martin:-hey!-

Jon: -turned you off the how, this should be a refreshing return to formula, though I can’t guarantee there won’t be further horrible soppiness-

Martin, performatively under his breath: -most people thought it was charming-

Jon: -as that tends to happen when one is recording with the love of their life. If last week’s episode is the only one that you like, too bad, I’m back in full form, and should be at least through the rest of the season.

Martin: This show doesn’t have seasons? Due to the whole lack of a narrative thing?

Jon: I was referring to spring.

Martin: Oh, right.

[A beat passes.]

Martin, flatly: Oh. Great goof hon.

Jon, smug: Thank you.

Jon, sincere: Also, before we get properly started, I did want to actually thank everyone who sent well wishes.

M artin: Yes! We got positively inundated with lovely messages, it definitely brightened both of our days. I would even say it was wonderful.

[Jon groans.]

Jon: I am..not proud of the energy we’ve created for this episode so far, and we haven’t even hit the small wonders. Speaking of, do you have a small wonder this week?

Martin: Mine’s bad action movies.

Jon: Really? I had no idea you even liked them, let alone consider them wonderful.

Martin: Okay, so, saying I like them is a bit of a misnomer? It’s more that I like what they can do more than the movies themselves?

Jon: Elaborate?

Martin: It probably comes as a surprise to no one that I’ve tried my hand at a fair amount of mindfulness and mediation techniques. I’ve found poetry and journaling have been helpful for actually processing life events and whatnot, but when it comes to giving your brain a hard wipe and reset, nothing is half as quick and effective as a shitty shoot-em-up. Somethings about 2 hours of cartoonish, pg-13 violence held together with the absolute loosest of plots brings me to a state of mental blankness that would make a monk jealous.

Jon: How have I never witnessed you doing this? When are you sneaking off to go see Micheal Tarantino or who ever films?

M artin: That’s definitely not the right name.

Jon: Martin, dear, I don’t care. And you’re dodging the question.

Martin, fond: I’m not dodging anything. Since apparently we’re getting into it, you haven’t caught me cavorting with a movie involving more explosions than character development lately because I haven’t been. Haven’t needed it, in recent years. Turns out when you’re not crushingly lonely and working a literal nightmare of job, there’s less of a drive to try and escape your own thoughts. Shocker, I know. Still, to anyone out there that feels like their brain is on fire, go try watching a fast and furious. Any of ‘em, it doesn’t matter. Or even better, Chronicles of Riddick. I can’t remember a single goddamn detail of that movie, which makes it perfect for what I’m talking about.

Jon: I have the strong feeling that th is is a “mileage may vary” scenario.

Martin: Well, yeah, that’s this whole podcast. Plus, I imagine that movies like this would cause more stress to someone who cares about, say, world-building or rules consistency.

Jon: I wonder who you could possibly be referring to.

Martin: It’s a purely hypothetical person, love, don’t worry about it. Any small wonders?

Jon: Yes! Particularly relevant to the last week, my small wonder is stripping the sheets from your bed when it’s been too long between washes.

Martin: How very specific. M ost people would just say ‘clean sheets’.

Jon: Well, for one, I’m fairly certain that we’ve already covered clean sheets-

Martin: Shit, have we? Thank god other people keep track of this, otherwise this show would be unbearably repetitive.

Jon: Christ, yes. I typically check the website a good three times while prepping, and every about one out of those three times I find I’m trying to do an topic we did 30 episodes again. Anyway, um, it’s just nice, I think. When you’ve been too busy or sick or away for awhile, tossing the sheets in the wash makes a room instantly seem nicer. Of all the chores out there, this one, at least for me, has the highest reward to effort ratio.

Martin: Hard agree. Especially when the y have that slight funk of having been around to long, getting rid of that is such a relief. Speaking of, we need to change our sheets soon.

Jon: We can do it after the episode. Who goes first this week?

Martin: Considering last week was only me talking, I’m gonna say it’s you.

Jon: Alright, then. My first thing this week is Martin K. Blackwood.

Martin: Absolutely not!

Jon: Oh, you can do a whole episode on me, but I can’t do one little segment on my husband, whom I love very dearly?

Martin: Not while I’m sat here, no!

Jon: So you’re saying you don’t want me to tell the internet that your resolve to be kind even in the face of indescribable cruelty is one of the mot breathtaking things I’ve ever witnessed, or how I find it incredibly endearing when you get so emotional that your voice comes out as a squeak, or even that, on a more base level, you’re very physically attractive, and I could lose entire days thinking about your arms alone?

Martin, audibly blushing, voice the aforementioned squeak: Oh my god, Jon!

Jon, laughing: Then it’s probably for the best that my actual first thing is best friends.

Martin, peaking the audio levels: Oh you absolute bastard! Do you enjoy this? Do you get some sort of perverse sense of entertainment from riling me up?

Jon: Oh, don’t you start. As if you’re not as bad as I am. Maybe even worse.

Martin: That’s not…

Jon: Yes?

Martin: Okay. Maybe it’s slightly true. Really, what is romance for if not flustering your partner with compliments?

Jon, teasing: I certainly can’t think of anything.

Martin: Hush, you.

Jon: No, I don’t think I will.

Martin: Fine. I suppose you can tell our delightful audience about the power of friendship or whatever.

Jon: I would’ve assumed more enthusiasm, considering this segment is still, indirectly, about you.

Martin: In what way?

Jon: In the way that, to the shock of all, you’re my best friend.

Martin, pleased: Oh, is that what I am?

Jon, exasperated: Yes, dearest husband, I wouldn’t have married you otherwise. Though, upon reflection, I knew you were my best friend before I knew I held romantic feelings for you.

Martin: When was that?

Jon, letting out a breath that vibrates his lips: God it was...2016? I think it might’ve literally been the day after you told me about your CV.

Martin: That early? Huh. I wonder if that’s what people were picking up when they said they we were close.

Jon: What people?

Martin: I don’t know specifically, that’s just what Daisy told me.

Jon: Daisy? When the hell-?

Martin: It...was when she was interrogating me? And, because sometimes I have to be a parody of myself, pretty much my only take away from that interrogation was “people think me and Jon are close”.

Jon: Well then. It’s not like they were wrong.

Martin, smug: No, no they weren’t.

Martin, sincere: And you’re my best friend, too.

Jon: I was certainly hoping that you’re in this relationship for more than my good looks and incredible fortune, both in the monetary and luck sense.

Martin: You say that as if you aren’t good looking, which we all know is patently untrue.

Jon: You’re biased. You’d say I was good looking if I were nothing more than some primordial ooze with thoughts about its station.

Martin: I’m being completely objective. If you were primordial ooze with thoughts above its station, you’d be the cutest ooze of them all. That’s just scientific fact.

Jon: I’m starting to think we might be insufferable.

Martin: Starting to? Might be?

Jon:…

[Jon clears his throat]

Jon: What I find wonderful about the concept of best friends is, to me, they’re the closest thing real life has to soulmates. I don’t personally believe that there’s some..grand mystic force that drives people to be tied together in the manner that narrative typical soulmates are, and if there was I don’t think it would necessarily be the kind of emotional, heartfelt bond one would hope for, but I do believe that there’s individuals that get to know one another, and because of that knowledge, they chose to stick with one another. It doesn’t have to be a romantic, which is why I say best friend rather than specifically ‘spouse’, but I would argue that the basis of a strong romance like you and I have, is very much rooted in that connection. A true best friendship is an equal partnership, and there’s a sense of..matched sensibilities and understanding that can be utterly incandescent when it happens.

I also think that having one or more best friends makes living life on a day to day basis both better and just flat easier. The dark times aren’t as dark, and the bright times shine even more. I know from my own personal experience there are events that I..that I don’t know how I would’ve made it through without you. Hell, last week my..recovery period would’ve taken much longer if you hadn’t been there.

It’s an amazing thing to have someone to share things with, both triumphs and burdens. Um, also, according to Dictionary.com, the term best friends in English has been around since the 1200s. Something about that delights me, like, yes, we’ve had this casual way of referring to a Favorite Person for roughly 800 years. That makes it a hold-out from early Middle English. I dunno, it’s one of those things that make me feel overall very charmed by humanity.

Martin, audibly smiling: No, yeah, hard agree.

Jon: What’s that look for?

Martin: Nothing. Just. I love you a whole lot, you know that?

Jon, voice soft: I may have heard you say that once or twice. Per hour.

Martin: Only that often? I really need to be more diligent about that.

[There’s a bet of silence, presumably where they’re making doe eyes at each other.]

Jon: What’s your first thing?

Martin: Oh, um, right. Rats!

Jon: The expression or the animal?

Martin: Jon, have you ever once heard me say “rats” as an expression? Obviously I’m referring to the animal.

Jon: Ah. Should’ve known, considering that what, a third?, of all your segments have been on animals.

Martin: Yeah? And? You got a problem with critters? With creatures? With lil guys?

Jon, laughing: No, no, it’s very sweet. I’m just surprised you never became a vet.

Martin: Oh believe me, I wanted to. But then I learned that it was not, in fact, a job composed entirely of getting paid to play with other people’s pets.

Jon: You had that job, though, didn’t you? I thought I remembered you mentioning a month long stint at a doggie day care.

Martin, sighing dreamily: Best job I ever had. Too bad that place was shut down after it was revealed to be a money laundering front.

Jon: Good lord.

Jon: Martin did you...did you know it was a money laundering front at the time?

Martin:

Martin: Would it make you feel better if I said no?

Jon: Martin!

Martin: I figured it out like a week in, but, like, who cares? The pay was decent and the floor was super easy to clean, which is very much a plus for even a front of a doggie day care.

Jon: That’s...rather a lot. How about instead of getting into that any further, you tell me about rodents.

Martin: I would love to. But first, we have a shoutout!

Jon: Ooo, a shoutout. Does it specify who should read?

Martin: Let me check. It...does...not…..

...

Jon: Martin?

[A beat.]

Martin: Right! Sorry, um. This week’s shoutout is from Tim, to Danny. It says, “Danny! My favorite person who shares genetic material with me! I wanted to say thank you for your podcast obsession from 4 months ago, and specifically for telling me about these marrieds. They’ve gotten me through many a dull hour at the publishing house. Also, with this shoutout, I’ve officially gotten ahead on the Superior [Last Name Redacted] Brother scoreboard, so suck it. Love you lots, and looking forward to your visit next month, Tim.”

Jon: Oh.

Jon: Um. That’s very..sweet? I think? Mostly?

Martin: Yeah, I’d say so. Uh. We have to take a quick break because, uh, someone is..at our front door! Be back with you all in, from your side of things, just a moment.

[all-things-fic]

Country Lane | Divorce Harry III

Thank you all for waiting for this one. Massive middle finger to tumblr for screwing the post up! Divorce Harry III is finally here!

Shoutout to my lovely ladies who taking time to read this for me @harrytheehottie, @harryfeatgaga, @haute-romance-quotidienne and of course @waitingfortwilight. Also, thank you to all my lovely anons and those of you who come off anon to talk about this, I’ve really loved the general chit chat about the series <3

Without further ado, enjoy! Lots of love and happy Saturday! x

*~*

You had no idea where you were. 

Surrounded by nothing but overgrown grass and the odd wooden fence. If you listened carefully in the distance you could hear the traffic of what you thought could be the A34 road and you were pretty sure that the last sign you had seen before your car cut out had been for Congleton. 

Rubbing your hands down your fresh face, your spa retreat to Mottram Hall for the hen-do of one of the school Mum’s entering her second marriage, was nothing more than a distant memory. As you sat freezing, in your car, looking out onto the harsh autumn weather of October, you were far from relaxed and rejuvenated. 

Worrying your bottom lip with your top teeth, you juggled your phone from palm to palm. You knew you had to call him, you effectively didn’t have any choice. Especially after you’d pulled your way through your glove compartment and you hadn’t come up trumps with your breakdown cover documentation. 

Part of you was cursing in that moment at how you’d handed the piece of paper which held all telephone numbers and car insurance policy account numbers over to your son to scribble upon during one particularly long car session, just to keep him quiet. You were actually sure it was now stuck on your fridge with a lovely drawing of what you presumed to be Marvel characters all over it. 

The worst of it all was that you knew whatever had happened to your car was bad. You knew simply from the way the car had spluttered and started to grind before almost seizing up and stalling to a halt.

Unlocking your phone, you scrolled through your contacts and landed on his contact card. Clicking on it you saw when the last time you had called him was and recalled the soft FaceTime he’d had with your eldest son, who wanted to tell his Daddy about how he’d been picked for the schools first rugby team, taking him out of reserves and off the bench. 

Breathing deeply, you ignored the ache the fond memory began to cause and tapped Harry’s name. The dialling tone that greeted you filled the pit of your stomach with knots as you tried to relax in the leather seat of your Range Rover.

Again, you started to worry your lips at the fifth ring, before the line clicked and you heard his warm voice. You froze at how friendly he sounded, his voice held an edge of laughter to it and you heard shuffling faintly in the background, followed by chatter, before it was shut out.

On the other end of the line, Harry had found himself dodging his way around people in his Mother’s kitchen in Cheshire, before leaving the room and catching your call before it cut off.

“Sorry ‘bout tha’,” he spoke an unnecessary apology, probably because of how long it had taken him to answer, as you remained quiet on the other line.

You blinked harshly at the sound of your name being spoken. “Are you still there?” Harry asked, pulling the phone away from his ear to see that the call was indeed still running. 

“Ye- yeah,” you stuttered, partly due to a soft tremble to your lips from being cold. 

“Everythin’ alrigh’?” He asked, a concerned edge to his question, as you dropped deeper into your car seat. 

Another small amount of silence. 

“Not really,” you responded, honestly. “Where are you?”

With a small frown, he answered, “‘M at Mums. ‘S her birthday this weekend, remember?”

Shit. You’d forgotten.

Heavily breathing in response, you said, “It slipped my mind. Sorry.”

There was a chuckle at the end of the line.

 “Not like you tha’,” he playfully jostled, causing the pit of your stomach to fall through again. You hated how he always managed to make any conversation between the two of you not seem as if you were in the middle of a prolonged divorce. “Usually got everything colour coordinated on our kitchen calendar.”

And he still did that so smoothly too, spoke about things as if you still did them together. The use of ‘our’ and ‘we’ was second nature and so naturally fell off his tongue in a velvety way that was soothing but left you shivering if caught by your touch in a different way. 

As if he could read your mind, before you’d thought it, he said, “Don’t worry. I added everyone’s names to the presents so she thinks they’re from all o’ us.” 

“I shouldn’t have called, you’re busy,” you responded without feeling, starting to pull the phone away from your ear and back to thinking about how you could get in touch with your breakdown cover. There had to be a way, surely.

“Hey, no,” he was urgent. “Don’t hang up, ‘s fine. I’ve pulled myself away. ‘S okay- please. Don’t hang up on me, something’s not right ‘ere. ‘S okay to still need me sometimes, y’ know?” 

“It’s okay, I can sort it myself-“ you flung your car door open. “Can you just tell me know how to pop the bonnet up on this car, cause it’s been so bloody long since I last had to do it-“

“Pop the bonnet? Why’d you need to do that? Have you broken down somewhere?” His questions were clipped as he asked. 

“Don’t get arsey with me-“ 

“‘M not,” he replied, quickly cutting. He really was. “Are the kids wi’you?”

“‘S alright for me be stranded on the side of the road on my own when it’s about to get dark-“

“Did I say that?” Again, he words were clipped. “Are you trying to wind me up?”

“Why have you not told me how to raise the bonnet?”

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose before walking the short distance in his Mother's hallway to lower himself, slowly, down to sit on the stairs. 

“Underneath the passenger side there’s a lever,” he paused his softer tone, giving you time to find it. As he spoke you trampled against the grass closest to the passenger side and opened the door. Looking down at a red lever, which had clearly made itself known to you now that it had been brought to your attention.

“Found it?” he asked, hearing you hum. 

You shut the passenger door of your car and stared at the slightly popped up bonnet, Harry’s voice filling your ears again. “If you feel underneath the bonnet, between the E and the R there is another little lever. Squeeze that and it’ll release the bonnet-“

“Where’s the little thing to keep it up?”

He breathily chuckled, “‘s on hydraulics so keeps itself up.” 

Again, you didn’t respond and he was met with silence. Harry rested his chin against his palm waiting for you to speak, eyes looking towards the dimming light as night began to approach. 

“Wha’ can you see?”

“Not a whole lot, it looks fine to me.“

“Darling, just let me come to you.” 

“But this is why I pay for breakdown cover,” you snapped. 

“Where are you?” He asked, voice deep and to your annoyance laced with concern that he should no longer hold. 

You stammered trying to figure out some sort of excuse to bullshit him with, eyes taking in the country lane and the vast greeness around you. 

“Last time ‘m askin’,” he harshly cut in. “‘S gonna get dark soon, so jus’ tell me where y’are.”

“Somewhere near Congleton.”

“And wha’s the matter wi’the car?”

You noted his voice on his last question was a bit pinched, probably from focusing on another task like pulling on a pair of trainers to bring him to you. He clearly wasn’t playing along anymore. 

“Well, I think I’ve had an oil leak but none of the lights have come on to officially let me know whether I have or haven’t. The only thing is the nasty black marks that are on the driveway at home, but ‘s nothing that couldn't probably be jet washed off-“

As you rambled about cleaning the oil from the drive of the Hampstead home, Harry zoned out beginning to list the things he would probably require to bring with him. He was sure some of it could be found in Robin’s old garage, knowing that boxes of tools were still piled in the far corner. 

“Send me your exact location via text.”

“Harry-“ you sighed.

“‘M not askin’, ‘m telling,” he abruptly responded. 

***

People say that Googling symptoms is never a good thing, you suppose the same could be said for a car. 

Were they symptoms though? You couldn’t quite coherently think of another descriptor for them as they brought up search after search at how you quite possibly could have ruined your car.

You tried not to dwell as the sky around you began to get darker while you sat in the safe passing place on the country lane. It wasn’t like you had much choice but to stick around. 

Cold, and dithering slightly, you had taken to throwing your coat over your body like a blanket as simply wearing it wasn’t keeping your entire body warm enough. 

Car doors locked and eyes closed, you tried to find some solace in your waiting. You didn’t have much avail, as you were interrupted by the harsh white lighting of LED headlights breaking through the dimming dusk sky.

You frowned, eyes squinting as the light got closer and pulled in behind you. A sense of uncertainty filled your body at the new arrival, along the otherwise desolate road.

A figure of a male jumped out of the car behind you, causing you to still all of your movement in your car seat as you tried to make out any features to you that would make you comfortable in knowing it was Harry. 

The blinding lights made it far too difficult to see anything and you were beginning to think that the person behind you had left them on, on purpose. Unless they were those annoying ones that slowly turned themselves off. 

Staring out you vaguely were able to make out the figure approaching you and as he got halfway you relaxed.

It was Harry. 

He rapped his knuckles gently at your driver's side window and then smiled to himself as he realised how you wouldn’t be able to open it due to your inactive engine. 

“Open the door for me,” he spoke, his voice slightly muffled as it came through your car window. He watched as you reached for the door handle inside and pushed the door ajar ever so slightly. “Could you have picked anywhere more hidden away?”

You didn’t respond straight-away, deciding instead to take him in as he stood with his left arm leaning up against the doorframe of your car. His right arm taut as he held the car door open and away from you both, not wanting it to cause any obstruction. 

Underneath his khaki parka you could faintly make out a worn Versace tee as it hung open, unzipped. You internally rolled your eyes. What kind of person wore Versace to fix a car and possibly get covered in oil in the process? 

As you rested your head back against the seat behind you, you silently enjoyed the way he looked down at you. It was always quite frustrating, even more so now you weren’t together, how magnetising he was. 

“Do me a favour?” He broke the silent stare, “Lean over and pull the lever for me? Don’t quite fancy walking around the car and possibly going down a ditch.”

“My parking isn’t that bad!” You chastised, watching the way his lips twitched. “I’m being courteous of other cars on this tiny lane, given them extra room near the passing place-“

“You got miles of space this side of the dotted line,” he spoke cutting in, eyes wide and filled with humour. “Surprised you didn’t drive down the hill bank the other side to be extra courteous.”

“Can pull the lever yourself now, hope you break your ankle-“

“No you don’t-“

“I’d just leave you here, you know? Take the keys out of your pocket and go.“

“Don’t need to resort to petty crime,” his voice was a bit weaker now but still just as cheeky. “Could’ve just asked for ‘em.” 

