#i love supporting slightly shady small businesses

[edgycarr0t]

Business Partners

[motherismotheringggg]

scripted desire

part one

summary: based on this request linked here, essentially cooper gets to work his celebrity crush and has to navigate doing a sex scene together

type: cooper koch x fem! reader (i know cooper is gay, this is fiction pooks)

tags/warnings: masturbation (m!), strip tease, mentions is missionary, mentions of f! riding, back and forth between reader POV and Cooper so the reader’s POV is orange other than that i feel like it’s mainly world building

author’s note: im quite literally so sorry this took SO fucking long 😭 i’ve been so busy with work and other stuff!!! you know you’re too busy when you don’t even have time to shitpost like ???? anyway idk why i felt like this should be a two parter, maybe it’s bc im so into writing about the show and the story. anyway, i hope yall like it <3

word count: 5318

tag list: @purple-1995 , @blackynsupremacy , @hoffmansgirl , @sharonusworld , @violetidk

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

“The script is incredible honestly, like it just feels electric,” Cooper held his cell phone between his shoulder and ear while slicing the avocado for his toast.

He gushed on and on to his brother Payton about his upcoming role in the new HBO series, set to air late next year - Hard Bodies.

Hard Bodies is a 1980s series set in Miami where small-town gym owner Lionel Vega joins forces with fiery nightclub owner Jade Monroe to dominate the city’s nightlife and fitness scene. As shady back-alley deals and drug-fueled ambitions drive their rise; passion and betrayal threaten to consume them in a whirlwind of love and crime.

“This is gonna be sick,” Payton met his brother’s energy and enthusiasm, “I’m so fucking proud of you Coop! First Monsters and now this - you’re on a fucking roll!”

Cooper’s face flushed with a light pink hue, and he couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. “Thanks, man. I mean, it’s HBO! This could be huge for me.”

“And you’re finally working with your dream girl,” Payton added, a teasing lilt in his voice.

Cooper froze for a beat, the knife pausing mid-slice through the avocado. “What do you mean?” he asked, feigning nonchalance.

“What do I mean?” Payton scoffed. “Don’t act like you don’t know who your co-star is, Y/N! Honestly, this is how some of the most romantic couples met so this could be a love story for the ages -”

“Okay, relax,” Cooper cut his brother off, his tone dismissive but the pink on his cheeks deepening to a noticeable red. He resumed his food prep, focusing intently on his task. “It’s not like that. She’s a professional, I’m a professional—”

“Oh, please,” Payton interrupted with a laugh. “You’ve been obsessed with her since that indie movie where she played the violinist. What was it called again?”

“Strings Attached,” Cooper answered automatically, then winced when Payton barked out a laugh.

“Exactly! You’re so not over this.”

“Whatever,” Cooper muttered, spreading the avocado on his toast and avoiding the fact that he’d practically memorized her entire filmography. “The script is electric, and she’s perfect for Jade. It’s literally not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal,” Payton echoed mockingly. “Right. So you’re gonna be completely normal huh? You’re definitely not gonna do that nervous big smile thing when you guys meet at the Ryan’s tomorrow?”

Cooper rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the flutter of nerves in his stomach. The truth was, he had already spent an embarrassing amount of time imagining their first interaction. Would she even remember his name after introductions, or would he just be the guy playing Lionel?

“I’ll be fine,” he said finally, though his voice wavered slightly.

“You’re gonna melt,” Payton teased. “Mark my words. And if you embarrass yourself, I fully expect you to call me immediately.”

Cooper sighed, pressing his palm to his forehead. “I thought I called you for support?”

“And I do support you - I’m proud of you, I love you and I know you’re gonna bomb meeting her -- bye Coop Coop!!”

As Cooper hung up the call, he stared at his toast, appetite momentarily forgotten. Payton wasn’t wrong. This role was a dream come true—but working with her? That was something else entirely.

He shook his head, trying to shove the thought away. He had a job to do, and he’d be damned if he let a schoolboy crush mess it up. Still, a small, secret smile crept onto his face. Maybe this would be the best year of his life.

----

Pulling into Ryan Murphy’s driveway felt like stepping into a cinematic dream. The sleekly paved path was framed by pristine banks of white pebbles and perfectly manicured shrubbery, each plant standing at attention like they’d been given stage directions. The house itself was a modern masterpiece—clean, sharp lines, vast panes of glass that reflected the sun just right, and an energy that screamed money, power, and taste.

But none of it threw you. If anything, it fueled you. This was exactly the kind of space you were meant to be in.

This wasn’t your first brush with industry bigwigs. You’d navigated enough industry parties and after-hours premieres to recognize the set dressing of wealth. And you’d met Ryan Murphy a handful of times already—enough to know he had a presence that filled a room, even when he wasn’t trying. This time, though, it was different. You weren’t just mingling at a party. You were here because *you belonged here.*

Your chest buzzed with excitement, but your walk to the front door was smooth, each step deliberate. Before you could even knock, the door swung open.

“You must be Y/N,” said a sharply dressed assistant with a smile that looked well-practiced but still warm. “Welcome! Ryan and Cooper are out back. Follow me.”

“Lead the way,” you said, flashing a quick grin. You weren’t about to play small—not here, not now.

The inside of the house was even more stunning than the outside. High ceilings that made every space feel twice as big, sleek furniture that looked like it belonged in a museum, and pops of color so perfectly placed it had to be planned. It was the kind of house people spend their whole lives dreaming of living in, but today it was just another set piece to you.

You followed the assistant, walking with an easy confidence, even letting out a quiet, impressed hum as you glanced up at a massive abstract painting hanging in the hallway.

“Nice art,” you muttered, mostly to yourself, but the assistant chuckled.

“Custom piece,” she said, glancing back. “Ryan commissioned it.”

“Of course he did,” you replied, lips quirking into a grin.

The assistant led you through the house, out to the backyard where the sun hit just right, Ryan Murphy stood by the edge of a sleek infinity pool, mid-conversation with another figure, but his eyes flicked over to you as soon as you stepped out. A grin spread across his face like he’d been expecting you all day.

“Y/N!” Ryan beamed, arms outstretched. His energy was just as big and commanding as you remembered, but it still felt personal. “I’m so glad you’re here. Welcome, welcome!”

You stepped in without hesitation, letting him pull you into a light hug. “Thank you for having me,” you said, your voice steady and full of gratitude. “I’m so excited to be here. I’ve been looking forward to this since I got the call.”

“Believe me, we have too,” Ryan said, holding your shoulders for a moment like he was sizing you up, but in a way that felt more approval than judgment. “You’re exactly what we need for Jade. You’ve got the fire.”

You grinned, letting that bit of praise soak in.

Ryan’s eyes shifted to the person standing next to him.

“Have you met Cooper Koch yet?” he asked, motioning to the man just to his right.

Cooper stood tall, his hands in his pockets, gaze flicking between you and Ryan. If the word leading man had a picture next to it, it would be him. Sharp jaw, tousled hair that looked just the right amount of undone, and a frame that made him look like he’d just stepped off the set of a 90s Calvin Klein campaign. But there was something else—a softness to him, a hesitancy that you immediately clocked.

“Hey,” he said, stepping forward to offer his hand, his eyes darting briefly to Ryan like he was double-checking he was doing this right. “Nice to meet you.”

You took his hand, but instead of a simple shake, you tugged him into a quick hug. Not too tight, not too long—just enough to make him feel welcome. He froze for half a second, clearly not expecting it, but he relaxed the moment you patted his back.

“Nice to meet you too, Cooper,” you said, pulling back just in time to catch the faint blush creeping up his neck. Cute.

“Uh—” He cleared his throat, his eyes briefly meeting yours before darting down to his sneakers. “Yeah, I’m—uh, I’m really excited to work with you. I’ve seen some of your films and, uh, they’re amazing.”

“I really appreciate that,” you said, tilting your head slightly, watching the way he shifted on his feet like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. Charming in a puppyish way. “I’ve seen some of yours too. You’ve got some serious range. I’m so excited to see what we cook up together.”

Cooper’s lips quirked up into a smile, but he still rubbed the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure how to hold a compliment. “Thanks,” he muttered. “Yeah, I’m looking forward to it too.”

Ryan clapped his hands once, pulling both of your attention back to him. “Alright, alright. Enough love-fest. Let’s sit, get into it, and talk about the show.”

He led you both to a sleek, shaded seating area under a pergola. A pitcher of lemon water and crystal glasses were already waiting, because of course they were. Ryan sat with the air of a king at court, gesturing for you and Cooper to take seats across from him.

“Okay, let’s get into it,” Ryan said, resting his arms on his knees as he leaned forward. “I’m going to walk you through what I’m envisioning for Jade and Lionel. These two are the heart of Hard Bodies, and you’re going to love them. Trust me.”

You leaned forward, eager, every part of you locked in on Ryan’s words.

“Jade is power,” Ryan said, tapping his fingers against his knee. “She’s tough, she’s smart, and she’s relentless. Lionel—” Ryan glanced at Cooper, who sat a little straighter under his gaze. “—Lionel is her foil. He’s calm, thoughtful, but he’s got a lot going on beneath the surface. He’s a slow burn, but when he cracks, he cracks. And that dynamic between the two of them?” Ryan’s eyes flicked between you and Cooper, his gaze as sharp as a spotlight. “That’s where the magic happens.”

You nodded, the fire in your chest burning hotter with every word. You glanced at Cooper, catching the way he was looking down at his hands, nodding to himself like he was already running scenes in his head. He’s got that quiet focus, you thought. This’ll be fun.

“Got it,” you said, locking eyes with Ryan. “I’m ready.”

Ryan grinned. “I like that. You’re gonna be delicious as Jade.”

You smirked, eyes cutting to Cooper as you leaned back in your seat. He smiled, small but steady. His shoulders had relaxed a little, and this time, when your eyes met, he didn’t look away.

Yeah, you thought, this’ll be fun.

----

Since the meeting at Ryan’s house, you and Cooper really found your rhythm. By week three of filming the nerves that had hummed beneath your skin on day one had quieted, replaced with something steadier — confidence, excitement, and maybe a little something extra you hadn’t anticipated.

That extra was Cooper.

You hadn’t expected to click with him as easily as you did. He’d been quiet at first, reserved in a way that read more thoughtful than standoffish. But it didn’t take long for him to open up. It was in the small moments — how he’d quietly offer you his jacket between takes if it got too cold on set, how he’d wait for you at the catering line even if you were behind, or how he'd listen — really listen — whenever you shared an idea about your characters.

It made you feel seen. Really seen.

What you appreciated most, though, was his presence. On days when your nerves got the best of you — when you fumbled a line or felt the pressure of carrying a scene — Cooper was a grounding force. He had this way of calming you with just a look, like he could see right through your facade and was silently telling you, “You’re fine. You’re more than fine.”

On-screen, the two of you were electric. Every scene between Lionel and Jade crackled with energy — love, conflict, tenderness — all of it felt so real that sometimes you’d walk off set still feeling the aftershocks. Off-screen, it was a different kind of magic. The two of you joked constantly, falling into an easy back-and-forth that felt like you’d been friends for years. It wasn’t forced, and it wasn’t something you’d experienced with every co-star. With Cooper, it was effortless.

You loved that.

For you, it felt like a friendship blooming in real time — a friendship that made long days on set feel lighter, and easier. But for Cooper, it was something else entirely.

Where you saw camaraderie, he saw *everything.*

Every time you looked him in the eyes to deliver a line, his chest would tighten just a little more. He swore you looked at him differently when you were in character, like Jade saw all of Lionel, even the parts he didn’t show anyone else. It was devastating in a good way.

Then there was the physical contact. A simple touch, nothing out of the ordinary for actors playing love interests, but every time it happened, it was like the world narrowed to just the two of you. During one scene, you’d cupped his face with both hands, a quiet moment of reconciliation for your characters. The scene called for intimacy, but the way your thumbs had softly brushed against his cheekbones — that wasn’t in the script. And it wrecked him.

His heart swelled, chest tight with an ache he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just that you were stunning — though, God, you were stunning.

You were sharp and quick-witted, always ready with a comeback. You were thoughtful, checking in on the crew like you’d known them for years. You carried yourself with an effortless kind of grace — not in a “perfect” way, but in a real way, like you knew who you were and didn’t feel the need to prove it.

And Cooper? Cooper was in trouble.

Every scene, every shared glance, every brush of your hands had him falling further. He’d never admit it out loud — not yet, at least. But when you laughed at something he said during a break, your head tilting back, eyes crinkled in a way that made him forget every single one of his lines, he knew he was already gone.

----

It was Saturday night, and filming was running late. You were down to the final seconds of a solo scene where Jade, in full command of her space, moved with precision, power, and grace. The dim glow of neon lights splashed blues and purples across the glossy floor, shadows playing tricks on every surface. Music thumped low in the background — a sultry, hypnotic beat that seemed to sync perfectly with every roll of your hips and grip of your hands on the pole.

This scene had loomed over you since the table read. The words “Jade performs a solo pole routine” stared back at you from the page like a challenge. You’d never done anything like it before, and you knew how easily a scene like this could be reduced to spectacle rather than storytelling. But you were determined to get it right.

Weeks of training had led to this moment. The production hired pole-dancing experts to work with you one-on-one. At first, you’d struggled to even lift yourself off the ground, your muscles burning in protest. But after enough bruises, missteps, and “let’s try that again” moments, you finally felt it — that shift from trying to doing.

And now, you were doing it.

Take one was rough. A missed beat here, a loss of balance there. Ryan called "cut" before you'd made it halfway through. But take two? Take two, you were untouchable.

Your breathing was steady, eyes locked with the camera lens as if it were Jade’s greatest rival. Every movement was deliberate — slow drags of your hand down the pole, a spin that left your hair floating behind you, and a perfectly timed back arch that made you look weightless. You didn’t just look like you knew what you were doing. You looked like you’d done it a thousand times before.

Own the room. That’s what the pole instructors had told you. And you did. God, you did.

On the sidelines, Cooper sat in his labeled actor’s chair by the monitors completely consumed by you and your scene. At first, he was watching for the sake of it — just a castmate supporting you like you always supported him. But somewhere between your first spin and the moment you gripped the pole, leaned back, and flipped your hair over your shoulder, his chest tightened.

His eyes tracked your every step, every subtle shift of your weight, completely captivated. His lips parted unconsciously, breath caught in his chest as you delivered the moment you’d been directed to — a sultry, deliberate gaze straight into the camera. But it was when you reached the edge of the stage, your back to the lens, flipping your hair over your shoulder with a slow, precise motion, and hinging at the hips to elongate your legs, that he felt his restraint slipping. Heat pooled low in his stomach, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't will away the growing tension in his sweatpants.

He tried to convince himself it was just admiration for your craft — appreciation for the sheer dedication you poured into the role. And it was. You were brilliant, commanding every inch of the stage like it had always belonged to you. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the thought creeping in the back of his mind.

He wished it was his character in that chair. The one lucky enough to be the focus of your gaze, the slow drag of your fingertips down his expansive chest, the weight of you settling on his lap like a claim had been staked. His hands gliding down your sides, firmly settling on your hips before gripping your ass with a possessive squeeze. He pulled back just long enough to deliver a sharp slap, only to seize another handful with equal intensity. The thought struck him hard and fast, leaving a dull ache in his chest that spread lower. Every roll of your hips had him gripping the edge of his chair, trying to keep his breathing steady. It wasn't just the choreography — it was you. Your presence filled the room, magnetic and impossible to look away from.

His jaw tensed as you leaned forward on the stage, your eyes flickering to the camera like it was a lover you had under your thumb. But Cooper didn’t see the camera. He saw himself, head tipped back, breath caught in his throat as you loomed over him. The image hit him so vividly he had to shift in his seat, hoping no one noticed the heat crawling up the back of his neck.

He knew it was unprofessional, he knew he should be focused on the craft, the art, the performance. But it wasn’t just the role anymore. It was you — the way you embodied every inch of Jade like a second skin, a perfect blend of power and seduction. He wanted to know what it felt like to be on the receiving end of it. To be the one under your spell, just for a moment.

His fingers twitched on his thigh, pressing down hard as if to ground himself. It didn’t work. His mind was already gone, caught in the spiral of what-ifs and could-bes. What if you touched him like that — not as Jade, not as an act, but as yourself? What if you leaned in just a little closer, lips at his ear, fingers curled into his collar to pull him forward?

He shifted again, glancing around like the guilt might be written all over his face. No one was looking his way. But even if they had been, it wouldn’t have mattered. His gaze was locked on you, completely and utterly trapped.

Every slow turn of your body, every flash of your eyes, every deliberate move of your hips — it was torture, plain and simple. The kind of torture he’d willingly endure if it meant you’d look at him just once the way you did the camera.

God, he needed to get a grip.

“Cut! Beautiful, that’s a wrap on Y/N!” Ryan called, his voice jolting Cooper like a splash of cold water.

He blinked hard, shaking himself out of it. Around him, crew members applauded, grips already moving to adjust the set for the next shoot. But Cooper’s eyes didn’t leave you. You stepped away from the pole, beaming from ear to ear from the adoration of everyone. A production assistant met you as you were walking off-set with a parka coat and a bottle of water as you headed toward the monitors to look over the scene with Ryan.

You were approaching Cooper, still ecstatic, he wanted to stand to give you a hug but all the blood, currently still rushing to his throbbing self was preventing him from doing so.

“Holy shit,” you said, walking toward him with an excited grin still lingering on your face. “That was incredible.”

Cooper fumbled with his words, his tongue suddenly too big for his mouth. He could feel a sheen of sweat forming on his forehead, and it wasn’t from the studio lights. For the love of God, Cooper, get it together, he scolded himself, swallowing hard. After a beat, he found his voice again.

“You were incredible, Y/N,” he said with more conviction, leaning forward a bit. “Like, truly amazing. I mean it.”

His sincerity made your heart swell with appreciation. Without a second thought, you leaned in to hug him. You knew he was still sitting down, but it didn’t matter. His praise hit differently—partly because it came from a castmate, but also because it came from Cooper. Someone whose work you genuinely admired.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you pressed in close.

Cooper did that thing he always hated—where a hug catches him off guard, and he freezes like a deer in headlights. But this time, he was quick to recover. His arms circled your waist with more certainty, holding you close. Warmth spread through his chest, and for a moment, everything around him fell away. No cameras. No set. Just you.

He let himself sink into it, arms tightening a little more like he could hold on forever if he had the chance. His fingers brushed against the small of your back, and he felt you breathe, steadily and calmly. He took a slow inhale, and you smelled like cherries—sweet and fresh, as you'd just bitten into the fruit. Cherries. How was he supposed to forget that now?

His mind drifted. For one dangerous second, he wondered what it would feel like to press his face into the curve of your neck. To stay here a little longer. He was so caught up in you that he almost missed it—the sharp realization of just how close you were. His breath hitched. His entire body went taut like a wire pulled too tight.

His heart dropped as he realized the problem. Oh, no. No, no, no.

If you shifted even an inch— just an inch —you’d feel it. His body’s very inconvenient, very undeniable reaction to you.

Panic started to set in. He thought about pulling back, but how? Hug too long, and it’s weird. Pull away too fast, and it’s suspicious. His heart was beating so hard now he was sure you could hear it. His arms stiffened around your waist, a dead giveaway. She’s gonna notice. She’s definitely gonna notice.

His brain went into overdrive, mapping out a hundred ways to escape, none of them good. He couldn’t move without making it worse. His fingers twitched against your back as he tried to think of a solution. Don’t freak out. If you freak out, she’s definitely gonna know. Just breathe.

But before his spiral could hit rock bottom, a voice rang out from across the set.

“Alright, guys, let’s bring it in!” Ryan called, clapping his hands for attention. “We’re wrapping for the night but I wanna chat with everyone.”

You pulled away, completely unaware of the war going on in Cooper’s head. You smiled at him, bright and grateful. “Come on, partner,” you said, giving him a playful tug on his arm.

He blinked at you, still half-stuck in his haze of panic, but he followed your lead. His body was still tense, still buzzing from the aftershock of it all, but he managed to give you a lopsided grin.

“Yeah, partner,” he echoed, dragging himself out of his head. Get it together, man. Seriously.

Ryan gathered everyone around, his voice cutting through the low hum of crew chatter. “Alright, great work today, everyone. Things are moving along smoothly, and I appreciate all of you for that,” he said, his eyes scanning the group with a satisfied grin. “Tomorrow, we’re shooting the shop scenes in the morning, so check your call times. Also…” He glanced at his clipboard, tapping it with his pen. “Our intimacy coordinator, Anna Hansen, will be on set to work with Y/N and Cooper for the bedroom scene.”

You nodded enthusiastically, unbothered, already mentally preparing yourself. This was part of the job—no big deal. But Cooper’s nod was slower, stiffer. He was mirroring you, or at least trying to, but his heart had dropped straight into his stomach. Oh, right. The sex scene.

He hadn't forgotten about it—he couldn't forget—but hearing it announced like that made it feel more real. No longer a far-off, abstract idea on the call sheet. No, this was happening. Tomorrow. With you. Close to you. Closer than he’d ever been. Closer than he’d ever allowed himself to imagine. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had imagined it—but not like this. Not with cameras, choreography, and a whole crew watching.

And now, that quiet yearning he’d always managed to keep on a leash had slipped free, leaving him raw and unsteady. He could fake it. He had to. It’s just acting. But no amount of rehearsal could have prepared him for the storm brewing in his chest.

----

Later that night, Cooper was sprawled on his bed, the script spread out in front of him like it was the key to his survival. His gaze was glued to the page, his fingers absently running over the edges as he read and reread every line. He was meticulous, trying to memorize every movement, every word, because he had to get it right. He couldn’t afford to mess this up. He had done nudity and sex scenes before, but this time felt different. This time, it was you.

He couldn't quite put his finger on why, but everything about you had him tangled in knots. The way you moved so effortlessly, the quiet confidence you exuded without even trying—it was magnetic. He had seen you on screen, but being in the same room as you, sharing the same space had only made his admiration for you grow deeper. And now, the thought of being so close to you in such an intimate scene… it had his pulse racing and his stomach churning.

His body felt conflicted—he wanted to be professional, to focus on the art, but the thought of the scene tomorrow, of the moment when his body would be so close to yours, was making it impossible to think straight. He needed to know what to expect, to have every detail mapped out, so he could control his reactions, avoid any embarrassment. If the script said "Jade straddles Lionel in a kiss," he'd know how to prepare for it, anticipate the movement, and adjust himself. If it said "Jade nibbles at Lionel’s ear," he'd be ready—not to react with a breathy moan, or worse, to let his body betray him in front of you.

He kept reading, his heart hammering in his chest as he came across a line he hadn't fully processed before: "In missionary, Jade’s breasts pressed against Lionel’s face." His breath caught in his throat. HOLY SHIT. He’d forgotten that detail, or maybe he had blocked it out. Now that it was right there on the page, staring him in the face, the weight of it hit him hard. His cheeks burned, his body suddenly stiff, as the reality of what was about to happen sank in. He leaned back against the headboard, a sigh of frustration escaping him. His mind raced. How could he focus on professionalism when all he could think about was being in that moment, in that scene, with you?

Cooper took a shaky breath, trying to will his thoughts back into control, but his mind wandered. He couldn't stop thinking about how you looked in today’s last scene —how stunning you were in that glittery lingerie, the way the heels elongated your legs, the way your hair cascaded around your shoulders in sexy curls.

The image of you in that moment haunted him, the desire for you building in his chest until it felt suffocating. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the thoughts aside, but it was no use. The more he tried to focus on the script, the more he imagined how it would feel to be that close to you.

His mind started to wander into dangerous territory—what if he could imagine it? If he pictured it, maybe he could control his body’s reaction during the actual shoot. His thoughts spiraled, his breathing shallow.

Before he realized what was happening, his hand had slipped below the covers, instinctively rubbing over the fabric of his boxers. His breath hitched as he thought of you—your voice, your scent, the way you looked in that scene earlier today, your glittery lingerie, the heels that elongated your legs, your big, sexy curls. It drove him wild.

His body reacted before his mind could catch up, and he felt his breath quicken. His hand, almost of its own accord, sliding into his boxers. As he imagined what it would be like to plant hot wet kisses on your neck while he’s on top of you, thrusting into you as you moaned his name.

His mind became consumed with the desire to feel you, feel your hips rock on top of him when you rode him, your breast with perky nipples bouncing up and down. His hand moved over himself, slowly at first, his breaths growing shallow as the image of you continued to play in his head. The thought of being with you overwhelmed him.

Cooper squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to pull himself together, but his body wasn’t listening. The pressure was building, and with a quiet, desperate moan mixed with the faint utterance of your name, he let go. His warm cum spilling from his tip and cascading down his hand.

He lingered in the aftermath, trying to catch his breath, but all he could think about was tomorrow. How the hell was he going to make it through that scene without his body betraying him? He sat up, wiping the sweat from his brow, his heart still racing. His mind was a whirlwind, full of you—how you moved, how you smelled, how you made him feel. It was going to be a long day tomorrow. A very long day.

Cooper sighed, getting up to wash his hands, brush his teeth, and try to settle himself for the night. Tomorrow was going to be difficult, to say the least.

[bestiesenpai]

Spoiled Rotten - Toji Fushiguro

Half baked gangster/shady business dealer toji fushiguro idea...hope ya like it lol. Femme reader, 3k words

Content warningsss: a lot a lot of the word daddy lol, drinking, biting, drug usage(cocaine to be specific)

“There’s my little minx.” It’s his deep, smoky voice that you hear first when you open your door one late Friday night, dripping in an expensive borderline too short silk dress. A cropped white fur coat is your only protection against the crisp night air, the rest of your body - bare legs, open chest and feet clad in high heels - is exposed.

“Hey daddy.” You purr, sliding into his waiting arms. The scent of Toji’s cologne engulfs you, the warmth from his own thick fur coat surrounding you as he kisses the top of your head.

“See you got the purse I sent.” He pulls away slightly, thumbing the chain of the purse he had sent over this morning.

“Mhmm, I love it. Exactly my style.” Beaming up at him, you giggled as he slid an arm low around your waist.

“Daddy knows his girl well.” His hand dips down to squeeze your ass and then he’s closing your door, nudging you to the chauffeured blacked out SUV waiting on the street. “Now let's get going.”

As soon as you’re in the car, you’re seated in Toji’s lap, his thick legs spread out to support you. He keeps a hand on your back to keep you steady as the car rocks, and the other hand is high on your thigh, thumbing the hem of the dress just barely covering you.

“You look so fucking sexy.” Gripping your thigh, Toji lets out a low groan. “Gonna be the prettiest girl in that whole place.”

“Thank you daddy.” You press a few kisses to his jaw, lightly staining his skin with your lipstick.

“I got you a gift, I want you to wear it tonight.” Leaning over, he flips a compartment open in the center console and pulls out a velvet box. Curiously, you take it and unwrap it quickly.

“Oh wow!” Inside the box is a drop pearl necklace, delicate gold chain weighed down by a single pearl and then a slightly smaller one above it.

“Lemme put it on for you.” Shrugging your jacket down your shoulders, you sit as still as possible as Toji places the necklace on you. The pearl dips down your chest, nestling right at the curve of your breasts. “What a fucking treasure.” His fingers skim along the edges of the necklace, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

You kiss him as a thank you, the scar on the edge of his lip a familiar sensation. He smiles into the kiss, hand coming up to grab your chin softly and open your mouth. Sliding his tongue past your teeth, you let out a squeak as the car comes to a full stop.

“We’re here, sir.” The chauffeur announces, knowing better than to say anything else or to look at Toji without permission.

“Let’s go doll.” Sliding you off his lap, Toji opens the door and helps you out. There’s a gust of wind that whips as you step out, almost making you jump back into the car. Pulling you closer to him, Toji doesn’t let you escape that easily.

“This the new club you opened?” Fixing your gaze on the bright, warm flashing light bulbs in front of you, you do your best to ignore the cold. It looks like something straight out of a movie: overly buff doormen, a long line of people dressed to the nines hoping to get in before the club closes. There’s VIP guests mingling outside, some smoking cigarettes while some are clearly high.

“Boss.” One of the bouncers nods and lets the two of you in without question. Immediately you’re thrust into the hustling club, scantily clad waitresses passing by with trays of drinks for wealthy clients sitting at semi-circular tables along the wall. Red velvet lines every seat and gold accents drip from the ceilings.

There’s a dance floor in the middle of the club, crowded with people trying to have a good time. Toji always knew how to throw a party, a star DJ headlining the opening night. All it takes is a nod to a member of his security team and you’ve got a strongly mixed drink in your hand, the fruity pink color doing nothing to hide the hard bite of alcohol.

“Whaddya think?” Toji asks over the music, taking your jacket off your shoulders and handing it to someone along with his own coat. With the garment now off you can see his physique more clearly in a crisp fitted black button up and slacks, the tight shirt highlighting his muscles perfectly.

“It’s great!”

“There’s more floors, follow me.” To the side of the room is a stairway tucked away he leads you to, a few people mingling along the steps. The sound of the pumping bass fades away and the atmosphere shifts.

Coming upon the second floor, you’re greeted by a room full of card games. Poker, blackjack and roulette tables were full of people playing, mountains of chips just waiting to be bet.

“I thought you weren’t allowed to open a casino?” His proposition to open this part of the club had been rejected last you’d heard.

“Yeah well the mayor owes me a few favors.” Patting your shoulder, Toij flicks his chin out to the room. “Wanna play a game, baby?”

“Okay!” Flitting away to a blackjack table, you could feel the eyes following you, sizing you up first and then landing Toji. There were several people here that would love to take you home, you could feel it in the way they eyed your legs and bare shoulders and it made a satisfied smirk worm its way onto your face, putting a bit more obvious sway in your hips as you walked.

“Putting on a show I see.” Toji chuckled as he sat down at an open table, immediately pulling you onto his lap. Waving his hand, a stack of chips are brought to the table and put in front of him, and another drink is brought for you.

You played the game of blackjack marginally well, not particularly caring if you won or lost. It was all Toji’s money after all, he would win it back and then some by the end of the night. There was no need to worry about playing smart, all you had to do was have fun.

“Shit, lost again.” You huffed, seeing the last of your chips taken away.

“Let’s play some poker, some friends of mine just walked in.” Getting up and moving tables, you greeted the friends Toji was talking about. They were people you’d seen before, and you could make decent conversation with them, but when you were seated at the poker table there wasn’t space to talk.

Toji kept you snuggly in his lap, one hand cupping just under your ass every time you moved and kissing the top of your head as you snuggled into his shoulder. Following along with the cards, you helped him play, earning back a few chips and slightly redeeming yourself from blackjack.

“Daddy, I wanna go dance.” You whispered in Toji’s ear forty-five minutes later, getting antsy and bored.

“Go have fun baby, I’ll catch up in a few.” Sliding you off his lap, Toji kissed your hand and sent you on your way. There was a security guard trailing you, one he’d hired to be with you whenever the two of you went out.

“Can you get me a drink? Just the same one I’ve been having will do!” Patting the burly man on the shoulder, you grinned widely as he nodded and left to the bar. You didn’t have to wait long for him to come back, handing you the drink silently.

Downing it quickly, you hopped onto the packed dance floor. The bass vibrated strongly from the floor up your legs, making your feet go numb the longer you danced. You tried to keep an eye out for Toji, see when he came downstairs so you could drag him onto the floor, but he took far too long to keep your interest.

Dancing with multiple different people, you paid no mind to the hands that glided along the small of your back or across your arms. It all added to the experience of the club, the music drowning out any attempts at conversation.

The ache in your feet couldn’t be ignored any longer now. A good number of songs had passed and you were tired. Not bothering to look for Toji, you sauntered over to the bar, the security guard snagging you an empty seat with ease.

Downing a glass of water and ordering another drink, you spun around in the bar stool and scanned the club. It was packed with even more people and as the front doors swung open you could see the line to get in was still as packed as ever.

“Hey, how’s it going?” A voice cut into the little bubble you’d made for yourself, a flash of white streaking across the corner of your vision.

“Hm?” Turning to face whoever had just sat down, you were face to face with a lanky man with wild white hair, black sunglasses low on his nose to reveal sharp blue eyes.

“I saw you dancing earlier, you looked really sexy.”

“Thanks.” You were unimpressed and he could tell by your tone. Crossing your legs, you turned fully back to the bar and swirled your drink, the scent of alcohol wafting up to your nose as you took a sip. The stranger’s eyes roamed all over you, drinking in the expanse of slightly sweaty skin before him.

“I’m Gojo.” He stuck a hand out, flashing you a grin as he waited for you to shake it.

“(Y/N).” Grabbing his hand with your thumb and forefinger, you shook it. You weren’t really interested in the man, but after taking another look over your shoulder and not seeing Toji, you shrugged slightly. No harm in entertaining yourself for a bit.

“Such a pretty name for a pretty girl.”

“Thanks.” The cheesy line made you snort, a smile spreading on your cheeks despite yourself.

“Even prettier when you smile.”

“You really are a charmer, huh?” Leaning your head on your fist, you sized him up. He wasn’t particularly well dressed, just good enough to get in.

“Depends, is it working?”

“Depends. Buy me a drink?”

You end up making conversation with Gojo far longer than anticipated, somehow getting wrapped up in a story he’s telling that sounds too good to be true. He’d bought you two more drinks and you were certainly feeling the effects.

You were leaning far too close to him, nearly sliding off your own stool as your legs tangled with his. Your chest had dipped forward, the necklace dangling off your neck and the neckline of your dress plunging lower. A hand was now resting on his forearm, gripping it tighter as you laughed at something stupid he said.

“You’re so stupid!” You’re laughing far too loudly but you’re too tipsy to care. Toji’s prolonged absence had irked you enough that you didn’t care who saw you cozying up to this new guy; you wished someone had the nerve to say something to you, or better yet go right to him and tell him that his little minx had her eyes on a new prize.

“I’m tellin’ ya it’s the truth!” Gojo laughs right back, stretching out his long arms and putting one around the side of your seat, caging you in even more. Giggling at the absurdity of what he just said, your gaze snakes out across the club, out past the intimate little space you’re in.

Toji is sitting right at a VIP table a few feet away, his jaw cocked to the side and a pissed off look in his eyes. When you make eye contact, you giggle again and blow him a kiss, turning back to Gojo and putting a hand high on his shoulder, nearly wrapping it around his neck as you laugh extra loud in spite.

“How’s the liquor treating you, baby?” Gojo asks, rubbing a hand up and down your arm. The sound of his voice calling you that name doesn’t hit the same as with Toji, but you let it slide.

“Just fine.” You croon, fixing Gojo with your best smile and making his already pink cheeks flush a little deeper. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Toji sit up a little straighter and his sleeves have been pushed up to his elbows, baring his flexed forearms.

Looking directly at Toji, your fingers slid up the back of Gojos neck, finding the hair at his nape and twirling it between your fingers. Scraping your nails lightly against his neck, you’re not listening at all to what he’s saying now. An excited ripple runs through you, settling in your stomach as Toji stands up.

“Alright, funs over.” He huffs, yanking your hand off Gojo and pushing him away from you.

“What the fuck!” Gojo shouts, clearly startled by the sudden intrusion.

“Look who decided to show up.” You quip, pulling your hand from his grasp and waving over the bartender. “I’ll have another, thanks.”

“Get lost pal.” Gojo attempts to push Toji away but the man doesn’t budge. He tries to grab your wrist again but Gojo stops him, grabbing onto his arm tightly. “Hey, don’t touch-”

“Shut the fuck up.” Toji grunts, glaring harshly at Gojo. “Don’t get involved with shit you don’t know about.” You have to bite back a giggle behind your drink as Gojos mouth hangs open slightly. Grabbing your shoulder, Toji gets you to turn halfway to him. “You’ve had your fun, lets go.”

“Mmmm…” Tapping your chin, you pretend to think it over. “No thanks.” You can practically see his blood boiling, even more so when you put a hand on Gojo’s knee.

“You really want to play this game, baby?” Cocking his head to the side, Toji fixes you with an intense look. He’s pissed at how flirtatious you’ve been, but you know he loves it - otherwise there wouldn’t be the slight uptick to his mouth.

You get to take one sip from your drink before it’s taken out of your hand and you’re pulled from the bar stool. Toji has a tight grip on your wrist, almost enough to hurt as he drags you away from the bar.

Pulling you back up the stairs, he takes you to a side hallway and into a room tucked away, quickly locking the door behind him.

“Just can’t fucking help yourself, huh?” Toji barks when the door closes, pushing you into the room. It’s a decent sized office with two small plush couches facing each other, an opulent circular coffee table in the middle.

“I was bored, you took too long.” Pouting on one of the couches, you cross your arms under your breasts and push them up, looking away dramatically as Toji sits down next to you with his legs spread wide.

“S’not my fault, baby. Daddy had to take care of some business.” Throwing an arm over the back of the couch, he tugged you closer. “I’m all yours now.”

“Hm.” Still not done with your act, you kept your body turned away from him.

“You really gonna act like a brat right now?” He hums, curling his fingers around your upper arm. “I’d hate to smear that pretty makeup when I start spanking you.” As he speaks, he hauls you over his body, seating your ass right in his lap and giving your thigh a harsh spank. “But maybe you’d like that, huh?”

“Daddy!” Throwing your head back against his shoulder, you whine loudly, rubbing your ass into him. “You promised not to do that anymore!”

“Yeah and you promised to be a good girl.” Tilting his head to the side, Toji smirked at you. “Seems you didn’t hold up your end of the bargain.”

“Shut up.” You mumble, quickly moving to straddle his lap. Spreading your legs wide, your dress rides up, revealing the special thong you’d worn to go with this dress. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you give Toji a quick peck.

He chuckles against your lips, hands sliding down your back to grab your ass firmly, holding you tightly against him. His fingers dig into your flesh, grazing the fabric of the thong and hooking it under his fingers.

“You know I love it when you wear this.” Toji hums, toying with the fabric. You giggle coyly, kissing his jaw and wiggling your hips in his hands. A low growl comes from his chest as Toji descends onto you, latching his lips onto your neck and kissing you roughly.

“Daddy!” Your fingers tug at his hair as his teeth sink into your neck. You moan loudly, tugging his hair again when he smacks your ass.

“Fucking brat.” He snarls, licking the teeth marks he’d left in you and smacking you again. “Love to get me all riled up huh?” Grinding you on his lap, Toji trails kisses up your neck and behind your ear.

Moaning in his ear, you nod drunkenly. Your fingers fumble to grab the collar of his shirt and unbutton it, eager to feel his skin underneath. Just as you get one button undone, Toji snatches your hands away.

“Who said you get to touch me?”

“Please, daddy.” You pout, trying in vain to get your hands free. “Wanna feel you so bad.”

“What about that chump at the bar? You seemed pretty happy touching him.”

“No, I don’t want him, I want you!” Bouncing on his lap, the alcohol was clouding your senses, making you way more desperate way faster than normal. “Just wanted you to pay attention to me.”

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” Toji chuckles, letting your hands go and helping you unbutton his shirt. Pushing his shirt off his shoulders, your hands greedily felt up his body, diving down to give a few kisses to his neck and chest.