Your eyes moved towards the glinting keys that he held loosely by the key ring after quickly retrieving them from his pocket. Tauntingly wanting you to reach out from them.

“You’re just going to pull them away, if I grab for ‘em.”

“‘M not,” he stressed with a slight laughter. “You’re always so cynical and defensive. Not even thanked me for driving out to come and get you.”

You didn’t respond, instead you gently reached for the keys, feeling him slightly shift them from your grip as he enjoyed the determination on your face. 

Fingers filled with want, you still grabbed for them, successfully but having to be halfway out of the seat and door of your car in order to fulfill your achievement.

When your feet met the ground beneath you, you quickly shifted around to pull your coat on properly. As you moved from the doorway, you watched as Harry dropped his chest onto the driver's seat and reached across the width of the car to pull the lever without needing to walk around the car to do so.

Putting a bit of distance between you, so you didn’t fall foul of staring too long at his bum in his blue jeans, you stalled yourself as he pushed his body up to standing and flipped through a book in his hands. 

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” He said, flicking through what you now knew to be the car’s manual that he must’ve also grabbed from the glove box while inside the car. When you didn’t reply he tore his eyes away from the pages and over to you. 

“You’re a good man.”

The honesty in your voice, knocked him. “‘M not, but ‘m trying t’be.”

The two of you stared at each other in the dimming darkness and you knew your gaze matched his sad one. 

Clearing his throat, he threw the manual against the driver’s seat. “Anyway out m’ sight, leave the men to the work an’ all tha’. ‘S got heated seats an’ all, if you’re into tha’ sorta thing.”

***

You felt bad watching him out in the cold and dark, a light hanging from the bonnet the only source around him that you imagined was keeping him going. 

Sitting in the passenger seat, you let your eyes roam around the black interior of his car that was incredibly spacious and so suitable for your barrage of children. 

Your attention turned to outside again as you saw Harry move around from your car and walk up towards his own. His forearm came up to wipe across his mouth, bringing your attention to his facial hair that seemed to be getting thicker and thicker. 

Without needing to be prompted, you pressed the button to lower the driver's side window and watched as he pressed his forearms into the resting place you had created for him now there was no window blocking his way.

“Can you get me one of them shammy cloths from out o’the boot please? Jus’ need to double check the dipstick.” 

You nodded as he continued, “Would do it m’self but-“ he paused, opening out his hands and showing how dirty his fingers were to you. 

“It’s fine,” you said, leaving the car and joining him. “I feel a bit useless anyway,” you admitted. 

Both of you remained silent when he joined you at the back of his car, two sets of eyes easily spotting what you were looking for. You opened the packet of two cloths, a horrible peach colour, and passed him one before swapping places with him.

You moved to stand at the side of the car, watching him drop his head inside the boot to see if there was anything else he needed while he was at the other car. 

“Since when did you become one of them?”

“One of who?” He asked, his head popping around the side of his car and out of the boot to look at you.

“Your lights on this car are far too bright.”

He rolled his eyes, remaining quiet as he turned back to the contents of his boot. He wasn’t going to respond to your unnecessary nitpicking.

“It’s really nice inside though. Single about me did well then,” you found yourself saying the comment in a biting fashion, unable to hold your tongue. 

“Which one?” He bit right back, a clanging heard from the boot, “I asked you if you wanted a credit, you said no.” 

You clammed up. He hadn’t taken what you said as a joke. A bit of light humour, you thought, for the road. It was your own fault. You’d become that sort of annoying person you often could get when you found yourself awkwardly doing nothing with yourself. Your delivery of your joke didn’t help either. 

“Think I preferred you when you stayed sat, quiet, in the car,” Harry said, head moving out from the boot again so you could read his expressions. Raised eyebrows and twitching lips. 

“Piss off,” you glared at him, slowly turning to walk away. 

Now it was Harry’s turn to think you were joking, as he shouted after you. “Really gonna be like that after I turned up to save you. That’s twice now I’ve had t’remind yer.” 

“You insisted-“

“I know I did,” he spoke around a chuckle. “Now where’re you off to?”

“‘M walking home-“

“Don’t be so fucking ridiculous,” he shouted after you, a frown jarring through his light features when he moved from the open boot to walk closer to you as you turned back around to face him. 

***

He managed to coax you to sit back in the car not much longer after you’d stormed off in a huff. Not without a fight, but this was one he was willing to back down on just to get you to stop storming off. 

Looking back on it now, the scene was probably quite funny to some passerby or outsider, or it would’ve been if you weren’t so secluded. A female dressed in the most fetching of clothes - sarcasm noted - arguing in the middle of a street. Like some five year old in need of a nap. 

Speaking of naps, your eyes shot open wide at the loud bang of your car bonnet being shut. You hadn’t realised that you’d begun to doze until you were abruptly woken. 

Bleary vision was quickly erased with a rub of your eyes, as you moved to face the front and pushed your hair from your face.

You were met with Harry busy fiddling with the wires of his lamp. His face dropped down and hair falling so easily into his eyes. He kept walking rather than look into the car to see if you were still with him. Instead, he dropped everything that was in his hands into the boot and proceeded to annoyingly continue to subconsciously show off by pressing a button to close his boot automatically. 

Staying wrapped up in one of your kids car blankets, you curled your legs underneath your body and rested your right cheek against the headrest. You continued to be silent as you started to wake up, eyes blinking slowly as you watched Harry in the dark pull open his car door.

He swung his body into the car with an almighty groan, one that caused you in your sleepy haze to softly smile. He looked shattered as he relaxed in his seat and rested his head backwards.

With eyes closed he sighed heavily, letting you take him in without a care. You’d noticed that at some point since your nap he’d removed his coat and now he sat in just his t-shirt and jeans. Both, of which, now looked like they had seen better days.

His brow had begun to perspire as he entered the warmth of his car, the quick switch from the Baltic (slight over exaggeration) temperatures outside to those more welcoming inside the G-Wagon could do that to you. 

“Don’t think it’s fucked completely,” he said to break the silence, wiping his face and sweat with the back of his hand and wrist, to try and ensure his oil covered fingers didn’t leave any other stains on his skin.

You enjoyed the way he used the back of his hand, wrist and forearm to wipe at his now slightly clammy skin. Stupidly it emphasised how defined his upper body had become. “Dipstick wasn’t as dry as I was expecting,” he continued, “Just topped her up and ‘m ‘oping she turns over and sounds as good as new.” 

Again, silence. His eyes staring straight ahead of him, yours enjoying his profile. God, he had a fantastic nose. It was definitely something that your daughter had inherited and you wondered if it would be a feature that a loved one in her life would sometimes admire in the next generation. 

“Got any baby wipes wi’ you?” He cut his eyes to yours from the corner of his vision, taking in the way you were curled up in the passenger seat wearing the car blanket of your eldest son. 

His eyes lingered on your shape for a while, dropping down and enjoying the way you had curled yourself up and presented to him in such a cosy vision. It meant you felt relaxed around him and that was all he ever wanted. 

It was a nice contrast to the emotive happenings between the two of you that had almost become commonplace of late. A foreign feeling that was so simple, but so exciting. 

Without verbal response you reached from your handbag that was in the footwell to have a look inside at the contents. 

“Don’t wanna leave this car, been a bit spoiled over the last hour or so. Could do with an upgrade myself as they’re all getting older and need a bit more room,” you spoke as you rummaged around, movements still slightly sluggish.

You were successful in finding what you needed, the rustling of the plastic packaging jarring to your ears. Quickly pulling at the cover overlay, you swiftly pulled out a couple of wipes with such a mom-like finesse that had you balancing them on top of the now closed packet as you turned to face Harry. 

“Don’t even think about making it a clause in the divorce,” he joked, eyes looking up at you from underneath his brow. His eyebrows snapped up in shock as you snatched at his hand and abruptly pulled at the baby wipes you’d retrieved from inside your handbag. 

The two of you fell silent as you wiped at his left hand first, watching the black of the oil slowly leave his fingers. Breathing was heavy in the empty space as you didn’t dare raise your gaze higher to look into his eyes, that you knew were watching you. 

“It’s so attractive, how much of a Mum you are,” he dared to say what he really thought as his humoured expression fell away. “Cleaning my hands up nicely, like ‘m your child that’s made a mess of m’dinner.” 

“Harry,” you sighed his name, fidgeting softly in your seat. He chuckled in such a husky way that you found yourself softening regardless of the way it riled you. 

Releasing his left hand, you reached straight for his right. Seeing the way he caught himself and stopped it before it fell against his lap. He smoothly reached for you, brushing your hair behind your shoulders as it began to curtain across the right side of your face.

“Last time m’hands were this dirty, you were licking and sucking ‘em clean.”

You felt your face begin to heat up from his brazenness.

“Are you blushing for me?” He whispered, his left hand moving along your jaw, to tilt your head upwards. He had a hold of your jaw, slightly rougher than before and while your face played ball, your eyes did not. “‘S been ages since you blushed fo’me.”

Again the sound of breathing filled the car, Harry’s gaze all over your features before his other words punctuated the air, “Look a’me.”

As your eyes moved sharply to the right, you looked at the way he’d lolled his head back. His thumb slowly pulled at your bottom lip, watching the way it softly bounced from his touch, before he lifted it to trace faintly over your Cupid’s bow.

“Missed your lips,” he admitted, enjoying the light puffs of breath that bounced against the pad of his thumb. Before you could think, you’d taken his thumb inside your mouth, an appreciative groan leaving his lips.

You felt the way his fingers cupped under your chin, gently stroking at your skin, silently caressing. Teeth nipping playfully against the skin of his thumb as you pulled away. 

“How much?” You asked, lips turning to ghost against the inside of his hand. 

His eyes lingered as you watched him nudge his chin up slightly, silently asking for you to come to him. 

You sucked in a heavy breath as you leaned into him, the dimming ceiling light of the car slowly allowing darkness to swallow you both. A faint smile nudged your lips as your nose fell against his top lip.

He scooped you under his arm - lining you up better - hands trying to hold you as near to him as he could as you leaned over the centre console of the car to be closer to him. 

“Enough,” he husked, before adding, “Your nose is cold,” in a passing tone, lips against your temple now. Breathing deeply through your nose you let him pull you even closer, unable to believe that you weren’t close enough. Muffled apologies left your lips, about how your nose was cold. 

The soft drag of his lips to yours pulled you under a haze that swept away your apologies and into a tender reacquaintance. His lips were slightly shaking against yours and you weren’t sure if it was to do with the cold that he had found himself in or if it were due to his nervousness. 

Regardless he was steady. Knew exactly what he was doing and what he wanted. Pulling kiss after kiss from you in the slowest fashion that you felt yourself beginning to warm up. 

“‘S nice to have a little kiss,” he gently spoke against the corner of your mouth. “Missed you treating me to ‘em.” 

“I think you just know exactly what to say,” you murmured as you allowed him to continue ghosting his lips over yours. “Know exactly what you're doing.”

“‘F you’re suggesting that I’m trying it on,” he murmured against your lips, “I absolutely fucking am.”

“Would never have guessed,” you looked at him with heavy eyelids, head now nudged back slightly to enable you to see his entire face. He smirked at you, eyes blinking slowly as he willed you to him once more.

His hand was secure around the back of your neck, fingers messily woven through your hair. His other hand gently massaged at the top of your back, over your fetching loungewear that you had chosen to drive home in.

“‘S it working?”

“What do you think?”

Harry’s eyes dropped in a slow blink as he felt the way your hand lowered down his chest and abdomen, which was wavering slightly from his nervous anticipation. 

Dropping your head down to his chest, you left a kiss to his pec as you mumbled and felt the button of his jeans giveway to your fingers and thumb. “I am grateful, you know?”

“Yeah?”

The ruffle of your hair against the cotton of his tee filled the car, him recognising it as you nodding. 

“Me too,” he assured. 

And he was. Grateful.

For the life he’d had with you up until this point.

The family the two of you had created. The one you were so fiercely fighting for. Messily and viciously, all from a good place. The best place. 

He licked at his dry lips, leaving his mouth to hang open slightly as he watched you descend down to his semi that was hidden in the confines of his jeans.

“Both of us need warming up,” he mused, his hands sliding from your hair and down your back, slowly and gently to your slightly raised bum from how you had placed yourself over the center console. “In’t that right?”

A dull slap of his hand against your leggings-clad bum had you rocking back as you felt his hands slide under the waistband to massage at your cheek.

Swallowing heavy, Harry tilted back his head and even through his hooded eyes he caught his blissed expression in the rear view mirror, as he felt you take his balls into your mouth and gently suckle.

He rasped your name as he basked in the dirty licks, heavily laden with saliva from your watering mouth before you took him into your throat. Obscene sounds from your actions wove between his heavy breathing and quick pants. 

“Fuck me, darling.” 

With his hand that was still against your bum, he pulled you closer. Hands desperate to have purchase of something as you gently but messily sucked and licked, desperate to feel the tickle of his pubic hair against the tip of your nose to know you’d successfully taken him all the way down.

His breathing was shaky, a quick hiss leaving his lips as he felt the way your nails dug into his denim clad thighs from his previous movements to try and hold steady. The position wasn’t ideal, but the feeling of your shaking breath against his wet cock as you nosed against his jeans had him smiling.

As you turned your head slightly to look at him from the corner of your vision, you noticed the way he was looking down at you. How powerful he seemed in that moment as you were slightly beneath him. 

The thought changed though with the way his hand came up to your face, his thumb against your wet lips for the shortest time before he cradled the back of your head to help pull you back up and avoid any mishaps. 

He tugged you forward to crush his mouth to yours with pleased hums as he tasted himself on you. Lips smacking as he pulled kiss after kiss from your mouth, smiling at the eagerness of you both.

His hands joined yours as they pulled at his jeans, his hips lifting in the seat and his arms strong as he pushed the denim and underwear down to sit closer to his knees. 

“Mm,” he hummed, as his bare bum cheeks met the heated seat beneath them. “Put the seats on fo’me.”

“Don’t say I don’t ever treat you nicely.”

He huskily chuckled as he brought your lips back to him again. “Nice an’ warm,” he lazily spoke, acknowledging the heated seats. “Jus’ for me.”

And he knew every bit of his words meant the double entendre that you had caught,looking on as you pulled away to sink back into your own seat 

Looking over at him, you noticed the lust behind his eyes as he slowly pumped his hand up and down his wet and aching cock when you sunk back into your own seat and watched his head loll against the headrest once more. His nostrils flared as he bit down on his bottom lip and nudged his chin up, getting you silently to come to him once more when he’d seen your movements in removing your own bottoms had ended.

“Wouldn’t do this for anyone else, y’know that?” You said around your messy kiss as you raised your legs and felt his hands guide you to straddle him. Hands splayed across your lower back and the top half of your bum as he secured you to him. 

“Should bloody ‘ope not.” 

As you sat above him, you could feel him there. Sprung back and wet. Your mouths rested against each other, heavy and open. Eyes moving to and fro over each other’s.

“Been at this too long to start sharing now.”

Your hips moved forward at his words, with the smallest of motions but it was enough to make his cock glide between your lips. His expression was one of immeasurable pleasure regardless of how little the touch.

Deep down you knew you didn’t have time for this sort of behaviour. The kind where you revelled in the nudge of him against your clit, and the way it caused you to gasp lightly while your brow creased and forehead fell against his. 

“Take it,” he encouraged as you rolled your hips on him. “Let me in.”

Heavy breathing and shaking hands, you held Harry’s eyes as you reached behind you to take him in your hand. 

Wrapping your fingers around his length, you raised yourself, feeling him shuffle down slightly  in his seat to help ensure you didn’t bump your head as you lifted. Fingers gave way when he lined up nicely, slipping only his tip inside of you.

This stretch was one like no other. A burn that you savoured as much as the expression that welcomed you from the desire felt by the only man who had ever made you feel this way. His one hand crawled up your back, to cup around your neck, anchoring you to him. 

When you were fully seated shaky exhales bounced against each other’s lips. Every tremble of you above him felt so vividly by Harry. The way your thighs shook from the small confines you found yourself in, to the quiver of your fingers against his neck and jaw. 

“You’re so big,” your moan was feeble. Embarrassing in many ways. Especially given the amount of times you’d done this with him. 

“Mm,” he agreed. “‘S cause ‘m so hot for you. Got me so hard. Always have.”

“Always will-“

“Always will,” he confirmed.

Your moan was thick as it left your throat, his words enough to get you to roll against him and have you clit drag pleasing against his pelvis.

He groaned, knowing that’s what you were doing too. Having been in this position so many times before. No one had ever had you this way, and you knew no one ever would either. A pleasure this giving was one of familiarity. Aided so deeply by feeling. 

When your mouth met his again the only word to describe your kiss was sinful. His tongue waiting to meet yours, flicking so easily and far too filthily for those on the cusp of middle age. 

But he still had it. 

The gleaming boyish gaze and curling smile. Could charm his way into any heart and into any pair of knickers. But the ones he had chosen time and time again were yours. Regardless of their sexiness at times.

“Yes,” you gasped, pulling away from his mouth and feeling his hands encourage the knocking of your hips against his. 

You were close, nowhere to go and not wanting to go anywhere. How you had made it here so quickly, you weren’t sure. Maybe it was the surroundings, how you potentially could get caught. Maybe it was because your partner - husband - just knew you so well. 

His eyes didn’t want to leave you as they admired the flushed skin you were beginning to show and the gleaming, plush lips that you were rolling into your mouth to hide your pleasure. 

“That’s it, fuck me,” his voice was hushed, quick in its delivery. “‘S wha’ it’s all about,” he hummed, as you rocked your hips over his. Knocking his head back against the headrest once more.

As he looked down his nose at you, he watched as your eyes fell to your navel, taking in each roll of your hips. Your expression dropped with realisation, slightly pained. “What’s wrong?”

Looking up at him, you wish you hadn’t. You wished you’d kept your eyes down to see the ripple of his abdomen each time your body flexed around him. That way it wasn’t doused in emotion, it was just raw pleasure that lived in your mind.

“We shouldn’t be doing this anymore. Needs to be the last time.”

A mix of a breathy laugh and scoff left his lips as he urged you to restart your hips that were starting to stall above him, “Bit late for tha’ now, don’t yer think?” 

Falling against him, you hid your face feeling his lips over the shell of your ear and against your hair. His hand gently stroked at your hair, lips moving to your temple and pressing affection kisses that did nothing but make you feel worse.

“Do you want t’stop? Mm?” He asked, feeling your hips so tight against his, but your core so open that he hoped you would say no. Widening his thighs he pressed his feet into the footwell, seeking momentum to meet your hips with his own.

“‘S okay to love me still,” he groused, feeling your chin tremble from his words. “‘S okay to let me love you still. This is okay, us just doing this is okay.” 

It wasn’t okay and he knew. He also knew everything he was saying - every single word - was just a way to satiate you. 

So, you let them. Swallowed the lump in your throat and inhaled deeply. 

His words were cut short as he groaned, “Sit up for me, fuck me properly.” 

Sitting yourself up, you felt the way Harry’s hands moved so that the backs of his fingers were smoothing against your lower stomach. Sweaty palm turned, he pressed it gently down your stomach and let his thumb finger your clit.

The softest frown hit your brow, as his thumb slowly rubbed in a downwards motion at your sensitivity. From his actions you felt a warmth pool around both him and you, Harry groaning appreciatively as he felt it too.

“Yeah,” he stressed the word as you gripped at his t-shirt which sat against his stomach. Cotton in handfuls as you scrunched the fabric. “‘S tha’ nice- good?”

You nodded.

“‘S it enough?”

You nodded with more fervour. Eyes holding his as you sucked your bottom lip into your mouth and scratched along his right forearm as he continued to gently swipe at your wet clit.

The abruptness of the rock to your hips showed itself as the warmth within your belly grew. Eyes now hooded, you were unable to stop them from closing as your mouth parted to desperately say, “Don’t stop.”

And you didn’t know who you were talking to; yourself or Harry.

Harry responded with a moan so deep that you clenched down around him, causing his free hand to reach up and squeeze harshly against your hips. 

“‘M going to come so hard for you ‘f you keep doing that,” he gritted, breathing shallow as he felt his chest constrict. “Like tha’, just like that.”

His words were low, and like just moments before you weren’t sure if they were for him or you, but they had you moaning his name. Head dropping against his, his hand gripping at the back of your neck. 