“Love you daddy.” Your words are slurred, fingers already dipping down to his lower stomach.

“Fuck yeah you do.” He shivered, pushing you away slightly and digging in his pocket. “Bet you’ll love me even more with this.” In his fingers is a small baggie of white powder that you’re all too familiar with. Dipping his finger into it, Toji holds it under your nose and you sniff it up obediently.

“Thank you daddy.” As the drug begins to take effect, you smile stupid at Toji, dragging your nail across the edge of his lip and along his scar.

“Don’t ever say your daddy ain’t spoiling you rotten.” Taking a hit for himself, Toji throws his head and back and grunts, rocking you in his lap. “Completely fucking rotten.”

[notnctu]

through the lens ❀ l.jn

❀ lee jeno x fem!reader ❀ genre - slow burn, smut/mature content, fluff (romance?), slight angst ❀ details - photographer!jeno, model!reader, college!au, shy!jeno but he aint shy in bed, strangers to fuckers!au ❀ word count - 8k (this is the longest thing ive ever written) ❀ warnings - nude modeling, swearing, oral (f/receiving), some sweet love makin’ ❀ brief synopsis - jeno asks you to model for his internship project, but little did you know, it was going to be a nude photo shoot.  

❝ jeno was too shy to hold eye contact, but he stared at you endlessly through the lens. ❞

❀ a/n - hihihi this is author doie❀ ! im bad at writing smut so pls dont hate me ah ha lol i tried my best i also dont model/do professional photography so really apologize if i butcher any terms lmaoo the only thing i am is that im in college and im shy

Jeno had applied to almost a hundred internships and almost close to none returned with an offer, even after a whole month of waiting. He absolutely needed to start building his portfolio before the beginning of his senior year of college. The embarrassment of possibly graduating without any experience loomed over the desperate boy. 

Photography had been more than a hobby to him, to the point where he wanted to take it seriously. His parents weren’t the most supportive of an Arts major, but that couldn’t stop him. Jeno saw the best through a camera lens. He had a special eye for beautiful moments and the impressing urge to capture it forever. 

It was too late to change his major, if he wanted to graduate with all of his friends. If he wanted to be successful, he had to act on it now. 

The swoosh! of a new email startled the sleeping boy. He stared at the brightly lit screen, reading the words over and over again to make sure it was real. Jeno was so enthralled with excitement that he scrambled out of bed to wake up his roommate, Jaemin.

He shook him so violently that the sheets fell from Jaemin’s warm body. “Dude! I got an internship!” He spoke with incredible glee, a wide smile couldn’t leave his face.

Jaemin groaned and had to hold Jeno by the shoulders to halt the boy from causing the room to spin. “Why--What is going on?” He dazely rubbed his tired eyes to blink at his giddy roommate.

The screen blinded Jaemin as it was shoved too closely to adjust. “Whoa--,” he pushed it away and shut his eyes, “--repeat what you just said one more time.” Jaemin held a finger up and Jeno grabbed it, jumping onto his best friend’s bed.

“I got an internship. Someone got back to me.” Jaemin returned the same excitement the moment he processed his words. He shot up in bed and hugged his friend tightly. 

“Wo-w, dude! Congratulations!” The two boys hurried on their feet to cheer together. There was no concern for the rest of their housemates, only celebration that roared throughout the entire night.

+

Truthfully, Jeno had no recollection of applying to this studio. It could have been a random link on a job scouting website, but he couldn’t be more grateful. An internship was long overdue and Jeno had been itching to get some recognition for his craft. 

“Hello, I’m Lee Jeno.” He bowed slightly at the receptionist, who had a stern stare that made him feel vulnerable. The first thing he noted about the office: white and minimalistic. 

Jeno’s specialty was landscape photography. His aesthetics consisted of black and white filters, city lights, dark mood lighting, and background commotion. He enjoyed capturing chaos the most, a scene where more than one thing was happening. The only reason being that there was more to look at. 

“Nice to meet you. The name is Lee Taemin, but you can call me what you please.” A young, lean man strolled his way towards Jeno with a wide grin and his hand for him to shake. Taemin was slightly shorter than him, but his stylish, expensive boots made up for his height. He had to be only a maximum of five years older than Jeno as Taemin appeared relatively youthful. 

Taemin’s firm grip pulled Jeno along inside the studio. A small gasp escaped from Jeno which earned robust laughter from the older man. “I hope you can break out of your shell soon. There is no room for timidness around here, Mister Lee.”

“Please, you can call me Jeno.” He smiled, quite awkwardly at the beautiful man. 

The tall glass windows, the concrete, gray floor, the white doors that lined the hallway, had to be all too predictable. Jeno envisioned this is what high class must look like. It was the pristine, bright feeling and the smell of vanilla that lingered distastefully. There was chatter behind the closed doors --- mainly directing, and high praises. 

The only off-put was that photographers worked behind closed doors. From the few studios he has visited previously, photographers often worked in open spaces due to lighting fractures or the ability to roam more freely. 

“I’m actually very ecstatic you signed up for the internship, since you do seem a bit on the younger side.” Taemin gestured toward the sofa in the middle of his massive office. Jeno sat across from him. Water was already placed on the glass coffee table that separated the two. A laptop was opened to face Taemin.

Jeno slyly rubbed the condensation from his palms on his jeans. Taemin’s stare bore deep into the shy boy, who had to break eye contact from time to time. “I know.” Jeno chuckled nervously, “thank you for getting back to me. I was really hoping to gain work experience through mentorship.” 

Taemin nodded at everything Jeno was saying. His face being completely expressionless. Jeno sipped his water to regain moisture in his dry throat. Taemin was more intimidating than he was anticipating. “Sounds great. Happy to have you here. It might be a small business, but the experience is worth investing in. Every photographer who has come in and out of my building has found their forte. Let’s say, it’s eye opening.” 

“That’s exactly what I was looking for actually.” As scared as he was of this mysterious man, he really enjoyed the comfort the environment radiated. 

Taemin leaned forward and squinted at the screen. “I noticed in the portfolio you sent that you don’t have any portraits or any people, in general, in your photos. Do you have any works with people? Since this is a studio of fine art nude photography.”

Nude. Jeno practically choked on the last remaining spit he gathered. Taemin acknowledged the boy’s shocked reaction and tilted his head curiously, “you did know that I specialize in contemporary fine art nude photography, right?” Unfortunately, Jeno did not. 

Jeno cleared his throat, “yes, of course. I wanted to challenge myself.” He had to lie, there was no other way to cover up his disbelief. This internship was the only hope left for him to gain something. Though, even the thought of shooting a naked body made him anxious.

He hated how timid he was. His friends and family say otherwise, mainly for the reason that Jeno automatically lit up behind a camera. In all honesty, he hid behind it. It was the only safe place that Jeno knew what he was doing. However when it came to real life situations without it, he lacked the confidence to be himself.

As ironic as it was, he hated being seen. He liked to be the background character in his own life, because the main character took too much of a toll. It could also be his deafening insecurities and lack of self esteem, but Jeno didn’t mind not being the center of attention.

“You like a challenge?” It was more of a statement rather than a question. Jeno caught a glimpse of the twinkle in Taemin’s dark eyes. “Then for your first task, I want you to show me that you can take on this role.”

Jeno scrambled for his phone to jot down notes. “Send me an emotional portfolio, model of your choice. They could be a friend of yours that you feel comfortable seeing naked. It must include a variation of headshots, full body, and body details. It must also be raw and unedited photos. I want to see if you have the eye for the art to capture these types of images.”

“When would you like it by?” He stammered, completely winded at the sudden project that unloaded on top of him. 

“Next Friday, and you’ll present it to me here in person. Feel free to use this studio if you don’t have a place of your own with equipment. All you need to do is book a room with the front desk. Any other questions?” The sound of the laptop shutting caused Jeno to look up at the brilliance in front of him. He needed Taemin to help him succeed. 

“Why do you take nude photography?” 

Taemin was unable to stop the laughter that erupted into the room. “I don’t run a pimp business or sell soft core porn, if that’s why you’re staring at me so funnily. What I make is an art masterpiece, it has nothing to do with physical features or desires. It’s the pure emotion that clothing distracts from. Clothing conforms the model into an aesthetic, and while that works for editorials, it won’t be a consistent thing here.” 

Jeno nodded understandingly. Overwhelmed and lost at words. He was unsure what he had gotten himself into. Where was he going to find a model on such short notice on such lewd conditions? He was really going to need to step out of his comfortable zone, in his photography and social skills. 

Taemin stood up and extended his hand once more. “I take pride in my art, so I hope you, too, start finding that in your own.” 

+

Jaemin held his stomach from the endless laughter, tears welling up in his eyes. “Nud-Nude photography? And you didn’t know?”

“Jaemin, keep it down.” Jeno whispered and cautiously peered around at the few people flooding into the small lecture hall. “I don’t want everyone in our club to misunderstand and think I’m some creep.”

His best friend straightened up in his seat and placed his hand on Jeno's slumped shoulder, “first of all, you’re a complete idiot for not researching. Secondly, it’s an art form. If you really got yourself a shady, rated R internship, I would’ve told you to drop it instantly.” 

His spirits were slightly lifted, but he was still struggling with who he should ask to model for him. As much as he’s already seen of Jaemin, being his roommate, he honestly would rather leave the rest to imagination. Jeno wasn’t purposefully searching the room for a candidate, but he could not stop his eyes from drifting.

He spotted the most attractive side profile that sat two rows below him. He shook his head to make sure he was seeing her correctly. Peering around, he looked for another possible face to shoot. But oh god, how she caught his eye every time she even slightly moved.

You smiled happily with your friends by your side as your club’s executive board members introduced this year’s goals and events to attend. It had to be the smallest amount of alcohol still running in your system that caused you to giggle every time guys tried to turn around and hit on you.

“Why don’t you focus on our club members instead?” You smirked at the smug older boy, who had poorly attempted to grab your attention. “I think this information is important to you. These events could help you develop your social skills to be much better.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but your girl friends scoffed by your side.

He got up in disbelief and quickly walked out of the room. There was a brief pause at the sudden movement, but the announcement carried on per usual.

Jeno impatiently waited for the club meeting to finally be over, so he could talk to you. The longer it dragged, the more his confidence was subsiding. “I’m heading to study, wanna come with?” Jaemin poked at Jeno’s knee.

“Yeah, but you can go ahead first. I need to talk to someone.” His voice was shaky and his throat went so dry. Jeno’s shifty eyes scanned the room, hoping no one saw how nervous he was acting.

Jaemin’s eyebrows lifted suspiciously, “who? I didn’t even know you talked to anyone who came today. Donghyuck and Renjun aren’t here---”

“--her, Jaemin... her. I’m going to ask her to model for me.” Jeno motioned his head. His heart beating faster at seeing a small grin appear on your face from a comment someone made.

Jaemin hummed, “good luck with that, bud. I’ve got two shoulders for you to cry on after.” The extra hint of sarcasm only made Jeno sweat nervously. He was seriously doubting his decision, but it wouldn’t be a challenge if he didn’t do it. He knew he’d regret it more if he didn’t just ask you. 

Once the meeting was dismissed, you wanted to get out of the room before the heavy rush into the hallways. Unfortunately, a few frat guys pulled you into their conversation and chatted up a storm. Your friends played into their foolery, but you stopped paying attention when they asked for your numbers.

There was a faint tap on your shoulder and you turned to see who the culprit was. You didn’t seem to know him, because you would’ve remembered such a demeanor. His eyes were glued to the floor behind you and his shaky hands ran through his brown locks. His shyness was quite endearing, yet alarming since you weren’t sure why exactly he had approached you.

“Yes?” You asked curiously.

The moment Jeno heard your delicate cadence, he melted like a popsicle left out in the sun. He peered up, but quickly reverted his eyes to the white tiles when he noticed how beautifully you stared at him.

He counted his breathing to calm his rapid heart beat. He cleared his throat to introduce himself, “I’m Jeno. I’m a third year Arts major, um-- I was just--- I know we don’t know each other. I wanted to ask, uh-” Jeno was horrified at how he stammered over his own words. His cheeks burned with a red glow, and if he couldn’t look you in the eye before, he definitely couldn’t now.

“Hey, see you later.” One of the bulky frat guys called and you waved back weakly. 

A guy who had been chasing you endlessly scoffed at the pitiful sight and smirked at you, “see you at my house tonight? Been missing you in my bed lately.”

“Thought you would’ve guessed the reason why I stopped coming around.” Jeno heard the sting in your remarks and the disbelief in the male. 

You honestly could have left, Jeno knew that. But you stayed and waited patiently for him to finish. Jeno could tell how strong you were just by your intimidating aura that practically suffocated him by standing in close proximity to you.

You sighed and reached to grab your jacket on the folded seat, “look, Jeno. It’s nice to meet you and all, but I gotta get going.” 

Shockingly, the shy boy reached out to stop you by your fingertips. His touch lingered before he dropped your hand quickly. “I’m sorry. Are you free this Monday?”

“Uh, that depends. If you’re asking me on a date, then I’m busy.” Rolling your eyes, you weren’t sure why you still stayed to listen to what this random stranger had to say. If it were anyone else, you would’ve walked away the moment he asked if you were free. However, you acknowledged his timidness and the courage he must have mustered up to approach you.

Jeno shook his head violently, completely in shambles from that type of misunderstanding. “Not a date. I need someone to model for my portfolio photos that my internship assigned. It’s actually very important to me because it’s the first internship that responded back to me when I had applied to so many a whole month ago. Basically, I really need this and you because I think you’d be perfect to take pictures of. Oh-- wow! That sounded very bad --- uh --- what I meant is that your facial proportions are perfect and---”

“I’m free Monday.” You cut off his endless ramble and gestured toward his phone. He handed it to you without any hesitation and you typed in your number. “Text me the time, place and what I should wear.” 

“Oh actually, it’s a nude photoshoot.” Your eyes doubled in size, completely offended by that statement.

Jeno felt the sudden shift in the air and brought his hands up to block himself, “to be more clear, it’s a contemporary fine art nude photography studio. The pictures are pieces of art and to be seen as that only. I have no intentions or ulterior motive to sleep with you, see you naked or sell, leak your nudes for the profit of your body. But, I understand if you no longer want to do it because it sounds super strange now that I am explaining it.” 

Your shoulders relaxed and the fist that formed unraveled. You exhaled deeply, “I’ll do it. We can talk more about it on Monday and I get to leave on my own accord if I don’t feel comfortable. We work on my conditions.” Picking up Jeno’s chin, he was absolutely petrified at the forced eye contact and your incredible, powerful gaze. He was mesmerized by the fire in your eyes, and if he stared any longer, he could’ve lost himself in them. 

“Of course.” With that, you dropped his face and left without another look back. Jeno looked down at his phone and the new contact name, (Y/N). It had slipped his mind to even ask what your name was and he slapped his face in utter stupidity. “Do better, Lee Jeno.” It was a remainder to himself to, hopefully, be better the next time you two speak.

+

Monday, 3:03 PM. 

Jeno paced back and forth in the brightly, lit white room. He was trying to find any blinds or curtains to cover the tall windows of the high rise building. It should not be too much of a problem, the extra lighting was a positive. Jeno was only worried for your comfort of the openness. 

There was a soft knock before Jeno practically tripped to open the door. His breath hitched at the sight of your bare face. This time, you were the vulnerable one. Jeno only saw purity, yet impressed at how your tired eyes still managed to bid him a soft smile. He admired your uneven complexion, and the sparse moles that dotted your skin. 

“Okay, so you want to see me naked now or later?” Filled with jokes, your voice was light and airy this afternoon. There was a bit of a contrast from the first time you two met. Softer, enchanting, almost ghostly. 

Everything in the room was white. The mattress on the floor had a white comforter and white sheets. The backdrop. The walls. The hardwood floor. The only color was the blue sky that the tall windows let in.

“Here’s a robe. You can change in the bathroom.” Jeno scratched the back of his neck and his eyes wandered everywhere, but your’s. 

“Would you be okay with me just taking off my clothes in here?” You saw the light tint of pink cover his face, and spread to his ears. You examined more of the shy boy’s embarrassed face, finally getting a really good look at him. Jeno was very attractive, and you could only imagine how beautiful he must look if he fully faced you.

Jeno fiddled with his camera strap, “only if you are okay with that.” Clearing his throat, he stood next to the window to give you some privacy. “I’ll go over what I plan on doing. I’m going to take photos of your face details, parts of your body, full body, and portraits. You can lay down on the bed and I’ll direct you in poses. Have you modeled before?”

He was scanning the bustling city below his feet. Cars zoomed quickly and crowds of tiny people flooded the streets. He brought his camera up to his face, not being able to resist the urge to capture such a thrilling sight. 

“If Instagram counts, then yeah. Professional model gig would be a no. Nude photography is a definite no, unless we are talking about being filmed during sex.” Jeno chuckled, while also holding the camera steady and stealing a few moments to keep for himself.

For a strange reason, being naked for a non-sensual reason felt even more vulnerable. Laying on the soft fabric, you felt oddly exposed and slightly more reserved. You’ve had countless strangers see you naked. Men were sexually desiring to see a sexy picture. You were always lusted after, but this feeling of nakedness was special.

“Are you ready?” Jeno gulped, finally setting the camera down. 

You hummed cheerfully. Your heart was leaping out of your chest as the boy shifted slowly to face you. As he turned, you noticed he had his eyes sealed shut, which caused a small laugh to erupt. “Jeno, you have my permission to open your eyes and to look at me.”

Holy shit, he was trembling with an inexplicable fear. The camera was slipping from his sweaty hands. His mouth was as dry as the desert. Jeno’s pounding heart was loud in his ears. 

Jeno has seen his past girlfriends laying naked in bed, but this situation was too different. When he saw you laying there in absolutely nothing, he was overwhelmed, yet astounded at how graceful you appeared.

There was no exchange of words and no exchange of eye contact. He towered over your lying figure and shakily brought the camera to his eyes. He selfishly wanted to capture your elegance. Through the lens, he saw all of you: the curve in your eyelid, your curled eyelashes, the small mole next to your soft lips, the sharp color of your eyes, the way your hair frames your face.

This was the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. You were comparable to the arts found in popular museums. Your body lines were enticing and an impressive shape. Your breasts pooled on your chest, the round nude nipple in the centers. Your details had to be sculpted by gods, who took their sweet time making you. You were a true masterpiece. 

Confused, Jeno felt a huge mixture of emotions. Was he aroused? Was he infatuated? Did he just fall in love with a complete stranger? He recognized the same thrilled feelings he felt taking landscape photos. With each click, he grew more excited with how beautiful the photos were turning out.

“Sit up and rest your chin on your left hand. Lean your weight on your right leg.” Jeno’s direction was clear and firm. There was no evidence of a smaller tone he usually spoke in. Sitting up, you placed your elbow on your upper thigh to steady your chin. Jeno had already gotten down to floor level to you. 

Without the camera that separated you two, it had to be the first time he faced you completely in such close proximity. There was so much to admire about Jeno. He remained concentrated on his craft, but it was actually very sexy to see his dedication. It was almost like he was a whole new person, like all the shyness drifted away. 

Jeno couldn’t take his eyes off of you. It wasn’t simply your beauty that amazed him. Your confidence made everything easy. There was something about your blank stares, when he asked for an emotion, you portrayed it perfectly.

“Can we talk while you shoot?” Your sudden voice startled the photographer. He lowered his camera and his gaze automatically wandered off behind you, which didn’t go unnoticed. He nodded after a short pause and the shutter noises continued.

“Why did you choose me as your model?” 

Jeno peeled away from the device, “because you’re you.” He didn’t even know what that statement meant. It wasn’t like he knew you before the first time he asked you to model for him.

The corners of your lips dipped down, drawing an evident frown. Click. Jeno loved that image especially. It was a simple way to get real, authentic facial expressions. He marveled at the photo, but registered the reason behind it. “I wanted to ask you the second I saw you. I just knew that I wanted you.” 

“But you don’t know me.” 

Jeno looked through the lens once again, welcoming a full view of your stunning attributes. He spoke in a low voice, “then, let me know you.” Click. 

It would be the biggest lie to say that you weren’t aroused by Jeno at the moment. He was cool, without trying to be. He really did shine when he had a camera to work with, like a star to a dark night. While he had a distinct demeanor off the bat, you enjoyed unraveling the rest of him. He was, also, the first man you met that didn’t seem sexually driven by a naked woman in his presence. 

You had to resist every urge to push the camera away and share the few seconds of his entire gaze before it wandered away. You wanted to rock his world, he was so innocent and beautiful. You wished to wreak havoc on him, have him show you how much he wanted you. 

+

You anticipated an awkward photoshoot, but Jeno made you feel safe and comfortable. He made sure to adjust the temperature when goosebumps rose on your arms and when your nipples became painfully hard. He never touched you or came too much into your personal space. He always asked for your permission. 

Nude modeling was a new experience for you, but you were surprised at how much you liked it. or how much you liked Jeno taking your photos. He sat next to you on the bed when you put on your articles of clothing and panned through several shots to satisfy your curiosity.

Leaning close, your head ducked to see the photos. A gasp escaped your lips when you saw just the first few. “Is that really me?” The pictures made you feel an abundance of emotions, you felt what they reflected. Sadness, melancholy, happiness, confidence. You didn’t know images had that much power to make you feel that, especially photos of you.

Jeno nodded, smiling so wide that his eyes turned to moon crescents. He was so in love with the results. He found respect for Taemin’s craft and he was right, he might’ve found a new forte to experiment with. “I can send you the photos digitally too, if you want them.”

“Maybe I’ll print them out, frame them, and gift it to every horrid man who has tried to flirt their way to my body since they want to see it so fucking bad.” 

Jeno peered over and saw the tiny glimpse of pain in your orbs, “why would you give horrible people what they want?”

“So they can finally shut up and leave me alone. Plus, this is art and if I tell them it’s actually me, maybe it’ll change their minds to start treating me like it.” 

He held his palm up and almost immediately, your fingers filled the spaces between his. “I’m going to need you to start treating yourself as fine art.”

“Keep taking more photos of me and I just might start thinking I’m Mona Lisa.” Your laughters blended nicely into each other. There was mutual mental acknowledgement of the happiness you were both feeling.

Jeno never let go of your hand, and there was a short moment of comforting silence where you two sat in each other’s existence. You were the one to break it, “are you doing anything after this?” 

He shook his head. “Well then, you’re mine for the rest of the night. We’re going to pretend we’ve been close friends since first year and eat take-out on my bed because that’s what I need at the moment.” 

+

“I know you respect my body and see this as an art form, but I’m genuinely surprised that you didn’t feel aroused at the slightest.”

Jeno didn’t even realize how much time had already passed being you. You two ate and chatted as if you’ve known each other forever, as if the friendship wasn’t established several hours ago. It felt safe and right, like you two belonged in each other’s existence and nowhere else mattered.

He felt warm inside from your hearty laughter and courage, like he was watching a painting come to life or a photo in movement. You were smitten over how endearing and complex he was. He was more than what meets the eye and that alone drew you towards him.

“Okay, I’ll admit,” Jeno paused to watch your reaction, “in the most respectable way, I was somewhat turned on. But! Before you trail blaze me for being just like every disgusting male in your life, I genuinely didn’t have any sexual thoughts during the photoshoot. That was all professional and it will continue to be like that.” 

Getting up from your bed, your mind was working at lightspeed to process his confession. Jeno was fast to pick up someone’s personality, what stood out and what was kept hidden. He knew quicker than anyone else that you were not someone to offend because you were a strong, straight forward woman.

His personality breakdown went like this: you knew what you like, you knew you were going to get what you want, you enjoyed flirty banter (with people of your choice), you weren’t afraid to be blunt, or kick someone’s ass. You carried yourself with confidence that graced your every step, which makes anyone attracted to you instantly. Bold, confident, sexy had to be what came to mind whenever he thought about you. 

Nonetheless, he really liked you as a person. He could pat himself on the back all day long for just approaching you, but he knew the real reason as to how this all happened. It was you saying yes to a stranger’s odd photoshoot. You made him the luckiest man in the world. 

“Continue? Are you looking for excuses to keep seeing me?” You smirked and Jeno’s voice grew small. 

“I--- uh, well,” there goes the nervous stammering, “I know the conditions were a one time thing, so I understand if you don’t want to do it again.” As the night had progressed, Jeno gradually began to hold eye contact and actually looked at you directly without the help of seeing you through a lens. This was the first time he broke it. 

“Hey now, I’m messing with you, Jeno.” He had been sitting on your floor, at the end of your bed. You crawled on your elbows to reach him, and to hold his chin to face you again. Deja vu. “I’d love to get naked for you again, and again, and.. as many times as you want me to.” 

He stared at you with his mouth hung open in disbelief. His eyes scanned your beautiful face to see your lips pull back into a mischievous smile. Gulping, he swallowed every ounce of courage he had left. “You don’t have to say it like that.” He tried to remove your grip, but it latched onto his hand. 

“You’re finally looking me in the eye, sweet thing. I don’t think you realize how much I had been wanting that from you.” You caressed his cheek, rubbing small circles on his texture. 

“What else do you want from me?” His implication sounded suggestive, even if his curiosity was innocent. 

Your hot breath brushed against Jeno’s lips. “I can show you.”

Jeno, the one and only college guy who has seen your naked body in a non-sexual context. Jeno, the shy, sweet boy who appreciated and recognized you as a form of art. Jeno, the talented and skillful photographer, who consistently made sure you felt comfortable. Jeno, the only person in the world who you’d model nude for. Jeno, the dazzling character behind the camera who you wanted more than anyone else you’ve ever met. Lee Jeno.

He seemed like he was inching closer, already tilting his head to fit your’s. You smiled to yourself, seeing that your words were received well. Diving in, your lips swam together fervently. 

The poor boy found himself lost in your enchanting, alluring gaze. He let the trance consume him, selfishly kissing the art he admired so dearly. A small part of him felt the guilt and confusion that began to rise. He wasn’t sure why he suddenly wished to feel your lips on his neck, or run his hands across your hot skin. He swore these thoughts were not present earlier. 

A small pop! and Jeno held your shoulder to pull away. “I’m sorry, did I do something?” You asked, honestly concerned that you were taking more than you deserved. The least you desired was to hurt Jeno, who had been nothing but nice and sweet.

“(Y/N),” you could listen to your name roll off his tongue all day, “I feel somewhat guilty. I don’t want things to be misunderstood.”

“Which would be?”

“I don’t want you to think I coerced you into being my model just because I had intentions to sleep with you.” Jeno was already gathering his things, but you hopped off your bed and placed a hand on his chest. “Because that’s what it’s starting to look like at the moment.”

“Was that something you did though? Did you have those intentions?” Your stare bore right through him. The warmth of your hand relaxed his racing heart.

“Never, (Y/N), I would never do that to someone.” Your hand traveled down to grab his belongings and tossed it back onto the ground. 

He silently watched as you took off your pants, and stood in front of him in your underwear. “Then, we’re fine. I know your intentions have always been pure. But truthfully, Jeno, seeing you focused while you worked sparked something in me. You don’t understand how aroused I got and how badly I wanted you to fuck me on that bed.” His hand trailed up your exposed thighs, finally touching your softness. “You’re the one guy I wanted first, and it’s been a long time since I’ve felt that.” 

“I-- I don’t know what to say.” His cheeks revealed how embarrassed he was, but his dark, lustful eyes were telling a different story.

A smirk fell upon your face, “then don’t say anything.” 

Jeno devoured you, inhaling the light hint of vanilla that still lingered. He hoisted you onto your mattress and kissed you like his life depended on it. His antsy hands roamed your free range, exploring, holding, gripping the parts he marveled over. Small moans from the back of your throat encouraged him to continue.

No one has ever kissed you with the amount of passion Jeno did. It was gentle, with enough vigor to cause your panties to dampen. It wasn’t sloppy, where previous guys had a problem of missing your mouth entirely and slobbered your chin. 

His lips worshiped you, highlighting your good sides. Flashes of the photoshoot popped into Jeno’s head as he left purple marks on the places he loved capturing the most. He pushed up your shirt, exposing your chest to him again. His tongue circled around your hard nipple as he made sure to give the same amount of attention to each one. 

Jeno knew he was too shy to hold your intense stare, but getting to know you during and after the photoshoot, he could see the softness in your gaze. He was, now, able to see all of you. The sight of you through the camera was addicting enough, so finally taking you all in was more than satisfying. 

Your hands ran through his hair as he kissed down your torso. His thumbs hooked the waistband of your underwear, and peeled it off your body. You gasped as the cold air from your apartment grazed against your exposed figure.

Jeno paused to admire your glistening pussy, “would it be okay if you let me make love to you?”

Your heart burned, not out of embarrassment, but at how he still managed to ask you for your permission in the sweetest way. You rested your weight on your elbows, “no one has done that before, would it actually make me want to fall in love with you?”

“It wouldn’t be too bad. I have a lot of love to give and you look like a person who deserves all of it anyways.” Jeno’s finger ran over your wet slit and rubbed your clit slowly.

Your moans filled the room as the electric jolted throughout your veins. The wetness grew, seeping out of you like a waterfall. Jeno dropped down to his knees, and lifted your legs on his broad shoulders.

“Are you usually this wet, baby?”

Chuckling, you smiled at his bold choice in using pet names, “Just for you.”

He hummed, chiming at how he liked your answer. Spreading you open, his tongue met with your swollen bud that begged for his licks.

His tongue darted side to side, up and down and in result, your back arched in pleasure and a darkness clouded your mind. His name and mindless profanities streamlined their way out of you as Jeno ate you out in such a precisely delicious way.

Grabbing a fist full of hair, you pulled him closer, even if there was no more space to fill. Looking down, you two exchanged glances before he thrusted a finger into you. Your hips bucked harder as he eased in another one.

Jeno curled his fingers in search of your sweet spot and found it when a deep moan escaped your throat. His fingertips rubbed and pressed into your plush flesh, causing you to practically scream and squirm in his mouth. 

He suckled your clit and fingered you simultaneously and quickly. The pleasure was overflowing and you released his hair to grip your sheets below you. Your legs shook and trembled as he had no caution to stop.

“Please, I’m going to--” you could barely talk due to your face contouring to the splurge of pleasure every single time Jeno rubbed your spot. “--to explode.” 

He had to take back what he thought earlier in the day. This was the most beautiful sight he’s ever laid eyes on. The whole scene played like from one of his favorite films. It felt like he was giving his photos life. Your body twisted and turned, accentuating the curves of your lines. 

Jeno had become painfully hard against the fabric of his jeans, but seeing you fall apart because of his minimal movements exhilarated him. “P-Please, don’t stop.” A breathy moan followed suit and your thighs tried to press themselves together. Jeno didn’t allow it, his free hand hooked underneath your left thigh to pull one side away from his cheeks.

Your high gradually grew so tall that it all eventually came cascading down. Your legs shook violently and sat up from the euphoria that took over you. Jeno prolonged your buzz and you screamed loudly, having to bite down on your fingers to stop yourself from angering your neighbors.

Jeno drank you up, letting your wetness cover his chin and drip down his knuckles. He pulled away, at last, and you took deep breaths to control your heavy breathing. It was like Jeno knocked the wind completely out of you. 

He stood up and you saw the outline of his hard bulge straining itself through his jeans. The next scene was quite animalistic. You, still embodying your high, sat on your knees and unzipped his pants with your needy hands.

“Now, it’s your turn to get nude for me.” You whispered, tauntingly. Jeno groaned when you reached down and gently pulled him out. He stepped out of his clothing, all of it. His shirt was lost in the corner and his bottoms were scattered over your floor. Mirroring his actions, you took off your last piece of cloth.

Jeno was built. Though his biceps did not go unnoticed during the photoshoot, you were surprised at the lines of muscle that sketched his body. It made your mouth water, seeing his extremely hard dick stand against his toned abs. His red tip fell just below his navel. Jeno only kept getting better as the night continued on.

Pulling him closer, his hand found their way to the back of your head as you aligned your mouth to the wetness that spilled from his tip. “I want to make you feel good.” Jeno’s hoarse voice made your knees weak.

Peering up, you batted your eyelashes at him fondly. “Just a little taste?” You begged, having to hold his shaft with both of your hands because of his thickness. Your tongue was already stuck out, your hot breath causing the tiniest bit of sensation for him.

He nodded and his eyes were trained on you. He didn’t want to miss any second of your kitty licks. You flattened your tongue against his warmth, dragging it up to the top. The saltiness hit your palette as you swirled around his redness. “Oh--” Jeno threw his head back and bit his lip, “--lay on the bed now.” 

You smiled sweetly and gave his member a quick kiss before reaching for a condom in your drawer. Jeno climbed onto your bed and situated the rubber comfortably. You laid on your back and he was fast to pull your legs around his waist. 

He lined himself at your entrance and eased his tip in slowly. Squirming, you craved him to fill you up to the brim. He leaned down to kiss you, letting your tongue lap with his. It’s your hands with the mind of their own when they flew automatically to hold his face whenever you wanted to deepen the kiss. Then, Jeno stretched himself all the way in and he caught your gasp with his lips. He groaned, feeling the mess he created merely minutes ago. 

His hips moved so easily with your wetness, but he went slow. Dragging out each pull and then, pushing himself back in roughly. “Jeno!” Your body jolted up the bed each time. His body fell over yours to hold you intimately, letting you bury your face into his neck. Your lips latched themselves onto his sensitive skin, painting a purple sunset. 

Jeno’s arms snaked underneath your thighs as he pressed them to your chest, folding you almost into a ball. Your mouth hung open as he fucked you harder, rougher, deeper yet keeping the tempo rhythmically slow. At this point, you could feel his hits in your gut. Your weak hands gripped loosely around his strong wrists that held your legs down. “You’re pussy is so tight and holy shit---, you keep getting more beautiful.”

A familiar burning sensation set in your chest as you saw how concentrated his face had become. You were so fucked out that you could barely speak, “you—” his hips mercilessly slammed into you powerfully, enacting a low moan every time he reached your sweet spot. “—keep surprising me.” His actions came to a halt and he stared deeply into your soul. 

You whined, wiggling your hips for any friction. He held them down into the mattress, knowing his grip was strong enough to leave a mark. “I told you, I was going to make love to you tonight.”

“I’ve already fallen for you.” You said breathlessly, tracing the side of his face and pecking his lips softly. 

“You don’t understand what you’re doing to me by saying those things.” He whispered and pushed his entire shaft to fill you to your brim. 

You yelped his name and gripped his shoulders, but he wasn’t done yet. “Show me how badly you wanted me the first time you saw me.” Jeno blinked at you in slight shock. 

As he continued to hold the deep gaze, he kept pushing his dick further and further into you. He was balls deep, almost impossible to keep going. He fucked you without the need to pull out, just burying his cock deeper into your wet pussy. You exclaimed, moaned, cussed at every push. Holding the stare was more than enough to lose yourself all over him again. 

Jeno was drunk with the image of your fucked out expression and every time the mixture of pleasure and pressure caused your eyebrows to crease and mouth to open release sensual sound. He had been trying his best not to come undone, to fixate another climax for you.

The feeling of you wrapping tighter and tighter around him drove him insane. “Give it to me, please.” Your muffled plead called for his release, but he could feel that you were close to your second.

Jeno sat up on his knees and pulled you into his arms where your thighs fell over his. You groaned at the empty feeling, though it was quickly replaced with a gratifying moan when he inserted himself again. Your arms dangled around his neck, foreheads touching intimately. 

The fucking eye contact again, how could you get enough of it? You giggled, amused at how different Jeno was when he eventually opened up. He wrapped his strong arms around your back and thrusted his hips up into you. The way this man made you squirm, scream, and shake were nothing you’ve experienced before. 

He smirked, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek when he went rampage on your pussy. “Not laughing now, are you?”

You whined in pleasure, brushing your fallen strands of hair out of his face. “Shut up before I make you.” 

“Then I’d rather keep going.” Kissing up his jawline, you lead your way to his pout. His kisses intoxicated you with his passion and madness, like the most intense part of a symphony, or when the bass drops after a long build up in a song. 

Jeno sped up, ramming up into your slick pussy over and over again. He even brought your hips down to match him, guiding you down as he went up. The headboard was knocked against the wall, your windows steamed up, cries of pleasure from the both of you created the ambiance, the smell of sex filled your lungs. Jeno reached between your bodies to furiously rub your clit to where it felt almost raw. It all sent you into the clouds, the familiar queasiness settled in your lower half.

Your eyes rolled back and your back arched, having to pull away from the desirous kiss with Jeno. “I’m cumming!” You announced before the tension unraveled, causing you to see absolute white. The second wave was much more uncontrollable, Jeno felt you squeezing radically around his dick as he tried to fuck you faster to prolong the feeling.

Your legs shook around his and your upper body went limp with pleasure. You reached the peak of the mountain and it came crumbling down underneath your toes. It was catastrophically enthralling, to the point where you physically felt something leave your body.

“Oh shit..” Jeno stopped his motions at the sight of you squirting over his lap. He pampered your torso with fluttering kisses, hoping to calm your spastic body. “...baby, are you okay?” He asked with a bit of concern of how lack of life you seemed. 

This man just gave you the best climax in your whole life and he asked if you were okay? Regaining your senses, you sighed a small yes to reassure him that he didn’t actually murder you. Hopping off, you pulled the condom that restricted him.

He hissed when you cupped his balls in your palm. “Cum, my sweet thing.” You purred and Jeno’s hand pumped his member aggressively. You leaned in to help, sucking the tip and flicking your tongue over his slit. 

His other hand gripped your neck, causing you to drip on your sheets. Jeno was panting and with every tug, it became louder. He seemed so desperate to release that it made you smile to be the reason behind it. “Can you lay down,” A grunt followed his question, “please.” He huffed.

“Because you asked nicely.” Smirking, your back hit the sheets and you opened your legs to give Jeno a view. He situated himself above your stomach, as he fucked his tight grip.

“I’m cumming---” He couldn’t look any more amazing. With a final moan, the white streaks streamed out in short sequences. It landed across your abdomen, over your nipple, and pooled around your belly button. 

Bringing himself back to reality, Jeno stepped back to marvel you, his masterpiece. The white streaks coated your purple skin and your chest rose fast to catch your reality. Gazing upon your naked body, he was utterly infatuated with all of you. He was so in love with the sight of you that not a single photo could capture the beauty that you were. 

Jeno pondered the thought of how merely a day changed a small part of him. You were life changing, addicting, an incomparable character that he felt like he’s known forever, and now, couldn’t live without. It was the taste of your juices on his lips, your sweet melodic music that was your voice, your daring smile that enticed him to never peel away from you. It was simply you. 

He leaned down to rub his knuckles against your cheek, planting a lovingly peck on your forehead. “I’ll go start the water for you.” 

+

Jeno anticipated the reaction of his mentor. He found himself at the same scene he was when he was first given the task. Taemin sat across from him, hunched forward to analyze his new set of photos on his laptop. Raw, unedited photos of you, your body, your details. 

The hum of the air conditioning droned on, driving him mad. Jeno needed one reaction, but Taemin had been silent and expressionless for the past ten minutes. Whenever he did move, it was to click through to the next picture. 

Suddenly, he shut it closed and stood right up. Jeno, panicked, did the same. Taemin stuck his hand out and Jeno hesitantly grabbed it, incredibly unsettled and unable to read the older man.

Taemin received it firmly, giving Jeno a good handshake. “Welcome abroad, Lee Jeno. I expect even more great things from you.” 

Jeno registered his delightful mood switch and he was fast to follow up, “my photos, --- you --- like them?” 

Taemin nodded generously, patting Jeno on his shoulder. Taemin reached up to tap his own eyelids. “What you can see, is very special, kid. You’re an artist and I’m here to recognize that for you. It seems to me, you can do more than take pictures of sidewalks.” 

Jeno smiled happily, his eyes disappearing from joy. He couldn’t wait to tell you about it. 

The rest of the week, leading up to Jeno’s appointment, had felt nothing short of blissful moments together. You and Jeno spent almost every waking minute together without the cost of your friends’ time. He walked you to your classes, some even being across the campus from his own. You accompanied him for meals, even sitting in his lectures to just be with him.

There were no words that established what you two had become to each other. Jeno wasn’t looking for that anyways, in fact, he somewhat liked the ambiguity. If only he could tell you how making love to you made him begin to actually fall for you.

You were never one to hold a serious relationship, but you found a small want for that festering in Jeno. It was hard to admit to yourself, but Jeno saw you for all that you were. He truly saw you, whether it had been through a lens or through his own eyes. He captured your rawness and you were able to find vulnerability around him. 

He ran to you, where you sat in the lobby waiting for him to finish his meeting. Peering up from your phone, you noticed the beaming smile on the boy’s face. You couldn’t hold back your own grin, seeing him apparent with so much joy. “I’m guessing good things?”

“I got it, (Y/N)!” He jumped into your arms and you laughed at the sudden affection. “He loved my photos.” 

“I didn’t doubt it for one second. You’re an artist, Jeno. You create masterpieces that make even someone like me, feel like art.” 

Jeno hugged you closer to his chest, giving you a tiny squeeze. Pulling away to face you, his eyes examined your outstanding grace. You knew what he was already going to say, but simply wanted to hear him say it. “That’s because you are art.”

[potrix-the-queerschlaeger]

layers (like onions)

Random idea of the day that wouldn’t leave me alone; this little future fic. And it’s not like we can’t all use some more Harringrove fluff, right? Can also be found over on AO3.

- - -

Sadie is having the absolutely worst first day at work, and the lunch rush isn't even over yet.

It had started with the fancy coffee maker spitting steam at her when she’d tried to show her new co-worker that she understood how to use it, burning the back of her hand and her wrist. Then the trash bag she’d been carrying to the dumpster out back had ripped, spilling all over her feet and the kitchen floor, so she’d spent fifteen minutes cleaning up while apologising profusely.

And to top it all off, her first table hadn’t tipped at all, even though Sadie had pulled out all the stops, been all friendly smiles and polite small-talk despite the total shitshow her morning had turned out to be.  

Things don’t look much better with her current table, either.

So far, they’ve yelled across the restaurant for her when she hadn’t been fast enough with their drinks, demanded three additional baskets of the complimentary bread, one of them won’t stop making gross comments whenever she has to walk by, and by the look on one of the men’s faces right now, they aren’t happy with their food, either.

Forced smile firmly in place, Sadie approaches their table, ignoring the urge to roll her eyes when one of them clicks his fingers at her.

Before she can so much as ask what seems to be the problem, the scowling man snaps, “This burger has onions on it.”

“Yes, sir,” Sadie tries, summoning up patience only acquired through years of waitressing, “all our burgers come with tomatoes, pickles, and onions—”

“Well, I don’t like onions,” the man says, slowly, glaring up at Sadie. “I didn’t want any onions.”

“Of course, sir, I’m so sorry,” Sadie apologises, instead of demanding, like she really wants to, “Then why the hell did you order a dish with onions in it?”

(Watch out for the break!)

She pulls her notepad out of her pocket, quickly scribbling down an order for a replacement burger, and underlining the no onions three times. “I’ll put a new order in for you right away, sir. Would you like me to add a side dish as well? Free of charge, of course, as an—”

“No, no,” the man cuts in, and throws the burger he’d been holding down hard enough that it slips off his plate, and falls apart on the table. Which only appears to make him angrier. “Look at this mess. I want you to clean this up, and then I want to speak with whoever’s in charge here.”

The two other men nod, clearly not only used to their friend’s behaviour, but actively encouraging it. “Get to it, sweetheart,” one of them demands, making Sadie bite the inside of her cheek, “before all of our food goes cold.”

“Certainly, sirs,” Sadie scrapes the ruined burger off the table, waving over one of the busboys, “I’ll take care of this right away.”

Despite her words, after putting in the order for the new, onion-free burger, Sadie leans against the wall in the kitchen for a moment, breathing out heavily as she tries to compose herself. The line cook shoots her a sympathetic look, and Sadie smiles back shakily, grateful for the silent support.

Her boss’ office is one floor up, and Sadie isn’t too proud to sneak behind the bar, and make her way to the stairwell where she hopefully won’t be spotted by anyone from her table.

It’s quiet, once the door closes behind her, the voices of the guests and the sounds of the restaurant muffled, and Sadie swallows hard as she starts up the stairs. She’s seen her boss a grand total of thirty seconds so far, when he’d breezed in earlier, with a small child in each arm, a phone clutched between his shoulder and ear, and a frown on his face, while her co-workers had been showing her the ropes.

Mr Hargrove had been supposed to be the one to interview her, last week, but instead, Sadie’d been greeted by his business partner. He’d shaken her hand, smiling brightly, and introduced himself as, “Steven Harrington, but please, call me Steve, everyone does,” before explaining, all sheepishly, that Mr Hargrove was usually the one talking to the new hires, but that he’d unfortunately been called away on short notice.

He’d offered Sadie coffee, and had gotten her a glass of water instead when she’d declined, before dropping down in the swivel chair on the opposite side of the desk, picking up Sadie’s resume with a hum. “I’ll be honest, here, I don’t usually deal with this side of the business,” he’d said, chuckling a little to himself, “but if Billy’s invited you here for an in-person interview, chances are high he’s already decided to hire you. He can be picky.”

It had been said with a sigh, half annoyed and half fond. “So,” Steve had put the resume down again, and shrugged at Sadie, “if you’re still interested, and if the hours and pay you’ve talked about over the phone work for you, I don’t see a reason why you can’t start next Friday.”

Sadie had blinked at him, stunned, and then scrambled to sign the contract. Flexible hours, two free meals per shift, decent insurance, and paying slightly above minimum wage? It had been everything a struggling student like her could hope for, and then some.

Now, faced with the prospect of having to tell her boss that she’s screwing up on her very first shift, Sadie wishes she was anywhere but here. Still, she steels herself, takes a deep breath, and knocks on Mr Hargrove’s office door.

A moment later, a gruff voice calls back, “Come in.”

Mr Hargrove is sat behind his desk, one eyebrow raised, and Sadie hesitates, standing awkwardly on the threshold. The kids—definitely Mr Hargrove’s, going by their wild, curly hair—are playing on a blanket in front of the small couch, where Steve is sitting with a laptop open on his lap.

He smiles and waves at Sadie, which gives her the confidence to clear her throat, and say, “One of the guests would like to talk to you, Mr Hargrove.”

When Mr Hargrove only raises his eyebrow further, she adds, “He ordered a burger with onions, but says he doesn’t like onions. I offered him a new burger with a free side dish, but, well.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Mr Hargrove mutters, which earns him a scolding look from Steve, followed by a stern, “Language, Billy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mr Hargrove says, with a small roll of his eyes. He gets up from behind his desk, gesturing for Sadie to lead the way. “C’mon, let’s go deal with this shit.”

He’s obviously not happy about the interruption, but Sadie’s glad to notice that his irritation seems to be aimed at the picky guest, not her. The cursing also helps, strangely enough, has her bite back a giggle as they walk back down to the main floor.

Mr Hargrove looks intimidating, at first glance, what with all the tattoos, the denim, and the heavy jewellery. Like those bikers always parked in front of the shady bar a block down from her shitty, shoebox-sized apartment. Only, like, prettier.

Sadie ducks her head a little, blushing faintly. Mr Hargrove has to be in his thirties, is almost old enough to be her dad, and Sadie isn’t even interested in men like that, but she does have eyes. The blond curls, piled into a messy bun on top of his head, the dimples, the striking, bright blue eyes; Mr Hargrove is definitely good-looking.

Frannie would have a field day if she knew Sadie was getting flustered by her old, cranky new boss. Sadie silently vows to never tell her girlfriend a single word about it, ever.

“It’s the booth in the back,” she says, once they reach the main room of the restaurant again, pointing in the general direction, “by the big window—”

Mr Hargrove freezes mid-step when he spots the three men, but only for a second. Then he sneers, teeth bared, “Hell no.”

He stalks over to the booth, fast enough that Sadie has to hurry in order to keep up, and slaps the fork right out of one of the men’s hand with a snarled, “Get the fuck out of my restaurant.”

The men at the table—and a few people within earshot—fall silent in shock, all gaping at Mr Hargrove. Then, the now forkless man pushes to his feet, and right into Mr Hargrove’s space. “William—”

Mr Hargrove doesn’t back down, though, and he has several inches on the other man. “Get out. Right now, all of you. You’re not welcome here.”

The other man’s face twists in outrage. “How dare you speak to me like this? You can’t throw us out, we’re paying customers!”

“Oh, trust me,” Mr Hargrove’s smile is, Sadie thinks, pretty damn terrifying, “I can. And I will.”

“On what grounds?” the other man scoffs, and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Well, let’s see. For harassing my staff,” Mr Hargrove begins, and holds up his hand, counting on his fingers, “or, maybe, the years of emotional abuse? For regularly beating the shit outta me for close to a decade? Or for just generally being a terrible fucking human being, and an even worse father?”

The restaurant is so quiet, after that, Sadie’s almost afraid to breathe.

“Take your pick,” Mr Hargrove finishes, and takes a step back with a sweeping motion towards the door. “But get the fuck out, Neil. Or we will call the police.”

“Honestly, I’d love to see that,” comes Steve’s voice from by the bar. He’s holding the phone, wiggling the receiver when everyone turns to look at him. “Your choice.”

“You—” Mr Hargrove’s father starts, but is wisely interrupted by one of his friends standing up as well, and putting a hand on his elbow with a disgusted, “Leave it be, Neil. The little faggot’s not worth the trouble.”

There are several gasps from the other customers, but Mr Hargrove seems unfazed. Almost amused, actually. “At least my faggot ass can keep a family together. Ginny was, wait, let me think? Wive number five? How’s the divorce going, by the way?”

“Okay, that’s enough!”

If Sadie’d thought Mr Hargrove looked scary, it’s nothing compared to an angry Steven Harrington, apparently.

“You’ve got one minute to get your shit, and get the hell out. Everyone else,” and now he’s all charm again, looking around the restaurant at the shamelessly watching customers, “free pie, for having had to witness this little display of homophobic bullshittery.”

Mr Hargrove takes it upon himself to escort the men out of the restaurant, while Steve goes around apologising for what’s happened. Sadie shakes herself out of her stupor, and follows Steve in order to jot down everyone who’s interested in the free pie.

Before she can head back to the kitchen, though, Steve stops her and asks, quiet enough that only she catches it, “Hey. Are you okay?”

“That was,” Sadie breathes out, then trails off with a helpless shake of her head.

“Not a great first impression on our part?” Steve chuckles, wry smile on his lips. “Why don’t you take a break? Get a slice of pie, too? We got it handled out here.”

Sadie accepts the offer gratefully.

And the pie is delicious.

“Billy’s a fuckin’ master with anything even vaguely dessert related, man,” the line cook tells her, when she moans around her first forkfull. At her hum of surprise, he laughs, and adds, “Yeah, he still does most of the bakin’, even though he’s the boss man nowadays. Ask him for his lava cake recipe, it’s fuckin’ sick.”

The rest of the day is, thankfully, much less stressful.

Sadie gets to leave on time, and slips out the back door with a cheerful, “Goodbye!” thrown over her shoulder, only to stumble to a stop when she nearly bumps right into Mr Hargrove. And Steve. Because they’re standing very close, with Steve’s arm around Mr Hargrove’s shoulders, and his chin resting on top of Mr Hargrove’s head.

Mr Hargrove blinks one eye open at her, but doesn’t move out of the hug. “You good? Sorry ‘bout, you know. All that shit earlier.”

“Oh, yeah, uh,” Sadie stutters, feeling herself blush again, “don’t worry, all good. Thanks.”

“Have a nice night,” Steve says, with another one of those sincere smiles. “See you tomorrow.”

Sadie nods. “Tomorrow. Goodnight!”

She carefully steps around the kids, who are racing each other through the alley, shrieking with excitement. She’s almost by the bike rack when there’s a crash, followed by a warbling cry, and a distinctly toddlery voice going, “Shit!”

“Billy, I swear—”

“C’mon, Stevie, it’s not my fault they—”

Sadie rides off, not bothering to hide her laughter.

(When she comes in the next day, Mr Hargrove is waiting for her. He apologises, again, and introduces himself properly.

“Billy, please,” he insists, grimacing a little. “Mr Hargrove is my father, and, well. You saw that whole shitshow yesterday.”

Then he shows her how to use the coffee machine without getting burned, before Steve calls for him from upstairs. He’s almost through the door when he turns back around, eyes flickering down to the collar of her shirt with a small but genuine smile.

Sadie watches him go, ghosting her fingers over the small rainbow pin Frannie had proudly stuck on her shirt earlier that morning.

She’s pretty sure she’s going to like this job after all.)

[magnoliasinbloom]

Lie To Me - 11

AO3 :: Previously

Jamie thinks his uncles might have kept closer tabs on him if he hadn’t acted so compliant in the last few years. Agreeing to marry Laoghaire, staying on at Leoch, keeping his head down. All the while, they’d let the cuckoo in the nest and he hopes he is preparing the massive downfall of the MacKenzie empire—with Claire’s help.

This is how he is able to create a fictitious acquisition meeting in London, regarding an up and coming author. The author is real, but the meeting is not. He has Louise, his executive assistant, register his schedule into the system, and book his lodgings for two days.

Claire books a room at the same hotel.

Laoghaire bids him farewell at their shared flat, glad to see him go; he knows she’ll spend these days with Joseph. He is happy for her. Now, Jamie boards the train taking him and Claire to London, sitting side by side, surreptitiously holding hands. He had tucked copies of the most basic documents pertaining to the investigation into Leoch’s business into his duffel bag.

“What do you mean, you’ve never toured London properly?” Claire leans back from her position tucked into Jamie’s shoulder to look at him in surprise.

“Aye, well, Mam and Da took Jenny and me when we were weans. We went to the Tower, the British Museum, the V&A and such, but I dinna really remember it.”

“Very culturally inclined, your parents.”

“My mam studied art history at uni. She was very much into art and history and culture and wanted her children to appreciate it too.” Jamie smiles. “Now, what made ye decide to be a doctor?”

Her answer is immediate. “Helping out at dig sites with my Uncle Lamb. I was always one of the few women there and I suppose caring for the people came naturally to me.”

“I admire ye, Sassenach. ‘Tis a noble calling.” Jamie lifts Claire’s hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to her fingers.

“It’s a hard one too. I’m afraid it takes up a lot of my time, days and nights, conferences, emergencies…” She wants Jamie to be aware that, no matter how much she cares for him, her calling to heal often consumes her. It’s something that Frank never understood.

“I dinna mind. I’ll take ye any way I can, Claire.”

X-x-X

They check into the Park Grand separately; their rooms are on different floors. Jamie lingers for a few minutes in the lobby while Claire goes up with her small suitcase. He wishes things were different—Jamie, unattached, a regular lad with a normal job, visiting London with his girlfriend, spending their nights in the same room.

Claire, for her part, closes the door to her own room, resting her palm against the wood, and wishes Jamie had followed her there. Their acquaintance and budding relationship are fraught with so many obstacles and complications, but she is determined to make something of it, to emerge victorious, to help the man she has come to love.

Frank has agreed to meet Claire at the bar in the Royal Lancaster Hotel. Jamie meets her in the lobby and together ride the metro as unobtrusively as possible to the designated location. Claire is nervous; it’s the first time in nearly a year that she’s seeing Frank, but the fluttering is tempered by Jamie at her side.

Claire recognizes Frank by the sharp cut of his hair; he’s sitting at a table in the middle of the bar, his back to them. With a deep, shaky breath, and a squeeze of Jamie’s hand in hers, she approaches and briefly startles her ex-husband with a quiet, “Hello, Frank.”

Jamie notes the way Randall’s neck stiffens and turns slowly to greet Claire. He does a double take when he sees Jamie beside her, holding her hand. He keeps an impassive face while Frank gives Claire a brief peck on the cheek and then gestures to Jamie.

“And who is this? I had the notion we would be meeting alone.” He has a good poker face, but Jamie’s is better.

“James Fraser.” He extends his hand and Randall grasps it out of courtesy, evidently trying to intimidate with the strength of his grip. Jamie matches it and is gratified to see him wince.

“Actually, Frank, he is the reason I’m here.” Claire sits at the table and plasters a smile when the server comes to take their drink order. “Two whiskies, please. Neat.” Left alone once more, Claire lowers her voice and says, “I hadn’t mentioned him before because I thought you might not want to see me.”

“I just didn’t think you would be that… quick,” Frank says, raising both eyebrows.

Claire’s cheeks color slightly, and Jamie suppresses the urge to punch Frank in the face. But his Sassenach is more than equal to the task. “You were quicker, I think, since we were still married.”

Frank offers a tight-lipped smile. “Touché.”

“Mr. Randall, the reason we’re here is that we need yer help with a delicate matter. It’s something that will benefit us both.”

“What is it you think you can do for me?”

“I work for Leoch Holdings.” Jamie senses Frank’s curiosity peak at the name. “My uncles own the business, and I have been made aware of many dealings that are less than… legal.”

“If it’s your uncles’ own company, why are you working against them?” Frank sips casually from a glass of white wine, but it is evident he’s interested.

“They are blackmailing me with false murder charges.” Jamie doesn’t blink even as Frank flinches and he sees Claire clutch her whisky glass tighter at the words. “There is corruption, crime, extorsion, ye name it. My godfather is working within the Glasgow police force to help me, and is in touch with Chief John Grey at the SCD.”

“If you have their assistance, why come to me?” Frank glances between Claire and Jamie, prompting her to reach for Jamie’s hand again and lay them on the table; their connection is evident, as is their support of each other.

“There are a great many people implicated, and there are precious few we can trust wi’ this information. Ye have access to certain resources we do not.”

“Do you have any documentation to go on? Something solid?”

Jamie pulls out papers from his coat inside pocket. “I brought these to get you started. I shouldna have to mention that it’s sensitive information, and the less eyes that see it, the better.”

Randall peruses the documents, rifling through the pages; his eyes widen as he reads the names Jamie has seen time and time again, almost unable to believe the scope of Leoch’s shady operations.

“This is quite an undertaking. Some of these people… the scandal would rock the nation.” Frank’s tone is noncommittal, and Jamie feels his stomach sinking.

“So ye dinna think it’s possible then,” he says dejectedly.

“I didn’t say that.” Frank is quiet for a few minutes, going over the papers once more. “From what I can gather, a key element is finding out where the money is going, all these names and payments… If we can find the accounts, we’d be in business.”

Claire tosses back her whisky. “It’s massive, Frank,” she says quietly, leaning in and he imitates her unconsciously. “There’s politicians, judges, police officers, money, extorsion… if you were to help Jamie—help us—and put an end to this, it will no doubt aid in your efforts to solidify yourself as a model MP. Maybe even PM someday.” She knows the prospect is like dangling a carrot in front of a horse. She recognizes the old gleam of a challenge in Frank’s eyes, and a small swell of relief takes hold inside her. If anyone can help them, it’s this man; despite the crumbled marriage between them, she can trust him with this. Frank seems to read her mind, and asks:

“Why trust me with this, Claire? After what I did to you?”

“Not only is your name not in the documents—and I didn’t think it would be—but I know exactly how important your political career is to you. Much more important than I ever was.” Claire’s voice is steadfast and Frank does not dispute her statement. “So, you’ll do it?”

“I will.” Frank tucks the papers into his own coat pocket, drinking the dregs of wine. “I believe I owe it to you.”

“You bloody well do, Francis Randall.” Claire and Jamie both feel that spark of hope ignite within, a way out of the dark tunnel Jamie has been in for years and that Claire has also chosen to walk.

As they prepare to leave, Frank remains sitting; Claire can feel his scrutiny, appraising them, judging, drawing his own conclusions about what Jamie means to her.

“Is it worth it?” Frank asks suddenly, his parting shot. Claire feels Jamie stiffen next to her and she is tempted to let him thump Frank, but doesn’t want to undermine their efforts quite yet. Claire holds Frank’s gaze and responds simply.

“He is.”

[orbitariums]

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝟒)

part three

note - i wanna thank everyone for reading once again! i'm currently in the process of writing imagines, those will be posted throughout the week, i don't want to clog up my blog bc i want y'all to see this chapter!

this one switches pov a lil more frequently, so bear with me <3 also not as smutty as other chapters, this is more of an emotionally-charged chapter!!! still a teensy bit smutty thooo. i want to make it clear that while this fic is definitely rooted in smut & sex & sex work, it is not porn without plot & will not ONLY be smut as i put effort and time into plot development / character development! i'm sure y'all know that tho. there will be conflict, there will be plot!!! i feel like that's clear already but there's discourse on smut happening rn and i wanna voice myself! omg anyways luv y'all enjoy the reaaad <3

new taglist!

playlist

word count - 8.3k

warnings - age gap, sex work, smut, vibrator, ANGSTYYY like hella dramatic, dirty talk

That slight shift that you and Steve both felt, that happiness that you realized came from talking to one another, only lasted so long... for you. You could hardly sit in your feelings about your situation with Steve before another thing that occupied all your time came crashing down upon you. Except this time, the thing brought you no such happiness or curiosity.

    You had spent almost your entire senior year working on a special lab project about drought tolerant plants in Southern California where you lived and went to school, and your professor was making completing your project incredibly hard for you. And you felt incredibly stressed out about the entire situation - not only was the project necessary to graduate, but it was your heart and soul for the past year. Now, your professor was basically saying it was "ineligible."

     "Ineligible?" Aaliyah repeated after you, after you told her what your professor had said.

     "Whatever the hell that means," you huffed as you power walked down the street, hand in hand with Aaliyah, your free hand holding a coffee.

     "That's so fucking annoying, holy shit," Aaliyah pressed a hand to her forehead. "He had the whole year to talk to you about changing your topic and...”

     "And he never did," you sighed, frowning. You settled down onto a bench where the two of you sat next to each other, staring out into the busy streets and sipping your iced coffees.

California was a beautiful place, and you were a native, you'd lived there all your life. You knew the ins and outs of your city, knew Southern California like it was your backbone. And you loved it here - loved the sun, the beaches, the way the people were either shady in the best way or incredibly friendly. You'd never really known any other place like you knew this place. You were just glad that if you had to be stressed, you could do so in California.

Aaliyah pouted, feeling for you. She placed her hand on your knee to be comforting,

     "Babe..."

     "It's okay," you sighed. You sucked it up, like always, because you had learned how to fend for yourself ever since you realized that depending on others could only lead to downfall. You would figure this out the same way you figured everything else out... on your own. You figured out your house on your own, your job, your finances.

     "Is it, though?" Aaliyah pursed her lips and squinted at you. Despite how much you tried to fend for yourself, Aaliyah was always there for you. She was one of your biggest supporters.

     "I'll just keep visiting during his office hours and work this out."

Aaliyah rolled her eyes,

     "Men are so annoying, girl. You know what, he probably wants to fuck you. With your fine ass. That's why he's doing all this."

You chuckled, shaking your head and covering your mouth, trilling back in response,

       "Okay girl, don't get too ahead of yourself."

       "I'm serious! Men are evil. Oh, except your fave."

You made a face, nearly choking on your iced coffee. This was news to you,

       "Who are we talking about?"

       "You know," Aaliyah sang slightly, nudging you and leaning against your shoulder. "Mr. Won't Show His Face."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, but bit down on your straw with a knowing smile, eyes peeking out over the top of your shades. If you were being honest, this idea of Steve, whoever he really was, had been a fun thing to entertain during this period of stress. You'd been talking and engaging with him for two and a half weeks now, and the connection you two had was undeniable.

But you knew better - maybe he wasn't just another customer, because you could really talk to him and felt like he was real - then again, he was strictly a customer. You liked him, a lot, but you couldn't like him any more than you already did. That would be dangerous and silly, and create unrealistic expectations. It wasn't like you could go on dates or anything.

    Still, talking to him (and performing for him) did help to distract you from your stress, at least for a small amount of time. Steve was becoming less shy, less inhibited. He cracked jokes and was starting to keep up with your innate sense of sexuality, starting to navigate you, find you the way a bee might find its nectar, hidden deep inside the curvatures of a flower.

If you were a flower, you'd probably be a sunflower - bright, yellow, almost always in a positive mood, or at least trying to keep yourself in a positive mood. More than that though, sunflowers were tall and looming - you felt like that represented your put togetherness and how hard you worked, how smart you were. Only sometimes it was hard to keep yourself up and tall, but you always did it, time and time again.

But when it came to Aaliyah's comments about Steve, she mostly just made you laugh.

    "Haven't seen him yet, have you?" Aaliyah asked, raising her brows expectantly.

     "No. And I'm fine with that. He's simply another very loyal customer who I happen to like."

     "Hm," Aaliyah hummed, and you could tell her mind was up to something - some very wishful, and mischievous thinking.

     "What are you up to?" you narrowed your eyes at her and glared at her, and she just shook her head with a lazy smile,

     "Nothing. Just thinking that maybe it would be cool if he really was this really hot guy that you actually knew and he wasn't creepy and y'all... you know... started dating. Just to get your mind off a lot of crap. I know, I know, strictly against the rules, blah blah blah. No feelings for customers, it's basic shit. But in a perfect world..."

      "I know," you sighed without thinking, sipping at your drink.

     "You know?" Aaliyah questioned, surprised.

You shrugged,

     "So I've thought about it. Except, you know, in a perfect world, I'd meet a guy like Steve in like, a farmer's market or something. Not on my shady ass cam shows."

Aaliyah snorted laughing, and at the sound of her laughter, you joined in.

You continued,

     "I mean, not Steve exactly, because that would be weird. I just mean, a guy like Steve."

     "You mean a guy who makes you feel the same way he makes you feel," Aaliyah corrected you, and you glared at her again, pushing her gently.

     "Don't push it," you teased, but you meant it - you might have liked Steve, but that was all there was to it - you liked him, he was a distraction. And maybe even that was too much.

✺ ✺ ✺

As for Steve, he thoroughly enjoyed his time with you. He thought constantly about how you made him feel, how much he looked forward to talking to you. How everyday, his worry about your situation becoming more serious dissipated slowly. He could feel himself easing into you, everything that made up this character you created called Moonrose. Conversation seemed casual, like you knew each other in real life, it felt easy, and there was no pressure.

As for your connection, he had finally acknowledged that it was real, and more than either of you had wanted to realize at first. But now, there was no shame, no worry in acknowledging what the two of you had, because you were both smart enough to keep it at this level. It was like a shallow pool. There would be no drowning.

He mostly talked to Bucky about you when it came to the emotional aspect of it. He still feared that if he talked to Tony, it might come across as an issue, and might put a pause on what he had with you. But everyone noticed how different Steve was acting. Even without the phase he had gone through where he was sexually frustrated and angry, he still acted different.

Lighter on his feet, more smiley. And he was always on top of his work. You weren't distracting him from his duty, so that made the fact that he knew you had a unique connection with him more bearable. Because of you, he was learning to worry less. To have a little more fun.

    It was a bright day that week, the sun filtering in through the large windows of the meeting room where everyone was gathered. Steve was engaging in some mindless conversation with Sam and Bucky in which they were debating whether or not pineapple belonged on pizza.

     "No. I'm not sure why everyone keeps trying to put all these twists on pizza. It's pizza," Bucky scoffed, Sam rolling his eyes as a result.

    "You're just closed off. With your old ass," Sam retorted, and Steve made a face. Sam raised his hands up in surrender. "You know what I mean. What about you Steve?"

Honestly, Steve had never even tried pineapple on pizza and he didn't understand why there was such a big fuss about the banal question.

    "I don't really have an opinion," he shrugged, not expecting Sam and Bucky to start clamoring over him and trying to force him to pick a side.

    Before he even got to grasp the situation, he felt Natasha patting his shoulder,

"Hey, mind if I use your laptop? Mine's gone haywire, don't really feel like messing with it right now."

"Yeah," Steve agreed without a second thought, setting his laptop on the table and letting Natasha handle it- she was better with tech stuff than he ever was.

Natasha would use his laptop to showcase some data and start off their morning. It seemed innocent enough —a simple, barely impacting sacrifice. But Steve clearly hadn't thought everything through, because the moment Natasha logged in and hooked up Steve's computer to the holographic projector, more than just data appeared on the screen.

In fact, a whole array of women, all of them engaging in various sexual acts or preparing themselves to, showed up on the screen. And at the top, where the browser was, were the words "girlsonfilm.com."

Steve hadn't noticed all the clamor, too busy thinking (thoughts of you and thoughts of work), until Bucky called it to his attention.

"Steve," he nudged him frantically, his voice a loud whisper.

When Steve looked up at the screen, his face couldn't have gone any redder. He hadn't thought about this at all, and he had clearly forgotten to close out his browser. His heart sunk all the way to his stomach - because it wasn't just Natasha seeing this, it was everybody. And that included Tony, who was glaring pointedly at Steve from the head of the table. Meanwhile, all the others were too busy heckling Natasha and making brash comments about what was appearing onscreen. To Steve's relief, your face didn't show up, but this just might have been worse than only your screen appearing.

     "Woah, Nat, I didn't know you got down like that!" Sam hooted, cupping his mouth with his hands.

Natasha, though she was in shock as well, rolled her eyes,

     "This is Steve's laptop."

Now a hush, then another clamor of confusion and heckling, all directed towards Steve. He couldn't recoil any more, feeling the pangs of embarrassment as his eyes flashed between every one of his teammates. He felt as if there were an asteroid approaching fast, and he was right where it would land, too slow to move out of its way.

     "Steve, what do you know about 'girls on film'?" Sam nearly cackled, reading the name of the site.

Steve sighed deeply, locking eyes with Natasha as he mouthed "turn it off" to her.

     "I am, I am," she ensured him, quickly disconnecting the laptop from the projection, unplugging completely.

A beat passed, everyone staring expectantly at Steve, who was staring down at the table, trying to process his own thoughts. Like for starters, why didn't he log out the last time, and why didn't he remember to log out? And then his mind went to deeper places. He hadn't been intentionally secretive with his actions, but he had been intentionally private. It had to do with his own growth, he was learning how to navigate a world that was new to him and somehow helping him at once. He didn't want to have to share this with everyone, it was nice having this to himself, he had no intentions of revealing what he had been doing in his past time that made him so happy.

One of the reasons he didn't want everyone to know about his situation was because he didn't want to have to be concerned with what everyone else might think. Because to begin with, being on a site for cam shows wasn't exactly everyone's idea of what Captain America might be up to these days.

It was a matter of his image, what values he was supposed to hold. This didn't exactly match, and Steve had just gotten over the idea that he was a bad, sneaky person because of what he chose to indulge in. At least here he knew it was ethical and not causing harm to you as a human being.

He also didn't want to have to deal with the insufferable questioning and teasing his team would put him through, or the judgment he thought they might put him through. He felt embarrassed, exposed, and like he had been ill prepared for a situation like this. He was just grateful they hadn't seen more, because that would've been a disaster. What they had seen was only at the surface level of what he'd been doing.

But his thinking was interrupted by Tony's voice, which broke through all the silence, and made Steve realize again the eyes that were on him.

     "Well, jig's up," Tony sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Care to explain?"

Steve locked eyes with Tony, as if hopeful that he wouldn't have to, but he knew it was best for him to just spit it out. Tony shrugged apologetically, and Steve took in a deep sigh, looking around at everyone at the table.

     "What was that?" Scott whimpered, probably the most distraught by what they had all seen.

Steve nodded solemnly and began to explain himself. He would tell the truth, but that didn't mean he had to tell them everything. You would be left out of this, if anything. He'd just explain to them that sometimes, duty calls - and sometimes, it's not at all work-related.

✺ ✺ ✺

It was just hours before your cam show when another disaster struck, the first one being the fact that your professor was giving you shit about your project. You were in the bathroom, getting ready for your show, fixing your hair up and doing your makeup, laying out an outfit, doing all the things you did to feel pretty before a show.

    Your phone lay beside you on the bathroom table, pinging with messages every now and then. You ignored it, leaning closer into the mirror to get a look at your lipstick, dabbing your fingers into the pigment on your lips.

You smiled, feeling that gratifying sense of achievement. Despite what was going on with your professor, you felt like you were doing well in life. You usually had a positive mindset, enjoyed your work although you sometimes felt as if you were buried deep in all your occupations: student, office worker, cam girl, designer, young woman. Your life was never dull, and you wouldn't trade it for anything. Talking to Steve helped too, but it was more than that.

But that sense of satisfaction all seemed to dissolve when you looked down at your phone, and saw a text from an unsaved number, glaring bright on your glowing lock screen of you hiking with Aaliyah. Still, you recognized it immediately.

xxx-xxx-xxxx

I miss you. Text me back.

✺ ✺ ✺

Steve wasn't exactly keen on joining your live show today, but he did so anyway, because he still had time to himself despite the spiral of events that had happened earlier. There was nothing else to do, and he didn't want to miss out on you after attending almost all of your shows for the past almost three weeks. Didn't want to just leave unexpectedly.

It felt strange that he felt this tug of commitment, but he brushed it off. He was just fulfilling his needs, which should even be expected of him. He was stressed again, after being caught up like he was. And maybe that was all the more reason not to watch your show tonight, but he wouldn't devoid himself of the simple pleasures of life. He'd learned that lesson a while ago, from a special someone called Moonrose.

After everything transpired, he explained himself calmly to his team, slowly to ensure that they'd understand that this wasn't the beginning of a deviant phase, that he wasn't throwing away his work responsibilities to lurk on the NSFW side of the internet. Not that they ever thought that to begin with, they never questioned his abilities or his authority for a minute, not even in the midst of what they'd seen that had shocked them.

This was the product of Steve's own insecurities and his admittedly silly fear that he was somehow letting his team down. He told them that he was on the site, as recommended by Tony, to relieve some "frustration" that he felt he didn't have the time or the means to release in real life. He said that while it had helped him do that, he wasn't throwing away his responsibilities, nor was he dependent on the site or the things on it, or the people on it for that matter.

He knew that if they knew about you, all those private sessions, all those conversations you'd had, the connection you had built between the two of you, it might be a different story. But because they didn't, they appreciated his honesty. They were confused, it didn't seem like the kind of thing Steve would be into, and he ensured them that it was a shock to him as well.

But they didn't mind on the whole, it was just a shock to everyone at first. They didn't think it called for a meeting, thought it was almost humorous how serious Steve was being about such a trivial situation. Wanda had joked about how we've all been there, Thor denied ever having to do such a thing because: "I have all the romantic partners anyone could ask for. I could introduce you Steve, but these Asgardian women are fiery, far beyond anything I believe you could handle." In the end, Steve was relieved, felt like it didn't have the disastrous outcome he'd been expected.

But he could feel his guard slowly coming back up. That was a close call, and it was a little too close for comfort. He didn't want to disregard you, but he couldn't afford to sink further in, and get his team involved. He just didn't want to face the consequences he could imagine if they knew how much he decided to stick with you, how much you talked, how it was teetering off the range of normal customer to cam girl interaction.

It wasn't like he was careless when it came to his interactions with you, but he also didn't want his team to know about his business when it came to you. He didn't want them thinking he was engaging too much, didn't want it to get to the point where he was worrying again or felt like he needed to deny himself such wonderful feelings.

All these things were on his mind while he waited for your live show to start. When it did, and he saw your face, he felt a little bit alleviated. Just for now, he could have this fantasy to himself. If they knew about the site, so be it. At least he had you to himself.

      "Hey guys," you mustered a smile, waving to the camera.

Unbeknownst to your viewers, you had spent the past few hours off camera panicking, on the verge of tears, calling Aaliyah frantically so she could help calm you down. That text from that mysterious unknown number had been from your ex's number. The same ex who made you fall into dependency patterns that you worked so hard to get out of, the one who made you feel like you had to work for his love. Like it wasn't something you deserved, just like anyone else.

You had worked so hard to finally wring out all the effects of him, all the bad habits you had fallen into because of him. That was part of the reason why you worked so hard. Not because you were actively avoiding him specifically, but because you were actively bettering yourself. You weren't looking for a relationship. But you knew that if you were in one now, the same things would never happen to you.

When you got that text, it triggered a flood of memories. Feelings you had to work to suppress and actually get over for months so you wouldn't fall back into the same desperate, needy patterns when it came to your relationships with people. All over a simple text from someone you hadn't heard from in almost a year. It hurt you how easy it was to get you to crack, even if you didn't spill out all the way. But on top of the added stress because of school, you were damn close.

You would do the show tonight, anyway. It helped you to escape, although Moonrose was a part of you, it didn't one hundred translate into real life. So in a way, this helped you escape real life. Just for a while. Just like Steve.

You grinned when you saw concerned comments from your watchers:

johnGuy182

Are you okay, moonrose? You seem a little sad.

zenongirl

Girl r u ok? i missed seeing your face!!!

     "Guys, I'm okay," you grinned. And you actually felt better seeing comments from your supporters. It reminded you to cheer up - they were looking for a good show, not a sob story. You leaned back, revealing your stomach in the sheer, sparkly fringed bra you chose to wear (another piece you had designed by yourself). "It's been a looong day."

Steve watched silently, observing your behavior. He didn't notice drastic changes, but you did appear less chipper. Then again, he brushed it off. He didn't expect you to be smiley all the time, you were human too, and this was your work.

"But I'm okay," you reassured, giving that signature grin, genuine and charming and alluring. You were trying to gently distract yourself, get into your act. "I hope you're all just as lovely as I am. I have a special game for you today."

You directed your viewers to your spinning wheel, which you had been working on crafting that week for a game. You grinned as you spinned it. Each act on the wheel cost a certain amount of tokens, and by the end of the game you would garner a bunch of funds. The show went by relatively quickly as you played the game, eventually ending up completely naked.

As ordered by the spinning wheel, you were to use a vibrator. You held it against your clit at the highest setting as you watched the numbers of viewers and the tokens jump up, Steve watching as he stroked himself leisurely. Your legs shook as you restrained yourself from your orgasm so as to increase the length of your showtime, garner more coins to encourage you to come.