With one hard roll of your hips, you cried out, forehead against his chin and mouth fallen. His hand squashed between your bodies as you shook and convulsed. 

Pliant for him, you were too dazed to move as you felt his arm wrap securely around your back and hold you to him, tight.

A merciless and repeated smack of his hips upwards, which you were sure would have the car rocking, made you aware of him seeking his release. He moaned your name, as he pulled you down to him, his orgasm shooting into you.

His heavy breathing was hot against your sweltering skin when you finally came to, his grunts melding into your neck as your core continued to flutter in the aftermath of your own release. 

His hands somewhat selfishly and most definitely greedily moved you against him, both crooning at the sensitive rush that met you before he lifted you to aid himself with slipping out.

Cold air met his sensitivity, as he nuzzled against you. Hand crawling up your back, under your shirt and feeling your damp skin peel away from his own as he moved his hand up and down. 

“Want to try out the back wi’me after this,” he hummed, brushing your hair off your face with his other hand. His words were heavy as they pressed into the skin of your cheek while he still tried to catch his breath.

As much as you knew you should, you didn’t even try to stop yourself from nodding.

***

Looking forward to hearing all of your thoughts! x

[jjmaybanksbaby]

Where It Leads (Rafe Cameron)

Summer IV

Part 07: Crashing Down

series masterlist | previous part

summary: A jarring family emergency forces you to consider the future of your relationship with Rafe Cameron.

a/n: I'm a little bit emotional about this series ending because I've had so much fun writing it! Enjoy the last part and, as always, please come share your reactions with me in my inbox. Okay, that's all from me!

word count: 2.1k words

Rafe Cameron knew how to text. He was somehow witty, charming, and hilarious all in less characters than a single tweet. Texting with most boys was like talking to a brick wall: single-syllable answers, unironic uses of punctuation, asking “What are you wearing?” before even listening to how your day went. Though, to be fair, Rafe had asked that same question a few times, which always earned him a sarcastic answer in return. Well, except for that one time.

You’d been forced to spill the beans about your dreamy summer romance to Alice and Kensie after one of Rafe’s funnier texts almost made you pee yourself laughing at the lunch table.

“Oh, so he’s a stud muffin,” Alice announced, peering over Kenzie’s shoulder at the photo on your phone.

“Please god don’t call anyone a stud muffin ever again Al,” Kenzie replied.

“What? The 80s are like making a comeback.”

“Yeah, not that,” you countered and Alice huffed.

“He’s totally hot though,” Kenzie said, handing the phone back to you. “And I kinda hate you for not telling us about him.”

You looked down at the picture. Rafe was kissing your check while you grinned up at the camera, the golden hour lighting made the whole thing look rather enchanting. It was your favorite picture of you and him.

“Oh shit,” Kenzie said causing you to look up from the phone. “You’re like in love in love with him.”

“What? No,” you protested. Yes, your brain corrected.

Kenzie glanced over at Alice for backup.

“Besides, I wasn’t hiding him. I just didn’t know if there was anything there to...tell,” you finished.

“I wish I had a handsome summer fling with spectacular cheekbones,” Alice sighed.

“Don’t let your boyfriend hear you saying that.” Kenzie chucked a fry off her tray at Alice who dodged it expertly.

“Oh, please. Matty knows I would dump his ass for someone who looks like a young Chuck Bass any day of the week. Gimme your phone. I wanna see the photos again y/n.”

“I seriously don’t know how you and Matthew have been together for two years,” Kenzie replied.

“Are you kidding? They’re practically made for each other,” you added.

“The phone, please,” Alice interjected. “I wanna thirst over your mans while my boyfriend is sucking up to his English teacher so she doesn’t fail him. Of course, I told him he needed to actually read Wuthering Heights and not just sparknotes it. But did he listen? No. I picked a real winner y’all,” she finished, taking the phone from your outstretched hands. “You sure Rafe doesn’t have any brothers? Not even like a half-step brother?”

So yeah, going great. Against the odds of three thousand miles, the whole thing was somehow working. Long-distance friends with benefits? Check. Well, except for those moments when that nagging feeling in your stomach came back and you’d start overthinking everything. His texts would sit, unread in your phone for days or even a whole week, slowly sinking to the bottom of your messages.

Then came the call from the Kildare Country Hospital in the early hours of a foggy April morning. You should have gone to sleep hours ago but were still up, desperately trying to cram Maria’s lines into your brain while also texting Rafe. The Sound of Music opened in three weeks and your director had already chewed you out twice for not being off-book, something about being an upperclassman and the lead, and what kind of an example were you setting for the rest of the program. Big speeches were kind of your director's thing, you learned to just ride them out.

Around 1 a.m. your phone ran with an incoming FaceTime call from Rafe. You pressed the green acccept button, a smile spread across your face as Rafe’s own filled the screen.

“Hey Broadway Star.”

“Hi Rafe.” The dim lighting of his bedroom made his feature especially striking. “What are you still doing up?”

“Can’t sleep. Plus you’re up too so. How’s the memorizing going?”

“Shitty,” you replied, closing your binder with a sigh. “I’m too tired to do anymore of it tonight anyway.”

“You know, I was thinking I could come to Oregon for your opening night?”

“Really?” The possibility of Rafe sitting in the audience made your heart race.

“Yeah, why not? I’ll ask Ward if I can borrow the plane that weekend and I bet Sarah’ll want to come too. I wanna see my girl kill it. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Rafe. You know my friends think you’re hot.”

“Oh, do they?” Rafe replied, rolling over onto his back in his bed.

“Don’t let it get to your head, Cameron.”

The home phone ran but you ignored it, much more invested in your conversation with Rafe. The second time the hospital left a message. Your Nonna’s heart had given out. The prognosis wasn’t good. She had barely any time left.

Your heart dropped as the words echoed over the speaker of the answering machine.

“Rafe,” you said, cutting him off momentarily. “I gotta go. I’ll call you back later. I gotta-” you ended the call before Rafe even had the chance to respond. You dropped your phone on the kitchen table, dashing up the stairs to your parents’ bedroom. Your father was booking a flight for your mother back to the Outer Banks minutes later.

The end had come so quickly, so unexpectedly. It was almost like that made it harder. There'd been just enough time for your mom and uncle to get to the Outer Banks, sitting on each side of your Nonna as her final breaths passed through her lungs. Now, everyone was there to say goodbye one last time. Uncle Austin and his fiancé. Your mom and dad. Both your siblings. The entire population of Figure Eight.

☼☼☼

Rain drizzled down from the dark, gray clouds looming overhead. It was as if Mother Nature was mourning your Nonna too, hiding the sunshine away.

Three baby ducks followed their mama into the man-made pond at the edge of the cemetery. You watched their tiny feet kick up small waves disturbing the peaceful water and the tears silently slipped down your face.

The cars were waiting to take you back to your Nonna's house for the wake. The same house with the for-sale sign now stuck in the front yard. The for-sale sign with Rose's patronizing grin that you were starting to really hate. Your dad had handled that. Listing the house. He'd handled most of the funeral arrangement's actually because your mother had been too sunken into her grief to make any decision. Sending out the invitations, picking out your Nonna's casket, choosing the flowers. Your mother clung to him during the entire funeral, weeping into his shoulder.

“Y/n?” Rafe's voice called out from behind you and you turned to see him walked toward you. He’d stood at the back of the church with his family during the funeral. You had longed for him to be sitting in the first pew next to you, to have had his hand to hold onto to ground you, but it hardly would have been appropriate. Your Nonna would have sooner risen from the dead than have had a Cameron front row at her funeral.

As soon as he was close enough, Rafe reached for you, pulling your body tight into him. Your head landed on his chest and the sobs came moments later. God, he always smelled the same. He just let you cry, holding you close, smoothing his hand over your hair.

“I know you’re selling your grandma’s house but I was thinking you could stay with me for the summer," he said as your tears began to slow. It was hard to imagine that you wouldn't return to the Outer Banks once school let out. It was the first week of May already and you could feel the tourist-attracting town waking up. But selling the house just made more sense. Your older sister was already living her life in New York, a real adult life. Next summer, you'd be moving out too, headed to college. The house would sit empty for eight months out of the year, your family couldn't keep it and your uncle certainly didn’t want it. Selling it just had to happen.

You stepped back, slipping out of his embrace. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Rafe.”

“Why not?”

“Cause we’re like Romeo and Juliet.”

“I copied Cleo’s notes for that unit," he joked, trying to lighten to damp mood. “Plus I was never a fan of Leo DiCaprio so I didn’t finish the movie either.”

“It means we’re not supposed to be together, you and me. And whenever we try, the universe rips us apart. We hurt each other.”

Rafe shifted awkwardly on his feet, clearly wanting to reach for you again but stopping himself from doing it. “But I can't lose you.”

You reached your hand out, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. “Oh Rafe, don’t you get it? You never really had me.” You stood up onto your tiptoes to kiss him just like you had the first time three years ago. Rafe barely parted his lips, kissing you back gently. Your hand cupped his face, your thump stroking over his cheek. It was a goodbye. Both of you knew it. It was an ending and this was your closure. You pulled away, your hand falling away from his face.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say the actual words. Your eyes fell to the ground. You needed to walk away now. You side-stepped Rafe but he grabbed your waist, turning you back around to face him.

“So that’s it? You’re not even gonna try to fight for us?”

“What even is there to fight for, Rafe? I’ve been fighting for us for the past four years. If we were supposed to be together that car wouldn’t have crashed into ours, I wouldn’t have fallen for Evan when I did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation at my Nonna’s funeral. What? Are we supposed to do long distance for all of college? I hardly know who I am right now. I have no idea who I’ll be in the next four years. Our future selves might not even like each other. I’m not gonna wait around for you Rafe and I would never ask you to do that for me.” You twirled the small, star charm between your fingers, a nervous habit you'd developed over the past year. His eyes dropped down to your neck momentarily and his adam's apple visibly bobbing as he swallowed his next weeks.

“You were it for me, you know. I tried to give a fuck about anyone else but I couldn’t get your gorgeous, stupid face out of my mind. I only wanted you.” Rafe paused gauging your reaction “I was falling in love with you.”

Your eyes wandered over his stoic expression. “The feeling was mutual, Rafe Cameron.”

He dropped your wrist but you both stood, not moving or saying anything. “Do you wanna walk me back to the car?”

“Yeah.” He reached for your hand, interlocking your fingers. Your other hand held onto his bicep so you walked together through the graveyard back to the parking lot.

The moment felt precious and delicate, like the fragile china your Nonna used to collect. You wondered what would happen to all that china.

Rafe placed a chaste kiss on your lips before opening the door of the car.

“I’ll miss you,” you said, the words hanging in the air meaning so much.

“Me too,” Rafe agreed.

You wanted one more kiss, one more passionate declaration of how much this all had meant but that would make leaving Rafe so much more impossible.

You climbed into the car, dropping Rafe’s hand in the process.

“See you around Cameron.” You knew it wouldn’t happen but it felt better than a goodbye.

He smiled back. “Maybe so.”

Perhaps Rafe was right and you’d both end up at a small liberal arts college in California taking the same second-year Econ class with a professor who always smelled like weed. Perhaps the stars would align and two of you would realize the universe wasn’t trying to keep you apart. It was just waiting for the right moment to show you that the love you had for each other was the soulmates, forever and ever kind of love. Perhaps you would get married and Sarah would be your maid of honor, of course. You’d buy back your Nonna’s house to raise your troubling-making kids in. Perhaps, you would find your way back and wake up each day and choose each other again and again.

Or perhaps, he'd always be your right-person-wrong-time. And, in the end, the passing days will steal away your memories of the blue-eyed boy from the Outer Banks.

taglist! @oreoenthusiast13

[vannahfanfics]

Re:Connect

Category: Romance

Fandom: Kingdom Hearts

Characters: Sora, Kairi

Hi, everyone! I am super happy to present the story I wrote for the @sokaizine​! It was an honor to write for this beautiful zine, it really did turn out gorgeous!

A melody—the gentle ebb and flow of the waves sloshing upon a shore of pristine white sand, gracing Sora’s ears for what seemed to be the first time in decades. He stood with his toes wiggling in the slush beneath the sloshing water. The salt stuck to his skin with every gush of the water around his calves. His nerves echoed the chime of “home, home, home sweet home” that had been resounding in his heart since his plummet from the World of Darkness several days ago.

Yet Sora stood there, head tipped back to allow the sunshine to kiss his face while breathing in the salty breeze because some part of him still couldn’t believe that he was home. Part of him feared that when he’d open his eyes, he’d be standing not on Destiny Islands but on one of the many other worlds he’d traversed. Part of him feared the waves and wind in his ears—the melody he’d so sorely missed—had been a figment of his imagination. 

Eventually, Sora’s neck grew cramped for being craned for so long, forcing him to drop his chin to his chest and open his eyes. He felt a little silly for the flood of relief that washed over him when they beheld the horizon line between the sapphire sea and the aquamarine sky. Since when did I worry about things like this? he thought, the corners of his smile sagging down. By now, he thought he’d be back to himself—running along the beach laughing without care, playing games with his friends. 

He was beginning to think that Sora was gone entirely, replaced by the brooding imposter he was now. 

Groaning, Sora tucked his fist under his chin and stared thoughtfully at the waves splashing around his bare legs. He’d rolled up his pants, but the tucked hems still darkened with water as the seafoam and salty droplets flew up with the coursing currents surging up the shoreline. His eyes reflected the ribbon-like white patterns of the froth lapping at his shin and streaming around him to dissolve into the saline solution. He wondered if he too was dissolving away, bits and pieces of him joining the ocean to be carried away with the tide... never to return. 

“Sora?” 

Ah. Another melody he’d sorely missed. 

Sora turned around with raised eyebrows to see Kairi standing just out of reach of the flowing water. Her long auburn hair rippled in the sea breeze, as did the fabric of her pleated skirt and white button-up. 

“What are you doing?” she inquired cutely, in that innocent, non-judgy way she always did. “I half expected to find you napping, you sleepyhead.” 

The corners of Sora’s mouth twitched, and he cast his gaze down to the expanse of white sand beside her. He could envision his younger self lying there, stretched out like a lazy cat in the sun snoozing the day away. When did he lose that urge, that childish ability to fling his cares into the breeze to be spirited away into the great unknown? 

“Heh. Yeah,” Sora chuckled weakly and turned back to the horizon. He slipped his hands in his pockets as his eyes became lidded. “Guess I’m not that sleepy,” was all he responded with. 

“Sora? What’s wrong? You seem… sad.” 

He tensed at the confusion that bled into her voice this time. He should have known better than to be evasive; Kairi knew him better than anyone, after all. She could hone in on his mood changes with the precision of a hawk. 

Instead of inventing an excuse for his obviously odd behavior, Sora breathed a heavy sigh and removed one hand from his pocket to scratch awkwardly at the back of his neck. 

“You promise not to laugh?” he asked Kairi quietly as he peeked over his shoulder at her. Honestly, he felt so silly standing there sulking on the beach because of some twisted identity crisis. Kairi’s face melted into a sweet, sincere smile, and though she hadn’t even said anything yet, Sora relaxed. 

“You know I would never.” 

“Well...” Sora sighed vexatiously, “I’m feeling a bit… disconnected.” He returned his gaze to the ocean stretched out before him to watch the sunlight refract against the curling waves to make them sparkle like blue diamonds. He dropped his arm down, clenching and unclenching his fist as he struggled to verbalize his perplexing emotions. “Like I just… Like I’m a different person now.” 

“Of course you’re a different person.” When he looked back to her, she was slipping out of her flats and socks so she could step into the surf and stand beside him. She clasped her hands behind her back and leaned forward, flashing him that bright smile that kept him going through many, many dark days and nights. “It’s been almost two years, hasn’t it? Of course you aren’t the same as you were back then, but that’s not a bad thing.” 

Sora poked his lips out in a little pout, not entirely convinced. Before he could refute her, Kairi giggled and splashed around to step in front of him. Still smiling that toothy smile that seemed to shine with the moon and stars themselves, Kairi gently grabbed his wrists to hold them out. Her fingers slowly slipped across the surfaces of his palms, roughened from bearing his Keyblade, to loosely link their fingers. 

“You’re different in some ways, but you’re still the Sora I know,” Kairi consoled him confidently. 

“Are you sure?” Sora whispered, admittedly growing a little frightened. How could she be so assured that he had not lost everything that made him Sora? Funny faces, minor pranks, boundless optimism, emboldened courage, adventurous dreams… Right now, Sora felt as if he couldn’t summon those personality traits no matter how hard he tried. Right now, all he felt was doubt. 

“I’m positive.” She waded backward in the waves, pulling him along until the water lapped at their upper thighs. “I’ll prove it to you.” 

“How?” 

Of all the answers, Sora did not expect it to be him on the receiving end of a face full of seawater. 

“Kairiiiiii!” he whined as he hunched to the side, spitting the disgusting briny water off his tongue and blinking away tears that streamed from his red eyes burning from the salt. Kairi laughed and splashed him again, this time dousing his spiky brown hair. He contemplated what to do for a split second, but then buried memories burst forth, guiding his body into action. With a small growl, he side-eyed her with vengeful determination. “All right, you get over here!” 

Kairi squealed as he lunged toward her. She just managed to skip out of his grasp, retaliating with another splash in his face. Sora spat out water again, but this time he felt something oddly slimy on his face. When he cross-eyed his vision, he could just barely see the wispy fronds of some green seaweed decorating his upper lip like a kelpy mustache. Kairi howled with laughter, pointing at the leafy addition to his visage. 

“Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?” Sora grinned as he pulled the seaweed from his face and flung it away. He wiggled his fingers threateningly while he crept towards her. “I don’t think you’ll find it very funny when I give you a whole seaweed beard, Kairi!” 

“I bet I can pull it off better than you could,” she teased, sticking out her tongue and flashing him a wink. Sora’s grin darkened, and his eyes narrowed with determination. 

“That’s it, Kairi! I’m gonna getcha!” 

Kairi’s screeching laughter bounded across the sand, rustling the fan-like palm leaves and shaking the fuzzy coconuts as Sora surged forward. His motion created waves of its own, colliding with the others to surround the two teenagers with froth and bubbles. The water hampered Kairi’s movement as she attempted to sprint away, and Sora used his larger frame to his advantage as he jumped forward to wrap his arms around her waist. 

“Ahh! Sorry, no, I’m sorry! Please don’t give me a seaweed beard!” Kairi giggled and swatted at him over her shoulder. Sora easily dodged her half-hearted slaps while weaving one arm around her waist to pin her left arm and used his other to snatch her right wrist. 

“Can’t escape now,” Sora grinned widely. As he held her there, preparing to dunk her head in an oncoming wave, Kairi craned her head with that brilliant smile once more gracing her face. Her eyes shone and her cheeks flushed rose in exhilaration, while her chest heaved in breathless exertion. 

“You see?” she said warmly. “You’re still my Sora.” 

As soon as the words “my Sora” passed her pretty pink lips, Sora’s jaw became unhinged. It swung stupidly, leaving his mouth gaping wide as he stood utterly stupefied. My Sora. My Sora, her words chimed in his head like the bells of Twilight Town, over and over to signal to the oncoming sunset. As the diamonds on the water filled with gold to turn them into gleaming topazes, Kairi slipped her hand from his slackened grip to adoringly cup his cheek. Her sky blue eyes flooded with the sunset, mirroring the red-orange-gold of the sky blazing above their heads. 

“My Sora,” she echoed, just a feather of a breath whisked away by the breeze no sooner than he’d heard it. If he hadn’t seen her lips moved, he would’ve sworn he imagined it. His eyes filled with tears, and he reached up, overlaying his large hand over her much daintier one. 

“Am I dreaming?” The question came out as a choked sob, the fear cracking his voice like shattering granite. “Is any of this for real, or not?” 

“Of course it’s real, silly,” Kairi laughed, but not a chuckle of derision; it was filled with so much warmth, so much love, that Sora couldn’t feel the sun on his skin anymore because her glow basked him entirely in its light. “The wind in your hair… The sound of the waves… My hand on your cheek…” She punctuated the last statement by gently caressing his cheekbone, sweeping away his streaming tears with her thumb. “It’s all real. You’re home, Sora.” 

Sora didn’t say anything. He couldn’t say anything. His throat had constricted impossibly tight, preventing him from nearly breathing, let alone talking. So instead, he leaned forward to press his forehead into hers. The water slicked her skin, making him slide a little, but he didn’t mind. Finally, that sharp-toothed beast of doubt and delusion that had been gnawing at him for days had been vanquished with Kairi’s soft words. 

This was his home. This was his Kairi. 

“Thank you,” he finally managed to murmur. Kairi hummed in satisfaction. She allowed him to continue to hold her, to osmose her presence that he’d been deprived of for so long. From the blissful expression on her face, she was doing the same with Sora. 

The sunset coated them in its dying light, casting them in gold. They stood like bronze statues in the water, a monument of innocent past and uncertain future. When Sora finally convinced himself to pull away from her, they waded together back to the beach, where several Thalassa shells had washed up into the sand. 

“Not feeling disconnected anymore, are you?” she asked as they lazily meandered alongside the delineation between wet and dry sand. They stood close, close enough for her shoulder to bump against his bicep with every stride. 

“Nah,” he said with a peaceful smile. “I feel like myself again.” 

All Sora had needed was for someone to reconnect him. 

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[angst-fairygodmother]

May I send in a request if it’s not too much trouble? Maybe some mutual pining/yearning with Diego, and it’s just really fluffy? I know it’s not a lot plait wise, sorry, so you can kinda do whatever, as long as it’s fluffy(I love your angst but i am in desperate need of some fluffy with my #1 stubby husband) 💚💚💚💚

A/N: Hello darling! This is a fantastic trope! Thank you so much for your request. Hope it’s everything you were looking for 😊 Word Count: 1861

You had known Diego Hargreeves for years, shared laughs and tears and secrets with him and he had shared them with you. You had met his mother. You were confident in calling him your closest friend. So of course, like a romance movie cliché, somewhere between bickering over the last slice of pizza and trying to stay up long enough to watch every Star Wars movie in one sitting, you’d fallen in love with him. But, like any good protagonist, you were too stubborn to admit it, too sure that he was still in love with Eudora Patch and would never see you in that way and it would only ruin your friendship.

So you tried to move on, kissed frog after frog, hoping for one of them to be Prince Charming, even though you knew he was standing right beside you, ready to throw knives if any of them treated you wrong.

He also did things like warn you that it was dangerous being friends with him or try convince you that he wasn’t worth it, whatever ‘it’ was. Eventually you convinced him to stop that nonsense by agreeing to take some sort of self-defense class, which turned into him teaching you self-defense, and then basic self-defense and boxing.

And then you found yourself rearranging your entire schedule so that you could go down to the Fighting Lion and get your first lesson, and then maybe hang around to watch Diego’s match. But you definitely weren’t in love with him and had totally moved on. Absolutely.

“Didn’t you have a date tonight?” Diego asked, trying hard to play the question as an off-hand curiosity as he gave you a greeting hug. And if he held you a little tighter or for a few seconds longer than he had in the past, who would know.

“I, um. I cancelled,” you replied, not meeting his eye.

“Oh?” his brows shot up in surprise. You had been talking about this date for weeks, and sounded really into the guy.

“Yeah. I just, wasn’t really feeling it, you know?”

“What?” he laughed incredulously. “Two days ago you wouldn’t shut up about him.”

“Well, things change, alright?” you snapped. “Now are we going to sit around gossiping like old hens or are you going to teach me how to fight?”

He sighed, shaking his head ruefully. “Yeah, yeah. Go change and I’ll get set up.”

When you walked back out of the locker-room in your tight-fitted workout clothes a few minutes later, pausing to use the wall to help you stretch your limbs, Diego couldn’t help trailing his eyes over your form especially lingering on your ass and the way it filled out your shorts. He bit his lip, forcing himself to turn away before you noticed.

“Alright, Hargreeves,” you said, and he looked over at you, trying his best to pretend he had just noticed your return. “I’m all dressed up. What’s next?”

You flashed him a smile, the kind that he wished he could believe was specially reserved for him, but in fact was the same bright and enthusiastic one you gave the whole world.

“Wrap your hands and wrists for support,” he said, tossing you a roll of tape.

Fumbling a bit, you caught the tossed object and stared at it as if it was a snake threatening to bite.

Diego chuckled. “Do you need me to show you what to do?”

Biting your lip, Diego’s eyes flicking down to them at the motion, you shrugged. “That would probably be for the best.”

Almost immediately, you regretted agreeing to that as he walked over, taking one of your hands in both of his. You knew that it was just to keep you steady and still while he wrapped, but still it made your heart race and you could only hope that he didn’t notice. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, watching the intense focus on his face, hearing him speak but not the words he said as he explained how to do it so you could for yourself in the future. In your head, he was saying sweet nothings and holding your hand just to hold it, and you felt frustrated with how much you wanted that thought to be real.

“There,” he said, securing the end of the tape on your second hand with a pat and shaking you out of your dream-state. “You’re good.”

“Huh?” you frowned, mind slow to catch up to reality. “Oh, right. Thanks.”

From there, you did all you could stay focused, especially when he decided the best teaching method after the most basic information to keep you from hurting yourself was to just throw you into a fight against him and tell you to do your best. You were impressed with how you held your own, dodging more than striking sure, but he was meant to be a superhero and you had the reflexes to avoid his blows. (It at no point occurred to you that he might be going easy on you.)

“Come on, Y/N. You can’t win a fight if you don’t hit me,” he scolded, laughing.

“But I can’t lose it if I don’t get hit either,” you panted, struggling not to let your guard drop as you grew tired.

“Yes you can,” Diego stopped, dropping his hands and shifting into lecture mode. “Exhausting yourself is just as dangerous. If you’re trying to avoid a fight, which you should, get one good swing in to stun the other person and then run. Don’t just dodge and duck like you’re toying with them. Because you will screw up.”

You huffed. “Fine, I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” you snapped. “Any other tips?”

“Every time you dodge, you drop your left side, leaving yourself vulnerable.”

“Noted. Back to the fight now?”

“Are you actually going to fight or just keep dancing?” his eyes crinkled in a smile and your heart skipped a beat, again.

“If you want to see dancing, I can dance,” you suggested with a smirk. “But yes, I promise I’ll take your suggestions and use them to beat you, and actually do it this time.”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head, and raised his hands back up, stance shifting. “Bring it then.”

“Sure you can handle that babe?” you taunted, darting in on a feint.

Only he froze at your teasing nickname, and your fist connected with a solid ‘crack!’ Diego stumbled backwards on the mats, hands coming up to cup his now bleeding nose.

“Ow!” he groaned.

“Shit! Oh god Diego, I’m so sorry!” you yelled, panicked, rushing over to him and placing your hands over his, trying to guide them down so you could inspect the damage you caused. “Is it broken? Do you need tissues? A doctor?”

“No, no it’s fine,” he assured you, shrugging you off, voice muffled and distorted by his hands and the rapid swelling of his face.

“What happened?” you snapped, voice still high with fear. “That was an easy shot to block!”

“I…I don’t know,” he muttered.

His eyes locked with yours and you stood there, staring at each other.

“I just…you called me babe…”

Your stomach lurched. You had, without thinking anything of it. It had been a joke, or maybe a subconscious slip of the tongue. Had it upset him? Or did you dare to hope…?

“That was an excellent hit,” he continued, finally bringing his hands down, checking to see if his nose was still bleeding and sniffing dramatically to clear the airway. “If you do that any time someone gives you a hard time, no one’s ever going to dare mess with you.”

You smiled weakly. “I don’t think most of my enemies would be so in love with me I could distract them so easily…”

“I wasn’t…I’m not…what are you talking about?” he scoffed.

“Relax, Di,” you sighed. “It was a joke.”

You both lapsed into a momentary silence.

“What if…I was?” he asked hesitantly a moment later, just as you were about to ask if the training session was over.

“What if you were what?” you countered, frowning and puzzled.

“…in love with you…” the confession was so low and mumbled that you wouldn’t have caught it at all if you hadn’t been so familiar with Diego and all of his moods.

You laughed nervously. “I must have hit you harder than I thought, cus you’re not making any sense.”

“I’m serious, Y/N.”

“You…what?” You blinked at him, dumb-founded. “You can’t be.”

You thought you must be dreaming, there was no way this conversation could possibly happening, so you settled firmly on denial, not wanting to fall for his prank or whatever this was. Because if he were telling the truth, then you had denied yourself and hurt yourself for years for no actual reason, and that wouldn’t be fair.

“Why can’t I be?” he asked, stepping closer, frowning.

“Well…because…” you cast about for any good reason why your best friend that you were in love with shouldn’t or couldn’t be in love with you right back.

“Y/N, you don’t have to make up excuses. I won’t be upset if you don’t feel the same, and I won’t let it ruin our friendship. It hasn’t so far.”

“How…how long?” you choked out, now fighting back tears.

He shrugged. “A year or two at least. I can’t really say when it happened.”

“Oh, Diego…why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugged, unable to meet your eye. “I don’t know. It didn’t seem like the right time? And then you were dating other people.”

“Because I was trying to get over you!” you shouted, your frustration at the ridiculousness of it all spilling over. “I thought you were still in love with Patch or some dumb shit so I was dating other people. I thought if I found someone good enough, someone fine, I could make myself feel for them what I feel about you, you asshole!”

He stared at you, mouth agape. The horror of everything you just admitted hit you like a brick to the face and you felt the intense blush flood over your face and neck and like you were going to be sick; you wanted to actually vomit.

"W-what?"

The tears that had been stinging spilled down your cheeks. Rough, calloused fingers and tape wrapped palms reached up to brush away their wet tracks.

"Y/N…?"

"I've been in love with you for years, dammit. I just...never had the guts to tell you'" you admitted at a whisper.

And then his lips were on yours and it was...actually kind of awkward, wet with tears and tangy with the lingering salt-metallic taste of his blood and both your sweat. Pulling back to rest your forehead against his, you smiled softly.

"Not that I didn't appreciate it, because I have been wanting to kiss you for a long time now, but maybe we should clean up a little first?" You suggested.

He laughed. "Yeah, probably. And I have a fight later to drop out of."

"What? Drop out of? Why?"

"I've waited too long to take you on a date. I'm not waiting another minute."

[stomp-that-ho-regard]

Needed to get this campaign wrap-up rant off my chest...

This is the specific part that irked me:

MATT: "While he never voiced this in game, Caleb's feelings for Jester have been an important part of his journey. Did he ever come close to confessing? How was playing such a long lasting, one-sided love after our last campaign's bittersweet ending for a Vax and Kiki?"

LIAM: I was never going to do romance of any kind, one-sided or otherwise in this campaign, because I felt like we really explored that pretty heavily campaign one. I think you'll remember Jester drove Caleb nuts at the beginning of the campaign, and so it was nothing that I ever expected at all. And then when they were in, was it Rexxentrum wherever the dance hall was. And I alluded to this earlier, dancing was never anything that I imagined for Caleb, but it was just like, and you were asking him to dance, Jester was asking him to dance. I was like, "Oh, this could be an interesting way to like sort of seed my story, that we're not really around yet." And there was something about, not the dancing, but the way that Jester treated him kindly after the fact like his response was to be like, "I'm going to go fucking vomit in a street, and just be by myself," and she wouldn't let it happen. And that was just like this first little moment where someone was like-- Everyone in the Nein-- I want to answer another question while I'm answering this. I wonder if we had gone that different direction that we talked about earlier where we didn't go crime, and we had gone into Rexxentrum earlier, and if Caleb had started interfacing with his past earlier, I think he would have had a gnarlier, more severe trajectory in this campaign. If he had touched his past sooner, it would have changed what he was, but he spent way too much with the Nein, for when we finally did catch up to them, it was too late, that he'd already been healed enough by the Nein, it didn't matter. And everyone in the Nein had an effect on Caleb, they all had their love like in different ways; Yasha, he could relate to. Caduceus was like a guru that confused but inspired. Fjord, who Caleb thought was real hot at the beginning of the campaign, was a great leader and, like, just I don't know, I feel like he was his closest friend, outside of Nott, early in the campaign. Beau brought tough love. Veth was this ultimate support no matter what happened. But what started to happen with Jester was that she was treating Caleb like the person-- She was treating him as if he was the person he should have been. Like none of it had happened. And he became like-- It just got in him, but he would have never wanted to saddle her with all his shit. And the difference, like-- There was also a point in the campaign where I could see, in Yasha's absence, Beauregard warming up to her, and I already quietly been thinking and going like, "Well, I'll just have this little thing that maybe fans will see," and some did early on, like it was silent. It was all silent. And then I was like, "Well, Travis is never going to do it." Oh, Travis just came online, so the entire side of the table quietly like, "Oh," at Jester for a while. But Caleb knew that Beau and Fjord would've been far better for her, because they would have put aside anything for Jester and made her their number one. And Caleb knew that, as much as she like changed him and helped him in a very specific way, and and he quietly fell in love with her and like a Jane Austen, I'm never going to say it. That he would never have set aside the things that he was trying to do. He would never have set aside trying to either get back to his parents and fix that. He would never set aside trying to undo the Cerberus Assembly if he were strong enough, so, like, that was too all-consuming, and so he would never wanted to saddle her with it, so it was always going to stay inside. And there were multiple times in the campaign where Jester teasingly needled Caleb, and I was terrified that you would say the word "Insight check," multiple times.

LAURA: I think I did it once.

LIAM: Well, you must have rolled really low when you did because I did my best to like pull faces at you, and poo poo it, and do something silly to dodge out of those situations.

LAURA: Are you secretly in love with me?

LIAM: And yeah, you said that, and I went like (blows raspberries) that's fucking ridiculous with my face, and we moved on. (laughter)

LAURA: It's so funny when you joke about the whole table being in love with Jester because Jester had, like, no concept of it at all. Her whole upbringing was everybody being in love with her mother, and her whole, and she knew she's so different from Marion, in her appearance, and the way she presents herself that-- To her, that is what people want, that's what everybody would be in love with. And so there was never-- She would never have thought in a million years that Beau would have been interested, or that Caleb would have been interested, or that Fjord would have been interested. She tried to be Marion and when she was coming on to him in the early campaign, and obviously, it did not work. So she was like, "Okay, then-- Nobody's-- That's not going to happen for me." So it just like turned off in her brain, like nobody will.

TRAVIS: There was a moment where that stopped, too, because like you doing the thing that you thought your mom did and that worked, you know, Fjord's like, "I've never been flirted with before, I don't know what this is. Stop doing it." All that behavior stopped, and you like let the happy Jester fall away. Like, I think it was on the sea, right, like with the jellyfish scene. And then it all happened.

MARISHA: That's when you started crying. There was a few times where there was these moments of Jester smiling, but tears were streaming down her face.

TRAVIS: Yeah.

MARISHA: Trying to be the happiest person in the room. And then, yeah. I don't know. Jester always had this, but I think why Jester is so enigmatic, and so easy fall in love with is because she is the purest person in the room, so that it invites this kind of--

LIAM: Which doesn't even mean innocent, it just means the purest person--

MARISHA: Pure, yeah. It's just very endearing and it got in the way-- and this is almost going to sound condescending-- but almost in the way that a child is where if a little girl runs up to you, and they're like, "Look at this card, I think I want to cover the whole thing in glitter." You kind of have no choice, but to be like, "Yeah, that's a great idea."

LAURA: Yeah.

MARISHA: Cover the whole thing, and like, even if it's bad. She felt like almost like the perfect exercise for "Yes, and-ing." Like, the concept of "Yes, and-ing," because half of them were terrible ideas, but you were like, "Yeah, brilliant."

LAURA: Also, I feel that people are drawn to somebody who sees the best in them, right? You're drawn to somebody that loves you, and she just has an unconditional love for like everybody--

LIAM: She changes everyone she meets, including a hag in a hut.

MARISHA: Yeah.

TRAVIS: Yes.

Laura’s answer here is, for the most part, true. Jester was always pretty oblivious to people being into her. That was a pretty clear character trait. However, that still doesn't explain her roleplaying choices after Beau’s confession. And I wish someone was able to ask her about that and get a direct answer. Why was there a behavior shift? Was it just Laura trolling and teasing Marisha about it, or was Laura actually trying to force Beau to confess directly?

There was a pretty condescending post about this that I found in the discourse tag that said: I know it won't happen cause people never cared about what she says anyway, but Laura confirming again that Jester never knew about Caleb and Beau's feelings for her should be enough to stop the dumb takes like "bj was happening before the hiatus but then they decided to change it" or "Jester was falling in love with Caleb and she changed it" or whatever.

‘Laura confirming again’ Again? What other time has she said this?

‘Jester never knew about Caleb and Beau’s feelings’ Laura said that ‘She would never have thought in a million years that they would be interested’ and included Fjord in that section too, so whatever point this person’s trying to make is moot.

Countering that, I want to say, that nothing in Laura’s answer seemed to give the impression that Jester would have turned down Beau (or, hate to say it, even Caleb) had they actually confessed to her. There’s nothing in her answer to imply that Jester could not have reciprocated those feelings had she known. Nowhere did I get the implication that Jester was only ever interested in men and that Fjord was the only viable choice. (Laura still has not addressed Jester’s sexuality. FJ shippers love to ignore that, and still swear up and down that she’s straight.)

Now when Marisha piped in, she didn’t even focus on Beau’s feelings, and the depth of what she was feeling at the time. Instead, she’s wrote them off. Again. Intentionally minimizing and essentially doubling down on what was said in ep108. That it’s just so easy for anyone to fall for Jester, even going as far as calling her ‘pure’. Basically infantilizing her, by comparing her behavior to that of a child which yes, Marisha, does sound condescending. (You can add that to the list of ‘sparkles’ ‘confetti’ and ‘shiny’.) And that’s it. That’s the extent to which she talks about it.

Also, the fact that the Beaujester stuff was only brought up (very briefly and casually), as a sort of ‘b’ topic to WJ. Liam got to go off on this whole extremely long-winded reminiscing answer because he got a direct question about it. It’s like, “And none for Beaujester!” Once again, Caleb’s feelings being given more weight than Beau’s ever were. 

So, another kick in the teeth. Not so much from Laura. But from Marisha. The person who MADE THE CHOICE to inject Beau developing feelings for Jester into the canon narrative. The way Marisha talks about it now, it’s just a complete mind fuck as to why she made the decision to have Beau confess at all. Why even open that door? Even if she felt, at the time, that Beau would feel this way, she could’ve just kept it to herself. And not made waves about it. And not doubled down on it the following week. And not had continued for at least THREE MONTHS after that to roleplay Beau STILL having obvious feelings for Jester. I mean, come the fuck on.

Look at ep93 with the Hag. When Jester was telling the group that she gave the Hag something she had never given anyone before. Beau frowned and said, “Did you kiss her?” Beau had it so bad she got jealous of the Hag. Jealous of a fucking monster. Then ep94. Beau wanted to climb a tree to get a better look at their surroundings. Out of the blue, Jester smacked Beau’s ass to give her Guidance. She shot up the tree like a rocket and Jester was impressed. Marisha had to make it a point to say, “She thinks it’s the Traveler. It’s just ‘cause Jester smacked my ass though. I’m just very invigorated by THAT.” And of course ep99, with the sunburn compliment.

Marisha was definitely keeping this thing going, all the way up until the hiatus.

So why the weird answers? Why the vagueness? Why does she seem so insistent on driving home to the viewers that Beau’s feelings were/are no big deal. Does she think that talking about Beau’s feelings to the fullest and reminiscing (like Liam did) on a few of their moments would be some sort of insult to BY?

I will never stop being baffled.

[skullrock]

the first christmas

12 days of Christmas fics, day 7 - the first christmas

pairing: Joyce x Hopper

summary: It’s Eleven’s first Christmas, and Joyce and Hopper make it everything she ever wanted it to be, while kindling their own romance.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: none!

a/n: I think I am rly bad at writing jopper but I did my best <3 hope u enjoy! 

“Do you know what Christmas is?”

El shakes her head timidly, and Hopper lets out a deep sigh. Of course they never let her celebrate Christmas.

“What… is… Christmas?”

Hopper doesn’t know what to say. He tries to think back to what he had told Sarah when she was growing up, but nothing really comes to mind. He’s pretty sure Sarah just understood it  since she’d grown up with it. “Uh… it’s a celebration that we have every December to celebrate the birth….” Does El really need to know who Jesus Christ is? Does Hopper even know? “Of some guy that a lot of people… care about.”

“Like a birthday?”

“Yeah, except a lot of people celebrate.”

El nods. “What do we do?”