     "Mm," you moaned, massaging the vibrator against your clit, getting wetter and slicker by the minute, sliding the toy between your folds. You laughed, breathless. "Fuck, this thing is so powerful. Someone make me come, please make me come. Just a few more tokens for me to come for you."

Steve was hesitant, but he decided to go ahead and give you the amount of tokens you needed. And when you heard the chime of the tokens being added to your account, and saw the name it was attached to, it was like a blast of euphoria. When your legs started to shake, when you started to moan and your stomach started to rise up and down, it was genuine. It was like you were back in a private room with him, although you weren't.

Your orgasm was blood-curdling in the best way, and you felt like you were releasing part of the stress of the past day, the past week. It didn't get any realer than this, once again you felt like he was really there to satisfy you.

      "Oh!" you exclaimed, your mouth dropping open and your blood flowing, moaning. "Yes, Steve, I'm coming for you. Thank you for making me come, Steve!"

Steve had been stroking himself along with you as he watched, and only let himself come now that you had come, his cheeks heating up as he heard you moan his name, something he hadn't been expected. Something about you saying his name like that where everyone could hear, even though he enjoyed the intimacy of private rooms, felt victorious. It felt lewd, salacious, but he couldn't help but enjoy that aspect of it. He moaned through grit teeth while he came, stroking himself to completion.

You came down, thanking everyone for attending and ending the show. But it wasn't long after that you had requested Steve for a private chat. He accepted, because he had gotten used to you doing this a little more frequently. It didn't scare him any more, he just thought of it as making conversation, taking advantage of this connection you had with each other. So when you requested, who was he to say no.

When the chat log opened, you put on your best happy face for Steve, trying to conceal how fatigued this week, today in particular, had made you. But your tired, bleak voice gave it all away, buried deep beneath your smile,

    "Hey, Steve."

Steve was surprised at the sound of your voice. Again, while he understood that you wouldn't be a happy go lucky fairy like personality all the time, he wasn't expecting this. You were smiling, but the weariness in your eyes was hard to miss. And your voice, which usually told light hearted tales, sounded worn down as if from tragedy. He was concerned, his eyebrows furrowed gently,

     "Hi. How are you?"

     "I'm good!" you exclaimed, trying your hardest to really sound "good."

But you were just tired. Tired and sad, and scared - scared of what the future had to hold. You were already dealing with school stress, and the text from your ex-boyfriend was like a bad omen, an anxiety-provoking assurance that things actually would not get better and they would in fact get progressively worse. You weren't even sure why you thought you should be talking to Steve if you were tired and just wanted to sleep off the weight of the week. It would be a weekend tomorrow, and one of your very rare days off.

Maybe you figured that you wanted to talk to him despite your fatigue, because conversation with Steve was a nice distraction. You had let yourself forget that this was still your job, and that you were too tired for anything sexual — you knew he liked talking to you, but you hadn't put into consideration the fact that he might request a sexual act from you. You would be burnt out if he did. The fact that you didn't think about that should've been telling, but your brain was too scattered to think straight.

Anyway, Steve called your bluff, and laughed quietly, his voice inquiring and pressing,

      "How are you really?"

That was all it took to get a deep sigh to come from out of you, all it took to allow yourself to show your true feelings, at least the surface of them, what you felt comfortable showing a customer. You felt a sense of relief and gratefulness for Steve, like he was letting you breathe. And if anything, he especially wasn't enlisted to listen to your problems. But he wanted to, and for that you felt foolishly grateful.

    Steve noted the deep sigh that came from out of you, and he frowned slightly. He could tell you had been holding this in for a while, and some part of him felt remorse for the fact that even though you clearly weren't in the right mindset, you went on and did your show anyway. He felt some guilt for being a part of the reason why you did your show.

    You answered, allowing your voice to be as honest as possible.

    "Honestly?" you chuckled a little, albeit bitterly. "I don't know if you really want to hear me rant to you."

Steve shook his head.

    "Don't be silly," he grinned. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to."

You felt a warm rush in your chest from the reassurance, and the corner of your lip quirked up in a small smile, before you decided to dive in. You'd spare the emotional details, spare your private life. But it would be nice to talk to someone, just about the general things, right?

    "Well, it's been a pretty stressful week, honestly. I mean, school's been the main source of my stress. My professor's such an asshole, he's basically been telling me my entire senior project, which I need to complete to graduate, needs to be redone? And I can't even fathom how I would have enough time to do that with like, two and a half months left of my senior year. I mean, he said I can keep most details, but I'd have to rework it, whatever that means."

    You kept your emotions at bay, sighing in annoyance just at the story you told, because it really was irritating you. But then you felt deeper things, even more went into why you really were upset.

    Steve nodded, just listening. He was prepared to offer advice, but in your situation, he thought that maybe just letting you rant would be best.

    "That's gotta be annoying," he shook his head understandingly. "Whatever your project is, I'm sure it's wonderful. He shouldn't be forcing you to rework it or make any last minute changes."

    "I know!" you nearly jumped up, feeling amped up now. "And it's just so fucking annoying because I work so hard and I'm really passionate about this project and it just feels like..."

    It felt like you were about to overflow, like a pot of water that had been left on for too long. You were ranting almost uncontrollably now, maybe because of the fact that it was more than this that was tugging at you. Because you'd been carrying the weight of your life on your shoulders all the time, like Atlas carrying the sky, and it felt like that weight was finally starting to mean something.

    Steve could see you were unraveling and he let you, he let you take the time you needed to feel everything you had been holding. If your connection was strong, it was at its strongest here. Sure, you and Steve chatted about a little bit of everything, even had deeper conversations here and there as the weeks went by. But you had yet to genuinely complain to him, because every time you spoke with him, you were happy go lucky Moonrose, with nothing to complain about to begin with. But now, you needed a release by any means, and you were just glad Steve was there for you, even if he wasn't really there. How unlike you to unfold in front of strangers.

   Your breath stuttered as you took in a deep breath in a failed attempt to calm down, only further driving yourself into your rambling. You felt yourself tear up, your voice becoming watery as you continued,

    "It just feels like all my work is turning to shit, and it's so fucking frustrating because I work so hard all the time, I do so much and I manage so much all the time."

     The "hard work" you were talking about wasn't just school and work-related, it pertained to your journey, and how hard you had worked to be a better person. To support yourself. The emotions pent up inside of you, they were more than just being upset over a school project. The idea of someone toxic trying to re-enter your life, someone who had forced you to rework the entirety of your life, made you feel like you were on the verge of crashing. You knew better, but you didn't want to return to those dark days, where the light at the end of the winding tunnel that was your relationship seemed so far away. It was why you were so weary of relationships today. It was crazy how one person could change your life so easily.

     Now you were crying, before you even noticed that you were crying. Tears just seemed to leak out of your eyes, sloshing wet and sudden against your cheeks and underneath your lashes. You wiped them away quickly with the back of your hand, frazzled at the fact that you were crying in front of a customer right now. Steve said he'd listen to you, he didn't say he'd watch you cry and be your therapist. You instantly regretted it, although you couldn't stop yourself, tears threatening to emerge again. If you were cracked before, you were spilling now.

    Steve was surprised too, at the fact that you were crying. You appeared so put together to him, it was almost something he didn't expect from you. He was in shock at first, so much so that professionalism was not on his mind - it was an afterthought. Right now, instead of wondering if this was appropriate, he was occupied with you.

    "I'm sorry," you murmured, but you still hadn't stopped, tears falling out as you blinked. Composure was nothing now, you were sobbing, your shoulders slumped and your head hung as you sniffled. Still you enforced control, wiping away every tear that fell with the back of your hand. "I'm really sorry, I don't mean to cry to you over this, that's so-"

Steve cut you off, shaking his head slowly,

    "It's okay to cry, doll. We all have those days. I know better than anyone that we all have those days."

    You mustered a smile, feeling cared for, feeling accounted for by someone who wasn't even obligated to have to see you like this. Still you shook your head, sniffling,

    "I know. But it's-it's stupid, I shouldn't be crying in front of you."

    "I'm not judging you," Steve said, so nonchalantly and firmly, so genuine that it almost scared you.

You blinked. He should've cared, and he should've judged you. To cry in front of Steve, a customer, was to imply he had some duty to comfort you when he probably just wanted a show. You knew that you didn't have to do anything you didn't want to, but even you had rules when it came to what your customers got to see, and to you, that meant they didn't have to deal with your blues.

     "Really?"

     "Really," he reassured you with a nod.

    Was Steve scared that by giving you this reassurance, this entire situation could become deeper than either of you could handle? Yes. But did he let himself shut down because of those pervasive thoughts that he might get himself into trouble? No. He didn't see you as a liability right now. Right now, even though the situation was certainly questionable (and this was something he had no doubt about. When emotions get into the mix, things could get tricky- he knew this), he saw you as someone who desperately needed someone to talk to. Maybe it wasn't smart of you to make him that someone, but regardless, he was, and who was Steve Rogers not to listen to a person in need?

    You blinked away the last of your tears and swallowed hard. You were making this choice consciously, to tell Steve what had really gotten you to your breaking point. And maybe telling him meant you had trust in him, maybe too much trust for someone who, while great, was still a customer. But you felt like there was nothing you could lose from telling him. Maybe you'd even feel better after the fact.

    You looked down, picking at the body glitter on your arm that you had applied before the show. Your voice was considerably quieter now perhaps because you were looking back on the moment with a clear mind for the first time since it happened. You hadn't been thinking straight ever since you received the text just hours ago. Now your brain was a little quieter with the help of your tears and Steve's reassurance.

       "I think that the stress of this school project is making me resent how hard I work for everything, just to be met with this kind of result, you know? And it's even worse when... things seem to be going backwards. You know, like when you make so much progress, moving on from things that don't serve you, and you've finally done it and you get to flourish in it and then, it just gets taken away from you. Maybe I'm being dramatic, but that's just how this feels."

     Steve nodded, his jaw ticking as he let your words settle in. Somehow, although your situation was so different from his, he felt like your words perfectly described how he felt with the world sometimes. It was even part of the reason he'd held off on talking to you like this, held off on getting too involved. He too had made so much progress in this world, which took so much getting adjusted to in a way that absolutely nobody else could relate to.

    It was a world that he didn't even know, a world that he had never been properly introduced to. He'd had to fend for himself. He did his healing on his own, just like you had. And yet sometimes it felt like he had no control, like the universe was going the opposite way of all his plans. Then he felt stupid for even having plans to begin with, because in life, making plans was like comedy for the gods.

    There was a weird feeling in his chest and stomach, like he'd been stabbed with a gutting realization, and the knife was just turning inside of him, churning his insides. He began to feel a sense of unease, because this deep conversation was beginning to feel incredibly personal. Even though you were talking about your own situation, he couldn't help but think about how much he resonated, and the fact that he felt like he could relate to you on such a deep level scared him. This was more than the conversations you'd had before, more than the simple similarities you and Steve shared. This felt like a conversation that might be too telling for his good and your own.

     He swallowed his words as he listened to you continue. You chose your words carefully, but you had shed yourself of your inhibitions when it came to being truthful.

     "Earlier... I heard from someone I hadn't heard from in a long time. And it kind of pushed me over the edge," out of your mouth stumbled a laugh. You were calmer now, and looked up at the camera, Steve swallowing hard when you did so. It was all so real, just like it was when you touched yourself and moaned Steve's name. "I think it just made me feel all those things I just explained. Because I feel like I worked so hard to rid myself of this person and them trying to come back just feels like all the things I worked so hard on are going to unravel. Even though I know they aren't, it feels like a setback. And that was like, the icing on the cake to this already terrible day, I guess."

      You let out a breathy laugh and smiled gently, shaking your head slowly.

     "I normally wouldn't be telling this to a customer. But here we are. Again, I'm sorry... I feel like I shouldn't have said anything? Should I... have said anything?"

In the brief silence that followed your question,  both you and Steve were thinking the same thing - were you going to regret this? Intimacy both physically and emotionally was good when you capped it at what you both knew to be appropriate. When it came to the physical aspects, you each let your fantasies unwind.

    And on the emotional aspect, though you had both grown closer and more open, some things just didn't get touched upon. But now you had just cried over the screen, and spoke from the depths of your heart. It was scary to open up in such an uncertain situation where your own privacy was an aspect that got involved. There was no doubt that it was too much. It was just a question of whether the result would be negative.

     Steve sighed deeply, a crease forming in his forehead as he furrowed his brows together, folding his arms over his chest.

     "I don't know..." he trailed off, took a breath, a leap, his body practically lurching forward. "But... it can't be a bad thing that you feel comfortable talking to me about this, can it?"

      And there it was, that glint of hope he was trying his hardest to conceal. That feeling he got when he got off that call with you, the one where you both started giving into those unspoken thoughts. That this couldn't be so bad, that you could enjoy each other's company without worrying.  

     You smiled gently,

    "I guess. It does feel weird though, it's not something I normally do. It feels like something I shouldn't be doing."

    You could hear Steve breathing in deeply, and for a moment, you imagined what he might look like, envisioning the outline of a troubled face, eyebrows knit together. You snapped back to reality and made a face, confused by your abrupt thoughts. You had long gotten over the very brief desire to see Steve's face- why was it coming back again?

    "I'll be honest, same here," Steve agreed with your sentiments.

    "Do you always feel like you have to restrain what you say when you talk to people? Or is it just with me?" you added that last part in a quiet voice, biting your lip.

Steve chuckled briefly,

      "Are you asking me if I have trust issues? Because I'd tell you, but I'd have to trust you to do that."

You shook your head and laughed at Steve's stupid joke, and shrugged.

     "I could say the same thing, I think. This person I heard from earlier is... I developed those trust issues because of them. Or, my already existent trust issues became worse. But what's funny about it is that this person was once someone that I loved," even as the words were coming out you questioned why you were letting them, why you were allowing yourself to be so truthful in a situation like this at a time when you were so vulnerable.

      Steve didn't reply, again feeling that sick feeling in his stomach that stemmed from his fear. The fear that this conversation were too serious, fear surrounding the fact that he was able to relate so much to such a personal situation of yours.

    You spoke again, daring to ask the question that felt like a final blow to Steve's stomach,

    "Have you ever been in love, Steve?"

Now Steve knew he was in uncharted territory. Not because he feared you might try to exploit him, but because he was so struck by the fact that he had allowed himself to feel so safe with you and get so close to you. He was surprised at himself for letting you feel safe enough to have these kinds of conversations with him. It all felt like a mistake now. He wanted a way out, any way out. He knew if he even attempted to answer that question, he would be making a big mistake. He had shared some of his most intimate moments with you, but always keeping in mind a very sharp line he didn't want to be crossed.

And in his mind, he thought of the one love he'd had, the one love that hadn't been fulfilled because of the situation he had been thrown into, one he had never signed up for. He thought of how the things he cared most for in life had been discarded, how, like you, he felt like it had gone to shit. How sometimes, though he tried his best to be grateful and had taken that journey of self-healing just like you, it all felt like some sick joke.

Could he even call it love? He wasn't sure. And he wasn't going to answer. He wasn't going to answer at all, because he wouldn't be talking to you again. There would be no chance for this dilemma to resurface, not with you, not on this site. He made the decision with haste and a heavy heart - he was done here.

      The discomfort was well evident in his voice, answering loud and clear, though his voice was morose and a bit closed off. You sensed the shift immediately.

     "I... I can't talk about that right now. Listen, I have to go."

    You felt a pang in your chest at the sudden switch in his demeanor, straightening up and trying not to frown. All this time you had been letting the words spill out, telling yourself not to worry so much, reassuring yourself it was okay to make your feelings known. Now it felt like you should've never said anything at all. You started to stammer.

      "Oh, I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry, I was just... I feel like I got a little overwhelmed." You laughed nervously. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Steve felt his throat ran dry as he blinked, feeling emotions come up to surface that he wasn't quite familiar with. Maybe he was grieving in advance, regretting the decision he was making to no longer speak with you, regretting the fact that he was letting fear get in the way of what he wanted so badly to be a good thing.

    "No, I'm sorry. I feel like I let things go too far," Steve apologized, but the apology felt more like an insult.

Was he implying that whatever this was, you couldn't handle it, and that it was his fault for somehow leading you on? You had both made the connection with each other, it was an equal effort. And why was he acting like the two of you communicating at all was somehow below him, somehow a risk? If anything, you were the one risking it just by talking to him the way you did. You were opening up to him. 

     You almost felt betrayed - you had convinced yourself that he wouldn't want to listen to your problems and you told yourself it wasn't his responsibility to listen. And then he listened anyway, told you that he wanted to hear it, and you cried to him. You felt like you had made so many unusual accommodations just for him to scare off like this. He was just another person you had expressed your feelings to, only to regret it in the end.

    "Too far?" you questioned, furrowing your brows.

Steve swallowed. In your voice he could hear a hint of frustration, but even worse- hurt. It pained him more than he cared for you to know.

    "I don't think we should talk anymore," he said instead.

    "What?" you were taken by surprise. "Steve, I'm... I'm not understanding. I... I don't usually open up to people like this, I mean, I thought maybe it was fine here, because I feel like I know you. But you're still a stranger. I understand you're a customer but I thought we were talking, I thought we broke through that wall-"

    "We did. And we shouldn't have," Steve said, his voice so calm and firm that it was almost cold.

    By now you were just staring into the computer camera, as if you were looking at him and waiting for him to come to his senses. But as you did that, you slowly came to your own. Because you weren't looking at him. You were looking at a black screen with his voice behind it. You realized you hadn't known Steve, not enough to talk about these things. And just like him, you too were full of regret. You kept all those walls up for the sake of customer relations, only to put them down and be met with this disastrous result.

    Steve almost couldn't bare to look at your face anymore. You were confused, hurt. He could tell you regretted the fact that you had opened up. He was hurt too, but he wouldn't show it, or let it overcome him to the point where your methods of communication with each other became something neither of you could control. Still, yes, he was hurt.

    But he had been through plenty of hardships in life. What was one more, even if it shouldn't have come to this point anyway?

    "I'm sorry, Moonrose. We can't. Goodbye."

Chat over.

[courtorderedcake]

Majestically Too Far Beyond, CSSNS 2020

Emma Swan is a Witch who has made (And apparently makes) bad decisions. Helping a desperate Witch out of a weird situation doesn't seem like a bad decision, even against her, runes, a tarot reading and her friend's Snow druid intuition - until it is and the consequences are very real.

Killian is a Demon with a long history of persecution against him, and his denizens are not much better off. His Angelic brother is on a mission to rehab Demonic image to prevent violence on the streets of Hyperion Heights, as some sort of Holy mission deeply rooted in millenia of guilt. Witches and Warlocks use them for parts, Werewolves see them as a threat, Angels mostly still hold on to the ancient feud regardless of their treatise, Fae stay chaotic neutral, Vampires don't care for others affairs - it's a perilous world where hate crimes happen without consequence. After a disastrous meeting, he attempts to drown his frustration with a trip to the bottom of a bottle, but ends up falling in bed with a mysterious Witch in her tower home. Soon he's missing a hand, has only the vaguest idea of what happened from the mess of blood he's woken up to, and a mirror shows that some strange, different, Witch is pregnant with his child.

RATED M for Mature Themes. Written for @cssns​ 2020 Beta’d by The best team ever ( @jarienn972​  @ultraluckycatnd​  @donteattheappleshook​) and Art by @kmomof4​

Read on Ao3 HERE. 1 | 2 

Chapter 2 - House Evil Spirits to appease of,

Part of Emma was coming to terms with the new fact that she was pregnant, then just as rapidly she reverts back through the cycle of grief, sometimes not in order. The doctor had warned her this would happen when she announced that they would be keeping her for overnight observation as a safety precaution, dropping the news that her new pregnancy hormones would also make her feel even more upside down then she had ever imagined. It was one thing to be told, but feeling it was another thing entirely.

She had gone from laughing at the breakfast menu she was handed to crying over grilled cheese not being an option, to enraged at being brought bright blue jello with her 'breakfast sandwich' made of bologna and eggs. They could not have known the intense reaction the jiggling neon goo would have given her, her magic flaring and sputtering in turn as she launched it away from her. But then again, she doubted any of the staff had spent time in a No-Magic cell. Nausea bloomed as soon as rage subsided, the food on the plastic tray too similar to what had been served to her over those long years locked away. 

Now irritation was playing through multiple emotions, a new nurse violently poking her with a needle, and running some sort of IV. 

"You're giving me what -" 

"A hormone treatment, and a magic suppressant." 

"But I need my magic -" 

"Would you prefer to shrivel up and die? You'll still have enough to do daily witch activities or whatever. This helps keep the extra at bay, and your baby healthy. It needs your magic." 

"Oh. Great." She laughed, half crazed at the news and the nurse's treatment. "Just great."

"Mess with their kind, and well." She shrugged, eyeing Emma's body. "An Angel wouldn't do that to you. A Vampire couldn't, and the rest of 'em could, but you wouldn't have to suffer through all this nasty magic aftermath. You're just early enough for a termination though, thank Merlin."

"I didn't do this to myself on purpose . This was never supposed to happen, at least not like this…" 

"Sure." The nurse rolled her eyes as she drew out the word, clearly being condescending. "It's never the Witch’s fault; I hear it every time I'm fixing them for blowing themselves in half for not reading a spell right. You play with dark magic, there's a cost." 

Emma scowled, hot tears starting and streaming down her cheeks. Her anger and ferocity that was there just moments before had evaporated without warning into a deep resignation. 

"Can my brother come to see me yet?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

"After they question you, sure. He can come pick you up - You're done here." The nurse pulled off the empty bag from the IV stand, throwing it in the trash. 

The doctor entered, waving a hello. Emma did not notice her, too busy staring at her bump. She joined the nurse as a machine beeped, helping to take out her IV and the pads on her belly. When that was done, Emma sat up, wobbling from her strange new center of gravity. 

The doctor smiled at her kindly. "We'll have your test results in a few days to a week's time. You'll feel strange and sluggish the first few weeks as your body catches up to the rapid growth, your hormones, the magic, so on and so forth. From there, you may actually start to grow as normal until you'll need the next dose of suppression. We'll schedule that out for 4 months from now, checking in monthly, but if you grow suddenly, shrink suddenly, your extremities swell, or you begin to exhibit flu like symptoms, come in immediately. If anything seems off, just give us a call. We have a twenty-four seven nurse line should you have any other questions. Good luck!"

The doctor left without much more than a precursory glance back. 

Snapping her gloves, the nurse glared over her glasses at Emma. "Leave when you are ready. We got you a different outfit; it's amongst your personals there."

The nurse left in a hurry, leaving Emma to dress herself in a large pair of green hospital scrubs, her new figure completely foreign as she rubbed her hands across the smooth skin. Her once flat stomach was distended, a slight curve that pushed out stretched skin. Her clothes in the plastic bag they had given her were dirty and looked damp. The clothing she was given would have been a small comfort if the stiff fabric didn't feel so much like her old prison uniform. 

"Fuck," Emma choked out, gripping the chair for support. She felt dizzy, absolutely nauseated at the idea of a baby. Her baby. She was pregnant. Something in her felt warmth at the idea, a strange, creeping feeling of rightness mixed with calm. The rest of her wanted to claw at her skin, urging her to wake up from this horrible dream. 

Every time she closed her eyes, she fervently wished this wrongness was a hallucination. But it wasn't; she was still swaying on her feet every time she opened her eyes again. This wasn't some sort of nightmare, there was a baby, some creature's inhuman child inside her. "Fuck. Fuck!" 

Tears began to prick behind her eyes, her face heating as she sat down on the hospital bed with her head cradled in her hands. 

( You can't cry over this. This happened because of your shady dealings. 

  You got a firstborn child alright. Yours. )

Swallowing hard, Emma tried to banish the thoughts bombarding her. 

( A baby. A baby you can love and hold, who you will never abandon. Someone you can raise the way you weren't, a second chance. Put your armor back on - for you and your child. )  

Emma bit her lip hard, swiping angrily at her tears. Bottling up the emotions, she took a breath, grabbed her purse, and walked down the hallway. To her great surprise, Elsa was waiting. 

"Emma, oh my stars. This is - I have no words. I'm so sorry," Elsa whispered. Emma gave a half hearted shrug, her voice still trembling slightly.

"Yeah. Well. Can I go home yet? That's why you're here right?" Emma hated the anxious, pleading edge of her tone.

"No, not yet. You have to be interviewed by the inspector detective here and then you are free to go." Elsa approached and hugged Emma softly. "I got you a nice one though, he's one of my favorites. Jones. He's an Angel - literally and figuratively. He's saved me on so many cases, I can't help but sing his praise." 

"Oh Elsa. Thank you." Emma hugged her friend tightly, both of them trembling. "I don't know what I would do without you."

Elsa scoffed. "I don't know what anyone would do. Joking aside, we are all going to be here for you, no matter what happens. It's not going to be like last time." Elsa pushed back a strand of Emma's hair, looking straight into her eyes. "You won't go through this alone. We're going to fight for you, and figure this out. Luckily, our major project is postponed anyway. Until they find the Demon Prince, the council is on a hiatus." 

"I just want to go home. I don't know if I can handle everyone right now." Emma mumbled. "It's bad enough David probably knows, which means Snow and everyone else -" 

"Please don't push us away, Emma. We know it's a lot, but going into the unknown like this," Elsa took one of Emma's hands, squeezing it lightly. "Having a family, having faith and love - it's the only way to get through."

"Miss Frost," a low voice called from a room nearby. Elsa led Emma to a small office, smiling at the large Angel who stood on one side of a desk. He returned her smile, until Emma met his eyes. His frown was slow, not suiting his features, even when his blue eyes sharply laser focused on Emma's rotund body. She could see his muscles tense, his golden tinged wings giving the smallest of flutters. "Miss Swan."

"I'll leave you both to it, then." Elsa smiled, inspector Jones weakly returning it as she closed the door to them. 

Emma sat in the only chair on her side of the desk, landing with an audible noise in surprise. Her body was heavier now. Of course sitting felt wrong. Jones grunted before sitting in his chair, his presence formidable even with his wings unopened. He began jotting down notes, not looking up at her for a long, stretched pause of silence. Emma fidgeted uncomfortably, one foot bouncing on the floor. 

"Stop that at once," Liam growled, his eyes narrowed.

Emma stopped, hissing out a nervous laugh. "Sorry, I just -" 

"How did this happen?" Liam interrupted, gesturing at her with clear disgust. "Dr. Mullins indicates it was against your will? You haven't been sexually active to induce conception? Explain."

"Well, I um -" 

"And I must remind you Miss Swan," Liam grimaced, marking something on his paper. "Lying to me is a crime itself. Perjury."

"Yes, I uh - I know." Emma nodded with a gulp. She took a breath, centering herself, and began to tell him the entire story of what had taken place with Gothel. He listened in absolute silence, writing the entire time as his frown only deepened. When she had finished, he continued writing in the oppressive silence, until finally flicking his eyes up to glare at her again. 

"Is that all, Miss Swan?" 

"Yes, then I, um, got the cramps -" 

"Spare me the sordid details of the consequences your illegal activity most likely caused," Liam drawled, sarcastically. He leveled his angry, burning gaze at her, and she felt like an animal being cornered by much larger prey. "Now, I have some questions for you. Answer to the best of your ability, but remember -" 

"Do not lie, yeah I remember," Emma said softly. 

"Who says you Witches can't be taught," Liam sneered, his voice mocking. Emma felt irritation bubble up in her gut, her surprise that Elsa liked this asshole rising. If he was a good inspector, Emma never wanted to meet a bad one. "Now. What exactly did this Gothel ask of you in exchange for her firstborn?" 

"Youthful beauty and a long life, I think," Emma stated, thinking hard. "She wanted to be young forever. I told her that it wouldn't be instant or eternal, that she would have to wait. Now I know why it didn't bother her."

"Did she mention any other rituals, Miss Swan?" Liam asked. 

"No, but she did say that she was in a time crunch." Emma shrugged slightly. "I don't know if that means anything."

Liam looked at her with more vehemence, still writing furiously. "Did you feel any effects at that time?" 

"No, I was surprised I didn't with the amount of magic that detonated. I checked myself twice to make sure, once with a warding bind even." The strangeness of the situation and her clear confusion due to it made her voice sound foreign to Emma's own ears. Did he know how much she didn't want this? "Nothing. Then boom, today I - today this. She showed her true colors at the end, did an evil laugh and everything." 

Liam hummed disapprovingly, looking over his notes. Flicking his eyes back to hers, he glared with contempt. "Let me make sure I have this all correct. So, you and this other Witch do a forbidden and illegal ritual -" 

"I had no idea it was going to be this illegal, I swear!" Emma began to feel panic, her heart racing. "I thought I was helping -" 

"Sure, sure, even though you already have a record -"

"That was - That was different, I was set up and I -" 

"It seems like you are awfully good at being set up, Miss Swan. So what did you get out of this?" The inspector looked at her in disgust, folding his arms against his chest. "A Demon child to experiment on? Heightened powers?" 

"No! No, I had no idea she would - I didn't know - I thought later on that she'd give me her unwanted child. I didn't want another kid to be unwanted. I didn't know the parentage - "

The inspector interrupted with a loud scoff, leaning forward and leering at her. "Likely bloody story." 

"Detective Inspector Jones, I swear to you, I swear it - I had no idea what… I had no idea this would happen. I never wanted this to happen. I never wanted to get pregnant, I still don't know what to do."

"If it is a Demonic child, even only a half-breed, the best thing to do is give them up." Something painful twisted in her gut, a deep feeling of dread and wrongness. 

"I can't, I want to think about it and wait to look at options -"

"You can . You should . It will get easier the longer you are separated from the leeching thing." Liam's sneer turned into a look of pure disgust. "Don't wait, and get it out of you before it completely ensnares you in its unholy thrall."

"It's a child, sir, and my choice. I'm not making any promises -" 

"No Demon has ever been innocent, not even a baby. They are inherently selfish, cruel, and angry. Your mixed breed baby will be the same." Liam looked down at his feet, his fingers interlaced as he rested his elbows on his knees. His voice had lost the cruel edge, and Emma felt her superpower activate. He didn't believe what he was saying, and as she watched him, she noticed how tired he looked. 

"Inspector, are... Are you alright?" 

"Miss Swan," Liam chuckled darkly, pinching the bridge of his nose before glancing up to look at her. "If I was in your position, I would worry about myself, especially if jail time was on the table." 

Emma felt as if he'd slapped her, air rushing from her lungs as her heart beat rapidly. 

"Jail time?" She asked in disbelief, "What about Gothel? Why are you demonizing me -"

"That is government business, Miss Swan." Liam stood stiffly, rummaging in his pocket. He fished out a card, carefully sliding it on the table towards her. "If you remember anything, contact us. Otherwise, we will be in touch. I'll have the nurse give you the proper paperwork and instructional pamphlets."

He turned, pushed the curtain aside, and Emma heard a soft whoosh of air indicating his exit. Looking down at her body under the scrubs, she cursed Eloise with every fiber of her being. 

  ﾟ・.  ｡・. *✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ*⛧*.・｡*ﾟ.★.・.・✫*.・。.・゜

ﾟ・.  ｡・. *✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ*⛧*.・｡*ﾟ.★.・.・✫*.・。.・゜

  The first few nights were a string of blurry, anger, and grief strewn rampages. Elsa has taken her home, Emma unwilling to let David even see her until she had some space to take care of herself. She had sent a text, and after a lot of back and forth arguing surrounding his lengthy replies, David had conceded. 

  (She just couldn't right now. 

Not right now. Not yet.) 

A Celestial, or something similar. Most likely Demon, he had said. 

Gothel had not only gotten her pregnant, but with some Demon child that could be claimed by its monstrous father for who knew what awful reason. Emma shuddered at the thought, hands protectively resting on her small swell of stomach. Pulling them away as they trembled, she cursed her body and the invader that was making her feel so attached to it. Demons didn't exactly get along with any of the other demographics, but Witches and Demons had the most volatile relations amongst any of them. Her own child might grow to hate her, all because of how much Witches persecuted Demon kind. 

She could still… No. She would not terminate the baby this far along. Every part of her vibrated with the wrongness of the very idea, sending her retching into the kitchen sink. She gripped both sides of the basin, crying hot, angry tears as she came to terms with the parasite - the baby, the small baby, the life - occupying her body. As much as she tried to hate it, the only hate she could muster fell on herself and Eloise. 

Part of her felt crazed, crying in her bathtub, nauseated and afraid of every implication and outcome. Laying her head back on the tile, she wondered about what she was going to do. Rubbing her new bump slowly, Emma traced the curve. Sixteen months. A doubly long second trimester, and extended third, all while it changed with her body. Mixed children generally presented like their non-Demonic parent, and the pregnancy bond would be fierce regardless of species. Although it was doubtful at this point it was even in effect despite her behavior and thoughts, Emma smiled at the thought that she already felt attached to her baby. Her own family. 

Her brother was going to go insane, and her sister-in-law… Snow was always supportive and full of a positive outlook. Emma had teased her that it was an Elf thing, but her pointed ears would twitch as she blushed, and she'd mumble something about her plants helping. Smoking her pungent blends of cannabis could make anyone positive, and Emma was suddenly envious. 

Regina and the coven would be on the defensive, taking over everything in Emma's life without quarter. That would be another comfort, their careful planning and patience having gotten her this far through her difficult life. 

In the end, the coven, Ruby, and Snow were over shortly after her emergency summons, flying through her doorway. Ruby was a Werewolf Emma had befriended through Snow. While Regina disliked her, Emma didn't think she was any different than most humans other than her keen sense of smell and bluntness. It was these traits that immediately made it clear what was wrong. It would seem not everyone in their circles knew yet. That would take a few more days. 

“Emma,” Ruby whispered, horrified, her nose wrinkling as tears filled her eyes. “What did… Who did this to you?”

"They think it is a Demon, but it's almost definitely Celestial, or something with a dynamic gestational period due to magic." Just behind Ruby, the rest of the coven began appearing, all staring on her porch as Emma ushered them in. "Until I find out the father, I don't know, although most likely it's Demonic."

Regina's head snapped up. “A Demon? Emma, what do you mean dynamic -”

The women went quiet when Emma lifted her shirt to show them her bump, explaining everything. 

Emma laid her head in Snow’s lap after, feeling numb. Snow stroked her hair gently, looking at the others. Their coven was small, mostly women, but David and two other men were honorary members by means of dating or marriage. Anna picked at her braid, eyes wide, while Belle's mouth was still open from her earlier gasp. Mulan, Regina, and Merida were all business. 

“I'll hunt the Witch and her Demon pet down myself, and bring him back here. We can take turns peeling away his skin -” 

“Mulan,” Merida hissed, her curls bouncing when she nodded her head at Emma, who's eyes were welling with tears once again. 

“I thought… I thought I was doing something good ,” Emma burst into tears, sobbing into Snow, and Belle excused herself to fetch the whistling kettle from the stove. Pouring everyone tea, they tried to figure out what to do. 

“Well, you certainly can't go hunting skips,” Regina scoffed. “And this house, I mean, I get that you fixed it up but it's a dump -”

“Oh! David would be happy to have you back on the farm with us!” Snow lit up, but the thought of being around their saccharine relationship and the smell of incense, patchouli, and skunky smelling herb had her running for the toilet. The others talked and sipped tea, planning out things as Emma curled up on her bath mat. Maybe it was better to terminate, if the leap in growth hadn't made it too late. Would it be better to give it up? Her mind filled with swirling ideas, and Emma let herself get lost in her sadness. 

Ruby snuck in a moment later, sitting next to Emma quietly. 

“So,” she whispered quietly, and Emma cracked open an eye to look at her friend's face. 

“So,” Emma rasped back, her throat raw. 

“Apparently, you're going to go live with Regina in the Guest ‘Wing’, yes, not room, ‘Wing’, and work at one of Belle’s bookstores. I tried to chime in with what your input might sound like. They looked at me as if I'd eaten Anna's familiar. Not like Elsa would let me snack on knock-off Rudolph anyway. Miss Ice Queen has her fancy new council to lord over, so who knows. We could have some reindeer snacks.”

Emma snorted, a smile breaking across her face. 

“Look,” Ruby started, running a hand through her hair to push back her straight brunette style. ”I know how important it was for you to be independent, Emma. I know you really cared about Neal, too. I just… There's something… There's something really off with this situation, and it's not just my nose saying that you smell weird, like dark magic weird, or my gut saying a Witch that makes contracts with Demons for a baby, knocks you up, then just up and vanishes is bad news. I want you to be safe. I called Graham on your telephone, and there's an opening at his precinct I think you might like. It’s mostly paperwork -”

“Rubes!” Emma laughed despite herself. “That's awesome, thank you-”

“Just listen. I want to meet this… Demon. I still have this feeling like something is really off, and you're neck deep in danger. Besides, you know, the Demon part of the situation. Are you sure that you can't remember, er… Well. You know?”

“No, it was literally one minute I was fine, then the next the worst period cramps of my life while I inflated. I was sort of Instant Knocked Up, just add magic or whatever.” Emma rubbed her temples, and Ruby sighed. 

“Well, if it makes you feel better, Granny says that's most likely how I was conceived too.” Ruby flashed her a smile, and Emma laughed, hugging her friend tightly. 

“I don't know what I would do without you, Rubes.” 

“Look, I'm pretty sure Graham isn't into a menage et trois with a preggo, but I'll broach the subject.” 

“You're ridiculous,” Emma laughed. 

“You wouldn't have it any other way.”

  ﾟ・.  ｡・. *✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ*⛧*.・｡*ﾟ.★.・.・✫*.・。.・゜

Months passed slowly as Emma waited for the other shoe to drop. Work at the station was easy, filing reports and making coffee not troublesome at all. Liam apparently worked somewhere in the massive complex, but Emma made no moves to seek him out or head to the detective offices. 

Her house was almost completely redone and brand new; the floors, walls, ceilings, and everything in between redone with the utmost care. 

  ("I refuse to let you live like this and represent our coven," Regina ran a finger along the mantelpiece, grimacing when it came up dirty. "Are you sure that you have to live here?" 

"What Regina means," Elsa shot her a glare as Regina shrugged, rubbing her fingers together, "Is that any of us would love to have you. Don't feel obligated to stay -" 

"But don't feel like you have to leave either. David and I would love to help you fix up the place, maybe have you make a few rooms?" Snow encouraged. David nodded, his arms crossed across his chest. 

Elsa clapped her hands excitedly. "Oh yes, you could make an apothecary room like the one you talked about, and a potion brewing room, a nice place to grow plants, a library -" 

"And we'd all pitch in, if you wanted to make a nursery?" Mary Margaret mumbled, almost shyly. "I wanted to throw a baby shower for you since we found out, but I didn't want to overwhelm you like I feel like I always do -" 

"Too late," Emma gritted under her breath, her friends already planning the event for her.)

  Emma actually had eased into the idea; at first it seemed absurd that they were planning for this when the whole situation was so strange. The father was still unaccounted for, even as the test results made it clear that the baby was of Demonic parentage. Sometimes Emma thought she could feel something, a little tug, the eerie feeling of being watched, or an emotion that wasn't hers flitting through her mind, but she dismissed them easily. More often, she was fascinated by the lack of information on the bond her and this child were supposed to have. 