Hopper thinks the best way to show her is to have her watch some Christmas movies, hence why they were set up by the TV. “Here, you’ll get the hang of it.”

He almost showed her It’s a Wonderful Life, but Joyce vehemently protested, insisting on showing El Miracle on 34th Street first. Joyce said it was the best way to show El the meaning of Christmas, even if Hopper didn’t necessarily want El to believe in Santa. Hop trusted Joyce with his life, so he agreed, but he’s pretty sure it was the wrong call.

“Who is that?”

“That’s Santa.”

A long pause. “What does he do?”

Shit. “He’s the… person- he’s the image of Christmas. He brings gifts and makes sure everyone is being nice to each other.” He shakes his head at himself, but El seems to get it. She gets the present thing and the spirit of Christmas pretty well, but the legal proceedings weren’t helpful.

“Why don’t they think he’s real?” she asks quietly.

“Well, the guy is real, but people don’t think Santa is.”

“Is he?”

Jesus Christ. “Santa is a frame of mind. He might not be a real… person, but the message is there.”

El looks at him with furrowed brows, so he tries to elaborate.

“Santa… is Santa. He’s…. He brings people joy. So… if he’s not real, joy is still a thing.”

“Joyce?”

“No, not Joyce,” he laughs. “Joy. Happiness.”

“Oh.” She looks back to the TV. “Why isn’t it colored?”

“Old movies were in black and white.”

“Why?”

Sometimes Hopper hated being a dad, but only because he could not explain things very well. Not as well as Joyce could, anyway. He wishes she were here right now - not just to answer El’s questions, but because, quite frankly, he missed her. “They just were. I don’t know.”

“Oh. Okay.”

The movie finishes with El pretty much bouncing on the couch. She doesn’t verbally state her excitement, but it’s evident on her face.

“Fun, right? Makes you feel good?”

El nods. “Do we celebrate?”

“We will, if you want to.”

To be honest, Hop didn’t really know where he was going with this, hence why he didn’t think of a better explanation for Santa. He just remembers how much Sarah loved it, and he wants to make El that happy. He enlisted Joyce’s help with Christmas stuff, like finding presents and wrapping. Joyce loved El as much as Will and Jonathan, so she agreed easily.

El nods. “Yes.”

“Okay, well, get excited,” Hop says, pushing out of his chair. “It’s in twenty five days.”

El does the math in her head - 25 days was nothing after waiting forever for Mike. “Really?”

“Really,” Hop says. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

===

The Byers went all out for El’s first Christmas.

Joyce, Will, and Jonathan came to help set up the house on the fifth. Jonathan had made snowflake cutouts, which Will had covered, to hang around the house. Joyce brought Christmas books for El to read, peppermint cookies, and hot chocolate. They’d brought some ornaments that wouldn’t fit on their tree, as well as lights, for the tiny pine that Hop had cut down in the woods. El really liked the smell of pine, fresh and uplifting. Her smile didn’t falter for a second as everyone moved around the small cabin, hanging things and cleaning. Jonathan gave El an old Santa hat, but she put it on Hopper and pouted until he reluctantly wore it.

“Looks good on you,” Joyce said in passing, which made Hop stop trying to prop up the tree.

“You mean that?”

Joyce didn’t answer, but Hopper’s smile was as big as El’s.

Probably the first thing El picked up on when she moved in with Hopper was that he loved Joyce. She knew it way before him, and wanted them to be together more than he did. El liked Joyce and always felt close to her, but she wanted Hopper to be happy, too. Once she learned about mistletoe from a Christmas movie Hopper showed her, there was no stopping her. She was going to get them to kiss, just like the couples in the movies.

Will had found an old bundle up in their attic and brought it for El, confused with why she wanted it. He figured she just wanted to touch it, or wanted the whole experience, or something. El really just wanted to make it float above the two at the perfect time. Which was, admittedly, not tonight - but soon.

===

“Snow!”

Hopper nodded at the stove. “Yep, just in time for your first Christmas.”

El made Hopper blast Christmas records the entire morning of Christmas Eve, and she made him wear the Santa hat. Hopper would have been irritated if it was anyone else, but El’s goofy smile convinced him to keep the hat on. He made her Christmas themed Eggos, complete with crushed candy canes and white chocolate, for breakfast. As they sat to eat, Hopper noticed a mischievous smile on El’s face.

“What?” he asked, mouth full.

El looked up at him and smiled more, but didn’t say anything.

���Alright,” he said, staring at her carefully. “Better behave. Joyce and the boys are coming soon.”

El’s smile grew, and Hopper didn’t understand why. But he felt close to smiling, too.

===

“Jesus, Joyce,” Hopper groaned, helping her and the kids carry in presents. He didn’t even know where she got all of this, or how she could afford it, but every last parcel went under the tiny tree in the living room. El’s face hurt from smiling, but she tried not to be too excited.

“What?” Joyce asked, throwing her free arm out. Quietly, she adds, “I wanted her first Christmas to be memorable.”

“It will be,” he promises. “Thanks to you guys.”

Joyce places the present she was holding under the tree and hits Hopper’s chest lightly. “You did good, too, Hop.” She looks up at the Santa hat and smiles as she adjusts the brim. “It - It’s crooked.” Her tongue sticks slightly out of the side of her mouth as she stands on her tiptoes, and she lowers herself slowly, continuing to stare up at him. El watches closely, almost about to make the mistletoe hover above them, but Joyce finally breaks from her stare and brushes herself off. “Who wants to make cookies?”

The day went by quickly, spent baking and taking breaks to watch movies. Jonathan rolled his eyes nearly the entire time, but stayed patient for El - and for Will, too, who was enjoying it. Will explained things for El - like who the Grinch was, and how animated movies work. El would nod and listen, but her mind kept wandering to Hopper and Joyce, who were prepping things in the kitchen.

“You don’t have to bake a pie,” Joyce said, fiddling with the pie crust. “Just because you’re eating at our house doesn’t mean you owe us.”

“I owe you for more than that.” He leans against the counter and sips on his coffee. “You made her so happy.”

Joyce shrugs. “Every kid deserves a good Christmas. Especially her. And Will.”

Hopper nods and stops himself from thinking too hard about the last two years. The only good things about it was adopting El and reconnecting with Joyce.

“Remember that snowball fight in the schoolyard?”

Joyce smiles and nods. “The one you started?”

“It wasn’t me!” he promises, laughing. “It was another Jim.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Joyce beams. “The only person who would hit me in the head with a snowball is you.”

“That’s not true.”

Joyce scoffs and turns to him. “Do you think everyone should hit me in the head?”

“I’m not saying that,” he says slowly. “But you did get hit, like, ten times -”

Joyce reaches for some leftover cookie icing and swipes it onto Hopper’s nose. He’s taken aback, but Joyce smiles wide, wiping her hands on her pants.

“You did not just do that.”

Joyce feigns a frown. “Mmm. Looks like I did.”

Hopper reaches for the icing, but Joyce grabs his arm, laughing. “No, Hop - don’t -”

His finger swipes across her cheek and she gasps, not quite shocked but a little surprised, and grabs more for herself. “You ass -”

“Language,” he says, dodging her lunge. “Jeez, Joyce, you haven’t been this feisty since -”

“Since when?” she asks, lunging for him again, and Hop grabs her wrists to stop her. She takes a step towards him and their chests touch, both smiling. But Hopper’s smile falters, because Joyce is so beautiful, and this is the first time he’s seen her smile in a long, long time. He never wants the moment to end. Joyce suddenly bristles, and she gently slides out from his grip.

“Since high school,” Hop says smoothly, resting on the counter again.

“Yeah, well,” Joyce mumbles, once again playing with the pie crust. Her face falls, and then she looks over to him. “Do you even know how to make a pie?”

“You could teach me.”

She smiles again. “Well, I guess I have to.”

===

The kids managed to doze off, apparently too bored with the movies that were playing. Joyce and Hopper sat at the kitchen table, sharing cigarettes and a bottle of wine.

“What was the worst Christmas you’ve ever had?” Hopper asks, flicking his cigarette into the ashtray.

“Oh,” Joyce says, like she was waiting for the question. “First Christmas with Lonnie. He spent all of our money to get himself a - a - a gun. Didn’t even get me anything.”

Hopper swallows down his anger, never one to like Lonnie, especially after what he’d done to Joyce. “Damn.”

“Yeah.” She takes a drag. “Said his gift to me was to teach me how to use it.”

“Never took him up on it, huh?”

“No way,” she says, flicking her own ash. “What was yours?”

Hopper’s stomach drops and he diverts his eyes from hers, choosing to stare at the smoke rising from the glass tray. “First Christmas after Sarah.”

Joyce exhales slowly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have -”

“It’s okay,” he says. “I don’t think about it much anymore.”

Joyce frowns and reaches for his hand, resting hers on top of it. “You’re doing a really good job.”

Hopper chuckles. “Thanks.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

There’s a moment of silence before Joyce retracts her hand and asks, “What was your best  Christmas?”

Hopper smiles gently, takes a drag, and flicks the ash. “This one.” His eyes wander over the El, curled up on his chair, the boys sleeping on the couch. “It’s nice… being around people again. I guess….” He looks at his hands. “I guess I missed it.”

Joyce bites her lip. “It’s my best Christmas, too.”

Hopper looks up, brows furrowed. “Really?”

“Really,” she whispers. “Because I have Will, and he’s safe. And Jonathan’s safe. And El is safe and happy.”

“Yeah.” Hopper takes a slow drag. “You know why else it’s my favorite Christmas?”

“Why?”

He pauses. “Because I could spend time with you.”

He thinks he’s imagining Joyce’s blush, but she moves a hand up to her face to hide it, confirming its existence. “It’s been a long time, huh?”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It’s nice to….” He swallows. “To have you back.”

Joyce looks like she’s holding back, but she finally whispers, “It’s nice to have you back, too.”

And Hopper doesn’t know how, but there’s suddenly mistletoe hanging above them. He swears it wasn’t there before, that it just appeared in his line of vision. Joyce also seems shocked. “Wh - I don’t remember hanging that up.”

“Me neither.” Hopper puts his cigarette out and stands at the same time Joyce does to examine it.

“It looks like something from my house,” Joyce says, brows furrowed. “How - How’d it get - here?”

“What the hell is it hanging off of?” Hopper mutters, and then he realizes it’s floating - El.

His head snaps to the chair. El’s still curled up with her eyes closed, but she’s smiling slightly. Hopper smiles too, then looks back at Joyce, who’s still eyeing the mistletoe.

“How did it -?”

“Joyce.”

“Maybe one of the kids brought it -”

“Joyce.”

“What the heck is it hanging on?”

“Joyce!”

She finally looks at him. “What?”

Hopper was expecting her to get the hint. “Uh. Do you know what mistletoe is for?”

“Yeah?”

He chuckles timidly. “Eh - uh, Joyce.”

She shakes her head, lifts her eyebrows. “Yeah?”

He leans forward and kisses her, fast, so fast that she hardly even registers it. She looks shocked when he pulls back, and his cheeks flush. Joyce stares at him with wide eyes still, trying to process it.

“I’m so- shit, I’m sorry,” he says, but Joyce leans forward and kisses him, quick, before pulling back.

They both stare at each other, and then the mistletoe falls, shocking them both out of it. Will and Jonathan wake up at the sound, and El wipes her nose as she sits up and stretches. Hopper grabs the mistletoe and holds it while Joyce runs a hand through her hair, biting her lip to stop the smile. “Boys, we sh… we should probably go. It’s late.”

Hopper smiles as he watches them pack up, Joyce tripping over herself.

“Are you okay, mom?” Jonathan asks, holding onto her arm.

“Fine,” she says, waving him off, pointedly avoiding Hopper’s gaze. “Must - must’ve drank too much.”

“I’ll drive, don’t worry about it,” Jonathan says, helping her into her coat.

“You guys drive safe, okay?” Hopper says, an amused smile on his face, and Joyce’s cheeks flush.

“We will. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Everyone says their goodbyes - Joyce and Hop’s gaze lingering a little too long - and when the door shuts, Hopper turns on his heels, looking right at El. He smiles wide. “Didn’t know you were a little trickster.”

She beams and shrugs. “Merry Christmas.”

Hopper steps forward and hugs her, pulling her in close. “Merry Christmas, kid.”

===

tags:  @pterawaters​ @mpmarypoppins​ @kurtsbuckethat​

[anxiouslyfred]

Out of Ice Cream

for @magpiemorality​‘s Sanders Sides creative challenge I’ve done a story carrying on from this Dukexiety one shot where Virgil find out Remus is ticklish.

Here’s how I think they could get together

Warnings: Suggestive talk, quite a lot of suggestiveness really, tickling,

Let me know if I’ve missed anything. I’m never sure quite what to include in warnings

/\/\/\/\

Remus was actually innocent of the thing which currently had him carefully tracking every noise in the apartment. He just hadn't been listening to what Roman asked while his brother was over and looking for a snack in the kitchen. He still knew his room-mate would blame him for the last mint ice cream having been eaten and the punishment would be swiftly carried out.

While he wouldn't mind being pinned down by Virgil again, or being ordered to beg him, neither of those things were as pleasurable when accompanied by tickling. In fact Remus would happily put himself into position to beg if only it was for less innocent actions.

The awareness of the sounds of the apartment currently was a little pointless though, as the clock distinctly showed Virgil was still at work and wouldn't be home for another hour. That possibly gave Remus enough time to go to the shops and hopefully get some more ice cream.

Hopefully. Fingers crossed and toes tied in knots.

Actually tying his toes up made walking difficult so at least until he'd gotten the ice cream that could wait. No time for tripping over when its a serious case of avoiding wriggling fingers.

It was as he took the receipt, already reading it to thank the cashier by name that Remus saw his doom signed. The time was after Virgil would have left work and it would take a large dork sized miracle to get home before him now. At least he remembered to yell his thanks as he raced off, still hoping to avoid any retribution.

The hallway being silent outside their apartment could either be very good or a sign of doom and Remus couldn't decide which as he tried to catch his breath after the run. That was before he heard the footsteps moving about inside and had to just bite the bullet and race through it. Dodging the executioner sounded like a lot more fun than this afternoon was proving it to be.

“Virgie! I'm home and I have ice cream!” He trilled, almost singing, as he half ran half slid through to the kitchen, already getting the box out of the bag to throw in the freezer, using the door to stop his slide. No point in delaying anything by seeing how hard he could hit the cabinets today.

“And why might I ask were there none in there anyway? Those are my ice creams that you never touch.” Virgil raised an eyebrow, fingers twitching a little, enough Remus was very tempted to put one of the ice creams in his hand. Ice play wasn't really something he was into though.

Remus still just exaggerated a laugh. “Silly thing, a thief broke in, demanded ice cream and that was all we had! Roman was over. He can confirm.”

“So you gave my ice cream, repeating Mine, to your brother? Cause look what I have here.” Virgil smirked, bringing up the hand Remus had thought he was leaning back on, one of the blackberry and liquorice ice creams Remus loved in it.

“You want an adventure story or can I just start running now?” Remus bounced a little, already feeling the phantom tickles he was sure Virgil was about to threatened.

He was more enthralled by Virgil standing to lean over him to throw the ice cream back in the freezer to actually run though, at least until he heard the whisper of “Beg!”

Then it was all movement and Remus was dizzy in the best of ways as he raced through the rooms of their apartment, spinning past corners and trying to dodge past tight sections Virgil couldn't leap.

It was one of those areas that Remus was caught passing, Virgil apparently had learnt a few better ways to leap their furniture since discovering how ticklish Remus is. Being suddenly pinned to the floor when he'd been running a moment earlier made him feel even more like prey for some soaring birds even as he tried to scramble up again.

That just meant he was incidentally giving Virgil a piggy back ride and achieving nothing towards escaping the arms now teasing his neck and the top of his sides just above where Virgil's legs had wrapped and locked into place. “No no no nonononono. Ssssstoppppppp popopopop. I didn't mean to. Nononono.” Remus whined through loud laughter, nowhere near to his usual cackle, curling up instinctively as much as he could in the small space between furniture.

Remus didn't quite know what to make of it when instead of the tickling getting worse at their new position with him curled under Virgil on the floor he felt a kiss get placed on his neck as soon as his hand moved to try protecting his sides more.

“You're cute when you get all flustered like that Re. Maybe actually listen to what Roman asks if he can have next time though.” Virgil knelt up enough for Remus to roll until he was laying on his back. “I wonder if being tickled or the threat of it is the only way I can see you like that.”

“Almost sounds like you wanna ravish me there, Spidey Skelly.” Remus gasped, more than aware of what fun they could have with Virgil on top of him like this. It was just his nature to try and make him see it too.

Virgil didn't react in any form of rejection or disgust he'd expected though, instead leaning forward until there was little space between them. “If I do, are you objecting?” The whisper was lower than it had been by the freezer and entirely to blame for the groan Remus let out before finding Virgil backing off and getting up. “We should probably actually talk about, you know, being in a relationship and shit before that though, right?” Virgil sounded like his anxiety had just kicked in over just how forward he'd been acting.

Remus just blinked for a second, taking in yet another abrupt change of direction for the conversation happening without his input. Usually he'd be the one making the conversation derail but now Remus was convinced there had been no tracks to follow since he entered the apartment again. “Sure. I mean I don't mind if ya wanna ravish me without all that romance talk but we can do that now if you'd prefer? Or are you going to get annoyed over the ice cream again, cause you've kind of stolen my ability to get distracted today?”

“You got me more. I kind of assumed that was what you were doing when you weren't home anyway. We're cool on that.” Virgil waved it off, shaking his head a little. “So you actually do like me then? This isn't something Roman put you up to or whatever?” He'd moved to sit on the back of the sofa while speaking, only looking back over at the end of the question.

Remus just sat up, happy to stay on the floor. “Dude, if I thought you'd be willing to wreck me I'd have been kneeling and begging forgiveness as soon as you got home. You want candles and romance and I'll try my best. It ain't something I'm used to doing but you're way more than any of the hook ups I've had before could ever have been.”

“I was more thinking dates to see the trash marketed as horror movies and seeing how many cinemas we can get banned from, but trying to get kicked out of romantic restaurants while attempting Roman's version of a date sounds pretty hilarious too. You yell obscene things while I have panic attacks and we'll either have then jumping to give us free food or calling security on us within ten minutes.” Virgil shrugged, obviously ignoring the start of what Remus said, or rather just treating it as a Remus version of admitting to feelings.

“You get me, Jack Frost! So we're boyfriends now?” Remus cackled, kneeling to lean closer to Virgil as he spoke.

“Looks like we are.” The agreement was all he needed before Remus was pulling Virgil into a deep first kiss.

[but-first--tea]

LFRP: Omori Kaya

THE BASICS

Full name: Omori Kaya

Pronunciation: Oh-Moh-Ree   Kay-Uh  (Omori is her surname, Kaya is her given name)

Nicknames: n/a

Height:  5'6" (quite tall for a midlander hyur)

Age:  “A lady never reveals her age.” (adult)

Nameday: 32nd Sun of the 3rd Astral Moon

Languages: Doman, Common

Occupation: Not getting caught.

Current Residence: "Traveling abroad.“ (Basically living a tourist’s life in Eorzea, hoping to never be called out as the fraud she is. She’ll spend time as someone’s guest here, staying in a hotel elsewhere the next month, etc…)

Relationship Status: While she has never actually been married, the identity of the woman she pretends to be is a young widow and heiress. (Single)

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS

Hair color: Black

Eye color: Pale, silvery grey

Skin tone: Fair

Body type: Slender, athletic but not in an obvious way.

Scars: none

Accent: Doman

Posture

Poised, athletic– though she’s no master shinobi, she is her mother’s daughter. Her training began at the age of four, and it’s still evident in the way she moves, observes, and behaves. Others who have trained would likely notice it easily. She carries herself with quiet dignity, and moves (or refuses to) deliberately, as if she expects each action to be read for significance, and takes great care not to reveal too much unintentionally. Though, in the very rare instances when she lets down her guard, this facade can fade away, revealing that she’s still a girl who can be amused, and charmed, and is easily mesmerized by beautiful places and things.  

Accessories

She’s almost never seen without jewelry, though all of it is merely decorative– the trappings of the life she’s stepped into. None of it is personal, or carries meaning beyond appearing as she’s expected to.