Pouring over books, it was as if someone had removed or rewritten any passages about Demonic parenting, specifically with a non Demon parent. She had found minor information on the bond in a few books. It was supposed to be fierce, the instinct making women hysterical and unreasonable. It only got more intense when the father was around, cases of actions deemed feral surrounding the mixed couples she had managed to find. All of them had ended in tragedy, and Emma eventually found herself unable to stomach reading about them. 

Or anything really, food was enemy number one on baby's list, unless it was deep fried, covered in sugar, or drenched in sweetness. Without shame, Emma had managed to eat and keep down an entire jar of marmalade with crackers. 

When Snow, Elsa, and Ruby's grandmother had brought up the food options they would make if Emma would let them throw her a shower, she had caved. 

  ( "I will make you a bear claw cake, mini grilled cheese, and onion rings, amongst other things," Granny grinned. "And I will crochet you the most darling blanket for your little girl."

Emma tried not to drool, or give in. "That's nice, but I don't think I want that many people here, you know? That detective is watching my every move, I feel like a whale, I never know which food will agree with me -" 

"And I will make sure I have a never-ending hot chocolate drip for you." Granny's eyes twinkled, full of mischief. "With toppings."

"Including cinnamon?" Emma asked, unable to disguise the longing in her voice. Granny nodded firmly. "How did you know? Wait - did you say a girl -" 

"I just know," she shrugged. "Call it a wolf's intuition." ) 

It was supposed to be small, just a few people and family, but somehow it had turned into a full on social event. Emma was grateful that she had added a few rooms in the days before, the space sorely needed regardless of how drained she felt. Even still, she loved the house. It actually felt like hers, the exposed beams and vintage fixtures mixed with tapestries, framed art, and treasured photos. Her herbs dried above a large sink, food was spread along a long bar and buffet sideboard, and people milled around her living room that she had adjoined to two more exact copies through her doors. 

No need to be original there.

( Her private door stayed tucked away in the upstairs hallway, and it was unable to be unlocked by anyone but her. 

That was more important than a few extra rooms she could collapse after these people were gone. ) 

Emma was a good sport for the first couple of hours, playing games, being paraded around to people who apparently were important in the city, and sipping hot cocoa. Elsa, Regina, Mulan, and Snow were putting emphasis on her innocence, and although it was a spectacle, Emma hoped it would work. 

Two very terrible things ruined her mood. 

At some point, Elsa fell away from Emma's side, returning as cake was being cut. Her face was pinched, irritability written across it as she glared down at the slice she's given. 

"You okay?" Emma whispered, and Elsa blinked, looking up in surprise. 

"Oh, yeah. I just - I thought my date might show up, but he's working." Elsa gritted out the last word, anger seeping into it. "He's on this case, and it's important to him because it's family related, but I want him to understand that I have family too, and I could help if he just -" Throwing up her hands, Elsa groaned in annoyance. 

"I'm so sorry. I don't know anything about -" 

"Emma," David pulled her up by her arm, looking around as if checking for something. "Kitchen. Now."

There's no time to protest, his grip strong and firm, dragging her into the kitchen. 

"David, what the fu -" 

"That detective was here, asking about you," Regina hissed, pointing out towards where guests milled. "We made sure he left, but he was asking questions."

"Questions?" Emma repeated, fear gripping her. Elsa walked in, listening to the conversation beside her. 

"Like, if you had a history of criminality, if you knew and associated with undesirable magic users, if you knew who the father was or were protecting who did this to you," David said. The stillness around them seemed to tense just as they were. 

"If he questions you, you make sure to tell him that you know nothing," Elsa whispered, trying to hold her hand. "Make sure you proclaim your innocence, and he'll believe you, he has to -" 

"You think I haven't tried?" Emma ripped her hand away, looking at all of her friends with annoyance. "I agreed to this not knowing it was going to serve as some bullshit trial ball, where I'd be judged like this. I've searched everywhere for that woman, I have nothing to hide. She's disappeared, and not like a new identity in Guam disappeared, no. Like, off every plane of existence without a trace. It wouldn't matter if I did find her, because this is my kid. The bonds of the spell make her of my blood more and more every day. I can't just go back to the way things were - "

"What about the father?" Regina asked. 

"I don't know. I know nothing about him or why he hasn't come. As far as I know, he might not. I don't know how he couldn't feel these binds. I know I feel something, but it could be because I'm practically mooing, I'm so huge, and I have these crazy urges. The hormones alone here are making me feel insane, even before you started in on me. Even before that asshole showed up because we have the entire damn city here!"

"I told you this was a bad idea, Regina," Snow mumbled. Regina glared in return. 

"We - I just want you to know that no one will judge you for not wanting this, or for giving up the baby -" David said weakly. 

"Shut up David," Emma growled out. Her hands rested against her stomach and she felt like she was going to fall over. "Right now, shut up and do not go down that road." 

"Emma, it's making you feel attached," Regina said gently. "And if I'm agreeing with him, you know I - "

"I mean it, not another word. I'm keeping my baby, that's it. End all, be all. Say another word and I will curse your tomatoes," She pointed at David, then rounded on Regina. "And hex your wardrobe with bleach stains that don't come out. Try me."

"Fine!" Regina threw up her hands while David grunted. 

The kitchen went silent, the tension palpable. 

"We got you a really nice layette," Snow offered, trying to clear the awkwardness while smiling. "Come open gifts, and look at all this cuteness. "

Emma begrudgingly moved forward, her eyes widening at the mountain of gifts in front of her. 

"Don't worry," Anna whispered as she pulled Emma down to sit. "I'm writing your thank you cards for you."

The crowd thinned after gifts, the night trickling on as the house emptied. If Emma had felt drained before, now she felt completely devoid of energy. The small crowd that's left hadn't bothered her, so when Snow and Regina asked her to do another walk about with them, it seemed safe enough. 

She saw him out of the corner of her eye, his head nodding, laughing at something in his self absorbed sly little chuckle that makes her want to break his nose. She must have tensed because Snow was beside her and sucking in breath harshly through her teeth, the coven turning as if they could all feel the disturbance. 

( Maybe they can, maybe the unbridled audacity of this man being here with another woman as he laughs with a martini glass in his hand is enough to share one collective experience of hatred. His eyes meet hers and he gives her a smirk that screams pity and humor at her expense as he lifts his glass toward her, mouthing congrats ) 

A figure cut in front of her, and her rage that feels like a sickening punch in the gut is coupled by this smack in the face - Neal's father grinned at her, his cane on the ground while both hands rest on its handle.

"My my my, Miss Swan," Gold smirked the same smirk that she wants to rip off his face. "When we heard, we were so surprised to not receive an invitation to this… quaint event of yours. Truly poor manners when our covens are no longer supposed to be at odds."

Regina and Elsa were there in front of her in a flash, Snow pulling her away, words being exchanged in hissed tones. Emma could barely hear over her heartbeat, over the sound of her stomach screaming at her to vomit. 

"You can protect her all you want, but we know what she did. We know what it will be," Gold's voice slithered over her skin even in the bathroom. "You can't redeem her, and she will be the reason for all of your downfall. Enjoy your council while it lasts."

David shooed everyone out when Emma hastily retreated, the entirety of her patchwork family pushing inside to comfort her. 

  ﾟ・.  ｡・. *✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ*⛧*.・｡*ﾟ.★.・.・✫*.・。.・゜

After the disaster of her shower, Emma began to feel the strange feeling of being watched even more. It became especially noticeable at night when she rocked in the nursery, sorting out piles of gifts. It felt like a presence sat beside her or hovered over her shoulder, and it began to follow her into her dreams. 

They didn’t last after she woke, glimpses of a mirror, of the sound of pounding, a muffled voice that she can't make out. 

The tip of the weird iceberg happened when Emma had gotten out of the shower, the steam in the room rising to fog the mirror. Dressing in pj's and heading back in to blow dry her hair, she had been dancing along to some new pop song by the Wolves of London, when her eyes caught the words.

On the fog of the mirror, her name had appeared backwards, joined shortly by the word 'Help' in a curling script that she blinked at in confusion before they disappeared. 

( A baby, a Witch, and a Ghost. Just what she needs in the never ending chaos that has become her life ) 

Luckily, the Coven can save her ass again. 

Regina glared at Emma, her judging silence lay heavily over the room. She crossed her arms, eyebrows pinching into further scorn, before asking again. 

"You want me to do what?" 

"Look, I know it's not your favorite thing to do, but you can and I don't have the gift or a guide like you do -" 

"That doesn't make it any easier!" Regina threw up her hands, then gestured to her pantsuit clad form. "It's my body, and my mother is just -" 

"I am begging you, Reg. Begging. You." Emma moaned, irritated. "The father is a complete mystery, there's a ghost in my house that I think has to do with him, and I'm scared it could be someone like…" Trailing off, she chewed her lip. 

Liam's increasing push for her to choose adoption had thrown her off her game these last few weeks, his phone calls almost non stop. In a way, he was right. She wasn't the only parent, and she certainly wasn't ready to be a mom. She was no one, absolutely nothing. It wasn't as if she could raise a baby. 

(Even if she wanted to, and the idea of her baby, her family enveloped in the family she chose and created, it made her feel nothing but happiness) 

Regina rolled her eyes with a huff. "Fine. Fine!" she snapped, slamming her hands on the table. "I do this for you, and you owe me. I expect you to be at my whim for this."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And I'm not doing it for long." She shuddered. "Every time I check out and she checks in, I feel so just -" She shuddered again, making a gagging noise. 

(Regina had done it before for David and her, to say goodbye to Ruth. It had hurt, hurt so badly, but not as much as Cora cutting the reunion short to tell her daughter to do more cardio.)

"I promise, we find his grandma or cousin or somebody, maybe whoever wrote that on my mirror, get the lead, and we're done." Emma nodded. 

With another sigh, Regina laid her hands over the table, palms up, and Emma laid her own over them. A lavender spark shot from their joined hands to the air above them, Regina's head falling back while purple smoke began to pour around the table, permeating the air. Regina shook slightly, before violently snapping her head forward and blinking. 

"Emma Swan, to what do I owe the pleasure of being ripped from my study?" A higher, nasal, woman's voice spoke out from Regina's mouth. "My daughter feels chubbier, and her skin is just -" Regina touched her face, making clucks with her tongue. "Oh, she is a mess! Did she break it off with that awful Warlock? Ugh, is she stress eating? I try not to pry, but I know she ate at least one slice of chocolate cake when she was out this last week -" 

"Cora," Emma gritted out, closing her eyes in frustration. "Cora, Regina is fine. If she wants to discuss her love life with you, she'll call you up on the Ouija. I need your help to find someone, and I don't know the someone."

"Well, aren't you in a pickle."

"Please Cora, it's not just for me!" 

"Oh, you're not interested in Regina are you? Because you are much too low a class for her breeding -" 

"Oh Merlin, no, no!" 

"What is it then?" Cora sighed in a bored drawl. "I've told you I can't find your family if they don't want anything to do with you, I -" 

"No." Emma let her chest fall, speaking quietly. "No it's not that. I remember from last time and I have a family now." Emma took a deep breath, pushing back against the hurt in her chest. "I need to know… I need to know who the father is, and I'm having trouble. I need you to see if you can reach a relative, or friend, or someone who knows why his offspring is inside me, as well as what it is. I got a visit from a ghost, so here we are."

"Oooooh!" Cora squealed. "An enceinte pregnancy Miss Swan? An illegitimate baby? A haunting? How very risqué and daring on your salary!"

"Cora!"

"Fine, I'll check. I'll want the details of this though, so don't spare any of the juicy bits." Cora winked with Regina's face, before the woman's body went slack. After a minute, her head lifted back up, blinking slightly. "Well, Emma, what a doozy this is. This woman will not stop talking, and it's absolutely ridiculous how impossible she's being, even if she is ancient looking. Yes, I said ancient looking - well don't get mad at me, I tell it how it is - oh, I don't care who your son is, he can't be that grand if he's knocked up this wreck. Sorry Emma dear, I love you, but I mean," Cora shrugged, unabashedly. 

"Cora, ask her what her name is!" Emma hissed. 

"What's your name then? Oh, that's interesting. Not as good as Cora, or Regina -" 

"Cora!" 

"It's Milah. And she's not his mum, she's - oh he's an ex lover of yours? Juicy juicy! Sounds like Emma dear might be getting leftovers then? Oh don't be like that -" 

"I need a name Cora, this is so -" 

"I'm trying Emma dear, the woman won't shut up about her sweetheart. No - Really? The scandal, but - well that is so weird! Milah says that he's been hidden somewhere and no one is haunting you, but… Ugh! She's speaking so rapidly - yes, I get it, but if he wants the kid he would have come to get it, or - I am listening to you, you're not listening to me! A mirror? You should look at one, why do I have to tell her about a mirror? I mean Emma's at most average, and look at her figure now. A child will do that to you." Cora sighed, and Emma stiffened. Cora seemed to nod for a moment, before Regina's face soured further. 

"Don't get smart with me, you may be an old soul but you died far younger than I did!" Cora growled, her eyes slitting at some unseen target. She turned with her head cocked, looking at Emma with pity. "I'm sorry Emma, sweet little duckling, but this woman is a nightmare. She keeps screaming at me about how this Killian fellow is the father, but it's impossible for her to see him for whatever reason. Something about a mirror? She's also absolutely ancient, I haven't seen clothing like that outside of - Pre-Babylon? Is that the robe designer or…? Don't look at me like that miss bed sheet toga, I - Emma, this woman, I swear! It's just incessant chattering, really - "

"His name is Killian? Cora, wait, don't you -" 

"I understand that you were crazy in love with him, trust me, you seem crazy Milah dear. Yes, Killian is his name. A Demon of lust for vengeance. Wow, Emma, what a winner!" Cora snickered, and Emma resisted the urge to shriek. "Well, I don't care if the beast is misunderstood, he's a Demon. How touching, now please - oh come now, Gothel in the tower with the mirror? Red spire, Troll falls? What is this, Clue? Do I look like a detective?" Regina's eyes rolled, Emma desperately trying to remember the snippets that might make sense. Gothel, tower, mirror, red spire, troll falls. Killian. 

Cora grew louder, her voice rising in pitch. 

"Oh, how dare you! I'll have you know your cheap robes aren't exactly chic either; you need a wardrobe update, badly! You look like a ten cent frat party attendee!" Cora spat, and Regina's face pinched tight. "Excuse me? More important things, WELL , I never - Oh you rude little tart, I've had enough!" 

"Please Cora, no, I -" Emma attempted, but Cora flipped Regina's hair back, sniffing with haughty indignation. 

"It'll be alright Emma, duckling. It seems that your little orphan persona is perfect to parent this little babe! Shut up! No, I'm done with you, you crazy broad. Go back to Bed, Bath, and Beyond and buy some new linens!" Cora hissed, her mouth curled in an ugly snarl. "Anyways, Emma, just accept that you can't ruin a child to be like you if you're giving them a home, even if their father is some failed Demon. Or something inspirational, I don't know." She shrugged, Regina's shoulders going up in a blasé dismissal. Her eyes snapped to look behind Emma, her face contorted in rage. 

"Cora. I am begging you - " Emma tried again, but Cora's focus was elsewhere, on someone unheard and unseen. 

"Shut it, shut up thread count Cleopatra!" Turning back to Emma, she smiled serenely. "Tell Regina to summon me later, I need to know how she is. And tell her no more sweets, especially if she ever wants to be a wife. Ta!"

Regina fell forwards, her body shuddering as the lights flickered, purple smoke dissipating into the air. She moaned lowly, cracking her shoulders and neck as she rolled backwards. 

"Dammit!" Emma exclaimed, sitting up and violently stalking to the fridge. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!" 

"Ugh, I can taste her perfume. Bring me a beer please," Regina groaned. Emma pulled a beer and a soda out of the fridge, giving the beer to Regina. "Emma, don't you ever say that I don't love you after that." Regina shuddered again, flicking her hand to open the beer and drinking down half of it in one go.

"I know you do. You just have… You're just abrasive with it. Like a big cat, or an alligator."

(Or a wood chipper wearing lipstick) 

"Shut up, and tell me how it went. Was it worth it? Mother never is, but -" 

"She, uh, well she got me some information to go on. So, that's something." Emma averted her gaze, licking her lips. 

"She talked about my weight, didn't she," Regina sighed. When Emma said nothing Regina drank the rest of the beer and walked to the kitchen, depositing it in the trash. Pulling out a wine glass, she reached under her cabinet and produced a bottle of wine. Emma raised an eyebrow. "Don't even start on me."

"I wasn't going to," Emma whispered. 

Laying her palms flat on the countertop and bowing her head, Regina looked up after a moment's pause. 

"So, what now?" She asked. 

Emma chewed on her lip, thinking hard. "I have his name, or at least I think I do. I think all that's left is to, well, summon him."

(Summon him, and say what? 'Hey, Mr. Demon, I'm having your kid and thought you might like to know', as if it would care, or want anything to do with her...) 

Regina's eyebrows shot up. "Not alone, surely -" 

"No. I would ask Snow, David, and maybe Mulan and Belle. I know Belle would be delighted, and she has the spellbooks."

"That actually sounds like a relatively good plan." Regina nodded, then took a sip of her wine. 

"Don't sound so shocked, Regina." Emma grumbled. 

"Miss Swan," Regina smirked, swirling the wine in her glass before taking another sip. "If you ever cease to stop shocking me with your antics, I'll assume I have gone to meet my mother and maker."

[notgalaxii]

Another Another Cinderella Story || Part One || Diavolo x Fem!MC

Hey guys! I'm sorry this one took so long for me to put out, I was so busy this week! I got a job and I just finished my virtual training but I was working on this with every free moment I had!! This will be part 1 most likely out of 3. Thank you all so much for reading and continuing to request amazing ideas such as these!!

Request Prompt: A Cinderella Story with Diavolo and a Fem!MC.

Word Count: 1.9k

    “You will not be attending the event, MC. Powerful demons will be swarming the castle and I can’t have my eyes on you at all times,” Lucifer’s words echoed through her head like her footsteps echoed through Purgatory Hall. After Diavolo had extended an invite to MC and all of the demon brothers to go to a masquerade, Lucifer had shut her down. He shut down what would probably be the best night of her life in the devildom. He shut down the mere possibility of her enjoying herself, looking better than she could have ever dreamed of, swaying with a beautiful stranger in her elegant ball gown. He shut down the possibility of her smile illuminating with the light flickering off of the chandeliers.  She had stormed off to go find someone else who she knew wouldn’t be going to the dance so that she could vent. MC knew very well that Lucifer was just looking out for her, but she didn’t know whether it was because he cared or because Diavolo would have his head if his exchange student was eaten. Sometimes Beelzelbub would try to reassure her that Lucifer really does care, but is too prideful to admit it. 

    “MC? Didn’t think you’d stop by here, I half expected you to be in a gown right now,” Solomon’s cocky smile played on his lips as he opened the door.

    “Lucifer didn’t let me go,” she brashly elaborated. A glimmer of shock seeped into his eyes before he pulled the door open just enough for her frame to slip through. MC immediately slumped onto the nearest seat once entering.

    “What was the noble excuse this time?” Solomon teased as he sat on his bed across from her, “Place your bets now, ladies and gents, does it have to do with Diavolo’s displeasure? Or, would it perhaps be about the tasks Diavolo assigned you?” 

    “Powerful demons will be swarming the castle and he can’t have me in his sight at all times. Oh, how disappointed Lord Diavolo would be if he finds his precious exchange student eaten by a demon! Lucifer would have to give him extra foot rubs after that, obviously,” MC mocked in her best posh tone, “What about you? Why aren’t you going?”

    “Too many demons I made a pact with are there and a few of them can’t stand each other. As much as I would love to see that go down, I would unfortunately be roped into the middle of it,” he sighed deeply.

    “Funny, I bet you would’ve absolutely adored causing some chaos at a noble event,” MC snickered as she crossed her legs. She had always known Solomon to be extremely mischievous. Just about every time he had used his powers around her, it was either to just “see what happens,” or to purposely mess with someone. However, there had been a few times where he’s gotten her out of some pretty sticky situations with his magic. 

    “There’s still a way, of course,” a playful smile reached up to Solomon’s lips, twisting the corners.

    “Bingo,” MC chuckled, “I was waiting for you to say something like that.”

    “And this way involves you actually being able to go without Lucifer on your tail,” one of his eyebrows quirked in her direction.

    “Oh? I’m listening,” she leaned in closer to him as if it would help her pay attention.

    “What better mask than an entirely new face?” Solomon inquired.

    “You shady bitch, I love you,” a bright smile stretched across her face. Solomon stood up and held his hand out to her for her to grab. When she did, he guided her over to a shelf full of spell books.

    “Satan let me borrow this book, there’s a spell in here that will completely change your appearance for the next  five hours. This means that when the clock strikes midnight, you’ll be back to your current form,” he elaborated, flipping through the pages of a large, dark green book.

    “This is nice and all, but I don’t even have anything to wear-”

    “Leave that to me too, I’ve spent enough time with Asmodeus to know how to make someone look good,” Solomon chuckled before putting his finger on a specific passage, “ Here it is, are you ready? I’ve never used this spell before, but I’m sure I can do it.”

    MC contemplated her choices for a moment. She knew that if it was Solomon casting the spell, there was almost no way that she could get caught. The only possible way she could think of was not being able to scurry out of the castle before midnight hits. Potential consequences of her actions raced through her head. MC knew better than to defy Lucifer but he was so irritating. There was no doubt in her mind that he’d be livid if he found out.

    Yet, what would happen if he didn’t find out? What would happen if she spent the night glissading across the ballroom floor, arm in arm with a handsome or perhaps beautiful stranger? She could have the night of her life, but it all depended on how much attention she paid to the time. 

    “Do it, Solomon. I’m ready," MC abruptly blurted after a few moments of silence. The next thing she knew, she was being enveloped in a waft of black smoke. It swirled around her vehemently, growing thicker with every ancient word that slipped Solomon's tongue. 

    Once the smoke began to settle and fade away, MC looked down at her hands. Her skin tone was a few shades darker than usual, her nails resembling long and sharp talons. Trailing up her arms, she saw the wavy lilac hair cascading down her shoulders like a mystical waterfall. 

    "That turned out better than expected, you look beautiful, MC" a small, cocky smirk creeped its way back up onto Solomon's expression. 

    "Thank you, is my face any different?" MC quizzed. In place of a reply, he gestured to a mirror near the door. Her face was indeed different. Her eyes sparkled a vibrant and almost intense green, her lips were slightly fuller than previously, her nose a bit smaller. They were the smallest changes but when they were all put together, she was a completely different person.

    Without warning, the smoke had returned to swirl around her body yet again, this time leaving her head peeking out. It left a crimson red ball gown to wrap her torso, coming down in a sweetheart neckline to show off her collarbone, the skirt slightly flaring out at her hips. The fabric was light and airy, allowing her to move with ease. 

    "You gonna turn a pumpkin into a carriage too, fairy godmother?" MC teased. 

    "No, but we are going to do something with that hair," Solomon scoffed, pulling the hair tie off of her wrist and beginning to take her hair into sections. He parted the top half of her hair up, twisting it into an intricately braided bun. Before letting her look back into the mirror, he pulled out a few strands to dangle in the front. 

    "Tricks from Asmo?"

    "You could say that," he smiled, placing a hand on her lower back, "Alright, get out of here and have fun. Set an alarm on your D.D.D. okay? 23:50 pm, get heading out when it goes off."

    MC nodded enthusiastically and thanked him for his support before grabbing a mask he had summoned. It was a bit of a trip to the castle, taking thirty minutes off of the spell. She had only been to Diavolo's castle once before, it was when she made her pact with Asmodeus and Solomon used his magic on her for the first time. Diavolo was quite the character in her eyes, although she hadn't known much about him besides that Lucifer was his little lap dog. He was charming, certainly, and seemed pretty kind for a Demon Prince. She thought it was special how he wished to construct a path between all three realms. After all, that path is what gave her the opportunity to make new friends and learn about new cultures. 

    The large, elegant piece of architecture was indeed swarming with demons, just as Lucifer had predicted. They were all dressed head to toe in formal attire, a few letting their horns, wings, and tails come out. MC carefully put her mask on and fixed her posture before striding into the house. Not many demons shyed from giving her strange looks. Large, crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, illuminating the faces of all of them, especially one in particular, Asmodeus. Oh no.

    “Oh, hello there!~ I haven’t seen your face in the Devildom before, who might you be?” his sweet voice chimed with seductive notes lingering in the air. MC noticed the way his sunset gaze deepened immediately. He was trying to charm her, and she couldn’t let that happen. Asmodeus’ powers never worked on her and he would be devastated if they didn’t work on this random stranger. 

    “H-hi! I’m sorry to be so abrupt, but I-I need to use the restroom,” MC sputtered out, but it didn’t seem like Asmo was taking no for an answer. She was now locked to him.

    “Your voice sounds so familiar. It’s very soothing, you know? Come, doll. I’ll escort you to the restroom,” he coaxed her with a warming smile. Knowing she wouldn’t win the battle of trying to run away from the Avatar of Lust without upsetting him, MC nodded in agreement. 

    Asmodeus guided her to the restroom and left her off at the door before giving a small wink and fading into the mass. She sighed with relief and walked into the restroom. Taking a glance in the mirror, MC re-evaluated her situation. Now she knew that her voice would still be the same, she wasn’t able to know anyone at this masquerade, and she still resembled a human, she felt like this wasn’t such a good idea. The brother’s most likely wouldn’t protect her if she got in a trifle, now that she lingers on the thought.

    A knock on the restroom door broke her thoughts. After sorting herself out, MC did her best to maintain her composure as she walked out. Even more demons were giving her looks this time around, a few of them even mumbling about her as she walked by. Asmodeus probably started to talk about the encounter to some of his “fans,” as he calls them. 

    Time began to run itself down the drain as MC consumed a few drinks and chatted with the passing strangers that prompted a conversation with her. Asmodeus made his way back to talk to her at one point and even tried to dance with her, but she was still scared of him finding out she couldn’t be charmed so she politely declined.

    “I’m a little bit too tipsy, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t want to step all over your toes,” she chuckled. Asmo understood, surprisingly and it wasn’t long before he wandered off to try to charm the next beautiful face he saw walking by. A few moments later, yet another hand tapped MC’s shoulder, beckoning her to turn around. She half expected it to be Asmodeus, but it was instead Barbatos, Diavolo’s poised butler. 

    “Lord Diavolo has requested for you to be his first dance partner of the night. Please, follow me.”

[cloveroctobers]

ELISA FRANÇOIS —

IG info/bio: @/elisacoisbabe | 34.2k followers | why yes I’m shaking my ass while having a mental breakdown, mind ur business yeah?? 👸🏿

22 (23) years

Born in Louisiana, New Orleans

Has two sisters: Camille & Manon

Raised by her aunt & uncle in London, England

Does not address her birth parents as her real parents, her aunt & uncle hold that title & deff has a lot of anger towards her birth parents—to her they’re as good as d*ad

Haitian roots

Keeps her family life as private as she can, however her fans occasionally see her sisters on her channel

Social media influencer who got her start from posting makeup looks on her YouTube channel & her story times

Canon: calls her fans “Elisa-bee’s” we don’t know why either

Loves 80’s style blush

Loves 80s music & aesthetic and she liked it before u teenagers hopped on the bandwagon, sorry not sorry ;-)

Doesn’t feel Lottie is competition at all when it comes to posting content even if fans feel that way, they have completely different techniques

Vacations in Paris & Louisiana often

Her older sister, Manon resides in Louisiana and when they link up??? Issa vibe

Camille is the youngest & kinda a party pooper, she’s more on the serious side

Loves snacking on macaroons... salted caramel praline & lavender white chocolate are her favorites (I feel like I said this about someone else too...)

She’s scared of owls/any type of birds partly from a childhood trauma where she was attacked by a bunch of seagulls on a pier & as punishment when she was up to no good, her parents would force her to watch “the birds” (1963) strapped to a chair

Went thru a “ugly phase” growing up & was often called “lady-b*y”

Has been in multiple relationships/entanglements/situations/experiences but there are many that she doesn’t count & or acknowledge “I hope no one considers me an ex especially if they couldn’t make me c*m”

Has had threes*mes before

Sex posi!

Supports trans lives!

In the last few years she was recently diagnosed with borderline personality disorder

When she finished secondary, she didn’t think uni was for her. Found school rather boring although she did quite well at it. She was exhausted with everything that came with it & decided to go into stripping for a couple of months (almost a year) before she decided to work on her YouTube channel

Currently in a polyamorous relationship

A few of her experiences with her significant others got jealous of her job, the attention she got from it & the time she put into her job as a influencer— it was annoying

Gemini sun + Sagittarius moon + Capricorn rising? Idk man but she’s got Leo & Scorpio in her chart too I’m sure of it

Has no problem bringing her issues with someone to the table

Kinda likes confrontation but only if SHE’s the one to start it, not if SOMEONE ELSE does it FOR her, due to her spreading the info around in the first place...

Will try her best to read someone but sometimes her comebacks lack...

Still doesn’t like Chelsea, Jo, OR Shannon & it’s been a year but she don’t gaf

Found herself a friend in Blake

They’re opposites, she’s more laid back & slightly reserved whereas when Elisa enters the place you KNOW it because she makes it known—she loves to be seen

After Marisol & Graham called it quits, Elisa swept in & they explored what they could be? Intimately. Yet Elisa doesn’t seem like she’s ready to settle down right now & she doesn’t HAVE to while Marisol seems like she likes to have fun too BUT is also always thinking two steps ahead—she’s calculated, so a small part of her thought of the what if’s? But knew there was a chance there shouldn’t be any strings attached

That shifted their friendship forsure!!! Priya told them it was a bad idea from the start but Elisa had some snippy words for her ofc “mind ur business luv, or I’ll do it for ya x”

She thought about ghosting marisol for a little bit to see if she’d chase after her, she loves to be chased but decided not to. She was upfront about their rendezvous after awhile, she agreed if they ever got lonely again to hit each other up...but marisol doesn’t feel like what they had was based on loneliness...

Probably still has a crush on Bobby & was kinda mad he asked someone else to marry him but she still showed up to the reunion/wedding like the baddest bitch she knows she is, ‘got to make him regret not choosing me, ya know?’

Will chat with him every now & then but Bobby being the friendly guy he is doesn’t pay much attention to her seduction or rather he ignores it but if it gets too much he’ll gently tell her about herself

Hey, Elisa knows shade when she sees it & can be a shady bitch when she wants to be too

Only drinks the real ginger ale not the fake one the rest of u lot drink

Has no issue showing her figure, she loves her body, she loves herself, & that took along time to appreciate so she doesn’t care if people view that as arrogant, most don’t know her story & if they still shitted on her for it then they can all fuck right off

She has a soft side too...somewhere in there but it’s very rare to see! Only ONE of her exes had the chance of seeing it

She has a image to protect & show the world but there’s going to be a time where she gets tired of constantly putting on a show

Is a sucker for animation films & whenever there’s a sad moment in the film she deff triggered!

Has two dogs: Dachshund & a chihuahua

Makes the best Pikliz

loves a good lace front, will drop bands on one whenever she feels like she needs something new & that’s quite often

Owns a bedazzler kit

Has a stun gun

Can make her own jewelry + working on starting a line for it

Body scrubs are to die for in her opinion, her skin HAS to be soft & she’s always moisturized. That’s right stay away from her if ur ashy cause she’ll bring shame to you

She’s slightly a mean girl/bitchy I feel like we all know this lmao

Live tweeted about season 3 & dragged it like we all did with no remorse

I feel like she’s a wild sleeper? Lol

Enjoys not only 80s style music but Lofi beats, cocaine80s, PARTYNEXTDOOR, IAMDDB, Ravyn Lenae, VanJess, Ibeyi, Tayla Parx, CITY GIRLS, & Kash doll, saweetie, etc

Celeb crushes: Zoe Kravitz & Lenny Kravitz, Issa Rae, Winston Duke, Theo James, Robert Pattinson, Alexa Demie, Kelvin Harris Jr., Kedar Williams-Stirling...

Anthem: Dreezy ft. Kash Doll — Chanel Slides

[scratchybeardsweetmouth]

Iain Glen: From Game of Thrones to cycling's dark side when Le Tour came to Ireland

November 4, 2020 | By Esther McCarthy (x) Irish Examiner We last saw him as Daenerys' trusty sidekick, but in The Racer - opening movie at Cork Film Festival - Iain Glen plays a shady character involved in the Tour de France in 1998 Excerpts:

[...] Now a new movie recounts that 1998 tour through the eyes of a cyclist. Though fictional, The Racer shows the dangerous lengths teams will go to for a competitive edge. Shot in Ireland and Belgium, the opening film for the Cork International Film Festival centres on a domestique (support rider) regarded as one of the best in the business. Iain Glen plays the team’s Mr Fixit, the man with the syringes and vials. “I studied documentaries and a couple of films just to get to know the world it occupied,” he says. “What drew me to the script was it didn't hold back its punches, I thought it was a very frank and honest, quite a wry, insightful look at a particularly bad period for drug abuse within the sport.” “That tour became known as the Tour de Drugs because of the amount of drugs that were going down at the time. The people within the team and my character, certainly within the context of the film, didn't have any great qualms about it - everyone was doing it and we were doing it as well. That was the norm. It's ironic to think that (Lance) Armstrong was about to enjoy his great stretch as being the world-leading cyclist and he won so many tours in a row and this was prior to that. During Armstrong’s time everyone thought the sport had got its act together a bit more.” Directed by Kieron J Walsh, the movie shows the extraordinary dangers the cyclists face as a result of blood doping...    [...] “People weren't wrestling with their consciences as they decided how they could compete at the highest level, they were just doing what everyone did. And I thought that was accurate and telling,” says Glen. “You would have to have a gallows humour.” “The conceit of zoning in on this domestique, someone who had sacrificed his entire life for cycling with the intent of never, ever winning himself, who would put his whole life on hold, and then physically put his own body through the abuse that he did to try and compete, I thought was a very powerful conceit for the film.” Glen is one of Scotland’s best-known actors, mixing it up between roles in theatre and the big and small screen. But he didn’t initially consider an acting career, stumbling into drama while studying at Aberdeen University. “It was there that friends of mine got involved and I was slightly dragged against my will into it. I had no idea what actors were and that you could earn a living for what they did.”   That changed when he performed a small part in The Crucible. “I felt that I could occupy that space in my imagination where I believe the world in which I was standing in and seemed to be able to project that in a small way. I just got really addicted very quickly for that feeling. I bumped into it very accidentally, I had no great desire, I didn't even know what it was until I was 18, really.”  Many of those projects have brought him to Ireland - including playing Jorah Marmont in Game of Thrones. A movie shot in Ballyvourney, Co Cork, is one he has happy memories of despite its dark subject matter. “I do have very strong memories of Song For a Raggy Boy and it’s among my favourites,” he says. “It put me together with Aisling Walsh again, who was a great friend and still is. It's an awful part of history. And I thought that the film portrayed it very powerfully and very accurately.” “I played a very disturbed man and all the kids were slightly scared of me, because they were at an age where they didn't see a division between actors and and the roles that they're playing. I remember the last weekend just before we wrapped, I took them all out. We went and hung out and saw a film together and did different things.” “It's amazing how much in denial the higher echelons of the church were and politics and society too. You need to keep banging on the door for it to be really broken down and owned up to comprehensively and fully and certainly the film was one of the early knocks in the door, I think.” LOCKDOWN CULTURE Parenting a young family during initial Covid restrictions made for a busy household, but when Glen turned to culture he found comfort in reading and his guitar. “It's been a tricky time for everyone. I'd love to say that massive new things opened up but to be honest, it's really very pragmatic: how do you cope with young children when they're in the same house all day?” “I've got young kids as well as older ones. The home education was a challenge that was very preoccupying. I play the guitar and that's always a means of getting away from it all a little bit. William Boyd was a writer who opened up to me. I'd worked with William on a film that he adapted the screenplay for. And then I did a play of his called Longing.” “He was very present in the rehearsal for that and he’s a lovely man, but I'd never read any of his writing. I just started to read a William Boyd book and I just couldn't stop reading. So during lockdown, I read about nine William Boyd books, starting with Any Human Heart.”

[onemysticwriter]

Contest One Shot - Jumin Han x Lonnie

A/N: My dear joy1579 thank you very much for participating in my contest. You were the lucky winner and I wrote your one shot. I hope, that you’ll like it! Congratulations again 🥰🎉

I hope this is okay to read since I can’t log in on tumblr at my computer right now and it looks different on mobile. So if there’s any problem, please contact me! Also, please excuse grammatical errors and some „weird“ sentences as I don’t speak English as my first language. Thank you ❤️

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hopefully, I won’t bother him at work…he’s just always so busy.” Lonnie thought to herself as she walked down the streets heading towards the big C&R tower. She was humming her favorite song quietly as she thought about her husband.

Ah, yes…her husband was no other than the famous director Jumin Han. In only eleven days she managed to become a part of the RFA charity organization, help Jumin overcome one of his biggest crises and fall in love with the black-haired man.

Her life went from a “commoner”, as he would always say, to one of the richest people in South Korea. However, she never married him for his fame or his money. Jumin just was everything she always wanted in a man. He was sensitive, supportive, and overly protective of Lonnie. She just was his queen, his everything.

Together they lived in his luxurious penthouse downtown with his cat Elizabeth 3rd. Although they were already married for five years now, there was just never the right time to really start a family, so Elizabeth 3rd quickly acted as a compensation for Lonnie. Yes, she genuinely loved her life and her husband.

“Miss, watch out!” A cry interrupted her thoughts and brought her back to reality as a stranger pulled her away from the street and back to the sidewalk. She watched with wide eyes as a car drove fast over the spot where she was just a second ago. “Th-thank you. That…would’ve ended badly. I-I’m just always so clumsy. Sorry for the inconvenience!” She apologized to the man with white hair with a small bow. “Don’t worry about it. Just watch yourself. You’ll never know what dangers lurk around you.” He said with a small mischievous grin as he walked away. “That…was even more strange.” Lonnie thought to herself. “Gosh, I have to stop daydreaming. Maybe I should’ve asked Driver Kim to get me here. If Jumin finds out about this I won’t leave the penthouse for a while.” Just with that thought in mind she arrived at the huge building. Of course, she had a special ID-card and could come and go as she liked so she wouldn’t have to worry about getting in.

However, as she walked past a small alley next to the tower, she heard a few whimpers. “What was that?” Lonnie whispered and looked around for the source of the sound. Her gaze fell upon a small box right at the entrance of the alley with two small kittens in it and a sign that said, “for free”. “Oh no, who in the world would give away such cuties like you two?” She cooed as she picked up the box. The little ones immediately meowed at her and looked at her with big shiny eyes.

One of them was a calico and had mostly white fur with black and gold spots all over its body and had calming blue eyes while the other one was pitch black and had bright green eyes. They were just beautiful. “I can’t leave them here…god, I hope Jumin won’t mind me bringing them in his office.” Lonnie mumbled as she closed the box carefully and entered the C&R building.

When she arrived at the highest floor, she walked to the desk where Jumins assistant Jaehee Kang was working. Jaehee seemed to be very concentrated as she didn’t notice her boss’s wife standing right in front of her. With a smile Lonnie put down the box and cleared her throat. “Jaehee? May I interrupt you for a moment?” She said politely with a smile on her face.

“Huh? Oh, Mrs. Han! I’m so sorry I didn’t see you there!” She explained as she stood up to give her a little bow. “No, no. Don’t worry about it. And we talked about that. Call me Lonnie, just like before I married Jumin.” Lonnie laughed and winked at her playfully. “Yes, I know. However, these are Mr. Han’s orders and if it’s alright with you I will call you Mrs. Han here at work.” Lonnie sighed and nodded as she tried to be understanding of her husband. He had to maintain an image after all. “Alright, I see it can’t be helped. Uhm…do you know if Jumin is in his office? It’s his lunch break now and I wanted to visit him.”

Jaehee’s gaze went to her time schedule to check. “He’s at a meeting right now, but it should end soon. If you want, you can wait for him in his office? I’ll inform him that you’re waiting for him.” “Oh, no need to. If he’s in a meeting, we shouldn’t interrupt it just because I want to eat lunch with him. I’ll just wait in there. Thanks for your help. And…” Lonnie said as she digged in her bag to bring out a lunch box. “You shouldn’t be skipping lunch either, Jaehee. I hope that you’ll enjoy it.” She could see Jaehee’s eyes grow wide as she accepted the box gratefully. This wasn’t the first time Lonnie had brought lunch not only for Jumin and her but for his assistant as well as she knew how hard her job was. With a smile Lonnie picked up the box with the kittens again, which luckily went unnoticed by anyone, and walked into her husband’s office to prepare everything for his break.

After a short while Jumin walked in and looked at Lonnie with a surprised expression as he closed the door. “Lonnie? What are you doing here? I didn’t know you would come today.” He said as he walked up to her to greet her with a kiss. Her smile grew as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Well, I wanted to surprise you…so…surprise?” Jumin chuckled a bit as he placed another kiss on her forehead.

“You did surprise me apparently. But know I know why Assistant Kang was humming while she ate. You also brought her food again, am I right?” He asked with a small smile on his lips. Even though he didn’t understand her motivation for cooking herself and for others he loved how caring and even motherly Lonnie was. She was simply perfect.

“Yes, I couldn’t help it. She really does a great job- ““For which I pay her very well.” “Yes, however you should always be grateful to have her as your assistant and show her from time to time.” Lonnie quickly replied to him as she got their food out of her bag. “Alright, I’ll keep that in mind.” He told her as his gaze went to the slightly moving box. “Dear? What do you have in there? Don’t tell me you brought Elizabeth 3rd in that shady box.”

Jumin’s facial expression changed from curious to worried. “No, of course I didn’t. But…I wanted to talk about that…” Lonnie said as she opened the box for him. The kittens blinked at the sudden light and meowed at them tiredly. “I found them in a small alley next to this building. I know you don’t like stray cats, but these are so tiny, and I can’t- “” We’ll keep them.” Lonnie stopped for a moment and blinked. Did…he just approved of them that quickly? “W-wait…are you sure? But I thought…”

He smiled as he picked up the black kitten to pet it. “Yes, I know what I said, but look at them. These are purebred Persian cats. Even in black and calico which is very unlikely. Those are rarities and not simple stray cats.” He explained to her as he put back the kitten to pick up the other to also take a better look at it.

Lonnie let out a squeal of excitement and hugged Jumin tightly. “Hey, slowly…I still got the little fella in my hands.” He chuckled. “You know what? After our lunch you’ll go home with them and I’ll call Elizabeth 3rd’s vet so that he can check if they’re healthy.” “That is a great idea! Thank you so much, honey! Oh, I know that this will work out perfectly! You’ll see.” Lonnie grinned and kissed Jumin deeply. “My, my, dear wife. Not in front of those innocent eyes…”

Later that day Lonnie went back to their penthouse with the kittens. Just in case they were sick she put Elizabeth 3rd in a different room before she could meet the kittens. The vet arrived just like Jumin ordered and determined the perfect health of both kittens. As it turned out, the black cat was a male and the calico was a female. Now they just needed names for them.

Soon after the vet left the penthouse Jumin came home from work to see his beautiful wife sitting on the couch with their new kittens and Elizabeth 3rd. The white cat purred happily as she watched the two play with her fluffy tail. “Jumin…welcome home, darling.” Lonnie greeted her husband like everyday with a kiss. “Thank you. I see that the three of them get along?” He asked as he watched the scene with a smile.

“Oh, it’s beautiful. Elizabeth 3rd immediately adopted them, and she just loves to watch them play with each other. I think she acts as their new mother.” Lonnie smiled as well. “I’m glad to hear that.” The director said as he crouched down to pet Elizabeth 3rd. “Oh, and the vet just left earlier. The kittens are healthy and the black one is male and the other is female. However, we’re supposed to bottle feed them as Elizabeth 3rd won’t produce any milk for them. I just warmed up two bottles. Do you want to help me?” She asked. Jumin smiled and picked up the black cat. “Of course, I will.”

Together they sat down on the sofa and fed the small fur balls who eagerly drank the milk. “Am…am I doing this right?” Jumin suddenly asked. His wife looked at him with a questioning expression. “Yes, of course. You’re doing this perfectly, honey. Why do you ask?” “Well…” He began to mumble and then looked straight into her eyes.

“I think I want to have a child with you.”

[roseherondale]

Where do you Think You’re Going? (Kit in Thule Part 1 of 2)

Summary: Day 5 of Whumptober 2020. In Thule, Kit was imprisoned for months. Now, he makes his escape, but at what cost? This is part 1 of 2 featuring Kit in Thule. Part 2 is Whumptober Day 6.

Word Count: 2261

Warnings: Major character death (you have been warned), implied/referenced torture, drug use and kidnapping

Read it on AO3 here

His feet ached and his heart pounded as he stumbled along the pavement beside the buildings. After several months of capture, he was unused to exercise and his mind was still hazy from whatever drug he had been repeatedly injected with. Kit huddled as close to the buildings as he could, in order to support himself and to prevent the demons from seeing him.

Thule was overrun by them; they were of every kind, each as hideous as the next, circling through the red skies. Kit needed someplace to hide, but first he needed to get as faraway from Sebastian Morgernstern as possible.

For a moment, he longed for his father; the only familiar person he knew, but he was dead; killed by demons that Sebastian had sent after him once he found out that Johnny had been hiding the descendent of the First Heir from him. Although his father had been stern and cold, he had died protecting him, and it had all been for nothing. Kit was determined to make sure it wasn't in vain.

He had been planning his escape for as long as he could remember. When the fog in his brain cleared long enough for him to think, he had made note of his cell and the people who visited. He had gotten complacent, and gradually they sent less and less people to him; convinced that he wasn't a threat. Though, he was pretty defenceless, with no Shadowhunter training (not that it mattered anymore, since they were all gone), or other skills; he was cunning and smart, and he used that to his advantage.

Within the span of his capture, he had waited and observed, endured taunts of "half-breed" and derogatory terms towards faeries, as well as the physical abuse, until he had the right time. He had heard the guards outside the cell, talking about a celebration that Sebastian was holding on the beach, and knew that it would be the perfect time to escape, as there would be less guards at the compound.

When one had come in to drug him, he had fought back, and managed to drug and lock him in the cell instead. It would only have given him a small headstart but he hoped, with all his heart, that it would be enough.

Each step was painful, like walking on knives, and Kit staggered along, pulling himself up using the building. Exhaustion took over him, and with a spike of panic, felt like the drug. There was no worse feeling than being conscious but unable to think or move, and being overcome by nightmares and memories of the worst kind. He couldn't go back to that. He would rather die.

Kit had grown up in LA, but seeing it now, he didn't remember any of it. It looked so different to the city he had lived in his entire life, and he hated how Sebastian had taken everything he loved and manipulated it into darkness.

The streets were deserted, and although it was likely more advantageous for Kit's escape, it made him feel uneasy and anxious. He glanced around often, and back over his shoulder; twitchy and nervous. Sebastian would have to know by now, and he would come after him.

Kit didn't know why Sebastian insisted on keeping him alive. He would not turn him into a member of the Endarkened because of his faerie blood, but it did not explain why he was still alive, especially since Sebastian was heartless and had no qualms killing anyone.

Kit ducked into an alleyway between two buildings and saw a path that led down to the beach. He ducked his head out and looked, but it was deserted. Sebastian's Endarkened had moved on, and Kit had a sinking feeling that they were after him.

The last place they would think to look would be the beach, and so he scrambled down the rock as quietly as possible, and headed along the edge, avoiding the sand, as it would leave footprints, and sticking close to reduce the chance of him being seen.

He had been travelling for a while, when he saw a cave entrance. Ducking inside, he let out a small breath of relief and dragged himself in further. There was a rocky wall further in and Kit groaned; it wasn't far enough in to provide shelter from the Endarkened if they came looking. Too exhausted to move any further, he lent against it, but fell through, as if it were an illusion.

Although the fall was short, it was painful, as if the drugs he had been given had made him more susceptible to pain. He staggered to his feet, unsteadily and was met with a sword pointed at his neck.

"Who are you and how did you find me?" There was a woman on the other end, her hand steady as she held it. Her skin was pale, and had a grey tint to it, as if she hadn't left the cave in years, and her brown hair fell past her shoulders, knotted and greasy. She wore a simple dress, though it was tore and stained in places.

"Please don't hurt me; I'm not one of them." Kit gasped, trying to move back from the sword. "I'm Kit. Kit Rook. He captured me and I escaped and I just lent against the wall and now I'm in here." He stared at her eyes, "please."

She lowered her sword. "Alright." She placed it against the wall, and came to his side. "I'm Tessa Gray; let me help you."

"Thank you." He whispered.

She led him to a chair in front of the fireplace and laid him down. It was warmer than he would have expected, and glancing around the cave, he was surprised by the amenities inside. There was a small kitchen, with a range, doors that he presumed led to a bathroom and a sleeping area, and the main space was furnished with chairs, cushions and rugs.

"It's not much, but it was the best I could do." She said.

"It's amazing." Kit said, honestly, and she smiled at him, slightly.

"Let me get you some food and water." She disappeared behind him and came back a few moments later with a tray. She took off the cup of water and handed it to him. Kit hadn't realised just how thirsty he was until he handed back the cup to her, empty. Smiling softly, she handed him a plate with bread, dried meat and apple slices, whilst she replenished his drink.

Whilst Kit ate, she sat on the cushioned floor, opposite him, studying him, though he pretended to ignore her. He had many questions adding up in his head; he was curious as to who she was and why she was hiding and how she managed to avoid the Endarkened.

Immediately after he finished eating, she spoke. "What's your story?"

"My story?" He asked, confused as to how much she wanted to know.

"What happened to you?" She asked, softly.

"Oh. I used to live with my father; he was quite shady; he knew everyone's business, including Sebastian's. He did some work for him; found out some information, I don't know what. But when Sebastian found out that he had been hiding me, he sent demons to kill him and Endarkened warriors to bring me back to him. For the last seven months, he's been keeping me locked up and drugged but I managed to get out..." He trailed off.

"You poor thing." Tessa said, sympathetically. "You must stay with me; we can keep each other safe, okay?"

"Why do you want to help me?" He asked.

"I don't know how many of us are left, and I think we should stick together, don't you?" She paushed, then added, as if an afterthought. "I had children long ago; James and Lucie. You remind me of them, somehow." Her voice was tinged with such sadness and heartbreak, that Kit didn't expand on that, nor did he want to ask her any potentially triggering questions. It was obvious, if not from the fact that she was living in a cage, from her empty eyes, that she had been through a lot, likely more than him, and if they were to live together, he wanted to make it work.

"Thank you." He repeated, quiet and sincere. For the first time in months, when the exhaustion caught up to him again, it wasn't tinged with fear, but was a warm blanket of comfort. He curled up on the armchair and rested his head against a cushion, allowing himself to close his eyes. Tessa took away his plates and he listened to her quiet humming as he drifted off. Right before he left consciousness, he could have sworn he felt a hand stroke his hair, and he sighed contentedly, drifting off.

<>—<>—<>—<>—<>—<>—<>—<>—<>—<>—<>—<>—<>—<>—<>—<>

The next few days passed in a blur of joy that Kit had never expected to feel again. Both he and Tessa had been starved for comfort, and having each other was like a lifeline; a single buoy to hold in an ocean that spanned for miles in every direction.

He stood beside her at the sink, a tea towel in hand as he dried the dishes she passed to him.

"Will and I named our daughter after Lucie in a Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens." She said, continuing their conversation.

"Seen that movie." Kit quipped.

"Read that book." She responded at once, rather obviously. "Have you really?"

"Yeah. My dad had a bunch of old films on VHS tapes that I would watch in the evenings, when he went out." He stared down at the plate, ensuring it was dry before placing it on the counter. "What made you name your daughter after her?"

"We both loved the book. He quoted Sydney Carton at me a lot," she smiled, "I loved it and I guess it grew on him a lot."

"Who was James named after?" He asked.

"James Carstairs. He was Will's parabatai and my fiance but he became a Silent Brother before we could marry, and then I married Will. We stayed in touch though; he was important to both of us, and as Brother Zachariah, he died a hero, sealing the Mortal Sword inside the Silent City to protect it from Sebastian."

"I'm sorry." He said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"There is not a day goes by where I don't think of any of them; my family. There's not a day that goes by where I don't think about joining them," she admitted. "But, now we have each other, and that's enough for now. Something to live for."

He rested his head against her shoulder. "I'm glad we found each other."

"I'm glad you trespassed in my home." She joked, clearing the darker mood into something light and easy. Everything with Tessa was easy; she was the best thing that had happened to him, and if he had to be kidnapped to find her, he would gladly go through it all again. She was a star in the darkest sky; bright, constant and steady, keeping him grounded but full of hope that things could get better with each other.

Suddenly, she froze, eyes widened and alert. "Get behind me." She ordered, just as the Endarkened entered the cave, Sebastian at the front, his eyes cold but twinkling, and knowing his disturbed mind, Kit knew that it couldn't be anything good.

"Christopher, did you really think you could escape from me?" He asked, smirking as though it were all a game to him; as though Kit was nothing but a pawn to be moved around as he saw fit.

He refused to answer. Both he and Tessa were defenceless; the sword was on the other side of the room, and her magic had been weakened.

"Seize the child." Sebastian ordered, bored. At once, one of the Endarkened broke away from the pack and reached towards him. He threw Tessa to the ground and grabbed Kit. Outnumbered, he didn't even try to struggle; in an enclosed space like Tessa's cave, there was no way he could win.

"Leave him alone!" Tessa cried, lunging to her feed and moving forward, crazed. Kit saw her as a sisterly or motherly figure, even after just a few days, and if she felt the same, she now moved as a mother; willing to sacrifice her own life for her child's.

And that was what she did. The sword pierced through her stomach and Kit screamed as he saw it protrude through her back. She gasped, her hands falling to the wound as she fell to her knees. The Endarkened warrior that had wielded it, pulled it out, and the cry that escaped Tessa's mouth would haunt him for the rest of his life.

"Tessa. Tessa." He repeated, struggling to escape their grip to get to her. She couldn't die alone.

A prick stung his neck and he shook his head, pulling away. "No, no, no." He said, his voice immediately becoming distorted, and vision blurring. Though he could only see fuzzy shapes, he saw Tessa fall back, her hand that was outstretched to him, fall to the ground.

Through tears and blurriness, he stared one more time, before being dragged away. Whatever his fate, at least Tessa was back with her loved ones; with Will, and Jem, and James, and Lucie. He could only hope that whatever waited for him, that it spare him quickly so that he could join them.

Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed it. I personally haven’t seen anything of Kit in Thule (though I haven’t looked) and I think it’s such an interesting concept that I’m glad I could explore.

Part 2 will be up tomorrow for the next Whumptober prompt. If you liked this and want more Kit in Thule, then please let me know - I’d love to make sure I’m writing things that you all like too. See you tomorrow!

[choicesruinedme]

Easy (Part 1/?)

Book: My Two First Loves

Pairing: MC (Esme Price) x Literally everyone, probably

Rating: T, for this part at least

Summary: Tequila shots, stare-downs, and a little more attention than she bargained for...

-- -- --

“This looked like it went from zero to one-hundred, real quick,” Esme commented under her breath, surveying the rapidly unfolding mess that was Gunner Hayes’ Back-to-School Rager.

Red cups were strewn about on the marble flooring, streamers haphazardly hung from the staircase bannister in the foyer, and more than half of the 2020 graduating class filled the grand rooms of the Hayes’ “modest” mansion, with Mr. and Mrs. Hayes on a couples’ retreat in Bora Bora for the weekend, blissfully unaware of the inebriated teenagers roaming their halls.

“It’s lit!” Iris exclaimed, clapping her hands together and bouncing into the kitchen.

“Iris, honey, not the wine coolers; you know you drink them way too fast because they taste like candy, and then you end up with a nasty tummy-ache,” Ava chided, scurrying after her.

Esme, Mason, and Lauren followed suit into the kitchen, to the massive island in the middle, over-crowded with liquor bottles of varying sizes and colors.

“Yeah, Iris, sweetie,” Lauren chimed in, a half-smirk on her lips, “please don’t turn tonight into a babysitting job I clearly will not be paid enough for.”

Iris pouted, and Ava slipped a red cup into her hands, smiling softly.

“Here, it’s a vodka cranberry. Start with this for now, okay?”

Mason nudged Esme gently with an elbow. “Something to drink?”

“Um, maybe a beer?” Esme shrugged noncommittally. “Sorry, you know I don’t drink enough to know if I have a preference.”

Mason smirked, heading towards the fridge, “One extremely-enthusiastic beverage, coming right up! Babe?”

“Whatever you’re having,” Ava replied, moving to stand next to Esme. “You look cute tonight.”

“Oh?” Esme glanced down at her outfit – dark skinny jeans, a white, cropped tank top, and a camo jacket tied around her waist. “Thanks. Didn’t really put much effort in, if I’m being honest.”

Ava kept her eyes locked on Esme’s, as she reached out and brushed a stray hair from Esme’s forehead, sweeping it behind her ear in any easy and affectionate gesture. “You look totally hot. Sure you’re not trying to impress anyone?”

Esme swallowed and willed herself not to steal a glance in Mason’s direction, while simultaneously trying to convince herself of her own response, “Who would I even want to look good for?”

The corner of Ava’s mouth turned up slightly, but she leaned back and away from Esme against the granite countertop, crossing her arms as Mason strode up next to the two of them. He offered each of them a bottle of Heineken, then slung an arm around Ava’s shoulders. “What’re we talking about?”

Without missing a beat, and without breaking eye contact with Esme, Ava responded, “How cute Esme looks tonight.” Esme flushed, busying herself with taking a sip from her bottle. “Don’t you think she’ll be turning heads all night?”

Mason smiled softly, “Yeah, you look nice tonight, Es.”

Esme couldn’t help but notice Mason tighten his arm around Ava’s shoulders as he complimented her, and she didn’t quite know what to make of it.

“Alright, guys,” Esme huffed, embarrassed. “Can we please talk about something – literally anything – else?”

“How about the fact that the cheerleading funds are being unfairly redirected to support the football team?” Lauren interjected, glaring pointedly in Mason’s direction.

“Aw, come on,” Mason groaned, throwing his free hand up in defense. “That’s totally alleged!”

“I’m just saying,” Lauren pursed her lips. “One minute, we’re being told that we can expect a new shipment of foam mats in the next month, and the next, we’re being apologized to with no new mats and the sore sight of you guys training with brand-spankin’-new speed hurdles.”

Esme found herself tuning out the voices of her group, instead continuing to survey the groups of her peers scattered throughout the house. In the main living room, the sectionals and sofas had been pushed back to allow for a makeshift dancefloor, with the flatscreen television playing looped graphics to match the steady bass of the music thumping out of the surround sound speakers. The French doors leading out to the backyard were opened, and Esme could see even more people milling around the pool and patio. The floral, pungent scent of marijuana mingled with sweat and body sprays settled over the partygoers like a light fog.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Mason scoffed quietly.

Esme, pulled out of her reverie, followed his disdainful glare. Her stomach fluttered, involuntarily, as Noah Harris wandered into the foyer.

“Who even invited him?”

Noah’s unimpressed gaze roamed over the sea of teenagers briefly, before finally settling on Esme. She perked up, giving a tentative wave, “I did.” Noah smirked, making his way over. “Is that a problem?”

“Hey, troublemaker,” Noah said coolly, approaching the group.

“I resent that,” she shot back, crossing her arms. “Looks like you decided to show up after all.”

Noah’s eyes raked over Esme’s small frame smoothly, too quick for her to determine whether or not he was checking her out. “I had a feeling it’d be worth it.”

Esme was grateful for the dimmed lights as a blush colored her cheeks under his intense stare. She was able to catch her breath, admittedly in relief, when Noah turned his attention briefly to her group.

“Evening, Esme’s friends,” he nodded.

“Noah Harris,” Ava addressed him, not unkindly. “Thank you for gracing all of us with your presence.”

“I aim to please,” Noah bowed slightly, smirking.

“What do you want to drink?” Esme offered, moving towards the kitchen island, grabbing an empty plastic cup from the stack.

“He’s fully capable of pouring himself a drink,” Mason interjected, his brow furrowed and his hardened eyes on Noah.

“Oh, don’t be like that, doll,” Ava chided, shrugging off Mason’s arm, moving to join Esme at the island. “How about a round of friendly shots?” She reached behind a bottle of Jack Daniels and plucked a small stack of plastic shot “glasses”. Without waiting for an answer, she set the cups in a row and drummed her fingers together excitedly.

“What do you think, Esme? Tequila?” Ava smiled wickedly, reaching for a bottle of Patron.

Lauren passed around a bowl of lime slices while Ava filled each small cup. Esme picked a lime slice from the bowl and handed it over to Noah, who put his hand on hers over the bowl.

“Careful,” he leaned in conspiratorially, his eyes shining, “tequila makes my clothes fall off.”

Esme snorted and shook her head, swatting him on the chest playfully. “For the sake of everyone here, let’s keep the nudity to a minimum.”

“To us,” Ava cheered, raising her shot glass in unison with the group. “The graduating class of 2020.”

“If all of us graduate,” Lauren muttered pointedly, eyeing Noah. Esme narrowed her eyes, but he didn’t cast Lauren a second glance, just smirked and shook his head, toasting his shot.

Ava continued, “May this year be filled with all of the badassery and recklessness a senior year should!”

“Cheers!”

Everyone downed their drink. Esme’s eyes squeezed shut and her nose scrunched in distaste as she forced the shot down her throat. She shook her head forcefully, moving to suck on the lime to abate the burning in her mouth.

“Bleh,” Mason frowned, tossing his empty cup into the trash bin as Ava whooped.

“Hated that,” Lauren tossed the whole lime slice in her mouth and bit down.

Noah silently gathered Esme’s empty cup and tossed theirs into the bin. She smiled up at him appreciatively, “Thanks. I’m glad you came.”

“Yeah?” He leaned his elbow onto the counter she stood against.

“Yup. Wasn’t sure you’d be… up for it,” she didn’t have to look at her group of judgmental friends for him to understand what she meant.

“Yeah,” Mason agreed. “Doesn’t seem like your kind of thing.”

“And what is my kind of thing, Jennings?” Noah asked, sardonically, not moving away from his spot by Esme. “A shady basement in some halfway house? Some deserted back-alley? Prison?”

Mason scoffed, “You said it – not me.”

“Believe it or not,” Noah said, his eyes on Esme’s, and her eyes on his. “I’m adaptable.” He smiled at her, adding, “And I bribed my parole officer for a night out.”

Esme shook her head, stifling a giggle. This is what she liked about Noah – how easy it was for him. In her world, this small bubble, maintaining her image of a straight-A student and vice-captain of the cheer team, dealing with a nearly absent dad-in-mourning and a misguided sister with pure intentions, her ever-looming and suffocating feelings towards Mason, her desire to keep fitting in with a group of girls she was slowly realizing she had nothing in common with… it was all very much not easy.

“So, it’s true then?” Iris asked, eyes wide. “You were in jail?”

“Iris,” Ava chastised, her gaze falling on the bottle in Iris’s hands. “And when did you get that wine cooler?!”

“Are you even surprised, Iris?” Mason asked, his question clearly rhetorical. Esme shot him a disapproving glance, but his attention was on Noah’s lax, yet imposing frame, as it had been the moment he walked in. “It’s the image he tries so hard to put out there, isn’t that right, Harris?”

Noah straightened beside Esme, crossing his arms, but his demeanor remained light and amused as Mason continued.

“The motorcycle, the leather jacket, the whole ‘lone wolf’ act,” Mason shook his head. “Iris shouldn’t feel bad about asking. It’s exactly what he wants people to think.”

“What is your problem, Mason?” Esme pushed off from the counter, moving so that she was facing Mason. “Seriously, cut it out.”

“And what image are you trying to put out there, Jennings?” Noah countered, placing a soft hand on Esme’s shoulder, easing her back. “Star quarterback? Golden Boy, son of Principal Golden Boy? Boyfriend of the cheerleading captain, which – don’t get me wrong, looks great and all, but – is a little cliché?”

Mason’s jaw ticked.

“It’s why you wear the Letterman’s all the time, right?” Noah gestured towards Mason’s sports jacket. “Gotta remind everyone who’s on top.” Noah stepped closer, his hand on Esme’s arm, moving her just slightly behind him. He lowered his voice, so that his message was heard clearly, “Or is it yourself you keep trying to convince? What are you trying to prove?”

Mason took a step forward, his fists balling at his sides. Noah noticed, glancing down, scoffing as he shook his head. “See what I mean? Whose point are you proving when you’re so quick to start a fight to ‘defend your honor’ against some criminal nobody?”

Before Mason could take another step, Esme moved to interject, but Ava beat her to it, pulling Mason by the arm and putting herself between the boys. “Alright, easy now, tigers,” she said coolly, “It’s a party, not a boxing ring, so gloves down. Besides, you’re both making Esme uncomfortable, right, hun?”

Everyone turned their attention to Esme, who shrunk back involuntarily with embarrassment. “I—I’m not… it’s not… you guys are just acting dumb,” she said, cursing her voice for sounding so small, so lacking of the confidence Ava’s always projected. “Especially you, Mason.”

“Esme, I—” Mason started, moving to reach for her.

Esme stepped back, grabbing onto Noah’s sleeve, “Let’s go get some fresh air. It’s too warm in here.” She relished the apologetic look on Mason’s face as she turned towards the French doors, pulling Noah outside.

Esme pulled in a lung full of the cool, fall air, plopping down on an empty lounge chair by the pool. She blew her breath out through pursed lips, puffing away strands of hair that had begun to stick to her face.

Noah chuckled, taking a seat next to her. “Sorry ‘bout that in there.”

“Why?” She asked. “He was the one being a dick. They were all being dicks.”

“Yeah, but,” Noah raked a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to put you in a predicament. Or embarrass you.”

“You didn’t,” Esme huffed, crossing her arms. “Ava just loves to treat me like a child.”

“You make it easy for people to want to take care of you.” Esme glanced sideways at Noah, who had the corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. “It isn’t a bad thing.”

Noah sighed, shifting so that he was laying across the lounge chair, one hand behind his head. He tilted his head up towards the sky, his eyes roaming across the constellations. The corner of his white shirt rode up slightly, so that a sliver of his hip peeked out behind the fabric. It was at this moment that Esme realized that the tequila had kicked in, a warmth spreading throughout her body, starting and blooming at her cheeks.

“You really don’t care what people think about you, do you?” She asked, leaning forward towards Noah, her chin cupped in her hands and her elbows on her knees.

“What’s the point?” He chuckled. “Especially now. In a few months, I’ll never see any of these people again.”

Esme deflated slightly, “You’re gonna leave?”

“You aren’t?” He countered, turning to face her.

“I… I dunno. I guess I haven’t thought about it as much as I probably should.” She sighed, the realization of her own words settling in a ball in her stomach. “What about Mackenzie? And my dad? They don’t understand one another. I can’t even imagine the tension at home if I were to leave.”

“Seems like a pretty sad reason to stick around,” Noah remarked, no hint of judgment in his voice.

“Sure, but,” her words spilled out, uninhibited, “how would I be able to even focus on a life of my own when I’m so worried about my family? This life is all I’ve ever known and Mack and my dad are all I’ve ever known, and, yeah, I mean, we held it together for a long time but that was before my mom died, and to be honest, I don’t know if they’d be able to handle another loss—”

“You’re not dying,” Noah clarified. “You’re growing up. You’re building a life for yourself.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“Do any of us?”

Esme breathed out through her nose, matching Noah’s gaze and, consequently, wilting under it. She could hardly stand to be the subject of his intense, concerned focus while sober, let alone while somewhat intoxicated. She buried her face in her hands, willing the tears pricking at the corner of her eyes not to fall. She heard him shift, and she peeked through her fingers to see him mirror her position, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“It’s alright to be afraid,” Noah said softly, putting a hand on her arm, but making no move to pull her hands away. He allowed her to continue to hide as he went on, “My point was that your opinions and your feelings about yourself matter way more than whatever bullshit anyone else thinks or says.”

After a beat, Esme dropped her hands, sighing as Noah smirked. “I’m curious about the bullshit you have to say, though…”

“About you?” He chuckled.

“About me,” she nodded, leveling her gaze at him. She waved her hand in an attempt to seem indifferent. “I get that it ‘shouldn’t matter’ and all that, but I still want to know.”

“I’ve told you what I think about you,” he countered, his brow quirking.

“Okay, but I’m buzzed and I’d thrive on the attention.”

Noah laughed then, throwing his head back. Esme’s hazy, lustful eyes fell on the curve of his throat as her own smile widened.

“Alright, Price,” he conceded, shaking his head. “I’ll bite. Only once, ‘cause I like you.”

Before she could process what was happening, Noah gently grabbed Esme’s chin as he pitched them both forward. Her breath caught audibly as his eyes searched hers.

“I think that you need to stop comparing yourself to Ava, Lauren, whoever else in your group of girlfriends that you think you don’t hold a candle to, because it’s the only thing stopping you from accepting how great and beautiful and individualistic you are.”

Esme felt her cheeks grow impossibly warmer, and wondered if Noah could feel them, too.

“Do you want to kiss me?” She blurted out, her own inebriation catching her off guard.

Noah chuckled again, his eyes trained on hers. “You want me to kiss you?”

“I mean, obviously,” she slurred, furrowing her brows.

“It’s tempting, Price,” he started, but instead released her chin and leaned back on his lounge chair comfortably. “But I’d like to take you on a real first date before that.”

She could feel herself pouting, and he laughed again, placing a hand over his heart. “Hey, I may be a criminal, but I’m still a gentleman!” Esme rolled her eyes. “Besides, it’d be nice for you to make that request when your head is completely clear.”

She huffed, falling back against the lounge chair, her knees knocking into his. Ava’s upside-down frame filled Esme’s view once her head hit the seat.

“If it’s requests we’re making,” Ava smirked, one hand on her hip, and the other held out expectantly, “Accompany me to the little girls’ room, Esme?”

-- -- --

A/N: So, here’s the thing - I used to write a ton of fanfic when I was in middle/high school, a decade ago, so putting myself out there again is a little more than unsettling. I’ve had this story, this dialogue, in my head all night last night, though, and I found it so easy to write every character’s interactions. Hopefully y’all enjoy it.

[cle1024]

dead loss | hhj

member: hwang hyunjin 

genre: fluff, angst 

summary: life was an exhausting and pointless ride for hyunjin, but you managed to make it a little more bearable while you could.  delinquent!au, friends to lovers!au, coming of age!au 

warnings: smoking, alcoholism, swearing, violence, death, drug-dealing (no usage), lots of illegal stuff my dudes 

disclaimer: there are ships within this story. i am NOT trying to force these relationships on any of the boys, nor am i trying to use them as anything other than an aspect of the story. these are purely fictitious scenarios and relationships, i feel the need to add this disclaimer because some people take ships w a y too far (insisting they’re real to the point where it’s uncomfortable and borderline fetishising) and i don’t want to come across as one of those people. 

a/n: anyway i’m gonna go disappear for another 5+ months 

Life in a small town was peaceful in the outsider’s perspective ― everyone knew everyone, there was a strong sense of community and unbreakable bond built on reliability and trust. People who believed that shit clearly didn’t live in a small town, or at least not your small town. No, in your hometown everyone was a stranger. If you look at them for too long ― alternatively referred to as “looking at them the ‘wrong way’” ― they wouldn’t hate to get aggressive, borderline violent or just straight up violent. There was no trust in this town, how can you trust a stranger? It was a shady and hopeless area that people struggled to escape. Many of you have accepted your future, stuck in this abysmal hellhole, but some things just aren’t easy to come to terms with―especially when you hate the future you’ll inevitably be trapped in. 

A slight metallic scent tainted the air as Hyunjin leaned against the wooden planks of the treehouse, a huff passing his busted lips. He had managed to drag his sorry ass back to the rickety treehouse after sending a simple text to you ― something optimistic and charming: “im going to fucking die. treehouse” ― in the hopes you would come fix his wounds. That’s what you always did after Hyunjin had been in a fight, regardless of whether he asked you to or not. Though he had to ask you this time, even if it was the ass crack of dawn, because he genuinely thought he was going to die any second now. At this point, he wasn’t sure if it was because he’d used all of his energy in the fight, his wounds bled too much, or the result of not sleeping in thirty-seven hours. Hyunjin didn’t think he really cared about dying, everyone has to go at some point, but he did care about whether he would be in pain or alone when he died―and right now, he was both. There was a faint pattering of footsteps in the dewy grass, growing louder until they were gently working their way up the wooden ladder to the treehouse. Hyunjin opened his eyes lazily, watching as you pulled yourself up and into the structure. He smirked slightly and wheezed out a chuckle, “on a scale of one to ten, how dateable am I right now?” You stared at him blankly, scanning over his injuries before huffing slightly and shifting towards him. 

“Losing fights isn’t a personality trait, dipshit.” 

“Yeah, but it makes me seem like a bad boy, huh?” Hyunjin chuckled hoarsely at your immediate eye roll, tilting his head to give you better access to his bleeding face wounds. He winced softly as pressure was applied to the bloody mark on the top of his cheek, a fresh bruise blooming under his soft skin. He couldn’t see all of his wounds, but he could undeniably feel them. His cheek was bruised and bleeding, his bottom lip was busted with blood seeping into his mouth occasionally―he was just loving that―while there were numerous pains to his abdomen, mainly in his ribs and lower stomach. 

“Jeez, you need to stop picking fights you can’t win,” the corners of his lips twitched upwards momentarily, a tinge of smugness painting the action. 

“This is the prime of my life, darling.” 

You scoffed at his excuse, “yeah, you’ll only be young once but you’ll be stupid for the rest of your life, Hwang.” 

“Touche,” he shrugged nonchalantly as your eyes widened in mock offence. 

“Oh, do you want to bleed some more?” The two of you chuckled at the threat, though Hyunjin’s sounded much more breathless and painful than yours did.  

“Nah, only other people are allowed to hurt me. How else would I get your attention at night?” Hyunjin’s comment elicited another eyeroll and soft smile from you. He knew you’d drop everything to be with him, regardless of how sleep-deprived it made you, because that’s what friends did. 

Hyunjin is a delinquent, down to the very definition: “(typically of a young person) tending to commit crime, particularly minor crime.” He does that a fair bit, stealing from different shops run by tired and aging people who can’t be arsed to chase after the mischievous teenager. He smokes, despite his youth, but won’t take a swig of alcohol ― something Jisung often laughs at him for, but that boy was a borderline alcoholic. The tall boy also happened to be involved in fights at least one a fortnight, you sometimes have the displeasure of witnessing them and almost always have the duty of taking care of him afterwards―no one else was willing to do it. You don’t approve of Hyunjin’s lifestyle, frankly you never have, but you know he has his reasons. Besides, he’s a stubborn boy and wouldn’t change even if you tried to force him. He’s reckless and usually impulsive, which became undeniably obvious when he was fifteen, stood in front of a train until the last second so he could dodge it, all with the undying support of his former enemy Jisung ― “You got this, man!” 

“All he’s got is a one-way ticket to the afterlife,” you’d deadpanned, earning a scoff from the other boy. 

“As Teddy Duchamp once said, ‘train dodge, dig it’.” 

“Yeah, but he didn’t stay around long enough to dodge it, nor is he a real person!” 

At the end of the day, it really didn’t matter how Hyunjin acted, he would still be your best friend. He’d filled that position since the two of you were kids, it came naturally when you lived one street away from each other and had fathers with a similar friendly relationship―until work got the best of them. Now they don’t have enough time for their children, let alone each other. They differed in some ways: your father harbours expectations far too high for you, meaning he spends most of his free time reprimanding you for not trying hard enough, whereas Hyunjin’s father was always busy and didn’t really care for his son. As a result, Hyunjin spent most of his time away from home, locked inside that treehouse his father built for him and his childhood friends ― many of them had moved on to other things: moved away, became too good for him, or died, but you and Minho always stuck around, later adding Jisung to the bunch when he and Hyunjin outgrew their petty mutual hatred. Smoking, playing cards or watching scenery while he played with a lighter, it was enough for Hyunjin. 

Sometimes you think about Jisung and Hyunjin’s weird friendship, it’s an evolution you all laughed about from time to time. When the pair were younger, the age of twelve during middle school to be exact, they harboured a burning mutual hatred that continuously burdened their mutual friends ― namely upperclassman Lee Minho; at least, he was the only one of the bunch who stuck around. There was an incident where the pair were ready to throw hands at one another, but Minho and some of his older friends stepped in and told them to squash it, even if momentarily. After Jisung aided Hyunjin in a fight with some older boys from the next town over, the two sparked a short-lived ‘frenemies’ type of relationship ― of course the older boys weren’t scared of two kids who had only just figured out the ego-boost of developing muscle, they were more fearful of Jisung’s older brother as they knew damn well how ruthless he could be; they didn’t want the risk of dealing with someone from the same genes, but Hyunjin and Jisung maintained it was their intimidation that warded the boys off. Jisung initially brushed off Hyunjin’s thanks, but there was a definite shift in their relationship: their sharp insults became sarcastic remarks that garnered a teasing response after the other, then after one incident they were friends. Hyunjin never told you the specifics of the incident and you never pushed, but it was essentially Hyunjin paying back Jisung for saving his ass ― though you later found out the only threat to Jisung at the time was himself. Regardless, Jisung and Hyunjin had discovered their compatibility and Minho had never been happier to see drama fizzle out. He wasn’t a fan of such petty disagreements, “all problems can be solved in this world, either with a fist or verbal expression.” 

“Are you recommending violence?” 

“It’s still honest communication.” 

Lee Minho was truly one of a kind―all three of them were, but it was their varying ability to believe in themselves that set them apart the most. 