Apparel

Her taste ranges from the classically dramatic to the outright exotic- not out of a sense of vanity, but in an appreciation of what is more or less wearable art.  She most frequently wears black and white, though she also favors blue and occasionally red. In keeping with her heritage, she tends toward modesty in her dress. Of course, most of these clothes once belonged to a woman whose identity she has stolen, and she’s begun to add Eorzean fashions to her wardrobe to stand out less.  The more she blends in, the fewer questions about her past she needs to dodge...

CHILDHOOD

Place of Birth: Doma

Siblings: none she knows of

Parents: The samurai Masanari and an Imperial Shadow named Harue, though Kaya has never known her biological father, as she was still less than a year old when he disappeared.

Upbringing: Raised initially by her mother, and later trained by grandmother once her affinity for magic became apparent. (More details can be found in her character history.)

PERSONAL

Personality

Outwardly, she is polite and mysterious, with a demeanor ranging from businesslike toward strangers, to an unexpected sort of mischievous and rebellious streak around the rare soul she’s begun to feel comfortable around. She’s evasive and distant. She rarely connects with others easily, which leads to most people assuming she’s either very shy, or rather snobbish, at first impression. She doesn’t trust easily, isn’t prone to showing any emotion in public if she can avoid it, and is often the one who, from an outward appearance, seems to be just another quiet wallflower enjoying the view.

Beneath the surface, however, she feels everything perhaps far too much, watches everyone with the wariness of someone who knows all too well what people are capable of, and deeply craves the connections to others she doesn’t seem to be able to form easily. She’s always searching for the few who can see the world the way she does- as something equally beautiful as it is deadly, meant to be lived in, not just endured. She’s a powder keg of passions always kept under a tight lid, hidden away for safe keeping.

Still, she is difficult to anger, and it’s a cold anger when it happens. She knows that engaging in violence and revealing her training would likely break character entirely, and being discovered as a fraud wouldn’t end well for her. As a result, she’ll try to think her way out of any situation, instead.

Motivations/Goals

If asked what she wants more than anything else in the world, she’d probably say to be able to do what she wanted, not what she was told, or allowed, or expected to. She craves freedom in all its definitions, but nearly always denies it to herself out of fear or pragmatism. While playing the role of a young, noble heiress she feels the restraints of her gilded cage all too keenly. She must behave in the way one raised to the role would be expected to. As a result, she finds small ways to rebel that aren’t likely to be noticed. Her fierce and defiant nature, thus repressed, will see her doing seemingly pointless things like rearranging the furniture in hotel rooms, stealing small items she could easily afford, or finding ways to secretly get even with those who have behaved poorly.

Financial Status

Ostensibly wealthy, though not one gil of it was ever truly hers. Still, she feels no guilt in obtaining the Omori family’s accounts considering they would have otherwise been seized by the Garlean government following Lord Omori’s assassination.

She has been quietly seeking a way to invest ‘her’ money in a way that would  divorce it from her stolen inheritance, make it more truly hers, and greatly reduce the risk of losing everything should her false identity be uncovered.

Weapons

While she was raised to the blade and bow for most of her childhood, she hides her training and doesn’t carry a weapon openly, if at all. If cornered and forced to defend herself, she’d mostly likely attempt to disarm an opponent and steal theirs, or improvise.

Vices

Seemingly none, as she has striven to present herself as a woman of proper graces. However, she is prone to self-indulgence and spending far too much gil merely because she can, which she considers a vice in herself and tries to resist.

Likes

People who are intelligent, interesting, vibrantly passionate and alive. Watching people do things that require specialized skill, especially combat training or constructing something.

Constructive debate and interesting challenge. Trying/learning new things.

Music, dancing. She’s often wished she could play an instrument, but has never learned to.

Nature, gardens, fireflies, birds, waterfalls, the ocean/seaside. Traveling to anywhere with a spectacular view or vibrant culture. Learning about said cultures.

Exotic spiced foods or just about anything she hasn’t tasted before that doesn’t look absolutely disgusting. Tea. Fruits, chocolate, and spiced cider or tea. Have I mentioned tea?

Unusual crystals and/or gemstones. While she’s generally unfazed by wealth or status, she appears to be positively mesmerized by sparklies.

Dislikes

Politics, rumor mongering, cattiness, insults, and general poor behavior.

People who think getting drunk is the best kind of fun to be had.

Addictive drugs, and those who sell them.

Being forced to do anything, feeling not in control over her own life.

Overly objectifying unwanted attention, awkward social situations/obligations/expectations.

Being cold, biting insects.

Hobbies

Reading, especially the arcane.

Learning the history of different places and cultures.

Collecting small, easily transportable items (generally clothing or jewelry) in local styles from each new place she visits.

Pets: None, currently.  She once had a magpie as a pet when she was younger, and maintains a fondness for birds of all kinds.

RP HOOKS

She’s looking (quietly) for a way to launder, er... invest her money to gradually eliminate the need to rely on her stolen identity and foreign contacts for access to funds. Have an opportunity?

A trusted lady’s maid, retainer, or guard type to help her maintain appearances. 

It’s possible that someone from her past in Doma might recognize her, or perhaps have known the real Omori Kaya.

The woman she is impersonating is an ill-fit for her. She is fierce, independent, and rebellious... the exact opposite of the demure and soft character her stolen identity demands. But, her mother risked everything to secure her new identity, and she won’t cast it off unless forced to. Still, she isn’t perfect. Someone could catch her in a mistake, and become curious...

The Lady Omori Kaya appears elegant, mysterious, ...and wealthy. Potential suitors aren’t unlikely. (Romance is an option, though she’ll be hard to pin down at first, for obvious reasons.)

She has a (stolen) soulstone in her possession, and has been working to unlock its secrets. 

Open to brainstorming other connections, past associations, or jumping into -your- existing plot!

OOC

I make my own schedule. I can be available pretty much any time from 8 am to 9pm CST. Sadly, I can rarely do late nights because I need to do that sleeping thing.

OOC communication is a priority for me.

I have been RPing for 20+ years. I am comfortable with both in game or Discord RP, and anything from short, quick posts to multi para. I do this because I enjoy writing!

I am not interested in random ERP outside of a long-term character interaction. I do love writing ships as long as there's strong chemistry between the characters, and both the character and the writer of said character are mature adults. However,I will not consider ships with alt or AU characters, as this is my one and only RP character. (No multi-shipping.)

I prefer a RP style that works with what is plausible within the scope of the lore. I'm open to creativity, as long as it makes sense. I prefer to stay away from void-heavy, AU, inserts from other universes, and anything involving cross-breeding with non-playable races/beings. (These are only my personal preferences, and everyone else is free to do whatever they like!)

Absolutely no: rape, harm to children, or graphic torture.

I do enjoy game content as well, and prefer company over doing so alone! I am currently sitting in my own personal FC house, but would consider joining a real FC if it makes sense for my character. 

Confession: I probably spend way too much time decorating virtual houses. 

[makeawisdom]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Essek Thelyss & Verin Thelyss, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, The Mighty Nein & Essek Thelyss Characters: Essek Thelyss, Verin Thelyss Additional Tags: Just two siblings talking about feelings, established shadowgast Summary:

Verin noticed his internal conflict, but he wasn't able to guess Essek's train of thought. He stood up and look him in the eye. “Why him, Essek? Why is he so special?”

(In which the Mighty Nein have been invited to dinner by the Umavi Deirta Thelyss and her two children have a heart-to-heart conversation while they wait for them)

“This is all your fault”

“I don't see how it could be. I didn't do anything” answered Essek without looking at his brother. “It was our mother's idea.”

“It was our mother's idea” repeated Verin, mocking his voice. “Bullshit. It's your fault. Our lives were happy and peaceful, and we didn't gather for more than fifteen years. But then you've decided to go out of your lair and get yourself a boyfriend.”

Essek felt the warm creeping over his cheeks, but he hoped he was able to hide it well enough. He didn't want to give his brother more material that he could use against him. He already had enough of his repertoire.

“That's not the reason why she's doing this. Our mother only wants to check if the Mighty Nein could be used as leverage in her schemes.” Not that he was to allow it, but he was wiser than to confront his mother straightforwardly. He worked better behind the scene, anyway, hiding in the shadows. “And he is not my boyfriend. We're… figuring things out.”

It sounded bland and hackneyed, but it was the truth.  He and Caleb talked about it, and that was their mutual agreement. Everything was overly complicated already, taking in count the Mighty Nein knew about his endeavors with the Assembly. Essek's position as regards the group was precarious, to say the least. A few of them felt some resentment against him and he couldn't blame them. It would have been understandable if they decided not to trust him ever again. Why Caleb still could have faith in him, was a mystery. Essek couldn't fathom why would he hold any sort of feelings towards him either, even if Caleb was persuasive enough to convince him that he did. Words could lie, he knew, he mastered that art. But glances, and caresses, and tender smiles between kisses were a whole different story, one than Caleb told him with blunt sincerity and Essek couldn't help believing.

“That's definitely the face of someone that is thinking of a person which is figuring things out with, sure” Verin leaned back on the armchair he had claimed and raised one eyebrow. Essek, standing, looked at him from above with a deadpan expression. “I swear I still can't believe this is happening. I was so sure you will die alone in that huge tower of yours, surrounded by thirty cats that will feast on your remains.”

“That's hilarious. Hilarious and disgusting” said Essek with a tone that expressed he didn't find it funny at all. “Don't make that kind of jokes during dinner, please”

Verin gave him a grin.

“Why not? Do you fear that I will embarrass you in front of your figuring-things-out-friend?”

“No, my sweet little brother. I fear that they might like you.”

Verin laughed wholeheartedly, making Essek crack a little smile.

“What is your opinion on this?” He knew his brother well enough to try and be more specific before he could find room for another witty comment. “About Caleb and me, I mean.”

“Hold on a second, since when do you care about what I think? Are you okay? Did you hit your head or-?”

“I know mother will expound her point of view as clearly as she likes. I was hoping that, if you have something to say as well, we can discuss it privately, so I only have to deal with one criticism at a time.”

He seems to think about it for a little while until he finally said:

“Well… he's a human. A human from the Empire. That's weird.”

“I assume it must look like it is, yes.”

“But, that's not even the weirdest thing. The worst of all is that he is a wizard. A wizard, Essek! Do you know how untrustworthy wizards are?”

Of course, Verin wasn't talking seriously, but he can't help but think of what his brother would think of him if he knew how right he was. What Essek has done. How he, unintentionally, started a war that could have endangered his own brother.

How he was responsible for their father's death.

Before meeting the Mighty Nein, those thoughts wouldn't have even made him twitch. But now…

Now…

Regret is a novelty that didn't wear off easily. He didn't use to worry about the consequences of his actions, but at that moment, he realized his ambitions could have cost him more than he was willing to pay. Only one thin thread on the big tapestry of the odds had prevented his brother from being one of the numerous corpses soiling the ground of the battlefront, instead of being there, pestering him, laughing at his own jokes.

Before meeting the Mighty Nein, he has had already so much to lose but he couldn't see it. They didn't only give him another chance; they also give him perspective.

He thought he could live with the idea of his brother hating him. Essek had been alone for so long that he believed for a matter of fact that he didn't need anyone else. But the idea of Verin finding the truth, blaming him for what he did, was terrifying.

Verin noticed his internal conflict, but he wasn't able to guess Essek's train of thought. He stood up and look him in the eye.

“Why him, Essek? Why is he so special?”

His guilt didn't disappear, but that question was enough to bring him back to the conversation. That was his current battle: his denmother, his younger brother, the dinner all of them would be sharing with the Mighty Nein in less than an hour.

One concern at a time, he told himself. The first thing was finding a good answer to his brother's question. A very uninspired one, he thought. Only the seriousness his brother used to drew it up stopped Essek from dodging it and telling him he sounded like the side character of a badly written romance novel. He couldn't do it because he knew Verin's worry was sincere and that it was his way to show it.

“He’s outstandingly intelligent. Although he’s lacking formal education, he’s a competent…”

“Blah, blah. Magical nerdy stuff is one of the reasons, I get it. I didn’t even doubt it. But if that were enough, you would have hooked up with any of those stuffy people from the Marble Conservatory, but you didn’t, and it’s not as if you didn’t have your pick. You used to have a flock of infuriating suitors.”

“Yes, and all of them were infuriating, as you’ve correctly pointed out.”

“Well… but one or two should have been salvageable, I guess. But you’ve never had a partner before. Not one I’d heard of, at least.”

“I’ve never had a partner before, period.”

“See? That’s why I’m so curious! It must be something else!”

Verin was right: there was something else, but he didn't want to talk about it. He's always been proud of being discreet, keeping his matters to himself. Verin, on the contrary, shared everything, even those things Essek would have preferred not to know. It was an unbalanced dynamic, the one that they had, but Essek felt sheltered that way, stronger. Talking about what Caleb meant to him... Essek knew it would make him seem vulnerable and he didn't want that.

But that was the point in trying to do better, wasn’t it? Doing what is necessary to improve, even when he considered it to be the last thing he wanted to do. He had a long road ahead, but he could start with that little step. He took a deep breath.

“He is… He is everything I thought I didn’t need until I had him in front of me.” His mouth started getting significantly drier with every word he said, while he felt how goosebumps claimed his entire skin. He felt awful, self-conscious, and exposed, the same way he felt beneath the deck of the Ball-Eater, the day he confessed his crimes. He hated it just as much, but that probably meant he was doing something right, so he kept going. “He’s caring and understanding. He’s fun in his own awkward, delightful way. I’m still amazed at how much kindness he can show, after… After everything. I’ve never met someone with such endurance before. He’s admirable, in every possible way.”

He gave him a second chance when any other person would have made him pay for his wrongdoings. He hoped for him to be a better person, and Essek obliged out of selfishness, as he always did. He still believed in the cause he sold his soul to. His pursuit of knowledge, crossing limits anyone else hasn’t even dared to reach. He had lived through that desire, put all his stakes on it. In an ambient where he could not thrive, surrounded by people that didn’t understand him and didn’t care for him, magic was the only thing that pushed him forward. Without that itch, without his ambitions, what was left for him?

Love, he learned that infamous night in Nicodranas. There was warmth. There was friendship. There was love.

There was Jester, lovely Jester, holding his hand.

There was Caduceus, urging him to spit his dirty secrets as if he were trying to make him vomit a poison that was killing him inside.

There was Caleb, with his eyes, and his hands, and his lips. He kissed him gently, in a moment when any other person would have landed a stab-wound between his ribs.

That’s why his change was so selfish. He could not drop every project he had fought for during all his life and change just for himself. But he could change for them. Be whatever the Mighty Nein wanted him to be: a friend, an ally, or a lover. Damn, he would even be a good person! He was trapped and enthralled, and he never, ever, would like to be let go.

Did he ever stand a chance? No, probably he didn’t, not against them, at least. Not against Caleb.

“I wasn’t seeking companionship when I first met him” Essek admitted, “but when we stumble on each other, when I had the opportunity to talk to him and get to know him better… I couldn’t help but see how similar we were, and yet so different. I don’t know how to explain it, just… Everything between us clicked together.”

“An instant connection. How romantic.” Essek was grateful for the lighthearted inflection of his brother’s voice. That was normal, familiar. It was a good grip to keep his mind from spiraling. “Who knows. Perhaps the Light pushed you two together and you are meant to be, after all. I mean, what were the odds of you finding another oddball like you?”

What were the odds, indeed.

“I don’t believe in destiny.”

“Of course you don’t. People like you have ‘destiny’ for breakfast, but even you would admit that this is some kind of divine intervention. I mean…”

“Yes, I found someone that can stand me. A miracle” Essek replied with a deadpan expression, “You might find someone someday as well, if you ever stop being a little brat.”

Verin showed him the sharp point of his fangs. Essek was sure his brother was preparing himself for the delivering of another witty comment, but instead, he just shrugged and gave him an honest smile.

“You seem quite different, I would say.”

“Well, I am different. I suppose it shows.”

After a brief pause, Verin added:

“You really love him, huh?”

Essek didn’t need to consider the answer.

“I do, Verin. I love him immensely” he admitted so naturally that he surprised himself. That was such a profound truth that he couldn’t have expressed it with less honesty, because it wouldn’t have sounded right any other way. “Not only him. I love all of them. They’ve changed my life for the better. My relationship with Caleb has indeed meant a lot of adjustments in both our lives, but it works somehow, and it makes me happier than I can express with words.”

Verin blinked once, then twice.

“That’s… wow. Just wow. It turns out that nor only you have feelings, but you’re also able to talk about them! I’m impressed, I’ll admit it.” Essek raised an eyebrow, but Verin kept talking before he could comment on anything. “Don’t look at me like that! I’m not teasing you right now… well, a little, but that’s what I always do. Believe me, I’m glad to hear you’re happy. It’s everything I could have hoped for you.”

Verin patted his shoulder a few times, a gesture that probably was just friendly between well-built soldiers, but it was a little rougher against someone as slim as Essek. He was able to keep his balance and his dignity with it. It hurt a little, but he did not express it in any way. He was too grateful for his brother’s reaction to getting mad at him for not knowing his own strength.  Verin really mean everything he had said, Essek knew, and that tugged at his heartstrings. He cared; he had always had. Essek was lucky to have a brother like him, he thought.

“I have a question, though”, Verin began.

“Go ahead, please.”

Verin grinned.

“May I call that Caleb brother-in-law?”

Essek didn't hesitate.

“Don't you dare.”

***

Fun fact: If ‘Person A talking about their feelings for Person B with Person C’ can be considered a trope, it’s my favorite one.

Fun fact 2: This is not really my hc for Verin and Essek’s relationship. I think they hate each other’s guts, but I started writing this and I thought: ‘Oh, okay, this dynamic is wholesome. I’ll stick with it’

[klovenhooves]

Johnny Lawrence and the Five Love Languages, Chapter Five: Words of Affirmation

Johnny yanked open his closet door, eyes searching the sparse offerings, brow furrowed. Behind him, Miguel shifted his weight onto his other foot, face similarly focused, eyes critically searching the clothes.

 “He knows what kind of clothes you wear, Sensei,” he started hopefully. “I don’t think you need to –”

 “So you’re just going to wear whatever, then?” he asked, his tone vaguely snappy, and Miguel pursed his lips. “You and I are both under the microscope, Diaz,” he said, turning back to the closet. “And I am always worse upon closer inspection.”

 “Sensei, don’t be ridiculous,” Miguel reassured, dropping a hand to Johnny’s shoulder. “He wouldn’t have invited you if he didn’t like you.”

Which, fine, Johnny could accept that idea, but that didn’t make him feel any less nervous. It certainly didn’t answer the question of what he should wear to this ill-advised get together that he’d been invited to. He was reminded, far too often, of his first date with Ali, where they spent the whole night dancing around the idea of their first kiss, only to chicken out and then not, ultimately ruining the romance the first kiss deserved.

 In the months following, they laughed about that story like it was charming, but it always seemed weird to Johnny. Even now, years later, that was still an indicator of what overthinking could do, and now that he and LaRusso had been interrupted not once but twice, he had to wonder if the actual act would live up to the anticipation.

 “You and Miguel should come to dinner at my place,” Daniel had said over the phone, the tone of his voice alone telling Johnny that he was smiling. “Robby, Sam, and Anthony will be here.”

 “What, like a –” he caught himself before the word ‘date’ could come out, but the silence on the other end of the line told him that Daniel was waiting for him to finish the sentence. Stubbornly, he stayed quiet, Miguel, on his couch, looked at him in confusion.

 “Who is it?” he had mouthed, waving his arms to get Johnny’s attention.

 “It can be whatever you want it to be, John,” Daniel said into the silence that showed no signs of abating. “Will you come?”

 Johnny snapped his jaw shut where it had fallen open against his will. He wasn’t sure when he started to notice the innuendo in some of the things Daniel said, but now that he was aware of it, talking to the man was far more difficult.

 “Johnny?”

 “Sensei, why is your face red?”

 “When?” he asked into the phone, noticing as he spoke how rough his voice sounded. He cleared his throat.

 He could hear Daniel smiling again. “Tomorrow? 7.”

 “You free tomorrow at 7?” he asked Miguel, who looked at him with wide, confused eyes.

 “We’ll be there,” he said, shushing Miguel with a hand, eyes on the coffee table, listening for Daniel’s response.

 “Good,” Daniel said, satisfied. “It’s a date.”

 He hung up before Johnny could respond, but he kept the phone to his ear, spluttering, while Miguel stared at him with a half-smile.