The Hwang boy was smart, but he had no faith in himself. At the age of fifteen he’d already accepted that he wouldn’t go far academically, telling you “I’ll become one of those tradies that gets wolf whistled when I’m trying to do my job, and no one will say a damn thing because I’m a male,” you could remember him taking a short drag of the nicotine stick, “that’s my inevitable future.” That was one of the many ways you contrasted Hyunjin. You wanted to make your father finally accept you as his child again, and the only way to do that seemed to be success ― but at this point you weren’t sure what that looked like in his eyes; everything you perceived as a success was a comical failure to him. You didn’t smoke ― you tried once when you were fourteen and found it dreadful ― and you certainly didn’t shoplift chocolate bars or ‘train dodge’ like Hyunjin, but you still had your downfalls. Rather, you bury yourself in work you couldn’t understand, got pent up over the possibility of failure, and then turned it all in like nothing ever happened―nothing’s wrong. There was a lot wrong, Hyunjin and you both knew it, but neither ever voiced it. All you wanted was to make your father proud, but you always wanted to run away from this godforsaken town and never come back. Hyunjin wanted you to stay around, the kid couldn’t afford to lose another person in his life, but he knew it was your choice at the end of the day―you had to do what was best for you. It was just difficult to accept. It was like life had kicked Hyunjin and rolled all over him, yet you managed to bring a tiny little spark of life in his soul, something that brought him to carry on. You were his rock, you understood him more than he understood himself most of the time. He loved you, not romantically, but in the way people who have no one else who get it love each other, you know? 

He realised he loved you in that way when he was thirteen, after he had his first existential debate with you ― it became a monthly tradition after that: one night you’d silently climb into the treehouse with puffy eyes and a red-tinged face, and he’d never question it because he knew you’d tell him it was fine. Then you’d wonder what happens after death and where you went. Hyunjin had always been firm on the idea there was a Heaven and Hell due to his long standing religious beliefs, and he always assumed he was going to Hell, but those midnight talks always made him realise just how unsure he was about everything ― he didn’t know what or who to believe, but he eventually decided he probably didn’t need to. 

Hyunjin realised he had fallen in love with you when you were sixteen, after Jisung and Minho had convinced the two of you to spend your Saturday doing an ‘adventurous hike’ with them ― you didn’t know it at the time, but the two had found out some pricey drugs had been dropped in the woods, and neither of them were in a situation to refuse the money that would come with selling those substances. The two boys were energetically bounding ahead of you and the tallest boy, Hyunjin and yourself dawdling on the train tracks to avoid any shattered glass mixed in with the gravel surrounding the rails, trying your best to avoid being cut through the thin and worn soles of your shoes. Hyunjin squinted at the sunlight, distracted by his own thoughts and daydreams, too distracted to realise Jisung and Minho had stopped dead in his tracks. He bumped into the older of the two, startling him back to reality with confusion, “dude, what the fu―” his voice trailed off as he watched five men ― as in full grown, adult, ‘probably from a gang’ type of men ― snarl at the four of you. Though, their eyes seemed to be trained on Minho. 

“Lee Minho. You said you wouldn’t come around here anymore, didn’t you?”  

For the first time in his life, Hyunjin saw genuine fear on Minho’s frame as he shifted his eyes and gulped softly; clearly they’d made a grave mistake. 

“Y-yeah,” for you, that was the moment you became alarmed. Lee Minho, the self-proclaimed ‘King of Confidence’, doesn’t stutter, “I know, man. I-I must’ve lost track of where we were, you won’t see me around here anymore. I’m not here to cause you any trouble, nothin’ like that,” he spoke rapidly, desperation seeping through his usually nonchalant tone. One of the men eyed the four of you suspiciously, straining his vision on you for far too long―Hyunjin sensed it, pulling you out of his line of vision with a glare. He was always one to protect his friends, reckless enough to put himself in danger to do so, it was nothing new for any of you. 

“I better not see you around these parts anymore, Lee. You got it?” Minho nodded firmly, “good. Now go,” the man waved his hand in a dismissive motion, “run along with your friends.” 

To Hyunjin, Jisung and yourself, that was your que to turn around and never look back; but Minho knew these men, you didn’t. The oldest knew it would never be that simple, and that became evident when he saw the shining tip of a dagger being pulled from one of their pockets. The four of you reacted fast, running purely on fear; Minho frantically pushed whoever he could reach, without looking, in the opposite direction, urging you to run as fast as you could to get the fuck out of there. Hyunjin grabbed your wrist securely, tugging you in the other direction and refusing to slow down for a second, even when he heard Minho and Jisung yelling distantly. Your legs slowed down slightly until the both of you stopped in your tracks, much to the dismay of Hyunjin. 

“Hyunjin, we have to go back.” 

“They can handle themselves, Y/N.” 

“We can’t just leave them!” You pleaded, gesturing to the distant figures of your two friends. 

“And I can’t lose you!” Hyunjin yelled back, startling you into a momentary silence. It was built on uncertainty, confusion and hung heavily in the air for a few seconds, until the sound of approaching footsteps, the sound of frantic running to be exact, and Minho’s frantic yells of “move your fucking asses! Run!” broke the tranquility. 

You didn’t find out what Jisung and Minho had argued about until you were twenty-one years old and attending Minho’s funeral: “When I was sixteen, he was going to risk his life to save myself and my two other friends. We yelled at each other; I couldn’t leave him behind to get beat up or blatantly killed by the people who confronted us, but he couldn’t let me in harms way. I only found out why he cared so much and risked his everything, all the time, three years after it happened. But, that’s a secret we all promised to take to the grave.” 

All four of you promised to keep that secret ― you’d all promised Minho that you wouldn’t out him, have his parents disown him during or after his life, and you all took that to the grave. Jisung lost the ability to love romantically when he was twenty-one; he’d given it all to Minho and allowed it to be buried with him. He wouldn’t have it any other way, though. 

You were officially eighteen and two months, not that the months meant anything. Both you and Hyunjin were anxious about turning nineteen, yet he didn’t want to voice it and destroy the wall he’d built around a certain part of himself―his fears. Being nineteen meant he had to act like an adult: get a job, support his family until his parents found out he had enough money to survive on his own and kick him out, settle down and have his whole life figured out. Nineteen would mean the death of his youth: no more skipping chemistry because it was insufferable or only showing up for woodwork classes, no more train dodging because it was ‘immature’, no more stealing or the shop owners would actually make an effort to ensure his actions had repercussions since he was no longer a delinquent teen. The worst of all was the thought of losing his friends; he already saw Minho significantly less than he used to due to his two jobs ― a barber during the daylight and a bartender during the hours between ― Jisung would probably continue secretly writing poetry ― though the three of you secretly knew he did it ― and work as a truck driver, or something, to escape the dullness of your hometown for a little bit. You, Y/N the bright one, would probably go on to do great things with your life and be added to the list of friends he lost due to not being good enough anymore. Hyunjin wasn’t sure whether you or Jisung felt the same ― Minho excluded since he was already passed nineteen, with Jisung endearingly referring to him as ‘hag’ ― and a part of him didn’t want to know because he didn’t really want to think about it. Of course, that didn’t stop it from being the only thing on his mind twenty-four-seven. Hyunjin groaned inwardly; losing friends. You were just a friend. Hyunjin couldn’t help but scold himself. He could steal from stores without a second thought, stand in front of trains without fear, yet he couldn’t admit his feelings to you. Then again, your friendship spanned across most of his life, and losing that would mean he would lose you. And, frankly, you were the only thing that mattered to him in life. His parents neglected him, other friends had abandoned him over time or just failed to be there for him, but you never left. You stayed, even when you became far more intelligent than him and practically radiated potential. No matter how much he wanted to, he wouldn’t dare risk losing that. He couldn’t lose you, he’d told you that before ― although, when he thought about it, and he absolutely thought about it, he’d lose you regardless of what he did or didn’t say. 

But, he had to put those thoughts aside. It was a fresh summer, after all, and there was supposedly no room for sadness in summer. There was only room for happiness, laughter, good vibes, getting high on the good vibes, or just getting high and conforming to the sickly summertime syndrome people were often infected with. Thus, Hyunjin had tried to spend the new season conforming to such a syndrome―excluding the fight where he was beaten within an inch of his life and had you fix him up, that probably didn’t fit the mold of a fun summer. It’d been successful to an extent ― the local pool had far too many people, including neglectful mothers attempting to flirt with the underage lifeguard Kim Sunwoo, and the beach was littered with shattered glass, plastic and cigarette ash mixed amongst the sand ― but the weather was still nice, and Hyunjin did play a soccer game in the park last weekend. That was it, though. The rest of his time was spent mowing the lawns of other houses for some extra cash, pocketing cherry lollipops and dealing decks of fifty-two cards for games that would be inevitably cheated in―like you were now. Hyunjin, Jisung and Minho were in a heated game of Go Fish, a cigarette dangling from Hyunjin’s plush lips and intoxicating the midday air, while you half-focused on the game in amusement, half-focused on the dusty comic book you’d flicked your way through. It’d been buried under many other prints of various comics, all neglected as time and puberty had lowered your interest in the bright illustrations. You couldn’t remember ever reading this one though, it was probably one of the rare collections Hyunjin refused to share through his childhood. A huff passed the lips of the oldest as he lost yet again, mumbling something about disrespectful youths and how they had obviously cheated. Jisung snickered, earning a wack in the gut from an agitated Minho. He scooted over to sit beside you, reading over your shoulder in an attempt to show his disinterest in the card game ― though it really just made him look like a sore loser, and it was quite clear he had zero interest in the childish story you held. A frustrated groan sounded as he threw his head back against the wall, as dramatic as ever. 

“I want to go outside,” he complained. 

Hyunjin scoffed, “there’s the door,” gesturing to the entrance with sass. 

“No,” Minho hissed and narrowed his eyes. Man, he was really spending too much time with those cats, “I want to go outside outside. Like, camping or something.” 

Jisung threw his hands up in defeat, “well, why didn’t you say so!” He exclaimed in exasperation, “I’ve got everything you need to go camping! No one in my house uses it.” 

Oh, Jisung’s house. What a nightmare that was―or, rather, looked like. It was dilapidated with a rusty truck parked in the driveway, a large shed in the back acting as storage for years of hoarding, of course there’d be something for camping in there. Jisung had once told you that most of the stuff in the shed belonged to past owners who never returned to get it and he’d, for some reason, seen it as a tradition that has to be carried through each owner. You didn’t press the idea or criticise it, the boy seemed really excited about it after all. 

“Welcome to my shed of wonders!” Jisung introduced. It was so, so, dusty. You were almost certain some of the junk within the metal sheathing dated back to the 19th century, maybe the 18th if you really analysed the dilapidated furniture and crumbling artefacts. Jisung hummed in thought, “there’s gotta be a tent in here somewhere…” He strolled into the shed, seeming to know exactly what to move and how far. The rest of you stared at the collection in awe―you kind of understood why Jisung prided himself on the contents of his shed, some of those things would make a good buck on Antiques Roadshow and keeping them must’ve given Jisung some sort of positive emotional release, perhaps a feeling of “I have a get rich quick scheme, I’m just choosing to be poor”. Probably made him feel better when people gave him crap for not being able to afford cool toys as a kid. You’d never seen the torment Jisung received, nor did he ever desire to speak about it, but Minho had been vocal numerous times in his distaste for the way the younger was treated. Jisung had a heart of gold, something Hyunjin could acknowledge even when they didn’t get along. He was the kind of boy who deserved nothing but greatness; he was destined for greatness. You could always pray the town didn’t suck the potential out of him, as it did to most others, but you knew those kinds of prayers go unanswered. Jisung’s epiphanic “a-ha!” derailed your thought train, your eyes shifting to see the brunette male pulling a large tent from one of the many, almost overflowing, storage units. 

Hyunjin squinted his eyes in confusion, “how did you even find that?” 

“It looks a hundred years old,” Minho added. 

The youngest male rolled his eyes at their comments, dusting off the green tent. An excited smile graced his face as he turned to face the three of you, “alright, where should we go?” 

The sun beat down on you, a light sheen of sweat glistening over your burning skin. How long had it been? Thirty minutes, an hour, two hours? You hadn’t a clue. The last time you ventured down railway tracks you ended up running in fear of men who had a vendetta against Minho―for reasons you’d soon find out. The oldest had evidently learned his lesson, guiding everyone in the opposite direction and away from any men with reasons to stab him for walking in their ‘territory’. Hyunjin dawdled beside you, eyes trailing the railway the four of you walked along. Minho was leading the group, Jisung chewing his ear off in a conversation that probably didn't interest the older, something about the spirits in the woods you were approaching. You could barely make out the faint scoff that passed Minho’s lips, but the younger seemed to hear it clear as day. 

“I’m serious! If we don’t get murdered in our tents then we get murked by demons in these damn woods!” 

“Is there an outcome where we don’t die on this trip?” Hyunjin questioned with amusement, effectively closing the younger’s mouth and halting more words from spilling out. Minho rolled his eyes at the short bickering, trudging through the forest with an impatient yell, “come on! I want to get there before the sun sets.” It was a dark and dank environment, the air felt musty and thick around your lungs. Trees were overgrown, roots seeping along the dirt trail and serving as tripping hazards. Light dimmed under the cavern of green leaves, yet shadows still managed to dance in the slivers of golden rays. It was tranquil, but also unnerving. In retrospect, it was probably the childhood tales of drug deals gone wrong that put you on edge. Even if it was pure fiction, naive belief was enough to trick your mind into feeling unsafe, watched, hunted. If you ventured alone your fear would have pushed you to the other side of the trail at a much faster pace than you currently maintained, but, of course, you weren’t without company. The aura of discomfort and fear gently wafted in the air ― stronger from the likes of yourself and Jisung, though minimal to non-existent from the two other males. Those two had been fearless since you met them―Hyunjin stood in front of trains for an adrenaline rush! Then again, you weren’t entirely sure as to whether that was fearlessness or recklessness. They were one and the same to that boy. 

The group passed through the forest until you found a clearing, a large field with a distant fence to halt you from further adventuring. It appeared to be the outskirts of town, past where anyone would travel for purposes other than hiking or illegal business. Hyunjin stood still with his hands rested on his hips, observing the area, “oh, this’ll do. This’ll do just fine.” 

Your eyes rolled at the antics of your best friend, trust Hyunjin to say something straight out of an 80s movie―at least, it sounded like it would be. Jisung strolled ahead, hot on the heels of Hyunjin as they ventured through the long grass. Minho eyed the ground suspiciously, hesitance floating through his orbs before mumbling, “there better not be any snakes around here.” His words clearly weren’t as quiet as he had hoped, as Jisung stumbled away from the grass with a sharp gasp at the announcement. A huff passed Hyunjin’s lips at the other boys’ dramatics, causing you to shift an eyebrow in question―he had no right to be judgemental, he was the most dramatic of all. 

“Chill out, you buffoons. There’s short grass ahead, we’ll set up there,” well, that made sense. Clearing his throat awkwardly, Jisung stumbled to his feet and worked to catch up with Hyunjin’s footsteps. 

The process of setting up a tent had been… difficult, to say the least ― “Jisung, how the fuck do we set this up?” “Just read the instructions?” “They’re in Russian!” ― though the four of you eventually managed to successfully pitch the tent. Though, in all honesty, the sun had started to set by the time it was standing. That was at least an hour ago. Now, you lay still in your sleeping bags and mumbled descriptions of distant memories and under-developed universal theories. 

“Hyunjin, move your irritatingly long legs so they’re resting somewhere other than my feet,” Minho grumbled. 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Your mind wandered back to the adventures of that day, dawdling across train tracks and praying none of the smoking vehicles came running up behind you. The memory struck you like lightning; you remembered the time you dawdled down the wrong train tracks and ran for your life. A slight laugh passed your lips at the image of your younger self frantically running, “hey, do you remember when we tried to almost got murked by that gang on the outskirts of town?” Hyunjin mumbled an agreement, a fond smile on his face. Jisung piped up to laugh about how he almost ‘shit his lungs out of his ass’. Although you were able to laugh now, you all knew there was nothing funny about the primal fear you felt in that moment. The fear of the unknown; of death. Silence settled over the four of you momentarily before Minho voiced new information softly. 

“I almost killed one of them.” 

Jisung just about shot up in his sleeping bag, “what?” he exclaimed. 

Minho maintained his characteristic calm composure as he explained, “yeah, it was a few months before we went down there. I was still hanging out with Hongjoong and that gang,” ah, the days of Minho being a gang. They were fond―somewhat fond―memories, “one of them had beat up Mingi, got the wrong guy or something, so Hongjoong and I went after him.” 

In all honesty, you never knew Kim Hongjoong very well, nor did you remember much about him. You were never close with him and he’d moved away before any sort of friendship could bud, but you knew Song Mingi well―rather, you knew of him. He was a bubbly kid, tall and friendly with a goofy smile. There was something about him that exuded innocence and happiness, like he was crafted by embers of the burning yellow ball in the sky. 

“We didn’t mean to get him that bad, but we couldn’t stop ourselves,” Minho mumbled softly, his mind wandering off to a different space as he blurted out the words, “Mingi didn’t do anything.” 

The three of you shared a look before turning back to focus on the oldest, his face blank as his eyes clouded over with thought, concern, nostalgia. Hyunjin cleared his throat awkwardly, “well, it’s in the past now. We learnt to never travel down those tracks again,” he shifted around in his sleeping bag and closed his eyes. 

Jisung had proposed the idea of keeping someone on lookout, claiming he didn’t want to get “fucking murked by a coyote or something”. There was the initial suggestion of taking shifts, but Jisung didn’t seem willing to take up the role and Minho said he was “too old to skip sleep”. Hyunjin didn’t give you a chance before saying he’d stay up all night ― of course he wasn’t actually planning on staying up all night, just until Jisung had knocked out for long enough to be unaware of the lack of surveillance. It didn’t matter, though, you both ended up out there after you tossed and turned for a solid thirty minutes. The wind was howling, the tent thrashing from side-to-side at the sharp movements of air. Hyunjin sighed with discontent, “why didn’t we check the forecast before we left?” A light chuckle passed your chapped lips. 

“Because the forecast is never correct,” Hyunjin rolled his eyes at your matter-a-fact tone, a slight smile gracing his moonlit features. It was very clear in that moment — and many others, if you were being honest with yourself — why so many girls had thrown themselves at him over the years. All of that started in your first year of school, when a pigtailed girl claimed it was Hyunjin’s neat cursive writing that attracted her, not his cute face—of course that was a crock of shit, it had always been about Hyunjin’s face. It shouldn’t have been, but people were shallow like that. 

His visuals had never crossed your mind, not until your early teenage years at least. You were thirteen when it first struck you, bundled up in sleeping bags in your best friend’s lounge room watching some teen movie. It wasn’t something you focused on, your eyes had drifted to your giggly friend and refused to move. His hair was black, dark eyes curved into crescent moons as he attempted to stifle laughter at the current scene. Skin smooth, blue winter pyjama shirt buttoned up to the collar and a pillow clutched between his arms. With a tilted head, he turned and stared back at you with curiosity, “what is it?” 

You look perfect. “Nothing,” you smiled tightly. 

“What are you thinking about?” The question passed Hyunjin’s lip in a voice of honey and warmth, comforting in the midst of the vicious whipping wind. 

You shrugged slightly as you formulated an excuse, “just the future. What I’ll do after school,” Hyunjin hummed solemnly. He didn’t like talking about the future, mainly because it brought in thoughts of losing everyone and everything he’s ever loved. He didn’t want to think about a world where that happened, even if it was inevitable, though the words manage to spill out before he could catch them. 

“Will I ever lose you?” 

You were dumbfounded. Lose you? Of course he’d never lose you, “how could you ever lose me? I won’t let you, Hwang,” you attempted to brighten the glum atmosphere. 

Picking at his cuticles, he shrugged his shoulders slightly, “I’m not good enough for you, I’ll never be enough for you.” A frown formed on your lips at Hyunjin’s pessimism, eyebrows furrowing in satisfaction and sadness. You never knew he felt so little of himself. 

“Hey,” the word was spoken gently from your lips, hands reaching out to cup Hyunjin’s face and turn him towards you. He still had a scratch on his lip from that last fight he was in, “you are more than you think, Hyunjin. So much more,” the glaze of your eyes held such sincerity and honesty, “you can do anything you want, man,” yet Hyunjin still couldn’t make himself believe you. 

Eyes downcast, “yeah,” he mumbled distantly, “anything.” 

The four of you walked home in a comfortable silence the next morning, accepting it would be the last time any of you felt this free. 

At the age of twenty-one, Jisung became distant. It was understandably so, Minho had been found dead and was buried within a week of the discovery. There was no proper time to grieve about the loss, everyone expected you to go back to work as if nothing had changed—nothing’s wrong. Everything was wrong, so fucking wrong. Jisung and Minho were never ‘official’ because neither of them had the bravery to face discrimination for being something other than straight. You never knew whether Minho was homosexual or bisexual, even pansexual maybe, but it never mattered. All you could wish was that he was happy, at least once, before he was laid to rest. Jisung closed himself off, became a silent and reclusive man who lived on the outskirts of town. He was a truck driver, swinging between different towns before inevitably returning to the one that seemed to have something against him. It sucked the life from him, it took everything from him; he hated that fucking town. You didn’t see him after Minho’s funeral, not in the way friends see each other, at least. Of course you’d spot him in town occasionally, exiting his house or driving back home after weeks away. Yet, you never spoke a word to him. Never said a ‘hi’, never wanted to speak in case it pushed him too far—broke him, if you will. Rather, you let him seclude himself and suffocate in loneliness; if only you didn’t make that foolish mistake. 

When you were twenty-three you bid your goodbyes to Hyunjin, planning to move away and pursue a career that, frankly wouldn’t make you happy, but it would give you enough money to pay rent for a good place. That’s all you really needed, you supposed. Hyunjin bid his last goodbyes with a letter. It was written in his beautiful handwriting, the calligraphy style he liked to brag when he was younger, but seemed to have forgotten about as he emerged into his teenage years — he never forgot, he still prided himself on such perfect penmanship. It was a letter that contained words you never expected your best friend to say, though always secretly hoped to hear. It was a letter that slapped you across the face for being so blind and cowardly. It was a letter about how he fell in love with you, too hard and too fast, and how he always knew you’d be too good for him, one way or another. You hated when Hyunjin put himself down with such words, but you hated knowing that you caused most of them. The boy was incomparable, so unique and one-of-a-kind. There would never be another Hyunjin in your life, never one to take your heart and treat it as his own. Hyunjin was more than he thought. So, so much more. 

“I love you, more than you know. In more ways than a platonic-friendship-type of love. The kind of romantic love that’s, probably, unrequited,” Hyunjin, you foolish boy, your love has never been unrequited. 

Perhaps you were the fool, not Hyunjin, for keeping your mouth shut about your secret attraction for years. Heaving a sigh, your hands folded the letter closed, you were such a fool. 

In your life, you had three great friends that taught you many lessons — many lessons they failed to learn themselves. 

Minho often preached about staying true to who you are, exuding confidence in your identity and being fearless of others. Yet he failed to accept who he was, though that was fair enough in your opinion. He had his own struggles, many struggles, but never wanted to confront them. Minho never wanted to confront, let alone accept, the possibility of being subjectively weak; he struggled under the pressure to conform to masculinity—no weaknesses whatsoever. Gosh, that boy was one of the strongest you knew. One of the kindest, too, a heart of gold, truly. That boy didn’t deserve to die, none of your friends did. 

Jisung often told you to be careful with your feelings, yet easily gave his away to Minho. The boy had always had an eye for detail, noticing the veins in leaves and miniscule dirt stains on a vintage photograph in his shed, but he tended to overlook the bigger ideas. The things that were right in front of him, you supposed. He failed to notice how he gave away his feelings to one person so easily. He never noticed that he left no room for the regrowth or reacquisition of those feelings, but maybe he just didn’t care. Minho made him feel so peaceful and at ease, how could he find it within him to care? 

Hyunjin, where did you start with Hyunjin? Your friend since childhood, your first love, someone you’d never be able to forget—someone you’d never allow yourself to forget. He taught you to be bold, a little reckless to spice up life — though not ‘stand in front of a train’ type of recklessness. He spent years teaching you to overcome your struggles, though you felt as if you failed to tend to his. Of course, he’d never see it that way, but he was head over heels for you. Just as you were for him. The boy had always been talented, insanely so, with perfect handwriting and a unique perspective on the inner workings of life, ambitions and dreams. There was so much potential held inside his body, marked with scars and bruises from the fights he’d had through the years. He’d always told you to never settle for anything less than perfect. Perhaps that’s why he never wanted you to settle for him: he never saw himself as perfect. You wanted him to do the same, go as far as he possibly can to fulfil his limitless potential. But, that didn’t happen—life could never treat him kindly. Hyunjin never made it out of that shitty town. It pained you to think about it — he could’ve been anything, anyone. He had so much potential, yet that place sucked it away and kept him in an iron grip. When you thought about it, you realised none of your friends got lucky like you. One way or another, they all stayed in that town—dead or alive, it didn’t matter, they all remained. Many would’ve seen that as luck being on your side, but without at least one of them by your side—without Hyunjin by your side—what was the point of going? 

Walking back into that town had never felt so eerie. Nothing was the same as you remembered. Visually, nothing changed, yet at the same time everything had changed. You were no longer a young adult searching for opportunities, no longer a teenager stressing over school work, or dragging yourself to the treehouse in the middle of the night to tend to Hyunjin’s wounds. You wondered if that thing was still intact. That’s not why you were back in town, far from it, but something ate away at you. Was your rickety hangout still standing? Or had it fallen apart after all of you left, in more than one way. 

There was no noise coming from within the wooden confines of the treehouse. You were glad it was still there, even if no one used it. It felt like you were running on autopilot, your feet guiding you up the ladder as you opened the hatch to pull yourself into the space. You swore it was bigger than this. Eyes darted around, taking in the old drawings on the walls, outdated comics and dusty packs of cards. Nothing had changed. You gasped, startled, as you made eye contact with another person, sat in a slightly slumped position across from you. The corner of their lip was slightly bloody, a cigarette dangling from the other side. A reminiscent smirk crawled on their lips, it couldn’t be. 

“Long time no see, darling,” he hadn’t changed one bit, “and just in time! You can patch me up before the service.” 

There was a bitterness in his tone, one you could taste on your own tongue as you contemplated the right words to say. It was mockingly cheerful, like he knew everything was falling apart and there was nothing that could stop it ― who are you kidding, that’s exactly what was happening ― “because that’s the only reason people ever return to this town, right? To mourn the ones that’ll never leave.” 

Words couldn’t pass your lips. There was so much you wanted to say: questions, nonchalant agreements, apologies. It was bittersweet, really, to be meeting like this. It was like old times. A bloodied Hyunjin sat against the wall of the treehouse, nonchalant in the pain of being beaten up, fully prepared to be patched up by your delicate, unbruised hands. But everything was different. Minho no longer whinged over losing a card game, Jisung no longer cheated his way to success in said card games. They’d stopped doing that years ago, and it was an activity they could never engage in again. Hyunjin noticed the despair clouding your gaze, guilt etching your face. A frown creasing his face as he caught your train of thought―you had a habit of blaming yourself, feeling guilty about nothing. 

“It feels weird, doesn’t it?” 

You nodded slightly, “almost... wrong.” 

Hyunjin tossed aside the cigarette, crushing it under his shoe before he opened his arms welcomingly. You didn’t realise how much you’d missed him until the moment you crawled into his arms―you missed all of them. All you wanted was to say one last goodbye to Minho, one last goodbye to Jisung. To thank them for everything, tell them how hard they worked, how incredible they were to be around. Fuck, you missed them so much, you couldn’t help it. Tears were already falling and staining Hyunjin’s t-shirt before you could even attempt to keep them in. A solemn sigh passed his lips, hand stroking your hair as a form of agreement. He’d always fantasised about having a solid friend group that lasted into adulthood, then into the elderly ages. A part of him knew it would never end that way, but he didn’t think this would be the outcome of your friendship circle. When he pondered the potential loss of contact he always assumed it would be a result of moving on to better things, better places and people. He couldn’t help but think back to that camping trip; it was the most carefree time in his life. None of you could’ve ever imagined this outcome ― you could imagine moving away and losing contact over time, you couldn’t imagine being pulled apart by something out of your control. You didn’t want to, but who would? The idea of your friends being taken before their time―before you deemed it to be their time―was almost as upsetting as it actually happening. Life and death, it was a torturous cycle for everyone involved. Hyunjin squeezed his eyes shut as fear bubbled in his chest, the fear of losing you all over again. He tightened his grip on you, what tragic lives we’ve led. 

“And then there were two.”

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Second Chances - Ch. 19

Putting the past behind 

Warnings: swearing, smut

Word count: ~10,200

Masterlist

Read on AO3

The next morning, camp is still sedated. The loudest sounds come from the river as egrets nest and the alligators hunt. You suggest to Arthur over your morning coffee to go into Saint Denis.

“Why?” he asks. “Thought you hated that place.” 

“I do, but I feel like we need to go somewhere with life in it. Just for a bit.” 

He nods and puts his tin cup into his satchel. 

“We can do that. I have something to do in town anyways.”

“What’s that?”

He sighs and rubs his neck. “Few days ago, I bumped into some French artist. Helped him get out of a spot of trouble so he invited me to the gallery displaying his art. You wanna come?”

“I never been to an art show,” you say optimistically. 

“Me neither if I’m being honest. But, I should warn you, this feller’s a bit of a… well, I ain’t too sure, but you might want to keep your distance from him.” 

“Why?”

He sighs awkwardly. “He’s, well, he’s got a real strange way with people. Just stay by me and you’ll be fine.” 

“Okay,” you say curiously. 

Arthur grabs your hand and leads you over to the horses where you mount up. He bids Lenny a quiet farewell as you both pass him, heading out of Shady Belle. Once you’re through the trees, your mood lightens considerably, although the hot and humid air still cloaks you. 

You walk Rannoch side by side with Artemis into Saint Denis. You’re just passing a fenced pond where you see a man on the boat dock, acting thoroughly agitated. You see a strange box with coiled wires sticking out of it sitting on a table on the dock.

“What is that?” you ask, nodding your head towards the man.

“Let’s go find out.” 

Arthur stops Artemis and the two of you walk into the park, casually strolling up to the man who continues to rant, tearing up a piece of paper. 

“You okay, buddy?” Arthur calls to him. The man jumps and looks back at the two of you.

“Fantastic! You Americans,” he gestures to you both, speaking with a thick accent you can’t place, “are nothing but shysters and traitors and slippery tongued ball suckers!” 

Arthur grabs his gun belt and huffs a small laugh. “I’m inclined to agree with ya.” 

The man waves a hand at him angrily then turns to a box set on the pier. Arthur stands beside him as he opens the box and pulls out a small boat. 

“Back to work with a bloody smile,” the man mutters to himself. “No problem, Marco. You are a great genius so we shove the hot poker up the ass! Say thank you, Marco!” 

“What are you talking about?” you ask as you try not to laugh at his continued ramblings.

“Nothing! Just how much I love this goddamn country of yours!” 

“What are you, some kinda toy maker?” Arthur asks, gesturing to the boat. 

“No, I am a fucking genius with a poker up the ass.” He hands Arthur the boat and takes two rods, inserting them into the top of the boat. “Toy maker. Hello? Do I look like I should entertain children?” He glares at Arthur.

“No,” Arthur replies heavily.

You’ve no idea how Arthur doesn’t laugh, you have to cover your mouth. You hide your snicker by pretending to cough. 

“No, he says,” the man ignores you and takes his boat back. “I am the savior of mankind, buddy. Professor Marco Dragic. The one the silver tongue American betray and not pay the total money to. He total shit, man!” He places the boat into the water beside the dock.

“So what’s this toy about?” Arthur asks as you compose yourself. He begins reaching for the elevated box you had seen earlier with the coil rods sticking out. 

“It is not a toy, big nuts!” Marco says, gesturing for him to stop. “It is a demonstration of my genius, about my ideas of the source of life.”

Arthur approaches the toy boat, leaning down. “Ah, it’s a toy boat!” he says enthusiastically. 

“Yes it is a toy boat that I can power remotely!” Marco sneers, fidgeting with the box. You smile and approach the other side of the dock, looking over the water. You spot several floating devices in the water and tiny colored sailboats. 

“I’m using electricity and waves you cannot see!” Marco continues, cranking a lever on the side of the box. 

Arthur stands up, shaking his head. “Waves I cannot see,” he mutters skeptically. 

You suddenly look at Marco curiously. Could he power the boat with nothing attached to it? The idea is certainly entertaining, though doubtful. 

“Still the investors will not come,” Marco says, acting as though he hadn’t heard Arthur. “Just a couple of old ladies and a moron.” 

He adjusts a few more things on the box, flips a couple of switches. You hear the sound of people behind you approaching. All three of you turn and find a man accompanied by two women, one slightly older than the other. 

“Ladies! Gentleman!” Marco says energetically. He rushes forward and kisses one of the women’s hands. “Enchante. How is the piles?” The three people look to each other, clearly pondering if they should be offended. Before any of them have a chance to react, he continues. “Yes, yes good. My friends, you are about to witness history. A demonstration of my infinite insight.”

He pushes Arthur out of the way, who had been inspecting the box. Arthur stands next to you, clasping his hands in front of him. You smile at him, grabbing his arm, curious to see if the man’s experiment will actually work. 

“All of us, we feel old,” Marco begins to the visitors. “You, you are old!” he points to the older of the two women, who huffs. “But maybe I can make you immortal!” 

He chuckles and then moves over to the boat, clearly pleased with himself. “Using waves you cannot see, I will power this boat-”

“You’re a goddamn fraud,” a man interrupts. Your entire group turns to see him standing a few yards away, smoking a cigar. He sneers at Marco. “And this buffoon dressed up like a buffoon,” he motions to Arthur, who looks down at his clothes questioningly, “is his stoolie. I watched them conspire, you morons.”

You glare at the man and then back to Arthur. You lean over and tell him you think he looks handsome in his green shotgun coat, red vest and black shirt, his collar popped up. He pats your hand on his arm. 

“I never met this buffoon before two minutes ago!” Marco says incredulously. He stands beside Arthur and gestures to him. “Isn’t that right?” 

“Which part of it?” he asks, clearly still offended. 

“Professor,” the man with the women says. “Show us your magical toy boat, but let the buffoon try it out.” 

“No, this ain’t nothin’ to do with me,” Arthur says.

“Go on, Arthur,” you encourage, patting his hand. “I bet it ain’t that hard.”

He turns to say something to you when Marco reaches for him. “Come, please.” He takes Arthur’s arm, dragging him away from you and situates him in front of the box. He motions to two handles, explaining how they work in order to control the boat.

“Any moron can do this,” Marco says, gesturing to the women and looking back at Arthur, “and I am about to prove that.” 

Arthur gives you an annoyed glance before grabbing the handles. He twitches them and the boat stirs in the water. He moves them again hesitantly and the boat glides forward. 

“Ha ha! Excellent! Now keep going,” Marco says. 

Arthur steers the boat through the water. Marco advises him to stay away from the floating blobs, which seem to be attracted to the boat. He explains they have magnets built into them and will explode upon contact. Arthur carefully guides the boat through the water, chasing the colored sailboats as per Marco’s instructions. 

“I have loaded the boat with torpedos. Blow up the sailboats!” 

Arthur does so. You watch the waves of water as the torpedos launch from the boat and strike the sailboats, amazed. After a few moments, he destroys the last one and brings the boat back to the doc. 

“This is really remarkable,” the man says appreciatively. 

“Like I say, any fool, huh?” Marco laughs.

“What is that?” Arthur asks, a big grin on his face. You smile over at him as well, moving closer. 

“LIke I say, it is the stuff of life!” 

“It’s incredible.”

“No, no. Incredible is in my lab. So, can I count on your support?” Marco asks the man.

“Well, I don’t know. This is expensive.

“It is immortality! Maybe perhaps we discuss over lunch?”

As Marco and the man talk, Arthur reaches up and touches one of the balls atop a coiled wire. You hear a jolt and he hisses, waving his hand. 

“You okay?” you say, hiding your giggle. 

“Ah yeah,” he takes your hand, tapping Marco with the other. “Alright, we’re going.” 

“Ah of course,” Marco says to him happily. “Listen, if you are ever up near Doverhill, pay me a visit, huh?” 

Marco returns to his watchers and babbles on. You laugh softly as Arthur offers you his arm and walks you back to your horses. You mount up and continue on deeper into the city. 

He leads you down to the main street of Saint Denis. A man plays a trumpet beneath the tall bronze statue of a man. You’re glad Rannoch has become so used to following Artemis’s large form, you’re busy looking around at all the buildings, the architecture, the people. Men and women of all races and classes walk on the sidewalks and the streets. You thought Blackwater was a large and bouncing city, but it is nothing compared to Saint Denis. 

Arthur leads you slowly up to the main street. Halfway up, he turns left and heads down a broad and nearly empty street aside from a trolley car making its slow way up. On the left, you see a building with a circular corner, the dome rising high, the words “Theatre Raleur” lit in golden lights under a fancy logo. Farther up on the opposite side of the street is a large park, a fountain playing near the west side, flowering bushes along the curving walkway. 

“Come on,” Arthur says, hitching Artemis. 

“What are we doing?” you ask, doing the same to Rannoch. 

“Supposedly this is the nicest park in Saint Denis. Figure if you want to see the city, ya ought to see this.” 

You smile, not believing him but humoring him all the same. He proudly offers his arm to you as he walks you into the park. You both pass the fountain, where a man in a white suit offers pamphlets about Chelonianism. Arthur points to a large house across the street on the west side.

“That’s Bronte’s house.”

“Quite… mundane,” you say, gazing at the large mansion. Arthur chuckles, patting your hand on his arm. 

“Y/N?” a soft, tinkling voice rings behind you. You turn, looking for the owner.

A woman about the same age as you walks up. You immediately recognize the bold red hair, fair skin and blue eyes of your cousin Emma. It’s been nearly ten years since you’ve last seen her; she’s grown more beautiful since then. She wears a large, pale green dress completely covering her arms and neck, a large hat covering her head. She clasps her hands in front of her, her gold wedding ring glints in the sun.

“Oh my Lord, it is you!” she cries out happily. 

Before you have time to react, she grabs your calloused, dirty hands with her soft, clean ones, her nails polished and finely shaped. 

“Oh my, Y/N,” she says, her smile flickering slightly. “I heard about your parents and your husband. Such a tragedy!”

“E-Emma?” you stammer.

Arthur looks between the two of you curiously. You suddenly feel extremely self conscious in front of him, knowing you look hideous in comparison to her. Your hair’s unkempt and in need of a wash and a trim, your face sunburnt and dirty. You’re more muscular than Emma is and you’re taller than her as well. You feel like a troll standing next to an elf. 

“That’s right, Y/N,” she grins. “Oh, I must say I have worried about you so since I left Blackwater. I hated that town so much, I wished you had come with me here. I sometimes think about how you could have been so much happier. A girl like you could have made out like a criminal in this city!” 

Arthur suddenly clears his throat beside you. Emma looks at him as though she’s just noticed him. 

“I beg your pardon, sir,” her eyes rake over his form. You can’t tell if she’s impressed or not. “Forgive me, I am Emma Caulson. Perhaps Y/N has mentioned me to you?” 

She holds out her hand, as though expecting him to take it and kiss it. His eyes narrow slightly. “Oh I’ve heard of you, alright.”

Emma lowers her hand when she realizes he isn’t going to take it, her smile suddenly shaky. She turns back to you.

“So, Y/N,” she says, biting her lips. “When I heard word of your family’s deaths, I was told you were wanted for questioning. May I ask why?”

You swallow, hesitating. “I don’t know. I was away in Armadillo working my job as a seamstress when my husband was killed. By the time I returned home, I heard my parents were dead.” 

“And you have no idea who did it?” she asked, clearly not believing your story.

“No. I couldn’t tell you.”

“I see. I heard your father sold you to your husband. I was sorry when I heard that. He got the idea from my own engagement, I’m sure. However,” she takes a step towards you, straightening to her full height, which is still shorter than you. “It doesn’t justify what I’m thinking you did. Your parents were good people, Y/N.” 

You’re just about to say something when Arthur takes a step towards her. You barely reach his chin; he towers over Emma. It doesn’t help that he’s so broad. The sight is intimidating.

“Ya better watch your mouth, girl,” he says calmly. 

Emma looks to him, her eyes widening. “I beg your pardon, sir. This conversation doesn’t concern you.” 

“It concerns me because you’re threatening my girl, miss, and I won’t tolerate it. Now, she may be guilty of certain crimes, but they ain’t nothing compared to what I done. You open your mouth about her to anyone, I’ll come back to get ya.” 

Emma’s eyes are as large as saucers and she takes a step back. Arthur continues to glare at her, his eyes unblinking. 

“Forgive me, sir,” she says, her voice shaking. “I… I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“No, course you didn’t,” Arthur growls. “You only did your best to humiliate her ten years ago. Only now, she’s got me. I’m also gonna tell you this. If she killed her family, what makes you think she’s above killin’ you?” 

You smile as she looks over to you, her face pale. 

“That’s right, Emma. I killed those awful people. Don’t make me add you to my list, otherwise I will find you. It can’t be hard to track down a fat coal miner in Saint Denis and his pretty little wife.” 

“Y/N,” she says, swallowing. “Forgive me. I… I wish you both a good and long life.” 

She walks away quickly, pushing her way quickly through the small crowds of people in the park as though hoping to disappear. 

“Well, well, well,” Arthur chuckles beside you. “Ya finally settled things with that awful cousin o’ yers, darlin’!” He turns to you, his face split in a large grin. 

You smile back but then it fades. “You don’t think it was a bad idea telling her I killed my family, do you?” 

“Nah,” Arthur shakes his head. “She looks like the cowardly type. Think the message sunk in. You’ll be fine.” 

You sigh in relief. Arthur knows better than anybody about scaring people into silence. He looks over your head across the street. 

“Come on, let’s go,” he says, taking your hand in his and leading you down the street. Just as you’re about to mount up, he puts his hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, you ever been to the theater before?”

“Huh?” 

He points up the street and your eyes follow his finger, falling upon the Theatre Raleur. You see a few people filing inside before shrugging your shoulders.

“No, I honestly haven’t.” 

“Ah, well then let me treat ya!” 

“Mr. Morgan,” you giggle, taking his arm as he leads you down the street towards the theatre. “You’re turning into quite the sophisticated gentlemen.”

“Please,” he chuckles. “I’m wilder than ever. I ain’t been to one of these in years.” 

You squeeze his arm affectionately as he opens the door for you. Inside, you stop, admiring the tall, circular room. You gaze at the white, stone walls, their carved faces painted in gold leaf, the huge crystal chandelier hanging above you. Your boots thump gently across marble floors. Glancing down the hallway leading to the stage, you notice the dark red walls and gold carpets, more chandeliers hanging above. 

“I swear, this city…” you say as Arthur pays for two tickets. 

“What?” he says, offering his arm again. 

“The architecture is beautiful, but it just seems like it’s for the people here to pretend they live in the lap of luxury, and yet the streets still smell like shit.” 

Arthur laughs loudly as he pushes the double doors open. You notice the large stage, hidden by the velvet curtains. Arthur gestures for you to find some seats, which you do on the left side three rows from the stage. Just as Arthur sits, allowing you to take the end seat, the curtains open.

You listen to the man who introduces himself as Aldridge T. Abbington to the crowd. He gives a drawn out speech about the first act, which turns out to be a fire-breathing woman. 

“Catch on fire!” Arthur hollers as she begins to dance with a long stick, both ends aflame. You laugh as the crowd intermix cheers and boos. She takes a mouthful of liquid and spits it into the stream of fire twice, pulling oohs and aahs from the crowd. She does so a third time, but twitches badly and catches a man’s hat on fire in the first row. 

“Oh my God!” you yell out as Arthur laughs. The man stomps his hat out and abruptly leaves, cursing madly, as the fire breather panics and runs off the stage. 

Arthur sighs and drapes his arm behind you, letting you squeeze closer to him as Aldridge comes out, trying to make a bad joke about the incident. He introduces a woman whose talent is to sing. She steps out, followed by a small group of musicians who pick up a tune. She begins singing a rather boring song about how wonderful the town of Saint Denis is. 

“Sing Otis Miller!” Arthur yells out. You laugh, knowing how much he loves that song. You rest your head on his shoulder, placing a hand on his thigh. 

The woman finishes her song as the crowd applauds and the curtain closes. Aldridge comes out again and introduces a magician he met on the streets of Italy. He dashes out of sight as the curtain opens, revealing a noose tied to a single gallows and a man, standing next to a young woman.

For the next five minutes, the man laughs and tells about his trick. You’re growing weary of his speech.

“Is this guy gonna do a magic trick or is he just going to talk us all to death?” you whisper to Arthur. 

He smiles and calls out loud. “Let’s see him die!” “Arthur!” you squeal quietly, giggling into his shirt. 

The magician gratefully falls silent, allowing his assistant to wrap him up in a straight jacket.  He walks up to the gallows and turns, continuing to speak.

“Good Lord,” you say.

“Let me tie the noose!” Arthur cries out.

You giggle and the man stands on the short stool beneath the noose, his assistant tightens the rope around his neck. A few tense moments pass as he attempts to escape, but to no avail. The small stool he stands on suddenly tips, causing him to dangle by his neck. His assistant screams and tries to grab him by the waist and lift him up as he gags. 

“Somebody do something!” she screams out as the crowd begins to mutter, a few women panic. Arthur pulls himself from your grip and stands up, pulling out his pistol. He shoots the rope holding the man up and sits back down.

The magician, having slammed into the ground, huffs angrily. “You absolute pillock! You ruined everything! Sod off, all of you!” 

“You’re welcome!” Arthur responds loudly. 

The curtains close as the magician continues yelling insults to the crowd. Aldridge comes out, looking flabbergasted. 

“What true marksmanship!” he calls out, trying to make the accident look as though it were planned. He says his final speech and bids the audience good night. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” Arthur says, patting your leg. “Need to get to the art show.” 

You stand up and leave the theatre, looking happily over at the man beside you.

“What?” he asks as you walk down to the horses.

“Nothing. It’s just… I’m happy, Arthur. I ain’t been this happy in a long time.” 

He chuckles and stops besides Artemis, pulling you into a tight hug. He kisses your head. 

“I’m happy too, darlin’.”

He holds you for a second, his arms almost too tight around you. You giggle and pull yourself away from him.

“Come on, cowboy. Like you said, we have another show to see.” 

“Alright, alright.”

You hop up onto Rannoch and follow Artemis to the other side of Saint Denis. Arthur wanders down a narrow road where the buildings are formed close together. You see the front of the gallery, colored a light purple. Arthur hitches and hops off, bidding you to follow him. 

He leads you up a set of stone stairs and into a small room, a ticket master hidden behind a gold grate. Arthur approaches him and tells him he’s here to see a Charles Chatenay. The ticket master waves him in. 

You enter the gallery, spotting paintings and statues placed throughout the room. Arthur ignores them, heading into a blue room. You spot on the wall photos of horses running in the Heartlands, alligators in the swamps, wolves and then a photo of Arthur, standing in front of a line of pines.

“What’s this?” you say, approaching it. 

“Huh, forgot he’d taken that.”

“Who?” 

“You recall that Albert Mason feller? These are his. Wonder if he’s here.” 

Arthur leaves briefly to speak with the ticket master. He comes back a moment later.

“He ain’t here.”

“Ah, that’s too bad. I liked him.” “As did I. Now come on, let’s get this over with. Like I said before, stick close to me. This feller’s… different.”

Arthur leads you through a wide arched doorway into a room with red walls and an ornate carpet. Over half a dozen paintings are displayed of various styles but all depict nude people, mostly women in sensual poses. Several other couples observe the paintings, making comments. Arthur approaches a small man smoking a cigarette by a painting of a naked woman standing by a window. 

“Look at these idiots,” the man says to Arthur in a heavy French accent. Arthur blocks you from the man with his body. You stick close to him, feeling extremely self conscious surrounded by these paintings. Many of the other women in the room look about the same as you feel. An older woman walks across the room to your little group looking extremely ruffled. 

“Excuse me, Mr. Chatenay,” she says in a raspy voice, “but couldn’t you have painted some drawers on her?” She points to a painting of a woman, her back and buttocks completely exposed. 

“Madame,” the man says, walking to the painting slowly, “I paint her in her natural state as she was and will be in paradise. Clothes are civilization, repression, death. To be naked is to be free, innocent, alive. Like Buddha said, we are all here to fuck.” 

The woman gasps. The other couples have begun to gather around him.

“The artist?” you ask Arthur. He nods, wrapping an arm around your waist. He’s begun acting very possessive of you for some reason. 

“Hey!” a man says near another painting. “You got a picture of my wife here in her delicates!” 

“Henry!” a woman says to a man near another piece. “Is that your behind? Why would you be showing that man your behind?”

“That’s my mama!” another man says, approaching one of the more lude pieces. “As nude as the day she was born!”

“Stop looking at my husband’s buttocks!” 

“Stop looking at my mama!” 

Arthur gives a soft laugh as the mood in the room escalates. 

“This is disgusting!” one man points a finger at the man defending his mother.

“That’s it!” 

A fight breaks out between several men, their wives fleeing. 

“You filthy little man!” the woman who had first approached the artist yells, slapping him with her handbag. Arthur laughs loudly and helps him to his feet. 

“I’m comin’ after you, Frenchy!” a man hollers. 

“Shit!” Mr. Chatenay hisses, dashing out of the room. The man barrels after him, only to be stopped by Arthur.

“Leave it, friend.” 

“He painted my mama, the bastard!” 

Arthur throws a punch, knocking the man out.

“Excellent shot, cowboy,” the artist says from behind a pillar. That’s when you see he’s eyeing you.

“Best get you out of here,” Arthur says to the man. He notices the artist staring at you hungrily. “Charles! Let’s get you out of here before I get a reason to hit you.” 

“Oh alright, fine! Follow me, cowboy!” 

He walks quickly out of the empty gallery, you and Arthur following. Once on the street, he begins talking about how he’s confused about his role as a painter, walking through an alleyway. “We artists provoke emotions, no?” he demands.

“You keep provoking emotions,” Arthur says, “and all your canvases will have punch holes through ‘em. 

“I told you I was a whole ass!” 

“That you did,” Arthur says with little humor. “Now maybe go be an asshole somewhere else.” 

“I know a lady over here, I can stay with her a few days.” 

Charles Chatenay stops by a door. “That picture I gave you, it will be worth something someday, I can feel it!” 

“Perhaps, but right now the only thing it’d get me is a kick in the balls.” 

Arthur pulls you close, partially placing himself between you and Charles. It doesn’t go unnoticed by the artist.

“Hey listen, cowboy,” he says, excitement flickering in his eyes. “An artist’s work is never done. Listen, if you wanted to… come inside and help with your lady friend? Perhaps I could teach you a thing or two, eh?”

Arthur straightens up and takes a step towards Charles. “Give me a reason and I’ll teach you a thing or two about pain. You look towards my girl again, I’ll kill ya.” 

“Ah ha ha! You Americans!” Charles says, completely unphased. He raises his arms up in delight. “Always looking for a fight! That’s what I love about you! You are funny!” 

He turns around and knocks on the door. “Mon ami! It’s me!” The door opens and he gives a delighted chuckle before dashing inside, snapping the door shut. 

“Well, Arthur,” you say, relaxing. “If that’s how all art galleries are, I hope that’s my last one.”

He sighs heavily and turns back to you, gesturing towards a break in the stone wall blocking the alleyway from the street. 

“I don’t think they are, darlin’, just his. Pretty sure he was doin’ more with his subjects than just paintin’ ‘em.” 

“You think?” You step out onto the street, facing the city’s gallows, which are empty for the moment. Arthur follows and whistles for the horses. 

“I hope that’s the last time I see that man,” you say, your hand nervously coming up to clutch your elbow. You still feel thoroughly uncomfortable by it all. 

“I’m shoar it will be, darlin’,” he says, seeming to sense your unease as he stands closer to you. “Besides, even if he sees you again, I doubt he’ll do nothin’. He knows you’re my girl.” 

“Or he’ll take it as an extra challenge, Arthur!” 

“Nah, he owes me. I only saved his hide twice now.”

The horses come trotting up the street and stop close to you, both snorting in greeting. You pat Rannoch’s neck affectionately after mounting up. 

“Should we head back to camp?” you suggest.

Arthur hops up onto Artemis. “In a bit, need to make one more errand. Think there’s a fence near the trapper and I got some things to sell.”

Arthur leads you to the east side of the city, which is a drastic change from the other side with its big houses and fancy gardens. The buildings and houses here are older, smaller, and dirtier. The roads are no longer cobbled but dirt. Round pigs and skinny, cowering dogs roam the streets, searching for anything to eat. The people here are just as roughed up and downtrodden as their homes, their clothes dirty and torn, their eyes slightly sunken from too much work and not enough food. 

You follow Arthur down onto an extremely narrow street. It doesn’t help that the trolley moves along it, almost completely filling the street. You pass by a sad looking bar and then Arthur stops. He’s about to walk through a stone archway into a small marketplace when a monk asking for spare money for the poor stops him. 

“You, kind sir, will you help the poor?” he gestures to Arthur.

“I ain’t so kind,” he responds, stopping.

“Yes, you are sir. You have it in you, I can tell.” 

“I’m a nasty bit of work, father.”

“Ah, you’re wrong on two counts, my friend,” the monk says with a kind smile. “I’m a humble brother, a penitent monk, not a priest. And you are a magnificent bit of work.”

You walk up and stand close to Arthur, unconsciously wrapping your hands around his arm. The monk spots it.

“Ah, you see? Even the young lady sees it. I can tell by her eyes she finds you to be a glorious man. Now you may have made some poor choices, but which of us hasn’t?”

Arthur chuckles and looks at you fondly. He leads you over to the wall next to the monk, still laughing. “Oh, you have no idea, brother.” 

“But you do and God does; that’s enough for me. But perhaps if you’re not so sure, why don’t you offer two bits to the poor?”

He gestures to a collecting tin near his feet. Arthur ponders for a moment.

“Shoar. Least I can do.” Arthur takes out a few coins and plops them into the tin. You do the same. 

The monk looks at you both proudly. “Bless you both.”

“How you gettin’ on anyhow?” Arthur asks, folding his arms over his chest.

“Ah, these are a somewhat apathetic lot I’m afraid.”

“Hm. My mentor says that America is designed to induce apathy in people.” 

You know he’s talking about Dutch, who has spouted these types of philosophies over and over again. 

“He must be a wise man, your mentor.” 

Arthur huffs a small laugh. “Well, sometimes he’s a downright fool, but most times he’s the best man I know.” 

“That’s wonderful. Well, poverty will always be with us, but slavery…” the monk peaks over the stone wall into the marketplace. “I thought we had abolished that. Unfortunately, Saint Denis is acting as a staging post for shipping slaves out to the islands.”

“Nah, I don’t believe that; it's 1899,” Arthur says.

“Perhaps you should take a look for yourself. I’ve heard the pawnbroker sells more than forlorn trinkets.” 

Arthur steps away to look through to the marketplace. “Alright, ‘scuse me, brother. Y/N, stay here a minute will ya?”

Arthur heads down the marketplace, leaving you alone with the monk. 

“Your companion is a fine man, miss,” the monk says, returning to his collecting tin. 

“He is. He doesn’t like to believe it. I swear though, every time we’re in a city or a town, he’s helping someone.”

“Like I said, a magnificent work. As are you, if you don’t mind me saying.” 

You look at him with a small smile. “Ah no. I done some… some real bad things myself, brother.” 

“And like I told him, we all have. Who is not without sin?”

“You ain’t sayin’ that just because you’re hoping I’ll give more money to the poor, are you?” you ask skeptically. 

“Oh no, my sister,” he says, clasping his hands in front of him. “I took an oath never to lie, not even for the benefit of others. I simply state what I see.”

“Well, I guess that’s a slight comfort. Still, there’s no place for people like me in the eyes of God. I done real bad things when I could have… just walked away.” 

“We’ve all done things we wished we did differently, my friend. Each of us has something to be guilty of. But if we dwell only on the bad, we make no room to try and do good. And remember this: God cannot forgive you if you don’t forgive yourself.”

“Ah, I stopped believing in God a long time ago, brother. Forgive me.”

“That may be so, but he has never stopped believing in you.”

You glance over at him and smile again. In your past, you’ve met a few priests and monks, but they all seemed to lack something he has: genuinity. 

Arthur steps out from the marketplace, closely followed by two thin and dirty Mexicans, shielding their eyes from the sun. 

“Brother...?” he says, holding his arm out. 

“Brother Dorkins, my friend.”

“Arthur Morgan, and you were right: I found these two imprisoned in that shop.”

The two men stand nervously beside the wall, looking around. Brother Dorkins smiles at Arthur. 

“They are blessed to have met you, Arthur.” 

Arthur narrows his eyes slightly. “Trust me in that they’re very unusual. I don’t think they speak English.” 

“My brothers,” the monk says as Arthur approaches you. “Come, let’s get you something to eat. Comida.”

The men look at him in surprise as he gestures for them to walk ahead of him and down the street. Just as they begin to leave, Arthur picks up the collecting tin on the ground.

“Hey, you forgot this!” 

“Oh, thank you, I…” Brother Dorkins turns to grab it, but hesitates. “Take it as payment for your services.” 

“Give it to the poor, brother,” Arthur says, handing it to him. 

“Thank you, I will. Like I said, magnificent.” As Brother Dorkins begins leading the men again, he calls back to ask Arthur to meet him again at an old church he often works at. Arthur waves two fingers at him.

You and Arthur cross the street to mount your horses. You look up and see the sky has turned pink as the sun has begun to set.

“You wanna head back to camp or stay here for the night?” you ask.

“Up to you, darlin’. I know ya ain’t too fond of this city.”

You shrug your shoulders. “Ah, let’s just stay here. I’d love to take a bath in some hot water for once.” 

Arthur nods and directs Artemis down the street, leading you back towards the main street of Saint Denis. Once there, he hitches his horse next to a large hotel. You hitch Rannoch and walk side by side with him inside. You’re greeted by a large room with multiple tables in front of a long bar, a group of men play poker at one of them. A chandelier dangles above, watching everyone in the room. Up a short stairwell on the landing leading to a longer stairwell sits a piano, a man playing happily on it. 

“Come on, let me treat ya to dinner,” Arthur says, gesturing to the bar. He gestures for you to find a table as he goes up and orders. He sits down across from you. “Guess they actually got waiters here,” he says. 

“Impressive,” you say sarcastically. 

“I know, this city really tries to make ya think life is great, don’t it?” 

“Maybe, but I still prefer the open country. Smells better.” 

He laughs as a waiter comes over and sets down two plates of prime rib on the table. A moment later, he returns with a bottle of wine.

“Since when were you a wine drinker, Mr. Morgan?” you ask.

“Ah, I ain’t, but I figured we might as well try and enjoy the luxuries this city offers.” 

“Oh yeah, along with corrupt politicians and Italian strongmen.” 

He laughs again softly as you both begin to eat. When you’re done, Arthur stands up and walks over to the bar again to pay for a room and a bath. He offers you his arm again as you both walk up the stairs, passing the piano and up the next two flights. On the second floor, you see a large and comfortable sitting area. A few men lounge about, accompanied by working girls smoking from long sticks. 

Arthur leads you to a hallway off the sitting room and gestures to a door on the left. A plaque on the door reads “Bath”. You open it and are surprised when Arthur follows you in.

“What you doin’?” you ask.

“Figure we might as well pay for only one bath,” he says, shutting the door and taking his hat and shotgun coat off. You shrug your shoulders and begin to undress. After a moment, you’re about to step into the tempting hot water when Arthur stops you. Your eyes rake his naked body.

“Now come on, darlin’,” he jokes. “You’re makin’ me blush.” 

“Sorry,” you giggle. “Ain’t my fault you’re so handsome.” 

“Hey, I thought we agreed not to lie to each other.” 

“Who said I was lying?”

He chuckles and shakes his head before stepping into the water. He leans back and gestures for you to come in. You do so, leaning your back against his firm chest. 

“This is nice,” you say as he folds his arms around you.

“Shoar is.”

You sit like this for a moment before Arthur releases you from his grip and pushes you forward so he can wash your back. Once he’s done, you both get down to scrubbing your hair and limbs. You feel as though you’ve lost the top layer of your skin and are surprised to find the water isn’t all that dirty, but the bubbles probably hide a lot of it. 

Once you’re both clean, you settle back against Arthur. He embraces you once more and sighs. You’re so comfortable and warm, you feel yourself beginning to drift off. 

“Hey, none of that now,” Arthur says with a small laugh, patting you. “We still got one more thing to do before the day’s out.” 

“What’s that?” you say, looking up at him.

“Well, we’re in this nice hotel, we got a room to ourselves. With all the noise going on around us, we ain’t gotta worry about being quiet ourselves.” 

You blush a little and bite your lip, smiling.

“Okay, you got me.”

You pat his arm and stand up, grabbing a towel and drying off. You wonder if it’s really worth getting dressed when Arthur’s just going to undress you again, but then you realize it’s highly probable that people are still in the sitting room. You simply throw on your shirt and jeans, not worrying about your boots or even your undergarments. You stuff those under your arm and head out of the room just as Arthur’s pulling on his pants.

You take the three steps across the hall and open the door to your room, marveling at it. The room is large and comfortable with dark walls adorned with paintings of scenery and elegant women. A fireplace sits at one end, emitting heat from the fire. A small couch sits across from the door, a finely woven Afghan covering the back. Between it and you is a large four-poster bed, covered in red fabrics and a mountain of pillows. 

“You’re blockin’ the doorway, darlin’,” Arthur says.

“Sorry,” you say before moving out of the way. You see he’s done the same as you and dawned only his pants and shirt, the rest of his clothes tucked under his arm. He smiles at you as he tosses his clothes and shoes into the corner. You do the same. Your back is to him when you feel him wrap his arms around you. He kisses your temple and hums.

“What say you we get our money’s worth for this room?” he purrs in your ear.

“Arthur, you paid what, a dollar for this?” 

He chuckles. “Yeah, but that’s a dollar I coulda saved if we decided we just wanted to sleep.” 

His hands wander down your body until he finds the untucked hem of your shirt. He lifts it up and strips it off your body, quickly folding his arms around you once more. 

“Arthur, we can’t do this if you don’t let me go for at least a few seconds,” you say as he massages your breasts. He laughs again but finally releases you. You take the opportunity to remove your pants. As you straighten up, you see his shirt and jeans go flying past you and land on the pile of clothes. 

You’re just about to face him when you feel his hands on your shoulders. You stop as he runs his thumbs delicately across your skin. You feel his right hand gently trace the scar on your shoulder that your ex-husband had given you the night you murdered him. Suddenly, his lips trace the mark. A warmth blooms in your chest that has nothing to do with you being naked. 

Arthur folds his arms around you once more, his lips studying your neck. You sigh and tilt your head back, enjoying it. Without warning, he picks you up and carries you over to the bed, lying you down on your back. He hovers over you, a smile stretched across his face. You raise your hands to tangle into his chest hair, caressing the skin beneath. He kisses your lips, his tongue coming out to explore yours. Your hands travel up his shoulders and into his hair, pulling it slightly. His lips leave yours, wandering down to your jawline, your neck, your collarbone and then down to your breasts. He spends a moment focusing on your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through your chest. 

His lips leave your chest and then trail down your stomach. His hands squeeze your hips before sliding down to the backs of your knees, lifting them up and spreading your legs. You groan as his right hand leaves your knee and spreads your folds, his finger gliding over your wet and sensitive nub. 

“Aw, Arthur!” you moan, your fingers scrape his scalp. 

Without warning, he lifts himself up and hovers over you again. You stare at him pleadingly. He smiles mischievously before his lips crash to yours. You grind against his rough fingers, your breath leaving your lungs in fast bursts. 

You wish he would slide himself inside of you already, the waiting is almost unbearable. He continues to brush your center with his fingers. You suddenly realize he’s teasing you; he knows what you want him to do. 

You decide two can play this game. You place your hands on his chest and shove him, pushing him onto his back. You lift yourself up to straddle his hips, keeping your core away from his cock. He looks up at you, almost surprised. Before he can say anything, you lean down and begin kissing his neck. You make your way down to his collarbone, spying the scar on his shoulder from where the O’Driscolls shot him. You know he’s been self-conscious about it since it became a scar, and you’re determined to show him that it’s a part of him and therefore worth loving. You gently pepper it with kisses. His hand reaches up to tangle into your hair as he groans.

Remembering how he teased you moments ago, you sit up again, straddling his thighs. Your eyes wander down his body, drinking in his every detail until you find his erection. Your hands slide down his chest, his sides until they stop at his hips. Your eyes find his as you reach down and stroke him, tenderly at first and then you begin to apply more pressure.

His head tilts back against the pillow, his eyes closing as you study his cock with your hands. His hands plant against your knees and his hips begin to buck, though you keep your folds away from his hips. You take your thumb and run it across the slit at the end of his tip. He grunts loudly as he throbs in your hands, his hips thrusting again. You circle his head multiple times, alternating in speed until his hips are snapping up and down in a slightly unsteady rhythm, his length throbbing.

“Oh God, darlin’,” he begs. “Quit torturin’ me.”

“You started it, cowboy,” you tease with a small snicker. His eyes open as you circle his head again. His face begs for you. You smile and lift your hips up, not releasing his length. You angle yourself above him and guide him into you until you sit on his hips. He groans again as he reaches deep into you. You sigh pleasurably and begin bouncing up and down, building friction between you. Within seconds, you feel him erupt inside you. 

“Sorry, darlin’,” he groans, his hands stroking your hips. “Ya got me worked up.” 

“That’s okay, Arthur,” you sigh. 

You feel him slide himself out of you, causing you to twitch slightly.  “Let me return the favor at least,” he says. He guides you down onto your back and begins kissing you, worshipping your body, as he positions himself so he can reach between your folds. You feel his warm, thick fingers press into your clit. He pushes against your body hard several times until two fingers slide into your center. You close your eyes with a happy sigh as he pushes them in and out of you. His thumb circles your nub tenderly as he begins kissing your neck. 

After a few moments, you feel his fingers slide out of you, although his thumb remains pressed against your core. Within seconds, his hardened length presses into your center once more, stretching your walls. He begins pounding himself into you. After only a moment or two, that familiar warmth blooms in your chest and travels down to your stomach. You spread your knees farther apart, angling your hips to reach his better. He pounds again into you and kisses just below your ear. Without warning, your head tilts back and a yell escapes from your lips. He chuckles softly and pumps into you a few more times, growing more frantic. His length throbs inside your walls before he erupts a second time inside of you.

His body collapses onto you, nearly squeezing every bit of air from your lungs. You pat his back, letting him know your discomfort. He lifts himself up and rolls onto his back, grabbing you and dragging you onto him. 

“Mm,” you sigh, snuggling into his chest. “That was amazing, Arthur.” 

“I’ll never say no to doin’ that,” he says, his fingers trailing up your spine.

The next morning, Arthur treats you to breakfast before stating that you both should go back to camp. You’re not entirely sure you’re ready to go back. The truth is that ever since Kieran’s death and the O’Driscoll ambush, you ‘ve been nervous about Shady Belle. It was a risky hide out before, due to the fact that it acted as the safe house to the Lemoyne Raiders. Now it’s hard to say if you’ll be ambushed there again. You bring it up to Arthur over your meal of eggs and ham.

“Ah, I wouldn’t be too worried, darlin’,” he says. “Think they were surprised by how well we defended the place. The few we didn’t kill ran off pretty quick.”

“Exactly, Arthur. They probably ran off to tell Colm. He’ll be better prepared next time.”

“Well, I mentioned to Dutch that we probably need to find a new place and quick after that whole mess. Course, he don’t seem too concerned. Just said we need to find another big take. Think he’s hesitant to leave the city, might have somethin’ here.”

You just shake your head and finish your meal. If Dutch has a fault, it’s that he doesn’t take threats seriously. When the Pinkertons first found you and Arthur out fishing with Jack, he hadn’t been too worried then. The O’Driscolls had butchered Kieran and sent him headless into camp and still Dutch didn’t find it worrisome. 

“Well, I hope a score comes soon. I don’t like it down here,” you say. 

“Nor do I. I just hope we can make it out west like we planned before that whole mess with Blackwater.” 

You both leave the hotel and make your way through the city. Arthur decides he wants to stop at the post office in case any mail has come in. Once there, he finds a letter addressed to him from the mayor of Saint Denis.

“You met the mayor for all of five minutes, what does he want with you?” you ask as he tears the envelope open. Arthur quickly reads the letter and then hands it to you.

“Shit, how did he figure out you stole those papers?”

“Don’t know. Guess I wasn’t being as careful as I thought,” he says, taking the letter back. “Well, guess we’ll have to come to the city more often while we’re down here.”

“You want me to come?” you ask.

“No. No, darlin’. I ain’t too sure what he’s plannin’, but if it’s bad I don’t want you involved.” 

“Arthur, I don’t think you should go by yourself. Like you said, you don’t know what he’s planning.” 

“Darlin’, he ain’t gonna have me killed. He’s the mayor, not a murderer.” 

“Yeah, and as mayor of this big town, he’s gotta have a lot of people in his pocket, don’t you think?”

Arthur just shakes his head and puts the letter in his satchel. “I’m fairly sure he ain’t gonna do nothin’. Maybe just some of the usual scare tactics or call in a favor. Like I said, it shouldn’t be too much of a worry.” 

“Well, fine. I just don’t want you to get yourself into trouble again.” 

You both mount up and start heading out of the city. Just as you’re passing the police station, you see a vaguely familiar man pounding on the door of the building across the street. 

“Hey, where have we seen him from?” you say, nodding to the man. Arthur’s eyes follow yours and he squints. Two taller, dark men stand close behind him.

“Think we saw him at that godawful party,” Arthur says. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Wait, I know who he is.” 

Without another word, Arthur dismounts and approaches the small group of men. 

“Come on, we have an appointment!” the man yells as he pounds on the door again. 

“Hey, don’t I know you?” Arthur calls to him.

The man turns and you instantly recognize him, mainly due to his beard. 

“Evelyn Miller?” you say.

“Why, I do believe we’ve met. At that ghastly party,” Evelyn says. 

“That’s right, I thought I recognized you,” Arthur says. The two shake hands and Arthur introduces himself and you. Evelyn kindly shakes your hand, his grasp surprisingly gentle. 

“Forgive me, Mr. Morgan, but can I say something rude? The mayor thinks you robbed him.” 

“Does he?” Arthur responds, saying nothing about the letter.

“To be clear, he didn’t seem very upset about it. He rather liked you.” Evelyn pauses, looking to his companions nervously. “Do you, I mean, can you steal things, sir?”

Arthur glances at you, his face irritated. “Is there a reason you’re asking me to incriminate myself, Mr. Miller?” 

Clearly wanting to ease the situation, Evelyn lifts a hand to his companions. “Have you met?” 

You take a good look at the men accompanying Evelyn. You can tell by their facial structures and their skin they are Native Americans, one quite a bit older than the other. The elder has an inquisitive face, his quiet eyes seem to hold a gentleness you’ve rarely seen. The younger holds his jaw tightly, his brow heavy. 

“This is Rains Fall,” Evelyn says, “a great chief and his son Eagle Flies.” 

“We saw you on the wagon train,” the man named Rains Fall says in a deep and gravelly voice. “Crossing the river at Cumberland Falls and at the party, you and your wife were upstairs.” 

“You have great powers of observation,” Arthur says. “Except she ain’t my wife. We’re together, but not like that.” 

“Ah, my mistake,” Rains Fall says gently. He looks at you and you smile softly at him. You wouldn’t have minded at all if Arthur had left the bit out that you weren’t married, but you have to remind yourself that he surely has no interest in that. 

“My people,” Rains Fall continues, a note of sadness in his voice, “if we are even a people, we fought hard. We made peace treaties and those treaties were broken. We have been punished and moved, and moved and punished.” He looks at his son sadly. “And now I am told we are to be moved again.” 

“Clearly going against the peace treaty signed three years ago,” Evelyn says. 

Eagle Flies takes a step forward. “This will lead to war.”

Rains Fall puts a hand on his shoulder. “No, my son. We cannot fight another war. They have got stronger and we have become weaker.” 

“It’s a bad business,” Arthur says. 

“It’s to do with oil,” Evelyn says. He explains how a few months back, a group of prospectors visited the reservation occupied by Rains Fall and his people and they made reports, stating the high probability of oil in the earth. He also mentions these reports were given to Leviticus Cornwall.

Arthur tilts his head and gives a knowing nod, a disbelieving smile on his face. “So you want me to go and steal it.” 

“Well, obviously they can’t,” Evelyn says, gesturing to the two men. “And I would be useless.” 

Arthur begins to shake his head, scratching his neck. 

“Listen, I realize this is a ludicrous request,” Evelyn goes on, “but we’re very desperate.” 

“I’m not a do-gooder, Mr. Miller. Gentlemen, I’m very sorry for your predicament, but I got problems of my own.” 

Arthur takes your hand and begins walking away. You’re just about to say something to him, to try and convince him to help them, when Rains Fall calls to him.

“We will pay you very handsomely, Mr. Morgan.” 

He stops and looks back. “How much?” 

“I told you, they’re all mercenaries,” Eagle Flies says with a raised lip.

Arthur chuckles and looks at him hard. “I got a price on my head in two states, my friend. The government doesn’t like me anymore than it likes you. Like you, I been runnin’ as long as I can remember and like you, my time is nigh on done.”

“We understand and we will pay,” Rains Fall says. He tells Arthur where to meet Eagle Flies in the Heartlands. Arthur thanks them and is about to walk away.

“I will meet you there, too,” you say, stepping forward to the men. You don’t know if you’re overstepping your bounds, but you don’t care. “I will help, and I don’t want your money in return.” 

“Y/N,” Arthur says from behind you.

“Leave it, Arthur. I’m just as wanted as you are, but these men… they need our help.” 

“We can’t help everyone, darlin’.” 

“No and I’m not asking you to try.” You turn back to Rains Fall and promise him that you will be there to help. You glance quickly at Eagle Flies, who stares hard at you almost as though he suspects you.

“We are very grateful for your help,” Rains Fall says. 

“Well, gentlemen,” Evelyn says to them. “That appointment with the senator. I apologize, we must leave. Thank you, both of you, for your help.” 

You step away and rejoin Arthur. As you mount up, he catches your attention.

“What was that, Y/N?” he says.

“What?”

“I didn’t want ya helpin’ me with this, darlin’. And then you go shootin’ that off to ‘em.” 

“Why don’t you want me coming?”

“It’ll likely end with us gettin’ shot at, that’s why,” Arthur explains, urging Artemis into a steady walk. “We’re gonna be sneakin’ into Leviticus Cornwall’s oil factory. That man’s already gunnin’ for us, and now we’re about to rob directly from under his nose.”

“Arthur, I’ve been runnin’ with you for months now. I’ve been in my fair share of gunfights. Besides, if you’re really worried, I can stay back and help Eagle Flies.” 

“Well, that’s fine. But what’s with the not wantin’ to be paid, darlin’?” You can tell he’s getting irritated. “You know all the things we got goin’ on.”

“I know, a lot of pots boiling. When don’t we? But Arthur, what does it hurt to help someone who has been given as raw a deal as they have? Our country was built by spilling their blood. The least we can do is try and fix some of that.” 

“We can’t change the past. You know that better than anyone.” 

“I do, and that’s why I want to try. Please, Arthur.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “A’right, fine. Can’t stop ya anyways, you already promised them you’d be there.” 

You both walk down the street and towards the edge of the city in a slightly awkward silence.

“Well, maybe let me lift your spirits?” you say.

“What?” He doesn’t look back at you. He drives with one arm, his other hanging leisurely. 

“You remember a few days ago you wanted to go up to that lake near Colter? Why don’t we do that? We can leave today or tomorrow and meet Eagle Flies on our way back.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. You wonder if maybe he’s going to come up with an excuse to get away from you for a while, clearly irritated with you. 

“Yeah, a’right,” he says. “Let’s get back to camp first, make sure Dutch ain’t got no fresh leads on jobs.” 

The two of you speed up to a canter and travel quickly through the swamps until you reach Shady Belle. Arthur heads up to the balcony where Dutch stands. You watch him until Grimshaw leaps on you, squawking angrily.  

“You been gone two days havin’ a grand ol’ time while we been here slavin’ away!” she shrieks, making to grab your ear. You dodge out of her grasp, covering your ears. 

“No you don’t girl!” she says, making to grab you again. You back up and immediately crash into a firm barrier. You look up and Arthur smiles down at you, gripping your forearms. 

“Sorry, Ms. Grimshaw. Afraid this girl’s mine for the next few days.” 

“Mr. Morgan! We ain’t carryin’ her for free. Just like with everyone else, she needs to earn her keep.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about that, m’lady, I’ll be puttin’ her to work. Actually goin’ up to do a job, something we found in Saint Denis.”

“You folks aren’t going hunting, are you?” Pearson says, jogging over.

“Yes, we were planning on it,” you say, giving a nervous glance at Grimshaw. 

“Oh, excellent. We could really use it. Make sure to bring back as much as your horses can carry.” 

Grimshaw huffs irritatingly and stalks away, muttering to herself. You sigh in relief. 

“Thanks, Arthur. Thought she was going to tear my head off.” 

“Ah, now I can’t let that happen, darlin’,” he grins down at you. “Now come on, let’s go. You still got our coats packed on the horses?”

You nod and start walking to the horses. Arthur explains that Dutch only just got word to Trelawney about the riverboat job with the high stakes poker game, so it’ll be a few days until the gang hears back from him. “Perfect time for us to get away,” he finishes as you both trot away from Shady Belle. You’re glad for an excuse to leave the swamps.