 And now they were here, Johnny quickly realizing that he was probably going to need a beer before he even got to LaRusso’s place if he wanted to keep his cool. Miguel impatiently nudged him out of the way and started flicking through the shirts, making noises under his breath that he couldn’t decipher. Most of them seemed confused, but there were a few scoffs of disbelief in there, too.

 Maybe Johnny should go into his closet and do the same thing, see how the little twerp liked it.

 “Here, wear this one,” Miguel finally said, pulling a baby blue shirt out of the back of Johnny’s closet, so old he’d forgotten it was even there. “It’ll bring out your eyes.”

 “What am I, a girl?” Johnny asked, taking the hanger anyway.

 Miguel chuckled. “No, but you’re in looooooooove,” he drew the word out, dodging the shirt that Johnny threw at him, trotting down the hallway back to the living room.

 “Get out of my house, Diaz,” Johnny called after him, the boy’s laughter as good a response as he was going to get.

 ***

 “Dad, I made you some tea,” Sam gently set the cup on the edge of the coffee table, catching Daniel’s eyes on her way back up. “Chamomile.”

 He smiled at his daughter and took the cup. “That’s so nice, sweetie, you didn’t have to do that,” he said, taking a shallow sip of the still-too-hot tea.

 “I did,” she laughed. “You’ve been staring into space for like…half an hour. Figured you needed something to calm you down.”

 “Calm me down?” he asked. “I am calm!”

 She raised her eyebrows. “Sure, and your leg is tapping like that because…?”

 He looked down at his jumping leg and put a hand over it. “Habit,” he said with a shrug.

 “Dad,” she took the tea cup from his hands and sat on the edge of the coffee table. “Sensei Lawrence is coming here. For a date.”

 He laughed nervously. “It’s not a –”

 “I can literally hear all of your phone conversations,” she interrupted with a stern look that reminded him so much of himself. “You’re allowed to be nervous.”

 “Did I tell you that I invited Miguel, too?” he asked.

 “No!” she jumped up from her spot. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 “I forgot!”

 “I’m going on a double date with my dad and his arch nemesis,” she buried her face in her hands. “I can’t believe this.” She snatched his cup of tea off the table. “I need this more than you do now,” she said firmly, taking a long drink before stalking off, shutting her bedroom door solidly behind her.

 Daniel understood how she felt. Was it good to be nervous? Was that a bad sign? He couldn’t figure it out, and the longer he sat there, thinking about it, the closer the clock inched toward 7. He thought about Johnny, leaning on him on the surfboard in the middle of the night, head cradled by his arm. He thought about Robby, excited about the possibility of living with his father after sixteen years without him.

 He thought about Johnny under the stream of the shower, chest rising and falling under his hand, eyes clouded, deep in thought.

 They’d almost kissed twice – why was he nervous about the idea of a date?

 “Dad, I’m hungry,” Anthony whined, his voice shocking Daniel violently out of his thoughts.

 “I’m cooking dinner,” Daniel called out, knowing that his son was going to grab some junk food out of the pantry anyway and stalk back up to his room. Amanda was the one who was better at curbing Anthony’s impulsive choices – Amanda, who was in Malibu visiting her parents to tell them about their divorce.

 “Sensei Lawrence is coming to dinner, right?” Anthony asked from behind him, his mouth full. Daniel struggled not to roll his eyes. Trust his son to be predictable.

 “Yes, he is,” he answered, turning in his seat to see his son completely. “Be nice.”

 “I’m always nice.”

 “I seem to remember you telling Johnny that I would kill him,” Daniel recounted. Anthony grinned.

 “That was me being nice,” he said, rummaging in the bag of cheese puffs. “It was a warning.”

 “Be nicer, please,” Daniel pleaded, but he was almost smiling.

 Anthony shrugged. “I’m just trying to protect you, Dad. What if he takes your heart and karate chops it into little pieces?”

 Daniel squinted at him, suspicious. “Quit watching CW shows on Netflix.”

 “Tell Sam to stop watching Riverdale,” Anthony said, still unbothered.

 “Leave the cheese puffs in the kitchen, please,” he called, but Anthony was already halfway up the stairs, the cheese puffs still clutched in his fist.

 ***

 “If you’re worried about the first kiss, why don’t you just get it over with?” Miguel asked, safely buckled into the front seat of Johnny’s Challenger, flipping through Johnny’s tapes. “Do it first thing.”

 “I didn’t – I didn’t say I was,” Johnny stammered, hands white on the steering wheel. “You said I was.”

 Miguel shrugged. “You’re easy to read, Sensei.”

 “Shut up, no I’m not.”

 Miguel didn’t look up from the tapes, his finger tapping on top of Guns ‘n’ Roses. “Then why is your face red?”

 “Are you going to play music or are we going to talk about our girly feelings for the whole drive?”

 Miguel pulled free the tape and turned up the volume, leaving Johnny to marinate in his thoughts. As much as he wished he didn’t, Miguel had a point. Would he be able to sit through an entire dinner while he overthought everything that would come after? Would he be able to make the same mistake he made with Ali?

 He was still thinking about it when they pulled up to Daniel’s house and turned off the car. Miguel led the way to the front door, but Johnny could see the lights sparkling on the terrace, near the pool. The table was set and ready for them, the lighting dark and romantic. It seemed almost too pristine for something that was supposed to include him.

 Miguel looked back at him, almost on the doorstep.

 “You alright?” he asked, and Johnny so clearly saw himself, a teenager again, standing on Ali’s doorstep, nervously waiting to be scrutinized by her rich parents, all the while knowing they thought he was more like them than he could ever be. Yet here was Miguel, standing bravely on the doorstep, in a red flannel shirt and jeans, asking if the grown man was okay.

 “I’m fine, Diaz,” he choked out, and Miguel raised his eyebrows at him like he didn’t really believe it and rang the doorbell.

 Sam answered the door, in a yellow dress that Miguel immediately complimented, slipping an arm around her shoulders for a sneaky hug that he managed to get away with before Daniel appeared beside her, sleeves rolled up toward his elbows, a smile already on his face.

 He stepped aside to let Miguel through, offering him a hand to shake that Miguel took easily, and damn, when did that kid get so comfortable in his own skin? Johnny envied him – he wished he didn’t feel like such a kid when Daniel was around.

 “Johnny?” He pulled himself out of his thoughts to find Daniel looking at him curiously, the light of his home behind him illuminating him around the edges. Johnny felt curiously like he was looking at a painting from a museum he’d never think to go into. “Are you coming inside?”

 Why don’t you just get it over with?

 He reached out for Daniel, pleased when the man offered his hand without question, and yanked him out the front door and onto the porch.

 “What the hell –”

 He stumbled farther than Johnny imagined he would, and he caught him against his chest, one hand steadying Daniel around the waist. When Daniel looked up at him, confused and indignant, Johnny slipped his other hand around the back of his head and pulled him in for a kiss that no one had enough time to interrupt because if someone interrupted him a third time, he was going to have to throw all of their children and surrogate children into the pool.

 Daniel made a confused sound against his lips, but his hands were clenched tightly in the fabric of Johnny’s shirt, pliant in his arms. Johnny pulled away long enough to see Miguel walking by, who gave him a wide-eyed thumbs up as he eased the front door closed. He rolled his eyes and let Daniel pull him in for another kiss, this one breathless and desperate and not at all like a first kiss.

 He had to force himself to pull away because he was maddeningly aware that the longer they were gone, the more likely it was that they would be interrupted. Daniel was grinning when he pulled back, all teeth and Jersey pomp, his eyes still closed, and Johnny wished he had done this thirty years ago instead of knocking the kid into the sand. They could have had thirty more years.

 “Does that mean you’re coming inside?” Daniel asked, his voice so soft it didn’t even sound like him, and Johnny tilted his head back to plant a kiss on his throat, backing him up so he was against the wall, the mostly closed front door on his left, the light from the kitchen barely illuminating them, the sound of their children a delicate soundtrack.

 “In a minute,” Johnny said, lips still on Daniel’s neck, and Daniel exhaled a shaky breath, dropping one of his hands to Johnny’s forearm, like he needed to be stabilized.

 “Take your time,” Daniel replied, head tilted back to the wall, eyes closed. Johnny pulled back for a moment to take him in, still perfect hair, slightly darker lips, face arranged in an expression he never thought he’d get to see, dazed and happy.

 He pulled him back in, taking great care to run his fingers through Daniel’s hair, feeling rather than seeing the mess of it he was making, Daniel groaning against his lips, thoroughly distracted. Johnny could get used to this – kissing the man to distraction. He made a brief mental note to thank Diaz for the idea later.

And then Daniel was turning him around so he was pressed to the brick instead and all thoughts of Miguel went out of the window.

 ***

 “Where did my dad go?” Sam asked, her eyes searching the empty kitchen. “He never leaves the kitchen while he’s cooking.”

 Miguel watched her eyes go to the slightly open front door and linger. He could see the wheels turning there. After a moment’s awkward silence, she gasped.

 “No way.”

 “Maybe don’t go out there looking for him,” Miguel said with a laugh, slipping his arm around her shoulders while he could.

 “Oh my god,” he thought she was angry for a moment, and then he looked down at her, and they both started giggling. “Thank God that finally happened.”

“Thank God what finally happened?” Robby asked, offering a fist for Miguel to bump.

 “My dad and your dad are totally making out outside,” Sam said, loud enough that Anthony, sitting in front of the television, turned around to join the conversation.

 “Ugh, Sam, too much information,” Robby groaned, but he grinned anyway. “So which one of us wins the bet?”

 “Bet?” Miguel asked, looking between them.

 “Well, I bet that they would avoid their feelings forever,” Sam said, counting them off on her fingers, “Robby bet that they were already hooking up, which, gross,” Robby shrugged. “And Anthony bet –”

 “I bet they’d do some dramatic confessing after dinner,” Anthony grumbled. “So none of us win.”

 “If I’m the one who told Sensei Lawrence to do…” Miguel faltered, trying to find the right word, “what he’s doing…does that mean I win?”

 Sam gaped at him, eyes wide. “Wh – what? What did you do?”

 He shrugged. “I gave him some advice. You know, strike first or whatever,” Miguel laughed.

 “He doesn’t win!” Anthony whined. “He didn’t bet!”

 “Didn’t bet what?”

 All four kids went still, frozen like they’d been doing something far worse than having a conversation. Miguel was the first one of them to turn around, trying to keep the smile off his face. Johnny’s barely concealed smirk told him he wasn’t being as sneaky as he thought he was.

 “Nothing, Sensei,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

 “Are you kids gambling?” Daniel asked, his voice teasing.

 “If I say yes will you fix your hair, please?” Sam asked, hiding a laugh behind her hand.

 “What’s wrong with my hair?” Daniel asked, a hand already rising to smooth it back down.

 “Nothing,” Johnny said hurriedly, biting back a grin. “Nothing, it’s fine.”

 “It looks like sex hair,” Anthony half-shouted from his place on the couch.

 The room went silent. Johnny looked over to Daniel, who looked momentarily horrified before he just closed his eyes and started laughing. The rest of the room looked at each other, Johnny trying to hide a self-satisfied smirk before Daniel shoved him, playful and embarrassed, and everyone else started laughing.

 ***

 Dinner started out surprisingly successful – Daniel had always expected this dinner to be awkward, with Miguel and Robby at the same table, himself and Johnny watching their kids stumble through conversation, Anthony being antagonistic, as only he could be.

 But Miguel and Robby were fine, chatting amiably while Sam sat between them, happy and at ease. Anthony had his own comments to make, but Johnny handled him nicely, and even he had to admit that he was amused by Johnny’s newest nemesis. When he realized he was losing whatever conversational battle he and Johnny were currently entangled in, he switched to his usual home run shot:

 “My dad could kill you,” he said, but it didn’t have the venom it usually did, when he was saying it to people who might actually believe him.

 Johnny rolled his eyes. “Your dad is too much of a good guy to actually kill me.”

 Anthony shook his head. “He could still do it. He was a Cobra Kai once.”

 “Anthony!” Sam admonished from across the table. Daniel felt his limbs go numb.

 “No he wasn’t,” Johnny laughed, his eyes sliding from Daniel’s son to Daniel himself. Daniel, who felt the blood drain from his face the longer Johnny looked at him. Johnny stared, mouth slightly open. “You weren’t. Right?”

 “Maybe we should go –” Sam was halfway out of her chair already.

 “No, Sam, it’s fine,” Daniel reassured her. “It’s – it wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t join Cobra Kai, I trained for a little bit with one of Cobra Kai’s…senseis.”

 “So you joined Cobra Kai,” Johnny finished. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 “Cobra Kai wasn’t around at the time,” Daniel pointed out. “The guy told me he was Kreese’s sensei, that Kreese was dead, all of that nonsense, and I needed someone to train with for the ’85 All Valley, so –”

 “What about –”

 “Mr. Miyagi didn’t want me to compete. But I was…” he struggled to find the right word.

 “Blackmailed,” Sam supplied helpfully. “He was blackmailed into competing. Some guy threatened to beat him within an inch of his life every day if he didn’t.”

 “And I needed a trainer,” Daniel finished with a heavy sigh, his eyes on the table.

“You didn’t tell me you were blackmailed,” Anthony piped up indignantly from the other end of the table.

 “Anthony only thinks Dad joined Cobra Kai because he found the gi in a box one day,” Sam added, eyes on Johnny. “Dad doesn’t…” she looked over at her dad, and then back to him. “Dad doesn’t like to talk about it.”

 Johnny nodded, tightening his jaw. Daniel could see him trying to decide what to do, how to move forward with their kids watching.

 “Then we won’t talk about it,” he said firmly, turning back to his food. He caught Daniel’s gaze and gave him a wan smile. Daniel didn’t know what to make of it.

 He still wasn’t sure what to make of it when dinner was done, and Sam met him at the counter with dishes, muttering that she was going to take Robby, Miguel, and Anthony to Golf ‘n’ Stuff for a little while, knowing that she was trying to give him the privacy to talk to Johnny without any interruptions. He thought about telling her not to; he didn’t want to tell the story, definitely didn’t want to see Johnny’s reaction. Having the kids as a buffer might be good.

 “If you really like him, you’re going to have to tell him eventually,” she said when he didn’t answer, clasping his arm for a moment before ushering everyone outside and into her car.

 He didn’t have to listen hard to hear Johnny’s careful approach. He didn’t have to look to know what he was doing – leaning against the counter, hands in his pockets, eyes on his feet.

 “We still don’t have to talk about it,” he said, and Daniel felt a surge of affection for him that almost knocked him off balance.

 “But you want to know,” Daniel said wearily, grabbing a kitchen towel to dry his hands, turning around to see Johnny completely. He could still see the wrinkles in his shirt where his hands had been clenched earlier.

 “Of course I do, LaRusso,” Johnny said. “But I’m not going to force you to tell me.”

 Daniel shrugged. “You already know most of it. Kreese told Terry Silver to make me bleed, to make me suffer for ruining Cobra Kai. And then Kreese appeared, back from the dead, and,” he shrugged, trying to fight the urge to turn away from Johnny’s horrified gaze, “tried to kill me. Typical Kreese.”

 “He made you bleed.” It wasn’t a question.

 Daniel held out his hands, knuckles marred with thin scars from the wood. “He succeeded.”

 Johnny took his hands in his own, eyes on the scars. Daniel could feel him shaking with anger. He looked up to his face, tight and stern, the very image of a terrifying fighter. “I know where he lives,” he said, his eyes rising to find Daniel’s. “Kreese.”

 “John, don’t,” Daniel pulled his hands back. “It’s not worth it.”

 Johnny scoffed, pushing himself off from the counter, where he was still leaning, to cage Daniel in with his arms. “It is worth it,” he insisted. “He shouldn’t have blamed you because we left.”

 Daniel shrugged, and Johnny made a disapproving noise.

 “That’s why you hated Cobra Kai so much when I brought it back,” Johnny said thoughtfully. He paused, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “I don’t blame you.” He brought one hand up to gently trace the line of Daniel’s jaw. “You didn’t need Terry Silver,” he said. “You’ve always been a great fighter.”

 Daniel stared at him, trying to think of something to say, coming up empty.

 “Terry and Kreese might have made you bleed, but they couldn’t really break you,” he continued, surveying Daniel’s face while still managing to avoid eye contact. “You’re too stubborn for that.”

 Daniel managed a weak laugh, the sound of which relaxed the tense lines of Johnny’s face. “Jersey tough,” he said quietly, and Johnny finally met his gaze, blue eyes full of something Daniel couldn’t really identify. It was painfully soft, overwhelming to look at for too long.

 “Yeah you are,” Johnny said softly.

 He pulled him in for a kiss instead of saying something else, frustrated with his son for making tonight too serious, wishing fervently that he could go back to the front step, before they had to discuss their pasts, before Johnny had to fluster him with pretty words.

 Johnny lifted him, like he weighed nothing, onto the counter, and dropped his hands to Daniel’s thighs, clearly deciding that he was going to kiss all of his seriousness away. Daniel let him, content to be pulled along by the sensation of his hands, of his lips. But this was unhurried, unlike their time outside the front door, exploratory, a different kind of intoxicating.

 Johnny pulled back, just far enough that Daniel became aware that he was taller than him this way, blue eyes gazing up at him, sparkling in the light.

 And then he sighed, almost like he was exasperated, even while he still looked at him with a fond smile, and pulled him back to his mouth.

 “I love you,” he said against Daniel’s lips, so quiet that Daniel could almost pretend he hadn’t said it at all.

 But he clutched him tighter, holding onto him fiercely, just in case he was thinking of backing away, of hiding. He could feel Johnny laugh against his mouth, the laugh almost a sob, and kissed him deeper, communicating what he was always too afraid to say.

 “I love you too.”

[itsme-autumn]

Artists Make The Best Lovers

Author: @itsme-autumn​ Pairing: William “Ironhead” Miller x Reader Warnings: swearing, smut Prompt: using Will as your nude model

“Will, I have to, it’s for my class.” You huff. He’s overreacting. 

“I don’t like it.”

You lay your head on the kitchen table, exasperated. “And What? You think I’m excited to stare at some random’s guy junk for a few hours? It is what it is. It’s art. It’s completely professional.”

Will’s jaw ticks. "You have no say in who? They just pair you with some perv?”

You perk your head up as an idea pops into your head. Will probably won’t like it much better. “No, actually. I can pick my model if I want. If I’m...” You look him up and down and bite your bottom lip. “...inspired.”

Will looks at you confused for about three seconds and then deadpans.

“No.”

“Come onnnn.” You wiggle your eyebrows.

“No way, Y/N.”

You sigh. “Okay. I guess I’ll give Enrico a call, I should ask him exactly how much charcoal I’ll need to bring...”

You go to grab your phone but Will snatches it before you can. You see his upper lip bulge out as his tongue moves across his teeth. He’s glaring at you while you try to keep your poker face.

You wait a beat then shoot him a winning grin. “It’ll be fine, babe. Maybe even fun!” You get up and go to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Up to you how you want to prepare your...area...but this will be seen by my entire class and potentially the other art classes, so you might want to trim a bit.”

You have to run to dodge Will’s hands from trying to grab you, barely making your escape out of the room.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Will has faced terrorists and open fire. Roadside bombs and plane crashes. He’s been shot. Almost died on more than one occasion and has had to survive in the wilderness for days on end.

And he’s never felt more uncomfortable than he is right now. Lying on his own couch. Naked.

Or he’s about to be naked anyway. Is it too late to call Enrico?

You’re busying yourself getting your supplies together. Setting out your charcoal, blenders, erasers. You adjust the lighting again for the third time. 

You’re more nervous than you thought you’d be. 

When you feel like there isn’t possibly anything else you need to do, you clear your throat, unsure how to get things started. “Okay..a-are you ready?”

Will slowly stands up and nods, hooking his fingers into his boxer briefs. You blush, and then blush harder at the fact that you’re blushing. What is wrong with me? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before! Get it together, Y/N.

For some reason, seeing him this way is effecting you differently. Maybe because it’s in a non-sexual setting–purely observational. And anyone with eyes can observe how handsome Will is. Every part of him. It’s unnerving. 

“Y/N?”

You realize that Will’s been talking to you, but you’ve been–understandably–distracted. “Hmm?”

Will smirks. “So...how do you want me?”

“Oh. Uh..just standing there, but tilt your head to the left a little and shift your right foot....” You can tell you’ve lost him by the way he’s looking at you. Laughing, you walk up to him to position him the way you need. 

You slowly trail your fingers down his arm–feeling his muscles, his fine hair, his veins–before placing it where you want. You do the same with the other arm. You kneel down in front of him, taking both hands around one knee and bending it just slightly to the side, then running your hands down his toned calf until you reach his foot and turn it. Since the other leg is fine where it is, you stand back up, sneaking in a quick kiss on his stomach on your way. You notice Will’s breathing has increased, but he hasn’t moved an inch from where you’ve placed him. You take his face in your hands and tilt it slightly, your fingers brushing through his beard. You reach up and fix a stray hair.

When you put your arms back down to your sides, the room is heavy with silence. 

Your nerves makes sense now. You’re not just nervous, you’re...intimidated. Here Will is in front of you. In all his glory.

His sweet, fine as hell, glory.

Your Will.

“You are so...beautiful, Will.” You breath out.

Will’s lips pull up slightly. “In general? Or are you referencing my dick specifically?”

You narrow your eyes, annoyed that he ruined the mood, is so pleased with himself, and that that was really funny. You reach forward and flick him just above his–apparently–most beautiful feature. He flinches so hard he almost falls over

“Jesus Christ, Y/N–”

“Stay still, babe.” You say sweetly as you return to your stool and begin your sketch. 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

It requires a lot of charcoal to draw Will.

You find yourself learning new features, finding new scars, memorizing every line of muscle. You’ve gotten lost in him.

Will has gotten lost in you as well. He’s never seen you more focused, so immersed in something. You have charcoal smudges on your face and your hair fell out of its properly placed bun ages ago. Will can’t think of a time when you were more beautiful than you are right now. 

You put the nub of charcoal down and slide your stool back, taking a look at your work. “Okay. Done.” You let out a deep breath.

Will turns his neck, rolling it around to stretch. He walks over to you, peering around the easel. “Can I?” You hesitate, but nod. He looks at the sketch thoughtfully. 

Will’s eyebrows go up slightly. “Babe.” 

“...yeah?” 

Oh no. Does he hate it? Did I smudge the penis and now it looks weird?

"You’re amazing, you know that?” His voice is low and soft, you feel as if you’ve been caressed with the sweet sound alone.

Will pulls you in for a kiss. It’s lazy and slow, as if he has all the time in the world. His hands move down your body, tracing fingertips down your arms, then back up again until he just ghosts over your breasts. You feel his erection on your thigh. You take in your hand, softly pumping it a few times before Will breaks the kiss.

“Your lack of clothing at this point really isn’t fair, love.” Will growls out. He slips your shirt over your head, then bends down, kissing your stomach before peeling your leggings off as well. Will picks you up by your thighs and presses you into the wall behind you. You put your hands around his neck, pulling his lips to yours, smearing charcoal on his skin. His fingers graze beneath the elastic of your panties, pulling them to the side. 

The sounds of your ragged breaths echo in Will’s ear. Your soft moans hot against his skin, your lips graze against his shoulder, your desperate whimpers–they’re enough send him over the edge, his hands gently caress your inner thigh. “You are so fucking beautiful, Y/N.” 

His deep voice and hot breath tingling against your ear, the combination making you tremble while creating an undeniable ache you knew you couldn’t contain any longer. 

“Please, Will...” You plead breathlessly, pulling him impossibly closer to you.

A little whimper escapes as you feel Will move his hips, slowly easing his cock into you. Your body, needy and aching, slowly starts to grind against him urging him into you further. Completely taken in the moment you briefly open your eyes gazing down into Will’s. 

You stay lost in each other, moaning in pleasure as he drives into you, your body melting against Will’s. The concept of time leaves you, just about all concepts and thoughts leave you except for Will.

Will around you.

Will in front of you.

Will inside of you.

You’re never intimidated when you’re together like this. The two of you fit together like the cliche puzzle pieces from romance novels and love songs. 

His teeth are just grazing your neck as he pumps in and out of you, increasing his pace, anchoring you to the wall. You and him are all pants and little moans as you go higher and higher together. A tear escapes down your cheek, not from sadness but from the pure and raw emotion that you are giving each other.

Will sees the tear and wipes it away with his thumb, his eyes questioning if you’re okay. You answer by pulling him in for a searing kiss. He moves his thumb between you, pressing it to your clit. You cry out into his mouth and he presses harder and starts moving it side to side in the way that gets you every time.

Will’s movements become more erratic. “You close, baby?” He strains out.

You’re so close that you’re having trouble forming words. You just whimper and move your hips against Will’s cock inside of you and thumb against you, welcoming your climax.

When it hits, you cling to Will, the pleasure almost too much to bare. Will’s release follows close behind and you feel his warmth start to coat your inner thighs. You both stay still for a few minutes, needing to hold on to come down for your respective highs. 

When Will finally sets you on the ground, your legs are weak in the best way. You hear Will chuckle behind you. Turning to ask what’s so funny, you see a large group of charcoal smudges where your back was just pressed. 

“Do you think charcoal comes off of walls?” But Will’s face says that he doesn’t give a shit if it does or doesn’t.

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Y/N: This smut wasn’t kind of hard to write for some reason?? I don’t know if I got the tone right that I was going for. Let me know what you think! 

Will Tag List: @calirindo​ @leapingoveroblivion​ @curly-minnie​ @melissataggart87​ @mrsjaxtellerfan​ @kitkat-589​ @soldierfirstclasszeldafair​ @captainfreecandyvan​ @lokilvrr​ @posiemax​

[youarejesting]

Quarantine.6

[Masterlist] Pairing: BTS x reader Friends2Lovers But as slow as you can go until the anticipation kills us all… Genres: friendship, drama, romance SLOWEST OF BURNS BUT IT WILL BE BURNING AN ETERNAL FLAME!!! Rating: PG-13 and above Summary: Your brother works with a few BigHit dance teams and whilst having permission to accompany him at work the city shuts down banning anyone from stepping outside for a whole WEEK while they disinfect the streets. If you step outside you might get arrested, shot or poisoned by the chemicals they are emitting through the city. Words: 3.2k Announcement: This chapter is dedicated to @moccahobi​ who left some really great comments on the chapters. You really made writing this chapter easy. Also, my town is officially in lockdown I can’t leave the house, everything is cancelled. Please send some love, otherwise, I might go crazy in these four walls.

[Part 1]  [Part 5]  [Part 7]  [Tag Yourself Here]

With the room pitch black, the constant noise and the help of being intoxicated, the boys slept in a little later. It was like their bodies finally allowed them to relax. Of course, Hoseok still woke first as he was used to waking up early. Making his way through the dark, standing on both Jungkook and Seokjin before he made it even halfway to the door. He went on to the bathroom to wash up, glad he had stopped drinking when he did. The bathroom had a lingering acid smell that he knew was most likely from someone vomiting last night. He hoped it wasn’t you not liking the idea of seeing you in pain. 

The sound of the water rushing through the pipes helped hold you in your sleep state. Dreaming, yet you could class it as a borderline nightmare. The quarantine had been lifted and the boys walked out of the building, not looking back at you no matter how loudly you called for them, they didn’t turn around. You watched them talk about the quarantine on a talk show. “Did you make any friends on quarantine? I heard you were stuck in the big hit building with some of the national dance teams who were working on a project for the festival later this year”

“No it was quiet and boring, we had to deal with a lot of awkward encounters people want to talk to us and we just had to smile and agree. You know stay civil for the days”

They each took turns in the shower and by this point, you were trying to cling onto the last piece of sleep you had trying to turn the dream around to something positive. “Don’t go you” Jimin's arm paused, still wrapped around you from the night, “I don’t want to wake up yet”

Softly laughing and nuzzling his nose into your hair he agreed. “Okay we can sleep a little more”

You were drifting in and out of consciousness when he slowly tried to slip away from you again. The cold air creeping in under the sleeping bag you were both using as a blanket. Rolling over you hugged his middle tightly the scent of citron, jasmine and teal wood, taking over your senses. It was familiar somehow. “Noooo, I don’t want to get up,” the boys had just met you again after the quarantine at a fan sign. But they didn’t seem to recognise you smiling and asking about your day calling you cute and holding your hand. 

“You are so cute,” Laughing the boys watched, amused by your adorable antics, wanting nothing more than to lay in bed with you. They contemplated it. You were ever so tempting and looked so soft and tiny. The way your hair looked so fluffy falling into your eyes no matter how hard Jimin tried to brush it out of the way. It was yet another thing Jimin could add to the list of things he truly loved about you. And he didn’t use the word love lightly, but the way your hair cascaded like a waterfall over your face when you looked down. The way it felt so soft in his hands was so different from his own hair which felt super wiry and straw-like compared. What else could he call it except love, it made his heart all warm and his body melt. 

“Come on let’s get breakfast, even Yoongi is up right now” Jimin tried his best to be happy. He threw you a smile and grabbed your hands. 

“I will get up on one condition,” trying not to look disappointed by the way he smiled and held your hands the same way in your dream. Curious as to what the familiar smell was. Letting Jimin sit you up, he got up off the floor after detangling your limbs from around him. You watched him leave his thighs at eye level as he walked past.

“And what is that?” Namjoon asked looking over his phone, where he had been sending an important email and brainstorming lyrics. He saw you posing cutely with your arms out as if you were asking for a hug.

“After breakfast, it’s straight back to cuddles” 

“We have dance practice,” Hoseok said bluntly regretting it immediately as he didn’t expect you to get so disappointed. Feeling like he just kicked a puppy. Your cute smile fell along with your arms, he watched the hope fade from your eyes.

“And songwriting,” Yoongi added, drying his hair walking in from his shower. You hated how soft he looked with his messy hair. You knew they had to be busy, they were international superstars but did they really not get the choice to just take a day off. Or maybe your dream was right and they didn’t want to take a day off with you. 

“One day please” Pressing your hands together but they didn’t look like they would crack. And to be honest, the way they stared at you with their blank faces had you reliving how little you meant to them in your dream. Letting your hands drop onto your lap once more. Maybe you weren’t even a friend like you had thought. The only reason they were talking to you was because of the quarantine. It was time you let them go before you get too attached and give them the power to hurt you. “Okay, it’s fine. You guys are really busy it’s selfish for a random person you meet trying to stop you doing your job”

“Hey you're not random you're our friend,” Hoseok said but no one seemed to back him up so you guessed it was fan service, like when singers at their concerts say that every town they visit is the best town.

“Even so, I really shouldn’t stop you.” Standing and turning your back to them to search through the boxes of girls' clothes, it was an excuse to hide your tears.

“What happened to your dress?” Jimin asked, stepping back inside his face and hair damp from his quick shower.

“Tae vomited on me last night” Your voice was clipped not trusting yourself to elaborate further encase the emotion bled through. Appearing to be seriously comparing the colours and fabrics of two shirts they excused themselves. Knowing they didn’t like you like that. There was no one to impress. 

“That’s what the smell in the bathroom was, we should go to get breakfast, do you want us to get you something while you get dressed?”

“No. That’s okay I won’t be too long” they filed out of the room and you let your shoulders sink. You hadn’t wanted to believe it was true but you knew this relationship was all in your head. You were just a fanatic pretending like you played an important role in their life. 

Deciding on a black pair of sweatpants, and crop top with a built-in bra, you decided to wash your undergarments. Wearing your clean and folded underwear you washed the clothes you had been wearing including your brassier. You skipped breakfast. Travelling up the stairs hoping to go to the roof, where you could feel like you had some escape. The door, however, was unfortunately locked. So it was back to aimlessly wandering the building, you bumped into a young woman. She was wearing an awkward tracksuit like everyone else. 

She looked stressed, the quarantine was getting to her. Arms filled with files and her hair dishevelled. You smiled introducing yourself. She told you her name was Areum. Helping carry the files. It didn’t take much to make friends, proper friends that talked to you and exchanged numbers after a while and clicked with you easily. Maybe the reason they are called the bulletproof Boy Scouts is that they have a ten-foot wall of bulletproof glass stopping anyone from getting close. 

Helping out where you could around Areum’s office. Making coffee and collecting the printed documents, you even carried files and folders up to the fancy sixth floor. The men up there were a little handsy but you were able to dodge and deflect their questions and wandering eyes. Feeling useful again, but one hundred percent of you was keeping busy trying to forget about them. The keyword being trying. The day passed and you hadn’t seen the boys since that morning. Not wanting to risk seeing them at dinner you headed to bed early, opening the basement door they had moved their things back, the room seemed so empty. 

Trying and failing to stop the tears running down your face. The pain of all those raw feelings and emotions, all those deep and meaningful conversations you had late at night. All the touches and hugs and smiles that were so very genuine for you but clearly meant nothing for them. The empty room was an accurate representation of how you will be left when they are gone. Telling yourself that there were only two more days. The space filled with the ghosts of them, you laid on the ground pretending Jimin’s arms were around you and Taehyung’s deep sighs filled the room. Two days and you could rebuild your life as if you had never met the idols. Or so you thought. 

An alert the next morning announced the quarantine was being extended as the virus can sometimes take a few weeks to actually show symptoms. They extended quarantine for FOUR more weeks. Deciding to get comfortable in your space downstairs you spent the day entirely alone cleaning and sorting it top to bottom. 

You emerged from the basement only to collect meals. Like some goblin in your cave. It had been two days since the morning you realised it was all a lie. You had given clothes to your new friend Areum. Walking to breakfast you saw everyone had gathered once more. They were making a list of supplies to receive from the Yongsan health centre. They saw you, beaming beckoning you over holding up the suit excited. Assuming this meant you were ‘volunteering’ once more, you used it as an excuse to leave the building and pretend to be free. Two whole days. Since you had seen the boys. Since you genuinely laughed since you ate in the cafeteria. Two days since you had become numb. 

You suited up, contemplating just leaving for another building. Not noticing the boys or pretending they weren’t there, watching you from the back of the room. Scolding yourself for the bubbling of hope in your chest every time you saw them. You were doing your best. You heard Hoseok call your name but didn’t turn. Shuffling out the door and onto the street, you saw another biohazard suit returning with a wagon of supplies. You waved and they gave you a warning in broken English, something about bad men with guns. The warmth from the sun filtered through the visor of the suit was almost as good as the real thing warming your skin. How long could you avoid them? You were testing that theory.  

Namjoon’s voice came over the Walkie Talkie and you almost tripped, catching yourself on a street sign. “Your brother will kill you if he finds out you have left again” His deep voice held slight amusement. You kept walking, wheeling the empty wagon behind you. You had been successfully refusing to see them because you knew the moment you did they would pull you back in with their smiles and fan service. You weren’t going to see them after the quarantine so it’s best to prepare yourself. You wondered if they started to notice. The way you took away your meals from the cafeteria, the way you hid when you saw them in the halls.

“Hey, you all good? Y/n please respond?” His voice was a little more concerned “y/n respond now or we will send someone out after you” “I will go out” Yoongi’s voice was far away and barely registered on the radio device but you caught it. He had a certain drawl you could recognise anywhere. 

“Don’t send anyone” You tried to keep your voice even, you didn’t want to sound like you cared.  Keep them at a distance. Don’t get attached.  “Oh thank god, why didn’t you answer?” “I am busy”

You stepped into the health centre and pulled off your mask, smiling politely at the people and you started talking about the supplies. You asked for a few extra supplies. Hoping you could take them to your basement and make your own meals. Thus eliminating the need to leave. They were pretty firmly against it until you complained that your foreign palate needed something plain. They threw in some extra foodstuff and you slipped them on the inside the backpack you were wearing. You pulled the head of the suit back on securing it. Pulling the wagon along you navigated the foggy streets and saw the BigHit building insight. 

There was a noise nearby it wasn’t the soundless breather this was a loud noise oxygen tank and a radio. Namjoon’s voice came through your radio, “what is your location?” You froze hearing the cock of a gun. You switched off your radio and quietly pulled your wagon moving fast as you could down the street. You were trying to see through the fog, looking behind you while going to step up onto the gutter. You were outside the building and you saw The boys looking out the glass beside your brother, Seokjin waved smiling. Your foot slipped. Falling forward and hitting the visor on the ground, there was a large chunk missing in the face of the suit. Taking a deep breath. You pulled the wagon dragging it to the door. Knocking your fist against it as they unlocked it. Eyes burning from the chemicals in the air. Rushing inside, the wagon in tow, you ripped off the head of the suit which had filled up with the poisons in the air. Gasping on your hands and knees.

“Water!” A bottle of water was thrust into view which you tipped over your face, washing out your eyes and the fumes off your skin. You laid on the floor. The man gave you a thumbs up which definitely would have been funny if this traumatic near-death experience hadn’t been so fresh in your mind. Brushing past everyone and beelining to the service elevator and heading to the basement. Stripping off your clothes in the bathroom your body feeling warm and itchy. 

Sitting on the shower floor emotions spilling over like the water overhead. You had missed dinner. The idea that you could have died gave you a sense of lacking. What had you done with your life? You had only just recently decided to get back into dancing. But that meant nothing as of yet, you had no friends having lost them all well before the quarantine. The last man in your life was three years ago. Others were getting married and settling down with children or becoming managers or successful business owners and you were stuck free-loading in your brother’s workplace.

This wouldn’t do. It was time to take a stand and make something with your life. Dried and dressed you asked your brother for the key to the dance studio. He nodded handing it over the dance teams were done for the day. Setting up the camera and plugging in your headphones as it was not appropriate to play loud music this late at night. You danced with everything you had. You brought up old routines, famous routines, audition pieces everything from hip hop, break dancing, ballet, tap, jazz, contemporary. The fire didn’t dim from your eyes and you didn’t lose any momentum each move precise. You didn’t want to feel regret like you did today, you didn’t want to think back on your last moments and wish you had done something more.

There was no rest, you sharpened each kick and turn you hit every beat. There was something fulfilling about going one hundred percent. You felt the music pulse through you. Your brothers figure in the corner. It was then you noticed the sun was coming up your sweat became a visible sheen on your skin. You refused to finish before the music stopped taking every last moment to show how much you were worth and how determined you were. The last spin you planted your foot down holding yourself in position unwavering. No matter how much your muscles and lungs were screaming you held your position until the music faded. The Bangtan Boys at some point had stepped into the room ready for their practice. Standing near your brother watching you. Your clothes were drenched. Letting your hands slowly relax to your sides you turned off the music noticing your phone was dangerously low on battery.

Stopping the recording your brother seem horrified “Have you been practising all night, you know how bad that is for you right?” You grinned at him slapping his arm as you left.

“Annyong” Jimin smiled giving you a wave, you walked straight past refusing to acknowledge the boys. Now wasn’t the time to feel guilty, they weren’t your friends. Rounding the corner you were gasping for oxygen like a dancer holding all emotions, pain and suffering until the moment you could finally step off the stage. Your muscles were ready to give out. Grabbing the wall as you walked along everything was on fire. Hoseok walked out of the elevator he spotted you limping, asking if you were okay. You ignored him but he followed you down to the basement. You took a small rectangle plastic tub one might use to store clothes or shoes in and sat inside. The sides came up to your underarms and your legs hung over the end. Still clothed you turned the shower on straight cold and letting it hit your muscles. He left. releasing a sigh tilting your head back. For a second it seemed like he was concerned but his fame came first so he must have gone upstairs to dance practice. You would be lying if you said it didn’t hurt there was a burn in your throat and a stinging in your eyes. You laid your head back tears escaping.

Hoseok returned with a bag full of ice packs and he froze. Biting his lip and walking over he placed the icepacks into the water on your arms and legs he held them there numbing the pain. His hands started massaging your muscles pressing the ice packs into the skin. “Your brother said you were dancing all night, you are lucky I am friends with everyone on staff, I had to raid the infirmary and the kitchens for all these ice bricks”

“Shouldn’t you be dancing?” You shivered, starting to feel the numbness reach your aching joints. “I know how important your work is too you” Hoseok noticed the acid in your words and looked at you in disbelief. “Is this what this is all about because we had to work and couldn’t hang out with you”

“No, it’s about you guys pretending we are friends when we are not. You know for a fact if it wasn’t for this quarantine we would have never met, you would never talk to me or give a crap about how I feel”

“You really think that low of us” he laughed but it wasn’t the light-hearted playful giggle that made everyone feel at ease, this was scornful, almost mocking this was Hoseok’s version of the middle finger. He took your hand and slapped the icepack into your palm walking out. “I guess we weren’t friends after all”

[Part 1]  [Part 5]  [Part 7]  [Tag Yourself Here]

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